Читать книгу The Second Time Around - Marie Ferrarella, Marie Ferrarella - Страница 14

There was nothing going on, Laurel silently insisted the next moment. Just more of her hormones going berserk. The man was merely looking at her, nothing more.

“Sounds promising,” she heard herself saying. “Just what did you have in mind?”

The prospective buyer’s eyes swept over her, seemingly taking measure of her from head to foot. “Something nice.”

Okay, maybe she wasn’t imagining it. The man was obviously kibitzing. Out to kill a few hours for whatever reason. And she wasn’t all that sure she liked what he was thinking—even though a small part of her was flattered and the truth of it was, she was desperate for a compliment.

Just a sign of things to come, the little voice in her head taunted.

Laurel could remember the tail end of each of her three pregnancies, when she felt as if she was doomed to be eternally round and distended. Eternally fat. She could remember being desperate for someone to look at her eyes when they spoke to her instead of her stomach. Even more desperate for a kind word about her appearance that didn’t include the phrase “You’re positively glowing” in it. Every pregnant woman knew that wasn’t glow—that was sweat from being forced to carry around so much extra weight.

“I’m afraid that you’re going to have to be a little more specific, Mr.—” Laurel stopped abruptly, realizing she’d neglected something. Three weeks pregnant and she was getting forgetful already. “I’m sorry, you never told me your name.”

“Manning,” he told her. “Robert Manning.” He said it using the same cadence that James Bond employed whenever he introduced himself to someone.

Her eyes narrowed as the name nudged something in the back of her brain. Just as his voice had. What was it she was trying to remember?

Rather than drive herself crazy, she tucked the thought away and put her hand out. “I’m Laurel Mitchell.”

Strong tanned fingers enveloped hers. And held her hand a beat longer than was comfortable. He was staring into her eyes as if he was searching for something. Or someone.

Laurel felt her breath shortening even as it lodged itself in her throat.

“Laurel,” he repeated slowly. There was warmth in his voice. Warmth that seemed to be spreading out all around her. “I used to know a Laurel. Laurel Taylor.”

Who was he? “I used to be Laurel Taylor,” she heard herself saying, the words dripping from her lips in slow motion as she frantically searched through her sluggish memory banks.

He nodded, pleased. “I thought so.” And then his smile grew as if he’d just told himself an amusing private joke. “You don’t remember me.” It wasn’t a question.

She should have. God knows, she should have, since there was no earthly way she could have possibly forgotten someone who looked like this man. But there was no clear recollection of him in her memory.

Someone else in her position might have attempted to bluff her way through this, but that would only be buying embarrassment further down the line.

Laurel shook her head. “No, I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I don’t.”

He looked pleased that she hadn’t pretended otherwise. “I was Bobby back then. Bobby Manning,” he said in case she’d forgotten his last name. “And about a foot shorter than I am now.” He laughed, recalling. “With the body of a beanpole. Glasses, a haircut that would have made Prince Valiant proud, courtesy of my mother. I was the class geek,” he added, making it sound like an afterthought rather than the painful experience it had once been.

It came back to her.

Laurel’s mouth dropped open. The man before her was much too good-looking to have ever been Bobby-not-the-man Manning as the boys in her high school class had always taunted whenever he was around.

Robert laughed then, the sound of which brought to mind a cup of rich, dark hot coffee on a cold winter morning. “I see you remember.”

She felt a slight blush creeping up her neck and cheeks, although for the life of her, she couldn’t have said why. She’d never been among the ones who’d taunted him. She’d even taken a few to task for being cruel, not that it had gotten her anywhere or made them stop. There was no reason for her to be embarrassed. And yet, the feeling that she was a glowing shade of bright pink wouldn’t abate.

Laurel forced a smile to her lips. “I would have never recognized you.”

“That was the whole idea.” He looked like a picture of confidence. What an incredible difference, she thought. “Money lets you do those kinds of things.”

Was he talking about plastic surgery? Not that she’d ever thought there was anything wrong with that. If you could fix something, fix it. Now that she thought about it, his nose seemed smaller than she remembered. But the rest of him looked to have benefited from nature and hard work.

She replayed his words in her head and realized she’d glossed right over the most startling part. “Money?” The Bobby Manning she’d known had worn hand-me-downs. That was part of the reason he’d been the butt of so many cruel jokes.

He nodded. When he spoke, it was matter-of-factly rather than bragging. It reminded her that he’d always been modest. Brilliant, but modest. She was glad he’d done well for himself, especially after what he’d gone through as a kid.

“I created a few dot-com companies that didn’t go under once the craze was over. I sold a couple, kept one. Things have been good for me.” Crossing his arms before him, he leaned a hip against the counter. His focus was completely on her. “And for you, too, I see. You’re just as beautiful now as you were in high school.”

She could feel the pink hue getting darker. With effort, she shrugged off his compliment, wishing with all her heart Jason could say something like that to her.

“I have a few miles under the hood.”

He laughed softly, shaking his head as if to deny what she’d just said. “Must be way under the hood, because it doesn’t show.”

Laurel continued to feel warmer, so much so that she was surprised she wasn’t perspiring. Was she feeling like this because of her new condition, or because the faulty thermostat Callaghan kept promising to have fixed “any day now” was still acting up?

She refused to believe it was because the frog-turned-prince was gazing at her with bedroom eyes.

Laurel cleared her throat and took a step back, creating a little more space between them.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Jeannie watching her, watching them, as intently as she watched her bevy of soap operas on her days off.

Business, Laurel thought. She needed to get back to business.

She turned her back on Robert and referred to the wide bulletin board. It represented their best listings, but it was only a fraction of what they had to offer. “You said something about wanting to buy a house. How many bedrooms were you thinking of?”

When he didn’t answer immediately, she turned back to him. The smile on his lips seemed to say that he was only thinking of one bedroom. The master bedroom.

What’s the matter with you? Are you pregnant with a demon child? You never used to think like this.

Maybe she was having her own midlife crisis, she thought. God, what a time to have one, while she was pregnant.

“There’s just me now,” Robert finally replied. “So two, three. Nothing very overwhelming.”

He’d said “now,” which meant the condition had been different before. He’d been married. Recently? “Divorced?” she guessed.

Robert pressed his lips together just for a moment before answering, as if the word was still difficult for him to say. “Widowed.”

She felt terrible about stirring up the pain she saw in his eyes. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

Robert nodded, accepting her condolences. He took in a breath, using it as a buffer between himself and the past. “It’s been a little over a year now. I’m trying to move on.”

She nodded, thinking she must seem like a dummy to him. “Best thing to do.” It was a lame thing to say, but nothing else came to mind.

“New house, new location.” He looked at her for a moment before adding, “New challenges.”

She was imagining that, right? That bit of eye contact, the zip that shot through her? The man was a grieving widower. He wasn’t hitting on her. “Starting up a new dot-com company?”

“It’s on the books,” he admitted. “Something I’ve been noodling around with. In the meantime, like I said, I still have one left and it has been giving me and mine—my parents—” he clarified, “a good yield.”

He mentioned his parents, but no one else. “No children?”

“No, why?”

She moved toward the nearest computer and pulled up a file that had a number of nearby listings. “Well, if there were children, I’d show you some good locations near the schools. But if that’s not a factor, I can show you properties that are situated away from the schools. It would be quieter for you.”

“I like quiet,” he told her. “Although not too much quiet,” he qualified. “Too much usually lulls me to sleep.”

Laurel crossed to her desk and picked up the leather-bound notebook Jason had given her when she’d sold her first house. She tried not to notice the smirk on Jeannie’s face.

Opening the notebook, she began to make notes as she crossed back to Robert. “Price range?”

He shrugged. “Whatever.”

Well, that was certainly cavalier, she thought. “Excuse me?”

“Money is not a consideration here,” he told her. “Like I said, I’ve been very lucky. I can afford to buy whatever pleases me.”

It sounded like a proposition.

Or maybe she just wanted it to. Laurel banked down her runaway thoughts and told herself to act like a Realtor.

“We have houses that start anywhere from six-hundred thousand dollars to ten times that,” she informed him. “Care to narrow down the neighborhood just a little?”

“Why don’t we start somewhere in the middle and work our way up?” he suggested.

“Sounds like a plan,” she answered glibly, wishing her imagination would stop getting carried away with every word Robert Manning uttered. He was looking for a house and she, apparently, was looking for affirmation. Affirmation that should be coming from Jason, Laurel reminded herself, not from a man who had triumphed over his shortcomings and made good.