Читать книгу Irresistible Greeks Collection - Кэрол Мортимер, Кэрол Мортимер - Страница 37

A DAY went by. Two.

Daisy still kept looking over her shoulder—well, out the window, actually—feeling skittish. Apprehensive.

She checked the caller ID every time the phone rang. Her breath caught whenever she saw a shadow on the front steps.

She actually dropped the kettle she was filling this morning, even though it was just the FedEx man bringing an order to Mrs. Kaminski upstairs.

Now she was filling it again for her friend Nell, who had just brought Charlie home from preschool and was staying for a cup of tea and regarding her curiously all the while.

“Something wrong?”

“No. I just … dropped the kettle this morning. I’m trying to be more careful now.” Daisy set it on the burner and turned the gas on.

“Cal giving you trouble?” It was always the first thing Nell thought of because her own ex-husband, Scott, was a continual source of irritation.

“Cal never gives me trouble,” Daisy said. She glanced out the sliding door to the garden where Charlie and Nell’s son Geoff were playing with trucks.

Nell grimaced. “Lucky you. Scott’s driving me crazy.”

Daisy wasn’t glad to hear that Scott was creating difficulties in her friend’s life, but talking about it did avert Nell’s further interest in Daisy’s edginess. She gave Daisy an earful about her ex while they drank their tea and ate biscotti. Daisy made soothing sounds, but Nell was still grumbling when she decided it was time to go. She called Geoff in and they headed out the front door.

Relieved that her life was nowhere near as complicated as her friend’s, Daisy was feeling much more sanguine when the phone rang as the door shut behind Nell and her son.

“Daisy Connolly,” she said brightly into the phone.

“Daisy.” The voice was warm, slightly gruff and instantly recognizable. The intimate tone of it made the hairs on the back of Daisy’s neck stand straight up. Why hadn’t she checked the ID this time?

“Yes. This is Daisy,” she said crisply. “Who is this?”

“You know who it is.” There was a smile in his voice as he called her bluff.

“Alex,” she said flatly because playing the fool any longer wasn’t going to help matters a bit.

“See. I knew you’d figure it out.” He was grinning now. She could hear that, too.

“What do you want?”

“Are you married?”

“What?”

“I remembered you weren’t Daisy Connolly back then. Wasn’t your last name Harris? Morris?”

“Harris.”

There was a brief silence. “So you did marry.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes,” she said firmly.

“And now?”

“What do you mean, and now?” Why did he have to ask? What business was it of his?

“Are you still … married?”

What kind of question was that? Damn it. She wanted to lie. But she’d never been a good liar, and though her acquaintance with Alex hadn’t been long, it had been intense. She was sure he would be able to tell if she did.

“I’m divorced.” She bit the words out.

“Ah.”

Which meant what? Never mind. She didn’t want to know. “Alex,” she said with all the patience she could muster. “I’m working.”

“This is work.”

“No. I told you, I’m not matchmaking for you.”

“I got that. You don’t want what I want.” He parroted her sentiments back to her. “This is photography. Or are you going to turn me down for that, too?”

She opened her mouth, wanting desperately to do exactly that. But she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d rattled her. “What sort of photography?” she said. “I do family stuff.”

“And weddings. And bar mitzvahs. And some professional head shots. Some editorial. Recreation. Ice skating,” he added. “Frisbee in the park. Baseball games.” He ticked off half a dozen scenarios that were all shoots she had actually done.

“How do you know that?”

“You have a website,” he reminded her. “The internet is a wonderful thing.”

Daisy, grinding her teeth, wasn’t so sure. Her fingers tapped an irritated staccato on the countertop. Outside Charlie was making vrooming noises as he pushed his cars around the patio. Any minute he’d slide open the door and want a snack. To prevent it, she latched the sliding door and got some crackers out of the cupboard and cheese from the refrigerator, preempting his demand. “What did you have in mind?” she asked.

“I need photos. An architectural journal is doing a piece on me and some of the work I’ve done. They’ve got photos of my projects from all over the world. Now they want some of me on one of the sites.” He paused. “They said they could send a photographer—”

“Then let them.”

“But I’d rather have you.”

She wanted to say, Why? But she didn’t want to hear his answer. Besides, asking would open a whole new can of worms.

“Not my line,” she said briskly as she slapped cheese between the crackers and made little sandwiches for Charlie.

“You do editorial. I’ve seen magazine articles.”

“Yes. But I don’t traipse all over the world. I work in the city.”

“The building is in Brooklyn.” He gave her a second to digest that, then added, “I seem to remember you cross the river.”

They had crossed the river together coming back from the wedding on Long Island. Daisy felt the walls closing in.

“Yes, I cross the river. If I have time. I’m busy.”

“Any time in the next two weeks,” he said smoothly. “And don’t tell me that every minute of your life is booked.”

Daisy heard the challenge in his voice. It was just another way of saying, I don’t believe you’re really over me at all. You still want me. And now that you’re divorced you might not believe in that ridiculous “love at first sight” notion anymore. You might be glad for a roll in bed.

And, if it weren’t for Charlie, heaven help her, she might.

“Are you still there? Daisy?” he prompted when she didn’t reply.

She drew a breath. “I might have something next week. Let me check.” It was the only way she could think of to prove to him—and to herself—that she wasn’t a weak-willed fool.

She put the cracker sandwiches on a paper plate, flipped up the latch and slid open the door. Charlie looked up and, at the sight of the plate, grinned and jumped to his feet.

Daisy put a finger to her lips to shush him before he could speak, grateful that she’d taught him almost since he could talk not to blurt things out where people on the phone could hear him. That way, she’d explained, he wouldn’t have to have a babysitter as often if she could take calls as if she were in her office when, in fact, she was at home.

Charlie had learned quickly. Now he stuffed a cracker sandwich into his mouth, then carried the plate back to his trucks. For a moment, Daisy just watched him and felt her heart squeeze with love. Then quietly she slid the door shut and went to look at her appointment book.

“Where in Brooklyn? What sort of photos?” she asked as she flipped through the pages of her day planner.

“Park Slope.” Alex gave her the address. “It’s a pre-war building.”

“I thought you were an architect. Don’t you design new buildings?”

“Not this one. I built this one from the inside out. The outside is pretty much intact, except for the windows. I fixed the windows. The place was in really awful shape and the guy who owned it wanted it removed. He wanted me to put up a new building there. But when I got into it, I couldn’t see tearing it down. Structurally it was sound. And it had some really strong period architectural features. It fit the block, the surroundings. So I made him a deal. I bought it from him and he bought land a couple of miles away. Then I built him what he wanted there, and I kept this one for myself.”

The eagerness and the satisfaction in his voice reminded her of when he’d talked about his hopes for his career. He’d already done some big projects for the company he’d worked for then. But those had been projects he’d been assigned, ones that had been the vision of someone else. Now it sounded like he had taken the reins and was making his own choices, his own decisions.

“Are you your own boss now?” she asked, unable not to.

“For the last five years.” He hesitated, then went on so smoothly she might have imagined the brief pause. “There was never going to be the perfect time to leave, so I just … jumped in.”

“You like it?”

“Couldn’t be happier,” he said. “What about you? You’ve obviously left the guy you were working for.”

“Finn? Yes. And I like what I’m doing, too.”

“You can tell me all about it—if you can see a way to work me into your schedule?”

He made it sound very straightforward. A job. No more. No less. Maybe this really was all business.

Daisy could almost—but not quite—forget the way he’d kissed her. Deliberately she shoved the thought away. “What sort of thing does the writer have in mind?” she asked. “What do they want to feature?”

“Me,” Alex said ruefully. “Up-and-coming architect, blah, blah, blah. I designed a hospital wing—first one I’ve done—and it’s up for some award.”

“That’s great.” And not surprising, really. She imagined that Alex would be good at whatever he did. “Where? Nearby?”

“Upstate a ways. Same side of the river, though,” he added drily. “They used staff photos for that. They want ones of me and of the place in Brooklyn because it’s a new departure for me. So you’d be shooting it now—plenty of awful ‘then’ photos already available. And then they want some of me ‘in my environment.’” His tone twisted the words wryly. “With a pencil protector in my pocket.” She could hear his grin. “Playing with blueprints. I don’t know. You will.”

If she did it. And maybe she should. Maybe it was exactly what she needed to do—learn about the man, demythologize him, turn him into some digital files and eight-by-ten-inch glossies.

“I can spare a bit of time next Thursday afternoon. Say, around three?”

“Great. I’ll pick you up.”

“I’ll meet you. Just give me the address again.” It was business. Just business.

He gave her the address. She wrote it down.

Then he said, “See you Thursday. Bye.”

And he was gone. Just like that.

She had second thoughts. And third. And thirty-third. By the time Saturday rolled around, it was all she could think about.

“So call him and tell him you can’t,” Cal said when he came by to pick up Charlie Saturday morning. Charlie had already given her a smacking kiss goodbye and bolted out the door eager to tell his grandfather about the fire engine they were going to make.

But Cal hadn’t followed him. He was eying her curiously as Daisy told him about Alex’s call and his offer of the photography job. She also admitted to her qualms.

“It’s just … distracting!” She stuck her hands in her hair and tugged.

“Why do it then? Call him up and tell him no.”

“He’ll want to know why.”

“You’re not obliged to tell him.”

“If I don’t, he’ll get suspicious.”

“About what? Is he going to think you’re hiding his son from him?”

“No, of course not. He’ll think—” Daisy hesitated “—that I’m still in love with him. That I don’t trust myself around him.”

“Possible,” Cal agreed. “Or maybe you don’t trust him.”

Maybe she didn’t trust either of them. The attraction was still there on a physical level. She hadn’t told Cal about Alex’s kiss. Or her reaction to it. There were some things better left unsaid. Now she just shrugged. “It’ll be all right,” she murmured.

Cal gave her a long hard look. She tried to remain indifferent under his gaze, but Cal was a photographer, too. He saw things that other people couldn’t see.

“Is it just hormones?” he said at last. “Or something more?”

Daisy flushed, giving him yet another telltale sign. “I’m curious about what he’s done with the building. About the sort of work he’s doing.”

“Uh-huh.” Cal wasn’t having any of it.

“Really. I wouldn’t jeopardize Charlie’s future. You know that.” She looked at him steadily.

“Keep it in mind,” Cal warned.

“No fear. I’m not an airy-fairy fool anymore.”

Cal looked as if he doubted that. But at last he shrugged. “If you say so.”

“In fact,” Daisy added, “I think this may be a good thing. I can learn more about his real life, so I’ll be able to tell Charlie about it someday.”

“Oh, there’s a plus,” Cal muttered.

“It’ll be fine.” She put a hand on his sleeve. “Really, Cal. Don’t worry.”

Cal let out a slow breath. “I’m trying not to.” He started toward the door and then turned back. “Charlie hasn’t seen him? He hasn’t seen Charlie?”

“No!” She smiled her best reassuring smile.

“Someday …”

“Someday they’ll meet. Someday when Charlie is older. Grown-up. Settled. And if he has questions in the meantime, I’ll answer them. But I’m not setting him up to be hurt! You know that. We’ve discussed it.” When a man felt about having kids the way Alex did, deliberately introducing him into Charlie’s life wasn’t a risk she wanted to take.

Besides, he had a perfectly fine father in Cal. And one father was enough—for the moment at least.

“C’mon, Dad!” Charlie poked his head out of the window of the car.

“Go on, Dad,” Daisy urged him. “And don’t you worry. I’m doing enough for both of us. And it’s silly, really. I will be fine. I’ll shoot his photos, admire his handsome face and come home. End of story. Trust me. I can take care of myself.”

The building Alex had restored wasn’t far from Prospect Park. Daisy found it easily. It sat on the corner of a residential street filled with brownstones and trees and a business cross street that was wider, had fewer trees to block the view, and gave her plenty of scope.

She’d arrived early to scope out the neighborhood, wanted to get herself in work-mode before she ever laid eyes on him. The day was cool and crisp, the trees in their full autumn glory as she walked down the block, studying the building side on.

At a few minutes before three the sun was low enough that the shadows picked out some of the ornate carved relief on the facing of the top floor, sharpening the detail, showing the building to best advantage. Daisy took out her camera before she was halfway down the block, framed and shot. She took a dozen or more, then crossed the main thoroughfare to study the angles.

The building was tall and narrow, a four story redbrick like others in the neighborhood, but, unlike the rest of them, it seemed somehow to draw in the light.

She studied it more closely, trying to understand what she was seeing. The ground floor housed an electronics store which seemed an odd tenant for an old building. But somehow it fit the space easily and looked as if it belonged. Studying it, she began to realize why. The windows were taller than those in other buildings on the block and she remembered Alex saying he had changed the windows. But they still fit the period; they belonged. But he’d made the proportions just that little bit more generous.

Now they fit twenty-first century people. It made all the difference.

The second floor echoed the look with a series of gothic-arched windows and cream-colored facings that contrasted with the dark red brick. Stenciled just above waist height across the central largest window in black sans serif was Antonides Architectural Design. Simple, spare, elegant.

She could see possibilities forming as she moved quickly along the sidewalk. She would shoot Alex standing in that window, looking out, master of his kingdom. And another at his drafting table. She could envision him in her mind’s eye bending over a drawing, black hair drifting across his forehead as he studied his work intently.

There would doubtless be plenty of other possibilities inside; an open staircase perhaps or a period elevator or maybe a skylight and, she grinned delightedly—enough light to make it happen.

Suddenly enthused and feeling like a real competent professional photographer for the first time since Alex had asked her to do it, Daisy turned—and came up hard against a solid male chest.