His mother withdrew a small velvet box from her black lizardskin purse. “I’m so glad I brought this. I wasn’t sure if it would be appreciated, but since you don’t already have a ring, perhaps you would consider an heirloom.” She passed the box to Steve. “This belonged to your great-grandmother de Ortega. It’s a very fine stone. You could have it put into a new setting.”
Steve opened the box and studied the ring. “I remember seeing this in your jewelry box. I always thought it was very beautiful. When I was a kid I imagined it had once belonged to Scrooge McDuck.”
“You weren’t far off,” his mother said, laughing. “At one time the Ortegas were outrageously wealthy.”
Steve took Daisy’s hand. Their eyes caught and held. His fingers were warm and firm as they wrapped around hers. His voice was soft with a hint of the devil in it as he asked, “Will you accept this ring as a symbol of our engagement?”
Daisy swallowed loud enough for it to be heard all the way to the kitchen. It was the largest diamond she’d ever seen, set into an exquisite gold filigree setting. She stared awestruck at the ring and ruefully admitted that her psych professors would have a field day interpreting her reasons for placing herself in this predicament.
Steve gave her hand a gentle squeeze, and she realized everyone was waiting for her answer. She nodded yes because she didn’t trust her voice. He slid the ring onto her finger, and her eyes misted over. It was a perfect fit.
She looked up and gave Maria Crow a shaky smile. “It’s lovely. Thank you.”
Later when they were alone in the kitchen assembling the brownies, Steve caught Daisy’s hand and studied the ring. “Ordinarily when a woman becomes engaged it’s with the intention of getting married.”
“Ordinarily.”
“Maybe I should set the date when we go back to the table. Or better yet, maybe we should just go out and get married while my parents are in town.”
Her eyes widened in alarm. “You wouldn’t dare suggest such a thing. That would be so rotten!”
He took a brownie from the fancy glass dish and nibbled on it. “I’d suggest it in a heartbeat. I’m not necessarily averse to being rotten and sneaky if the cause is just.”
“I’m going to keep that in mind.”
He trapped her against a counter and kissed her. “Live in fear. I’m a desperate man.”
“You’d better be careful. I have a bodyguard.”
“You forget, I pay her salary.” He lowered his mouth to hers and his thumb inched across her rib cage until it was firmly pressed into the soft flesh of her breast.
“Is this an example of your sneakiness?” she whispered against his lips.
He feigned indignant ignorance. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You know very well. I’m talking about your thumb.”
“Oh, that.” The thumb lazily drew erotic circles. “Mmmm, I suppose my thumb is a little sneaky.” He kissed her slowly and deeply while his fingers continued to massage. He watched her eyes drop closed, felt her body go pliant in his arms. “Do you remember the kitchen table?” he asked, his words raspy against the shell of her ear.
She gave an involuntary shudder. Yes, she definitely remembered the kitchen table. She would remember it in excruciatingly delicious detail for the rest of her life.
“The kitchen table was just a warm-up. Someday when you’re least expecting it I’m going to make love to you… on the ironing board.”
Her eyes flew open.
“We’ll experiment with fruit and cooking oil and household appliances… the electric shoe buffer, the electric toothbrush, the waffle iron.”
“Oh, my Lord.”
“And that’s only the beginning, baby. I’m going to make love to you in the broom closet. I’m going to ravage you on the washing machine. I’m going to do naughty things to you with my barbecue equipment.”
They were both red-faced and convulsed with laughter when Elsie swung through the kitchen door. “What are you doing in here?” she asked. “We’ve been waiting forever for them brownies.”
Daisy straightened and gasped for breath, trying to sober herself. “Here you go,” she said, handing the plate over to Elsie. “I’m right behind you with the coffee.” She grabbed the pot and shook her head at Steve. “You’re a pervert, and if I catch you buying a waffle iron, I’m calling the police.”
Chapter 10
Steve watched Daisy drag her belongings down the stairs and pile them up in the foyer. “So you’re still determined to move back into your town house.”
“Yup.”
“I was only kidding about the waffle iron.”
“This has nothing to do with the waffle iron. This has to do with breathing space, making intelligent decisions, being self-reliant.”
Tonight’s dinner was proof absolute that she had to get away from Steve. She wasn’t a rational person when she was around him. She had only to look at her ring finger to be reminded of that fact. Steve’s parents had left an hour ago, and the ring was growing heavier and heavier. The confused joy she’d first felt was fast turning to gloomy disbelief. How could she possibly have managed to get herself engaged? She’d been so determined not to let this happen, and now she was dragging a diamond the size of MountMcKinley around on her finger.
“How about breakfast?” Steve asked. “Will you be over for breakfast?”
Kevin’s face brightened. “Yeah, we’ll be here for breakfast.”
“Breakfast would be nice,” Elsie admitted. “I wouldn’t mind stopping in for breakfast.”
“You’re being sneaky again,” Daisy said to Steve.
“You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”
By the end of the week Daisy was forced to admit it didn’t matter which house she lived in-she couldn’t get away from Steve. She’d had to rely on him for transportation since the two stolen cars had never turned up. In addition, he lured her fickle brother and bodyguard to his house with food, rented movies, a new pool table, dartboard, and pinball machine. There were late-night poker games, gourmet picnic lunches in the park, and midnight pizza orgies.
In her weaker moments Daisy had to concede she was thoroughly enjoying herself. During more somber times she referred to her calendar and grimly added up the days when she hadn’t worked on her dissertation or put in hours at the nursing home.
That was okay, she told herself. Everybody deserves a vacation once in a while, and hers was about to end. It was Friday. There hadn’t been any incidents since last Sunday, and the police were talking about ending her round- the-clock protection tomorrow. Tomorrow was also the day her parents were due to arrive home.
By this time tomorrow night she’d be alone in her town house. Her life would be back to normal. She’d buckle down to work, complete her dissertation, and finish up her internship at the nursing home. Then what? She didn’t know. She didn’t want to think about it. When she tried to imagine her life beyond her thesis, her mind went blank. She imagined thirty years of counseling the elderly on problems that were largely unsolvable. In the past two months three patients she’d come to love had died. There would be more in the future. Lots more. She pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes and bowed her head.
Steve came to her side. “Something wrong?”
“Smog,” she said, blinking to clear eyes that were smarting with tears.
He didn’t believe her, but he let it go. He’d learned he couldn’t force her to discuss her problems. After the amusement-park confession she’d closed up tight, keeping all her hurt and confusion locked away inside. Head-in- the-sand syndrome, he thought. Besides, it could very well be smog. The air quality wasn’t all that great. Washington emptied out early on Fridays in the summer. By six o’clock the acrid yellow smog caused by traffic settled in the humid air and was replaced by a more savory cloud rising from hundreds of thousands of suburban barbecues. The mesquite haze hanging over Northern Virginia backyards smelled better, but it caught you in the back of the throat all the same.
Steve stood at his grill, ready to make his Friday-night contribution to air pollution. He struck a match and
