“No. That just won’t work.” The old man’s rough voice crept a notch higher. “I want my son, Morgan, to do the job. Good boy, my Morgan.”
Was good boy Morgan even a plumber? “Send Morgan over, then. Today.”
The bell over the door chimed, signaling the arrival of a customer.
Julia hurried to end the conversation. “Are we agreed?”
“Sure, sure.”
The connection severed, she replaced the phone in its cradle. She strode to the front of the store, where a tall, pleasant-looking man dressed in a suit and tie stood, a bewildered, what-do-I-do-next expression on his face.
“Is there anything I can help you with?” Julia asked, drawing his attention.
His lips lifted in a relieved smile. “Yes. Yes, there is. This is going to sound strange, but I’m searching for a glass donkey. My mother collects them, and her birthday is tomorrow.”
A last-minute shopper, then. “Any color preference? Or era?”
Surprise flashed in his big brown eyes. He shook his head. “No. I’ll take whatever you have in stock. I’ve been to six different antique dealers. You’re my last hope.”
“I have two here,” she said, her pride evident. “Does your mother prefer blown glass or etched?”
“Blown, I think.” He ran his tongue over his teeth. “Why don’t I buy both, though, just to be safe?”
“Excellent choice.” In the center of the store, Julia climbed a gray step stool and rooted around a shelf for the desired items. A few seconds later, the tinkling of the doorbell sounded again. She glanced over her shoulder and smiled warmly when she saw who had arrived. “Good morning, Mrs. Danberry.”
“Morning, dear.” Mrs. Danberry, a regular customer of Julia’s Treasures, gave her quintessential “old woman” curls a pat. The springy silver bob immediately bounced back into place. “I came to see if you have anything new.”
“Yesterday I acquired a corncob pipe that I know you’ll love. I’ll have it ready for viewing in a few days.”
“Oh, wonderful. I’m still going to have a look around, though. I might’ve missed something the last time I came in.”
“Of course.” Still grinning, Julia returned her attention to the shelf. When she found what she needed, she lifted the donkeys from their perches and eased to the floor. “Here you go,” she told the man, bequeathing both items to him. “Are these what you had in mind?”
He palmed them both, one in each hand. After studying them, he blew out a satisfied breath. “Yes, they are. They’re perfect, actually.”
“The first is a seventeenth-century model made from—”
“No need to explain,” he interjected. “I’m already sold on them. You just saved me a lecture about a son’s responsibility to his family.”
A chuckle tickled her throat. “Glad I could be of assistance.”
He tilted his chin and gave her a lingering once-over, then cleared his throat. That was a first. But, um, what did it mean? “You know, you have very pretty eyes.”
His words, though innocent, caused her tongue to thicken, a familiar sensation whenever she spoke with the male species about, well, anything remotely flirtatious. She quickly lost her good humor. “Uh, I—uh—thanks. My mother gave them to me.” After that, speech became impossible. She tried anyway, managing another “uh” and two grunts.
“Are you all right?” he asked, concerned.
Her cheeks warmed. She nodded, though what she really wanted to do was slink away and hide. The admiration slowly faded from his expression, leaving her maudlin.
He gave her a strange perusal, paid for his donkeys and left without another word.
“You really should work on your technique, dear,” Mrs. Danberry said, strolling to the cash register. “He might have asked you on a date.”
What would I have said?
Julia squeezed her eyes shut and let her head sink into her upraised hands. Was it too much to ask for God to strike her down with a bolt of lightning?
* * *
THAT NIGHT, Julia lay underneath a downy comforter, tossing and turning. When she actually slept, she dreamed of Mr. Half-Naked all over again. Naughty dreams, more wicked than before. He stripped and kissed her. Their naked, sweaty bodies tangled together in passion, and she’d lost count of how many times she’d screamed or moaned “Yes!” “Please!” and “More!”
Why did her dream lover refuse to leave her mind? And why was she still lying in bed, allowing him to slide those phantom hands over her nipples, down her stomach, and slip inside her panties? Circling and grazing before sinking deeply into her. After two more shouts of “Yes!” Julia lumbered to her feet. She swept aside the gauzy, cream-colored canopy that enclosed her bed, the rest of her bedroom coming into view. A small room with old-world charm, filled with her favorite antiques.
She needed something to do, something that was totally and completely unpleasurable. Like… Her taxes! Yes, that was it. Taxes.
She marched into her office, grabbed her account books and carried them to the kitchen table, where there was more room to work. She plopped into the nearest chair, an eighteenth-century brocade bench she’d acquired at an estate sale several years ago. But only five minutes later, she growled and shoved the books aside. She was tired, cranky—and okay, a little aroused—and the numbers blurred together. She needed something else to do.
Since her newest acquisitions were still strewn across the table, she reached out to lift the pipe. At the last minute, she switched her aim and picked up the jewelry box. Her heart thudded against her ribs. She’d never discovered what actually lay inside it, had she?
When she tried to press the latch, her finger shook. Contact was never made. Brow puckered, she tried to press the latch again. Once more, the uncontrollable shaking stopped her. What was the problem? It wasn’t like Mr. Half-Naked and his sword would reappear, right? Right.
You’re thinking about him again, her mind tsked.
“For goodness’ sake,” she muttered, finally jabbing the button. “This is ridiculous.”
Lights flickered throughout the house,
