piece of evidence into its proper compartment. She hadn’t found anything solid on him yet, and until she did she was going to have to live with this nagging sense of uncertainty.
She scowled. Uncertainty made her uncomfortable, and discomfort kept her edgy. She’d felt like that only once before, before it had become obvious that Dennis Belding had used her for his own financial gain. But that was ridiculous. Why should she feel that way now? The two situations had nothing in common. She had loved Dennis, and Cruz… Cruz was only a job. It was just difficult to spend so much time working as closely as she did with him and not feel some sort of regret that he, like so many crooks before him, might have decided to take the easy way out.
They arrived at his apartment in silence. As he pulled in to a parking place Cruz sent Madeline a concerned glance. Since the brief exchange they’d had upon leaving his folks’ house, she’d fallen into a reflective silence. Maybe he’d made a mistake kidnapping her today. From the little she’d told him about her family, his own must have been a shocking contrast.
“Care to come up?” he invited, his hand hesitating on the door handle.
She surprised him with her answer. “Sure.” She might as well take this opportunity to see his apartment. It was the only way she was going to be able to tell how far out of his price range it appeared to be.
She cast a wary glance around as they entered the front door of the building, hoping that his landlady would not be in sight. Otherwise she would be required to do some very fast talking to explain her previous presence at the building. Fortunately for her, they saw no one else, either in the hallways or the elevator.
After Cruz unlocked his apartment and ushered her inside, Madeline stopped in shock. Far from the opulent surroundings that she’d half expected, half feared, the huge space was very bare. She walked inside and turned around slowly, looking at the place.
Cruz shut the door in back of them and leaned against it. For some reason he couldn’t put a name to, he was waiting in anticipation of Madeline’s reaction to his home. He watched through hooded eyes as she trailed her hand over the wide woodwork with its recent coats of varnish. His gaze followed her to the huge set of windows that looked out at the street. He’d done nothing about curtains yet. He was less concerned about privacy than with preserving the view afforded him at night, when the lights veiled the city like a glittering blanket.
His gaze brooding, he asked himself silently why her approval of his home meant so much to him.
Chapter 11
Madeline turned to face him, and he caught his breath. The early-evening sunlight framed her where she stood in front of the windows. It haloed her hair, turning it into a waterfall of cascading fire. He didn’t speak; he couldn’t. She made the most breathtaking picture he could imagine, and his throat was full.
“Looks like you’re in the middle of quite a project,” she stated. Scaffolding was pushed against one wall. In a corner were piles of tarps and paint cans. The air smelled faintly of paint and varnish. Even her untutored eye could tell that the walls had fresh Sheetrock, and the woodwork had been stripped and stained. The floor was bare and dull, as if it had been sanded.
At his continued silence, she said, “You must have quite a crew working for you.”
He finally moved, and when he answered, his voice was a pitch lower than normal. “A crew of one most of the time.” When she frowned uncomprehendingly, he tapped himself on the chest. “Me.”
“You?” she repeated in surprise. Why didn’t he have trained craftsmen come in and take care of all this construction for him? She suspected he could afford it. Few people would have the patience or the inclination to take on a project of this magnitude by themselves.
Talking about what he’d done so far to the place was usually one of Cruz’s favorite topics. But right now it was the last thing on his mind. He was still reeling from the curious sense of rightness he got at seeing Madeline in his home for the first time. He had the oddest sense of deja vu, as if he’d seen her standing in front of those same windows many times before. Which perhaps he had. He’d pictured her several times in his home.
In his bed.
He mentally shook himself. That was not the avenue he wanted his thoughts to travel right now, so he forced himself to focus on the topic at hand. “Of course, I had more help in the beginning. After I’d gutted the place, a crew did come in and frame it up for me. Naturally I had plumbers and electricians. I wanted to live in it right away, so they went ahead and did the remodeling necessary for the kitchen and the loft.”
Madeline’s eyes traveled in the direction he indicated. A spiral staircase rose from the room and rose upward to what, she knew without being told, was his bedroom. A shiver raced down her spine at the thought of walking up those stairs. She pulled her gaze away and trained them back on him.
“C’mon.” He pushed himself away from the wall. “I’ll give you a guided tour.” It would be a way to keep his mind busy, which persisted in other, more erotic meanderings. He ushered her down a hallway and opened each of the doors. “These will be two bedrooms and a bath. I haven’t done anything back here except put up the Sheetrock.” Madeline walked into the rooms curiously. The woodwork lay neatly in a pile along one wall in each room, waiting to be stripped and stained before it would be reapplied. “I won’t finish those rooms until last,” he said as they walked toward the kitchen.
“This is going to be quite a place. Pretty big for one person.”
He propped himself against the counter and watched her soberly. “I don’t intend to live in it by myself.”
Her breath stopped in her throat. Of course. Why hadn’t she considered that? A man who looked like Cruz was bound to know throngs of women, most of whom would give their eyeteeth to live with him. She couldn’t prevent a reaction to his words, and he easily read her amazement.
“I mean, not forever. I’d like to have a family someday. This is a decent neighborhood. It would be a safe place to raise kids.”
Her eyebrows arched. “Do you have a mother for these children picked out, or do you plan to adopt?” She hid her real interest in his answer by prowling around his large, well-equipped kitchen.
“I plan to have kids the old-fashioned way. But, no, I don’t have anyone in mind for the task.”
She didn’t put a name to the wash of relief that swept through her at his words. It didn’t matter a whit to her if he planned to marry tomorrow. Cruz Martinez was only of interest to her while she gathered evidence to turn over to Brewer. And once she was finished, it was possible that the man might not be starting a family for a very long time.
But something besides his words told her how much he wanted that family. Everything about this home he was making spoke of a person determined to fill it up. The kitchen was large, with a huge center island curving through it. Stools sat neatly beside it, as if waiting for the children he spoke of.
“Over here-” his voice interrupted her explorations “-will be a small office. I’ll start on that after I finish the great room.” She followed him to the area he indicated, then they wandered back into the living room.
“What are your…” Her voice came out husky, and she cleared her throat. “What else are you planning to do with it?”
“I’m almost finished in here. I’ve stripped and sanded the floor, and I’ve the calluses on my knees to prove it.”
She recalled then a conversation they’d had in which he’d invited her to guess what he’d been doing on his knees all weekend. Even if she’d allowed him to bait her into joining in his game, she never would have guessed that he’d been stripping floors. She cast him a reproving look, and could see from the irrepressible grin on his face that he was remembering the same moment.
“I’m sure all minutes that you’re on your knees are well spent.”
His smile disappeared. “You can bet on that.”
A long moment fraught with unspoken tension stretched between them. Cruz broke the silence first. “After I stain and varnish, I’ll have to buy some rugs. I don’t want to carpet over these hardwood floors. Part of this room will be a dining area, but most will be a living area. I like lots of space.”
That was obvious. But how had he afforded all this space? That was the question still plaguing Madeline. “Why are you doing so much of the work yourself? You could… I mean, couldn’t you have someone fix it up for you? It wouldn’t take so long then.”
He shrugged. “I’m in no hurry. And there’s a feeling of satisfaction I get from doing the work myself.” When she
