Читать книгу Cutting Loose - Susan Andersen - Страница 12

Holy crap, the Kavanagh family sounds huge . I can’t wrap my mind around what it must be like to grow up with a mess of brothers and sisters. Bet it was nice, though.

“D AMN ,” D EV MUTTERED as he opened the kitchen door to the Wolcott mansion two evenings later and stepped inside to punch the code into the alarm system. “I see mistake written all over this in big red letters.” Not for the first time he noted the system’s advanced age, but shrugged it aside. Its obsolescence was the Estrogen Posse’s problem. Right now, he had one of his own.

“Oh, quit your bitching,” his problem, in the form of his sister Hannah, ordered. Entering the kitchen hard on his heels, she snapped the back of his head with her fingers.

“Ow! Shit.”

“If you’d bothered to stay around for longer than a week at a pop during any of your less-than-frequent visits, you’d know I check out every work site at least once during the project.”

Rubbing the spot she’d smacked, he glared at her. “You’re just as full of crap as ever, I see. Try to get your facts straight. I come home a minimum of once a year, which is a lot more often than you come to see me. And except for last year when I had to get back to crew a boat to Morocco I always stick around for longer than a week.” Before heading back home happy to have seen his family, but feeling vaguely disconnected from them, as well.

“Haven’t spent a helluva lot of that time at the work sites, though, have you?” Then she ignored him to look around the kitchen. “Man, I’ve lost count of the number of times this mansion was discussed around the dinner table. It’s kind of like suddenly coming face-to-face with Elvis.”

“Except this legend actually has the potential to be brought back to life.”

She inspected the worn early-twentieth-century black-and-white harlequin tiles on the floor and the seventies-era avocado appliances. “It’s definitely going to need work to revive it, though.” She headed for the doorway leading into the rest of the house.

“Hey, wait a minute.” He charged after her, only to discover her disappearing into the dining room across the hall. She was already thumbing notes into her BlackBerry as he entered the room behind her.

“Whoever put that scalloping around the windows ought to be shot,” she said. “This place has beautiful old bones and they’ve dressed it up in tacky froufrous.”

“The entire house is full of crap like that,” he agreed.

“May I help you?” inquired a voice behind them, in a tone that suggested they better have a damn good reason for being here.

Swallowing a curse, Dev slowly turned, already knowing who he’d see.

Sure enough, Jane stood in the doorway, clad in a pair of black leggings beneath a short, high-necked, black-and-brown tunic. That in turn was layered beneath a skinny black sweater with its sleeves shoved up and its tails looped into a loose knot beneath her round little A cups.

Dark, concealing clothing seemed to be her signature-except on her feet again. This time she wore a pair of yellow velvet slippers sporting extravagant puffs of marabou. They were incongruously cheerful-the frown furrowing her slender brows looked more at home than they did.

“Oh. It’s you,” she said without enthusiasm when she recognized him. “I heard voices and…”

Cutting herself off, she shook her head. “Never mind.” She glanced at Hannah, who hadn’t stepped foot outside the door a day in her life since she turned thirteen without her makeup and clothing set on stun, then looked back at him again. Her frown, which had started to lessen, settled firmly back in place. “For heaven’s sake. Are you bringing your girlfriends here now?”

“Hell, yeah.” Pissed that she always jumped to the worst possible conclusion when it came to him, he crossed the space separating them and didn’t stop until they stood toe-to-toe. Without her usual high heels she wasn’t nearly as tall as he’d believed her to be.

The observation had squat to do with the topic at hand, however, and he shoved it aside. “Han here is hot for old houses, so I’m just giving her a quick tour of the first floor to warm her up before we go upstairs to pull the shades down and rip off a piece. You got a problem with that, Legs?”

“In my house, on my dollar?” Eyes glowing bluer than natural-gas-fed flames, she held her ground, not the least bit intimidated by his proximity. “Yes. I guess you could say I have a problem. And that’s aside from your date’s poor taste in men.”

Hannah laughed. “She’s got you there, boyo.” Stepping forward, she thrust her hand out at Jane, forcing him to back up. “I’m Hannah. Dev’s sister.”

“Meet Jane Kaplinski, Han,” he said sardonically. “Resident conclusion jumper.”

“Oh.” Hot color flowed beneath Jane’s fine-grained skin. “Oh, crap. My apologies.”

He noticed her request for forgiveness was directed solely at Hannah, whom Jane checked out thoroughly as they shook hands.

“You don’t look anything alike,” she said. As if that was a defensible excuse.

“I know,” Hannah said cheerfully, tossing back her dark wavy hair. “Finn and Bren and Maureen and I take after Da’s side of the family. David and Dev take after Mom’s, except David got light brown hair. Kate’s a blend. She has Dev’s coloring but looks more like…well, no one, really. Da says the postman, but he’s just pulling our legs.”

“We think,” he added.

Jane, as usual, missed the humor entirely. She stared at Hannah unblinkingly. “You have six siblings?”

“She can count,” he marveled.

Hannah jabbed her elbow into his ribs. “Yep. What can I say? We’re both Irish and Catholic. That’s pretty well synonymous with big family.”

“I’m an only child,” Jane replied. “And my two best friends are, as well, so I can’t even imagine growing up with that many brothers and sisters. Wow.” She glanced back and forth between the two of them. “That must have been…”

When she hesitated as if at a loss for words, Hannah supplied, “Kinda loud, kinda crazy.”

“Completely lacking in privacy,” he contributed. “Not to mention intrusive as hell.” He hadn’t dropped out of the UDub and set sail for Europe at the tender age of nineteen for nothing.

“Oh, no.” Jane shook her head. “I was going to say nice. It must have been really comforting-you know?-to have all that built-in support.”

He snorted. “Boy, you are an only child if you believe that.” He for one had been tired of all the noise and drama of big-family life, where everyone and his brother knew his business. He’d just wanted to go somewhere where he would be judged strictly on his own merits and not compared for once in his life to his brothers or to his family as a whole.

“Shut up, Dev.” Hannah narrowed her eyes at him. “You might wanna note you’re the only one who ran away from home. The rest of us actually do find family support comforting.”

“Ran away, Han? You might want to dial down the melodrama a notch.” He hadn’t run; he’d judiciously removed himself from a situation that had a bad habit of making him feel constantly at odds with his family.

Hannah made a derisive you-are-so-full-of-it-I’m-amazed-your-eyes-aren’t-brown noise in her throat.

Refusing to get into this with her again, he shrugged and leveled his attention on Jane. Hell, she’d brought the subject up in the first place and was probably just jerking their chain with that whole must be nice bullshit-no doubt just to piss him off.

Except…

She appeared totally sincere. In fact she looked all sort of soft and wistful-eyed, as if they lived some sort of perfect existence. And he didn’t like it one damn bit.

The funny tug it caused deep down in his gut bugged the hell out of him.

“What are you looking at?” she demanded.

Her irritated tone chopped the funny feeling in two and, with a mental Thank you, sweetheart, he shot her his best Son of Satan grin. “You, short stuff. I was just thinking you look like a little girl with her nose pressed up against the candy-store window.”

“I look nothing of the sort!” She took an incensed step toward him, her chin shooting up into what he was starting to consider her default mode. As usual, the sudden movement caused a hank of shiny hair to slide free of her bun and slither down her throat.

And another of those odd feelings hit him, this time making his palms itch.

His innate common sense blown to hell, he took a Mother-May-I-worthy giant step closer, bringing them once more mere inches from each other. Whipping a hand out, he liberated the two combs still holding together the remainder of her crooked topknot.

“Hey!” She made a grab for them as her hair tumbled free. “Give those back!”

Dev tossed the combs into the largest of a group of leather bowls sitting on a nearby sideboard, then grasped her forearm to prevent her from going after them when she started to muscle her way past him. Why, he couldn’t say, considering he already regretted the impulse that had caused him to muss her up. The dark waterfall of hair slinking over one eye and draping her shoulders gave her an entirely different look.

One he had a feeling he’d be better off not seeing.

“Why the hell do you even bother putting your hair up?” he demanded. “It’s not like it ever stays there-every damn time I’ve seen it, it’s been half-down.”

“What are you, a closet hairdresser?” She tugged against his light grasp. “Let go of me.”

His fingers tightened. “Make m-”

“O-kay,” Hannah said. “I think it’s time you and I took off, Dev. Jane, it was nice meeting you. Love your yellow slippers, by the way. They’re très sexy.”

Jane blinked as if she’d forgotten Hannah was even there, then glanced down at her feet. “Oh, no, they’re just-” Chopping off her protest, she cleared her throat. “That is, thank you. They’re more comfortable than my heels for all the backing and forthing I do here.”

“Not to mention gorgeous. Well, listen, I hope to see you again. I’d also like to come back another time to inspect the property. I try to do that with every Kavanagh job in order to get an idea of the scope of the work for scheduling, and also to add the female perspective. Most of my brothers,” she said, shooting him a look, “seem to appreciate that. Next time, however, I’ll make an appointment for a time when I won’t be inconveniencing you.”

Which is exactly what I tried to tell you to do in the first place. Dev turned Jane loose, wondering what the hell had just happened. Jesus. He didn’t go around grabbing women. And had he really said make me? He rubbed his palm down the outer seam of his jeans, trying to erase the sensation of her soft skin imprinted on it. “Maybe during one of the mornings,” he muttered. “She’s not around then.”

Jane didn’t so much as glance in his direction. “ You’re welcome anytime,” she told his sister. “Just don’t bring him with you.”

“Listen, lady-” He took a hot step forward, self-recrimination suddenly nothing but a mushroom cloud on the horizon. Don’t bring him, his ass. He worked here.

Hannah wrapped both hands around his left biceps and tugged him toward the door. “See you around, Jane.”

A damp gust of wind slapped him in the face as his sister hauled him through the kitchen door into the blustery evening. He pulled free of her grasp, looking at her warily. “I’m good. I’m not going to pop her or anything.”

“You hitting her never even entered my mind.” Stabbing the remote keyless entry button to unlock her car, Hannah stalked around its hood. “Man, I have seen some crazy excuses for foreplay in my life, but you two take the cake.”

He froze in the midst of reaching for the passenger door handle to stare at her across the roof. “What?”

“Oh, that’s good. You oughtta be an actor.” She shook her head at him. “Please. I almost called 911. If there’d been any more heat pumping off the two of you the house would have burned to the ground.”

A short, sharp laugh escaped him. “And you’re supposed to be the smart one in the family.”

“No, that would be Kate.”

Ignoring her reply, he yanked the door open and climbed in, then glared at his sister across the console when she followed suit. “Don’t confuse heat with irritation, sis. Jane Kaplinski is a cranky little crow who hasn’t hesitated to think the worst of me from the instant we first clapped eyes on each other.” Well, not from the very first instant, he admitted to himself, recalling the look in her eyes when their gazes had originally connected.

Now that had been heat.

“Yeah, I heard you got clumsy drunk.” She started the engine and pulled out of the driveway.

“Of course you did. No such thing as a secret in the Clan Kavanagh.”

“Never has been, never will be,” she agreed cheerfully.

He had given up defending his actions years ago, yet he found himself twisting in his seat now to face his sister. He’d always been closest to her and Finn, both in age and interests. “I was seriously jet-lagged that night, Han. Then Da poured me a couple of strong ones at my homecoming, and the drinks I had on top of them at the bar with Bren and David and Finn hit me harder than usual.”

“That seems to be the general consensus, all right.”

He laughed without humor. “And you wonder why I’ve spent my adult life on the other side of the world. Don’t you ever get tired of everyone in the family knowing every move you make, practically every thought you think?”

“No.” Braking at the stop sign to Queen Anne Avenue, she reached over to pinch his cheek. “Ach, but then I’m a tough little hazelnut. Our Devlin, now, he’s a sensitive boyo.”

He couldn’t help it, he grinned. “You ever let Aunt Eileen catch you imitating her?”

“Do I strike you as the suicidal type?” She looked both ways before turning left down the steep hill. Then she shot him a glance that was wiped free of humor. “This is a huge opportunity for us, Dev. Don’t screw it up.”

“There’s nothing between me and Kaplinski to screw it up with!”

She shot him a disbelieving look.

“There isn’t,” he insisted. “But even if there were, I wouldn’t do anything to mess up your business opportunity, okay?”

“It’s your business too, you know.”

No, it wasn’t. The minute Bren’s cancer went into remission and he was strong enough to return to work Dev had every intention of heading back to the Continent. He’d made a life for himself there crewing sailboats and picking up construction work in his downtime-which was increasingly rare these days.

“Anyhow,” she added when he didn’t comment aloud, “I guess deep down I already know you’d never jeopardize our livelihood.”

He pulled a face. “Sure you do.”

“No, really. I may no longer know you the way I used to, but the Dev I got into trouble with back in the day would never deliberately do anything to mess up his family-no matter how crazy they drive him.”

They crossed Denny Way a while later, leaving the Queen Anne district behind and entering Belltown. She let him out on Second and he crossed the street to the Noodle Ranch, where he ordered Spicy Basil stir-fry to go and a beer to stay. Taking his drink to a nearby table, he sipped from the bottle and thumbed through a copy of The Stranger while he waited for his order. The personals in the alternative weekly newspaper were always good for killing some time.

His mind, however, was apparently more interested in wandering back to what Hannah had said about him and Jane than reading about nerdy punk girls searching for passionate dominates. She saw their constant clashing as foreplay? That was just plain nuts, right? Maybe his sister had taken to snorting illegal substances in his absence.

Yeah, right. He took a deep pull on his beer. That being such a likely possibility and all.

Still. It was no more absurd than her theory.

“One order of Spicy Basil to go,” the counterman called out.

He rose to his feet with alacrity, more than happy to shitcan the entire line of thinking. He reached the counter just as a woman wearing a black coat, leggings and high-heeled boots did, and they both reached for the to-go bag at the same time. His hand slid across hers. And he felt…

Warm skin.

Smelled…

Scented hair.

Aw, shit. The scent might not have implanted itself already in his mind, but he knew that skin.

Jane looked over her shoulder at him, and if he hadn’t felt so blindsided himself he might have smiled at the perfectly round O her lips formed when she saw who was wrestling her for the Spicy Basil. Then she narrowed her eyes, giving him her Psycho Bitch From Hell look.

“Oh, for God’s sake.” She slowly pivoted to face him head-on and her hair, which she still wore down, gleamed beneath the restaurant’s lights as it spilled over her coat collar. “Are you following me now?” She tugged on the take-out bag beneath their hands.

“Don’t flatter yourself, babe.” He didn’t relinquish his hold on her or the sack. “I was here first, and those are my noodles you’ve got your greedy little fingers all over.”

“You wish. I live in this area-it makes sense for me to be here.”

“Yeah? Well, so do I. So I guess you must be following me.”

His thumb stroked her hand. Damn, she was touchable.

He grimaced. Where the hell did this shit keep coming from? She was bad-tempered and judgmental and except for unexpectedly hot taste in shoes she didn’t know jack about dressing to entice. So there was no way in hell she should be getting him all steamed under the collar.

Yet he couldn’t keep pretending that she wasn’t doing exactly that. Lie to the Feds, lie to your sister if you had to, but don’t lie to yourself. Truth was truth, and the big reality here was he would do silky-skinned Ms. Kaplinski in a heartbeat. She wasn’t even close to his usual type and he didn’t understand the attraction, but there it was.

Hell, maybe it was nothing more than the fact he was a guy. Men were a species who saw an opportunity for sex everyplace they looked. So shoot ’em.

She shivered and her hand clenched beneath his. “They aren’t your noodles, but take-”

“Uh, actually, ma’am,” the counter clerk interjected, “they are his. Yours will be up in a minute.”

“Oh.” Embarrassment scudded across her blue eyes, but she promptly hid it behind a bland expression as she let go of the bag. “Then I apologize.” Hot color scorching her cheeks, she said in a voice so low, he had to bend his head closer to hear, “I seem to keep putting myself in positions that make it necessary to say that.” Shaking her head, she about-faced on a three-inch heel and strode away.

Okay, he thought as he dug out his wallet. The big problem here wasn’t that he was attracted to her despite the fact she had no discernible sense of humor and apparently didn’t believe in dressing to display the goods. It was that he had just finished making his sister a promise not to screw up the sweet deal Kavanagh had made with Jane and her friends. Hannah would shoot him, and he had a feeling his Guy Chromosome defense wouldn’t carry much weight with her.

Not to mention his word was gold. That was probably the first lesson his father had ever taught him, and it had stuck like gorilla glue. A man’s only as good as his word, Dev. It was practically the Kavanagh credo.

He paid for his noodles, hesitated a second, then walked over to where Jane had buried her nose in a copy of the Seattle Weekly . “Can we talk a minute?” he asked and seated himself at her table when she ignored him.

She rattled the paper, the go away subtext clear.

He sat without speaking and waited.

Heaving a big sigh, she lowered the weekly. Pink still tinged her cheekbones as she met his gaze. Then she sighed again, only this time it was little more than a soft exhalation.

“Okay, here goes,” she said. “I truly am sorry. For a lot of things. I’ve been throwing around wild accusations like confetti and making way too many half-assed comments. I know you’ll find this hard to believe, but I’m not usually like this. And I’m going to stop it. Starting now.”

Oh, low blow. If he didn’t get to see her naked he’d really prefer to hang on to the illusion that she was an unlikeable bitch. But since he’d come over here in the first place to show her he could be professional, he squared his shoulders.

“I’ve heard stuff coming out of my mouth that’s not familiar to me, either. Things my mother would’ve had me by the ear to wash my mouth out with soap if she’d heard. So here’s the deal. I propose a truce.”

She studied him for a moment, then nodded. “I’m for that. We’ve got to work together-are going to be working together for the next several months. And being angry all the time is exhausting.” She thrust her hand across the table at him.

Reluctantly, he met it halfway, knowing damn well that touching her would only fuel his awareness. She kept their handshake mercifully brief, however, and he discovered that she had a good, strong grip.

Discovered, too, that instead of swamping him with the undercurrent of sexuality that seemed to run like a 220 volt between them, this actually felt more like what it was intended to be: the sealing of a pact. He sat back in his chair. “So you like Spicy Basil stir-fry, too, huh? I was going to take mine home, but you want to eat here? We can get to know each other a little better.”

She appeared a little less than certain, but said, “I guess.”

What the hell. Maybe this wouldn’t turn out so awkward after all.