Just One Night Part 15

14.

ONE NIGHT WASN'T SUPPOSED to change your life, Rob thought, annoyed. Or who you were.

It was ridiculous.

s.e.xual frustration, that's all he was feeling, and the weird notion that he'd been somehow rejected before he'd even got started.

If Hailey wanted to deprive them both of a satisfying few weeks of great s.e.x while he was in town, that was her business.

One thing he knew was that he wasn't planning to be around when she had her showing today. Nope. He didn't want to experience the impact of those blue-gray eyes and remember how they'd softened to molten silver when she grew aroused or see her decked out in one of her fancy suits and know exactly what she looked like-felt like-without a st.i.tch on.

He wasn't interested in torturing himself.

He was going to be long gone before the single dude showed up to look at his house. He didn't want to meet the guy and he didn't want to see Hailey. Not when she was treating him as though they'd never been any closer to each other than shaking hands.

He had enough problems, like a physiotherapist now added to the retinue of annoying women in his life, and then there was the box on top of his desk containing his grandmother's ashes. He had to figure out what to do with them. What she'd have wanted. Why could the woman not have left instruction in her will? Why leave it to him?

Women. He couldn't believe they could be almost as aggravating dead as were alive.

Still, it gave him an odd sense of peace to work on his project with that box in the corner. He hadn't gone so far as to talk to his dead gran though he'd stopped himself just in time not an hour ago. He needed to find her a better resting place.

The day was mild and the park across the street seemed like a great place to read the newspaper and have his camera handy for all the little dramas that might unfold. A little before eleven o'clock, Hailey drew up and got out of her car, one of the feature sheets she'd created for Bellamy House in her hand, along with the briefcase she carried around with her. Even from here he was struck by her beauty. A ray of sunlight caught her hair, lighting it gold. She was wearing a skirt and a suit jacket and heels that showed off the slim line of her legs.

He was overcome by the rus.h.i.+ng sensation of recalling the feel of those legs gripping him as she rode him. He grew instantly hard at the memory and was thankful to have the Seattle Times as a s.h.i.+eld. He vowed then and there that he and his hot Realtor were going to have a rematch. No way was that a one-night thing.

A second car drew up behind hers, a navy luxury sedan with rental plates. He watched a tall clean-cut guy wearing jeans and a sports jacket emerge from the vehicle. Hailey went toward him with her hand outstretched.

Watching him grasp Hailey's hand for way too long brought out a gut-deep urge in Rob to plow his fist into the guy's face.

Except he had no right. Scowling, he lifted the telephoto and focused in for a closer look.

Since the weather was nice, Hailey spent a few minutes pointing out the exterior features, no doubt giving a little of the house's history and describing the neighborhood.

The client nodded, asking a few questions.

Slick. That was the word that went through Rob's mind as he took him in. Salesman type. Clean-shaven, expensive haircut, slight tan in a face that had once probably been termed boyishly handsome. He looked to be maybe forty. Rob didn't wear expensive clothes, thought it was a pretentious waste of money, but he'd learned to a.s.sess a man's clothing. Where it was from, how much it had cost. It was part of his job.

He might not be able to name the designer, but he knew that jacket was made by one. British at a guess, worn over a black T-s.h.i.+rt. The loafers were Italian and so s.h.i.+ny you wondered if the guy walked anywhere. The jeans were from the good old U.S.A. The kind fools spent three hundred bucks for. The guy barely looked at the feature sheet in his manicured hand. All his attention was on Hailey. Rob didn't like it. Not one bit.

He'd seen enough. He started to pack up his camera, still keeping the couple across the street in view. A moving truck lumbered by, obscuring them momentarily from view. Traffic was light. A few cars drove by. A school bus, and no doubt Hailey took that opportunity to mention the excellent schools in the area. Even though the man didn't have kids.

A cop car came down the street. Mr. Slick turned quickly away so he had his back to the street when the cruiser drove by.

A million people would have seen that gesture and thought nothing of it. Those people hadn't been where Rob had been, hadn't seen the things he'd seen. As though covering his abrupt reaction to seeing a police car, Mr. Slick then pointed to the foundation of the house. Hailey walked closer to him and seemed to be answering questions. Rob swiftly raised the camera once more.

All he needed was... Yes, Mr. Slick turned to glance up the street and down again. Looking for more cop cars?

Luckily, the man didn't pay any attention to what was going on in the park. Rob shot off a few photos, with no clear idea why.

Then the Realtor and her client entered Bellamy House.

Now what?

Limp into the house and confront the guy? Threaten a complete stranger with his grandmother's cane?

Even though he felt an urge to do something stupid and dramatic, common sense told him that the man wasn't here to harm Hailey. For some reason he was interested in real estate in the area.

Still, Rob wasn't taking any chances. Whatever was up with her newest client, Hailey was not going to be alone with him any longer than Rob could help.

He packed his bag swiftly and crossed the street.

The same instinct that brought him here had him stas.h.i.+ng his camera bag in the garage before entering the house. He could hear voices upstairs and the idea of that tanned weasel in a bedroom with Hailey had Rob's hands tightening on the handle of the cane. He didn't want it as a weapon, though he'd use the cane if he had to, he wanted it more as a prop. A kind of disguise. By leaning heavily on the thing and exaggerating his limp, he would appear feeble and unthreatening.

He made his way to the bottom of the stairs. "Hi, I'm back," he yelled.

The voices ceased. Then Hailey appeared at the top of the stairs. "Rob. What are you doing home?" her voice was friendly but he heard the steel beneath. She'd told him to make himself scarce and he was anything but.

"I have a physiotherapy appointment and my leg hurts too much to drive. I was wondering if you'd drop me off when you're finished here?"

"I-uh," she fumbled.

"If it's not out of your way?" Now he had a perfectly valid reason to stay in the house until Mr. Slick was gone.

"Okay. Just make yourself scarce until we're done."

He wasn't at all surprised to find the prospective buyer appear behind her. He'd want to check out another male in the house, especially one who was friendly enough with Hailey that she'd give him a ride.

"Hi," Rob called up the stairs, raising a friendly hand while the other white-knuckled the cane. "I'm the owner if you have any questions. n.o.body knows the house like I do."

"Thanks. It's a beautiful home." The accent was East Coast. Upper-crust or faking it.

"Sure is. Too big for one person, which is why I'm selling it."

"Yes. My sister is a single mother. She and her two kids live with me. Works out for now. Of course, when I get married and start a family," he said with a glance at Hailey, "there's plenty of room here to make a suite downstairs for my sister. So we'd both have our privacy." His att.i.tude was friendly, but his eyes were cold and Rob had the impression he was being scrutinized thoroughly. He knew the feeling since he was doing some serious scrutinizing of his own.

HAILEY WAS FURIOUS and she let Rob know it as they drove the short distance to his physio appointment. "I am not a limousine service."

"You could have said no."

"And let my client think I was heartless? No, thank you."

"Sorry." But he didn't sound very sorry. "What's his story?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Why?"

Rob looked at her in a way that was a little too innocent. "I'm selling a house, he wants to buy one. I wonder if he's a serious candidate. That's all."

"He's some kind of consultant in the oil business. He's spent time in the Middle East, Mexico, Texas, Alberta, all over. He wants to settle in Fremont because his extended family lives in the area."

"He have a name?"

She hesitated, but she supposed it wasn't a national secret. And her client had appeared very seriously interested in the house. "Dennis Thurgood."

Rob tapped his knee for half a block. "He seemed more interested in you than in the house," he said at last. She didn't bother telling him that she'd been at the office when the new client came in. Next thing she knew she had a new client. The front-office receptionist had giggled when she'd told Hailey that the gentleman had first asked if Hailey were a Realtor, then asked for her name, then asked if he could be her client.

The path was a little unorthodox to be sure but he was a client who was only in town for a few days with the express purpose of buying a property. He had money, knew he wanted a large home in an established neighborhood and didn't drive her crazy with nit-picky criticism. She'd felt his interest in her as a woman and was flattered by it. But she was a businesswoman first, and he was an ideal client.

Unlike the one currently at her side.

She turned to glare at him. "I think he's a serious possibility." She raised her finger, schoolmarm fas.h.i.+on. "Do not sabotage this deal."

"I'm not going t-"

"You've scuttled every serious possibility."

"Have not."

"What about the MacDonalds?"

"What about them?" He looked sulky and wouldn't meet her gaze.

"You told them your grandmother died in the four-poster that's the centerpiece of the master bedroom."

"They weren't the right people for the home."

"And the Fergusons?"

"Whoever heard of a little kid being terrified of racc.o.o.ns?"

"And then as soon as you find that out you inform the kid that racc.o.o.ns love to nest in the trees. And you had one that used to climb up to your bedroom window and you'd feed it."

"It was true."

"She made her mother take her back to the car and wouldn't come back into the house."

"I don't want anybody buying this house and not being happy here."

"It seems like everyone who's been interested hasn't been right for Bellamy House."

He scowled. "I want the right people, that's all."

She glanced over at him. He looked as though he weren't sleeping well. He barely glanced at her. She supposed it wasn't hard to figure out why.

They never should have slept together.

She'd never, ever fired a client, and with a listing as juicy as this one, she'd have a hard time doing it now, but the truth was, Rob was making her job difficult.

She sighed. "You know how you threatened to fire me?"

"I was never going to fire you." Their gazes connected and she felt a dangerous tenderness for him well up inside her.

"I think I might have to quit."

"Look," he said, "I'm having a bad day. Sorry. I shouldn't have asked you to drive me. I-I don't know how to do this. With you."

She sighed. "No. I'm sorry. Normally I'd offer to drive you to your physio. I really don't mind. It's just- I'm just-" She turned to him. Their gazes connected and everything she hadn't been able to say was right there. Between them.

She pulled up in front of the physiotherapy clinic. He didn't make a move to get out of the car.

She looked at him. He seemed to feel as lost as she did. It was all she could do not to reach over, cup his face in her hands and tell him she'd be here when he got out of his appointment. That she'd take him home to her apartment or take herself back to his place. Already her foolish heart was trying to attach to a man who didn't want commitment.

The silence stretched and then they both spoke at the same time.

"You know, I have this problem..." she began.

"I don't know what to do with my grandmother's ashes."

"I beg your pardon?" she asked.

"What?" he echoed.

It was so ridiculous she had to laugh. "You go first."

"I said, 'I don't know what to do with my grandmother's ashes.'"

She glanced at him. "Where are they now?"

"On my desk. In the house. I can't leave them there permanently obviously. I don't know where to put them."

She'd had the same problem when her father had died. Where did you put the ashes of a man who'd never belonged anywhere? In the end, she'd thrown them in the ocean at the junction of several currents in the Salish Sea. She thought that's what would have made him happiest, spreading himself all over the world.

Agnes Neeson, however, was a different person altogether.

"You know, I never knew your grandmother. Was there a place she really loved?"

He wrinkled his brow. "I can't think of any place special. That's the trouble. She was usually at the house or pottering in the backyard. That garden was a real showplace in its day.

"We used to go on holidays when I was a kid but that was for my benefit. She did most of her traveling vicariously through me."

"Rob, I think we both know where your grandmother would want her ashes to be buried. In the garden of Bellamy House."

He didn't argue. Hailey was right. It was so obvious. "She used to tell me how she and my grandfather had planned the garden, and she knew every tree. Every flower. They planted the mountain ash in the backyard because they wanted the berries to attract birds."