Blame It On Paris

His mouth framed a hello, but no sound emerged.

It was the yellow that locked up his vocal cords.

He'd never seen her in yellow before. And this wasn't yellow-yellow, more like a pale butter color, and he wasn't dead sure if it was a dress or underwear. The indefinably dangerous garment had tiny shoulder straps. After that it was simply silky fabric that fell from a bodice to above her knees.

He would have bet-even in Vegas-that she wasn't wearing a bra.

Or underpants.

He opened his mouth to greet her again, and again lost his voice. This time, though, his gaze narrowed on her face.

Smoky eyes met his. Of course, Kel had always had smoky eyes, but tonight the lashes looked long and sultry, the brows arched with a delicate curve. Her lips had this…this red on them. Not siren-red. Just…sex-red. Her hair was scooped up in a messy little heap on top of her head. And the expression on her face was pure…tease.

'I got a little dressed up,' she murmured.

'I can see that.'

'You said this was a payback dinner. That you owed me. So I figured I'd make you pay back big.'

'I'm already paying,' he assured her drily, making her laugh.

'Not that kind of paying, you nut. I meant…a seriously good dinner. Like lobster or something.'

'Trust me,' he said in the same dry voice, 'you can have whatever you want for dinner. Lobster. Me. Steak. Ribs. Me-'

She rolled her eyes. 'You are so easy…and speaking of sex objects, you look edible yourself.'

He'd tried. His sisters were responsible for anything decent in his closet, since the girls had told him from birth that he had no taste and they did. So the dark blue shirt and black summer slacks were supposed to be the right thing.

As long as Kel liked them, that was all that mattered. 'You're going to get a fancy dinner, I swear. But the place we're going is a surprise.'

'What kind of surprise?' she asked suspiciously.

'The kind of surprise you can't guess.'

As expected, she looked completely bewildered when he turned into a neighborhood near the Notre Dame campus, and even more confused when he pulled into the driveway of an unfamiliar house.

'We're eating with friends of yours?' she asked.

'Nope.' The street was shaded by fat, old maples. Most of the homes were brick with landscaped yards, the tip of ND's golden dome visible in the distance. 'An economics professor used to live here,' he said as he opened the car door and motioned her toward the front.

'And now who lives here?' she asked.

He grinned. It wasn't a big house, just one of those English Tudor bungalows-redbrick with a high-peaked roof and dormer and a pretty oak door. When he unlocked the front door, she stepped inside.

The foyer was a semicircle of cherry paneling. The paneling was unique, but the wood floors definitely needed a refinish. A thin set of stairs led to a single giant bedroom and bath upstairs, not that Kelly could see those from here.

The immediate view showed a small living room with a bay window and white stone fireplace. Beyond was a dining room, looking over a shaded backyard, and beyond that was the kitchen. The kitchen had old appliances, but the room had been renovated fairly recently with cobalt-blue counters and white trim.

Kelly glanced around, then back at him. and when he didn't produce immediate answers, she started ambling around. The more Ms. Curious poked and prodded, the more confused she appeared. Apart from a full downstairs bathroom, done in a ghastly shade of pink, the downstairs held two more rooms- one long, narrow family room, and the other a medium-sized den. where she paused in the doorway.

The den had ceiling-to-floor bookcases and a corner fireplace. Dusty, long drapes fell to the floor.

'There's no furniture in this place,' Kelly said bewilderedly.

'I know.'

'Except that I smell food in the oven.'

'Yup, you're right again.'

When she looked back into the den, it had to be pretty obvious where they were eating. On the carpet. He'd been here ahead, of course, set up an old blue blanket, opened the merlot to let it breathe, absconded with major- size pillows from his sister's place and a tray of vanilla candles. Late-afternoon sun was still filtering the west windows for now, though, making candlelight a little premature.

'Okay,' she said. 'Cut out the suspense. You know I can't stand it. You said an economics professor used to live here. But who does now?'

'You do. If you want.'

'Huh?'

There. The look of stunned surprise was worth all the running around he'd done to put this together- and of course, this was just the first part of the evening, and not the end of the surprises. But it was a pretty good zinger for an opener, if he said so himself.

Dinner wasn't too challenging. Wine. Strawberries dipped in cream cheese and brown sugar. Fresh bread, just baked. A crab salad and some sushi and other delicacies he knew she liked, followed by a complete tray of desserts. It wasn't exactly his kind of meal, but when he'd called his favorite restaurant to cater, he was thinking of what worked for her. Chocolate. French pastries. The ease of bread and fruit and all, where they wouldn't need knives and spoons, so much, just an occasional fork.

By the time he had her shoes off-which didn't take long-she was sitting cross-legged on the blanket, the silky yellow dress bunched between her legs for modesty. She was still trying to absorb what he'd told her, but it was uphill getting her to accept this particular gift.

'Maguire's owns the house. Actually, the family owns a fair amount of real estate around the university. Anyway, the economics professor who lived here got a divorce, moved away in the middle of the semester. That left us stranded in more ways than one. You'd be doing me a favor if you lived here.'

'In a pig's eye,' she said. 'A favor is when you need to borrow a cup of sugar. Or a ride to the airport. It's not giving someone a place to live.'

'No. no, this is for me. Not you. See…the guy had the place forever, so some things need updating before it's rentable again. Like…the wood floors need sanding and varnishing. The downstairs bathroom needs somebody to pick out a different color and do something with it. Several appliances need an upgrade. Almost all the rooms need fresh paint.'

'Will, I'm not exactly sure where you're going with this, but I'm way, way smarter than I look. You're not going to sell me roses in the desert.'

'Would you listen?' He put some petulance in his voice as he stacked the dishes on the tray and poured her more wine. Her second glass.

'I am listening, but I'm not a charity case, buster.'

'I keep telling you, this is a favor to me. It's one of my dad's messes. There's more to Maguire's than just the manufacturing facilities. The company has real estate. Houses and office buildings, and other holdings beyond that. And the thing is, to get this place ready to rent-or sell-someone has to oversee the renovations. Make the choices about paint and colors and crap like that. Report if the workmen aren't up to snuff. I can't be ten places at once.'

'Your sisters could do it. Or your mother.'

This was a lot trickier than he thought it was going to be. 'Yes. They could. But their taste is in their creditcards, if you know what I mean. They'll spend more than the house is worth. I need someone to look at the house, update where it needs updating, choose what makes sense for the place. Someone like you. And in the meantime-' he raised his voice, because he could see she was about to make another protest'-you could live in the place. It'd be disruptive, but it'd be all yours. That way, you'd get out of that wreck you're in. It's still close to your job. It's a good neighborhood. And…'

He popped the last strawberry in her mouth just to keep her quiet for a moment longer.