The Soon-To-Be-Disinherited Wife

This particular crisis was wearing a silver-blue T-shirt that gloved her breasts like a faithful lover, a white skirt that looked thin as a handkerchief and a glisten of careless sapphires in the bangle on her wrist.

Oh, yeah. And she had eyes softer than violets.

For two days he’d almost-almost-forgotten that.

Five

Garrett knew he’d see Emma again-that was a guarantee in Eastwick-but he’d counted on some warning. Some time to prepare. Some space to remember that he was a mature, successful adult instead of a teenager wired on hormones and lust.

Well, he did have a couple of seconds, because he spotted her before she spotted him.

She was at the top of the outside back stairs. He’d started using that back entrance because it was private and he didn’t have to go through his landlady’s house. But whyever and whatever Emma was doing there initially eluded him. When he climbed halfway up the stairs, he saw that she’d apparently been piling boxes and sacks against his back door. And then she turned.

“Well, if you aren’t a sight for sore eyes after a mighty long day. But what is all this?” He motioned to the boxes.

She’d heard him. He knew she’d heard him. But for that instant when their eyes met, she went totally still, as if her heart had stopped beating. And damned if his didn’t stop, too.

Her face looked sun-kissed, her mouth bare, her eyes so vulnerable. The T-shirt made her breasts look soft and round and touchable. The pale summer skirt looked as if it’d strip off fast. Evocatively fast. Seductively fast. One look, and all he could think about was claiming her.

“I…” Quickly her expression changed. She smiled, found her poise again. “It’s been bugging me, about your being stuck camping out in this bald apartment. I always have spare things sitting around the gallery. And it’s June right now, so I’m getting ready for a particularly big show in July, which means I’m even more crowded. So I just figured you might be able to use a few things to make the place more comfortable.”

She lifted some items so he could see the nature of the stuff she’d brought over. A pair of Walter Farndon prints of sailboats-as if she could have known he was nuts for sailboats. A stone sculpture in lapis. A bright woven mola. A couple giant-size blue bath towels. A woven basket with some basic kitchenware-a few white plates, white bowls, silverware, mugs with bulls and elephants on them.

Some of the items were undoubtedly from her gallery. But not all.

He looked at her.

Emma rarely showed nerves, yet she suddenly tugged on an earring. “You don’t have to take a thing. If something’s not to your taste, don’t sweat it in any way…”

He kept looking at her.

“But I’m just two doors down, so it was kind of silly not to offer you the use of some things that might perk up the place, make you feel more comfortable away from home…”

He kept looking at her.

And finally the puff seemed to go out of her sails. She sank down on the top step, which left just enough room for him to hunker down next to her. The air was humid enough to wear. Even though the rain had finally stopped, leaves and branches hung heavy with moisture, dripping, catching the late-afternoon sunlight. A pair of rowdy peony bushes clustered under the fence, untended and out of control, yet the scent of the flowers wafted up, so delicate they’d catch your breath.

Or else, she was the one catching his breath.

“This was really nice of you,” he said quietly. “But you didn’t take time out of a workday just to make this apartment more livable.”

She hesitated, then lifted her hands in a humorous gesture of defeat. “Darn it, I can fib to most people without getting caught. How come you’re so hard to fool? But you’re right. I admit it. I needed to do this.”

“You needed to do exactly what? Bring this stuff?” He motioned. “Which really is appreciated by the way. I’ve been camping out with no problem. But damn, it is pretty bald in there.”

She nodded. “Honestly, I thought a few additions would help. But that was just my excuse for coming over. The truth is that I needed to see you.”

“Needed.” He repeated the word, unsure why she’d chosen it or what it meant.

She pulled up her knees, tugged her skirt down, tucked a strand of hair behind her ears. And suddenly she no longer looked like the coolly elegant, poised gallery owner, but the predebutante girl he’d once been so head over heels for.

“It’s been on my mind. The way I ran off the other day,” she admitted. “Darn it, I haven’t done anything that cowardly since I can remember.”

He wasn’t going to haul off and kiss her. Maybe he couldn’t stop thinking about it, but that didn’t mean he was going to do it. “That’s funny. I didn’t see anything that looked like cowardice. What I saw was a woman who seemed pretty shook up. But then, so was I. Lady, can you ever kiss.”

Her cheeks suddenly bloomed with color brighter than all those peonies. “Well, that was exactly the problem. Not how I kissed. But how you kissed, buster.”

“Yeah, I like your version of the story better. It’s just too tough on my male ego to admit that a woman knocked my socks off, especially with nothing more than a few kisses. Much easier to swallow that my expertise and sex appeal threw you. Although, I have to say, I’ve never scared a woman into galloping out of sight at the speed of sound before.”

A sound escaped her throat. A tickle of a chuckle. “Quit it. You’re making me feel better. And I know perfectly well I behaved like a goose.”

“You know what? I’m almost positive we can both survive an awkward moment.”

“I know we can. We’re not kids anymore. It’s just…it would have been awkward.” She lifted a hand in a universally female gesture. “So I wanted it out in the open. A chance to say I’m sorry that happened, it won’t happen again. So you wouldn’t have to worry about running into me again, either.”

“Okay. Got that off both our chests,” he said.

“Right.”

“Neither of us is worried about it anymore,” he said.

“Right.”

And cats danced, he thought. His pulse was pounding like a lonesome stallion near the prettiest filly. He wasn’t a nice man. He knew that. Being nice had never been on his most-wanted-attributes list, but all the same, he was usually a more decent guy than this. The problem was sitting so close to her. Seeing the late sunlight catch in the little swoop of hair that brushed her forehead. Seeing her arms wrapped around her knees like a girl’s. Seeing those sensual violet-blue eyes trying so hard-too hard-not to look at him.

“Tell me about this guy you’re engaged to,” he said.

“Reed? Reed Kelly-you know, Rosedale Farms.”

“Yeah, of course. He was ahead of me by a year in school. But I just didn’t know him well. Seemed like a good guy.”

“He is. Couldn’t be better. He’s got a big, wonderful, gregarious family. He’s terrific with kids, with horses. He’s kind. Patient…”

“How’d you get together?”

She chuckled, but it wasn’t a humorous sound. Suddenly she was pulling at her earlobe again. “My parents have been on my case to marry for years. Produce grandchildren. You know how that goes-”

“Yeah, I do.”

“And I was so sick of being the extra woman at dinner parties and gatherings. Felt like meat being paraded in front of butchers for them to choose the prime cut. Eastwick can be wonderful, but it’s not easy to be single in this town. And Reed was getting it from the other end-he was the extra man every time a hostess needed one. Hated it