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“You can see,” she said as he entered the kitchen behind her, “why I want this room modernized.”
He glanced around and murmured in agreement. The cupboards were faced with outdated Formica, the appliances were ancient and an unfashionable olive green, the linoleum so old the pattern was worn away in places, and the lighting fixtures pathetically inadequate. Yup, he thought, it would be a pleasure to gut this place out and start from scratch!
He returned his attention to the woman walking to the countertop by the sink, and watched her reach up to a side cupboard for two mugs.
She was in front of the window, and backlit against the brilliant sunshine. All he could see of her was her shape—her slim shoulders, her hand-span waist, her curvy hips.
She had some gorgeous figure!
“How do you like it?” Her voice came to him through a scarlet mist of lust.
“Oh, I like it just fine!” he said.
“I beg your pardon?”
Her frosty tone jarred him out of his carnal fantasies. “Ah, the...er...coffee. Black‘l be just fine. Thank you, ma’am.”
She didn’t invite him to sit, so he leaned back against the countertop, ankles casually crossed.
She stood, like a robot, with her hands cupped around her mug, the steam rising so that her face seemed to shimmer.
OK, he thought, time to get this over with.
He leveled a steady look at her luminous brown eyes, with their luxuriant fringe of wheat-blond lashes.
“Your husband,” he said. “Does he agree with you about tearing down the staircase?”
He saw her fingers tighten around her mug. “I’m a widow, Mr. Spencer. Every decision I make is my own.”
A widow. So the lovely little heiress hadn’t had it quite as easy as he’d thought.
“Sorry to hear it.” And he was. Being a single parent was a tough row to hoe. “Must be lonely for you. How long is it since...”
“Six years.”
The answer came out as reluctantly as if he’d forced it at gunpoint! “And you’ve been living... where? Vancouver?”
“Yes.”
“Did you graduate...from U.B.C.?”
“No. I wanted to stay home when Megan was a baby.”
“You were fortunate to have that choice. And now...well, you still have that choice—to be a lady of leisure...as you pretty much would be, with Megan in school. But Pete tells me you’re planning to run this place as a B and B. Surprised the hell out of me—”
“I’m not a parasite, Brodie.” Anger flared in her eyes. “I want the satisfaction of knowing that I’m earning the money my child and I will be living on. And while we’re on the subject of money, there’s something I’d like to clear up. Your daughter loaned Megan some money yesterday, for hot dogs. I’ve had a talk with Megan about this—she’s been brought up never to lend or borrow. I gave her money this morning to repay the loan—”
“No problem.” He waved her words aside. “Glad Jodi could help.”
“The point I’m making is that I don’t want it to happen again.” A vein pulsed at her temple. “In the future, if Megan doesn’t bring lunch money, she’ll have to go hungry.”
Brodie got the distinct feeling that there was more to this than seemed on the surface. Like a dentist who suspects a tooth may not be as healthy as it looks, he decided to probe.
“Jodi tells me she’s invited Megan to spend this Saturday afternoon with our family. I’m supposed to confirm that she can come.”
“Megan mentioned something of the kind.” A pink flush colored her cheekbones. “I’ve told her we’ll discuss it on Friday. She’s only just started school here. I don’t want her to...rush...anything...” Her voice trailed away, but her chin came up in a stubborn tilt.
There it was, then; a crack in the beautiful white enamel. And... something rotten underneath?
“Ah,” he said. “In case a better offer comes up.”
The flush in her cheeks deepened till her skin was as red as ripe raspberries. “That’s not what I said.”
“No, that’s not what you said.”
God, he could hardly believe it But he might have known. Despite being an adult now, the Westmore brat—the Westmore Widow!—was just as much a snob as she’d been at seventeen. No way was she going to allow her precious daughter to become friends with Brodie Spencer’s kid
No way.
It was Jodi he felt sorry for. She’d seemed very taken with this new girl. She was going to be mighty disappointed—and hurt—when she discovered that Megan Westmore was forbidden to play with her.
Dammit, he detested snobbery!
He slammed his mug down on the table.
“Right!” he said. “We know where we both stand. So let’s not waste any more of each other’s time on it. Let’s get back to business! You want us to rip down that staircase? Fine, we’ll rip it down. The only problem is that the replacement you told my estimator you wanted—white-enameled wrought-iron—is back-ordered and won’t be available till late October. So in the meantime, we’ll do the kitchen. I’ll get a couple of men up here this afternoon and we’ll get the project under way. You realize you’ll be without a kitchen in the meantime?”
“Yes.” The raspberry color had seeped from her face; now it looked pale as cream. “Megan and I will use the kitchenette in what used to be the servants’ quarters. You’ll just have to let me know when you’ll be shutting off the water, electricity, and so on, so I can work around it.”
“You’ll need to choose new cupboards, appliances, floor covering, wall tiles, paint...” His gesture was wide. “Come down to the store sometime, just call first and set up an appointment and I’ll show you around. Give you advice.”
He sensed her hackles rise when he mentioned giving her advice.
“You do that, too?” she asked. “As well as the...donkey work?”
The hands that had itched to reach out and touch her hair a few minutes ago now itched to reach out and wrap themselves around her pretty little throat.
“Yes,” he said in a gritty voice. “As well as doing the donkey work I do, on occasion, dole out advice.” If he stayed, he knew he’d say, or do, something he’d regret, so he excused himself and made for the door.
As he strode angrily out to the foyer, he knew exactly what she was thinking: Hell will freeze over, Brodie Spencer, before I ever seek advice from you!
Dammit! he thought. She was the most infuriating woman he’d ever met...and the most arrogant. But he’d knock that arrogance out of her, one way or another, if it was the very last thing he ever did.
Kendra managed to hold herself together till she heard the front door slam behind him.
Then she sank down on the nearest chair, her mug still clutched in her hands. She realized she was shaking. Taking a long gulp of her coffee, she stared blindly into space and tried to sort out her thoughts.
What was it about this man that disturbed her so deeply? Was it the physicality of him? The earthiness? The sexy aura he emanated? Or was it his mocking tone, the cocky arrogance he revealed in her presence? He never really did or said anything out of place...yet it was always there, under the surface. The... battle...between them.
And somehow he always came out on top.
This thing with the Saturday invitation. She was perfectly within her rights to turn it down, and she had no obligation to give a reason. Why then was she the one left feeling...guilty?
Darn it! She put down her mug, shoved back her chair. She was not going to spend any more time with this man, she was not going to allow him in her house again. She wanted to live in Lakeview, and she wanted it to be a peaceful haven. She knew she could build a good life here, for herself and Megan.
But Brodie Spencer was in the way!
He needled, and he pushed buttons, and he made her downright... uncomfortable.
And she wasn’t going to take it anymore!
She lurched to her feet and crossed to the desk.
She’d thought she’d placed her copy of the Lakeview Construction contract on top, but it wasn’t there! Where on earth had she put it?
It took her several minutes to discover it had fallen to the floor, behind the desk.
She set it on the table and ran a finger down the page till she found what she was looking for. Swinging around, she crossed to the wall phone and punched in the number.
“Lakeview Construction,” came a breathy voice. “Mitzi speaking.”
“Mitzi, this is Kendra Westmore—”
“What’s wrong, Ms. Westmore? Didn’t Brodie turn up?”
“Oh, yes, he turned up all right. The problem is—”
“Problem? You have a problem?”
“It’s not going to work out. He’s not going to work out. I mean...what I mean is, I can’t work with the man. I want someone else to be put in charge of the project.”
“But Brodie’s—”
“No ifs, ands, or buts. I want another—”
She heard a kerfuffle at the other end of the line. Then she heard muffled voices. In the background.
“Hello?” Exasperation made her voice shrill. “Hello? Mitzi? What’s going on?”
“Hi.”
Oh, she knew that voice. Brodie must have gone straight back to the office. Probably to complain about her attitude! Well, great. That worked both ways. He didn’t want her, she didn’t want him, either!
“Let me talk to your boss,” she fairly hissed. “Now!”
He chuckled, and anger spilled through her.
“Brodie, I’m warning you—”
“You want to talk to the boss?”
“Finally you’ve got it!”
“The boss of Lakeview Construction? The owner, manager, chairman, and president?” His words were threaded with laughter.
“Yes!” she exploded.
“You’re talkin’ to him!” All of a sudden she heard a grimness in his tone, a steely note that hadn’t been there before. “Brodie Spencer owns the company, lock, stock, and barrel. He’s the man who makes all the decisions, and he’s the man who’s going to head your project. We have a contract, you and I. A contract that’s iron-clad. You may not like it but you’re stuck with it. You may not like me—and it’s clear that you don’t—but you’re stuck with me, too. So you’d better get used to seeing me around, ma’am, because that’s the way it’s going to be!”
Kendra spent the rest of the morning cleaning out the kitchen and carting everything from there to the kitchenette.
It lay along the corridor from the kitchen, just beyond the mudroom and the swing door that separated the main part of the house from the servants’ quarters.
The servants’ quarters hadn’t been used any time in Kendra’s memory. Her grandmother had apparently been ‘delicate,’ and had required live-in help; but after his wife’s death Edward Westmore had let the housekeeper go, along with the several housemaids. From then on, he’d depended on a local woman who came in daily to cook and clean. Molly Flynn was surly and unpleasant. Kendra had disliked her intensely, so when the woman phoned Rosemount the day after Edward Westmore’s funeral to say she wouldn’t be coming in anymore, Kendra had breathed a sigh of relief that she was spared the task of firing her.
Now this morning, as she busied herself emptying the kitchen so the workmen could get started, she was alone. Alone in body, but not in mind, because as she worked, Brodie Spencer kept intruding on her thoughts, no matter how she tried to keep him at bay.
And always the image was vivid: blue-green eyes glinting with mockery; sensual lips curled tauntingly; magnificent male body exuding arrogant challenge and blatant sexual charisma from every muscle, bone, and pore.
Oh, how she hated the man!
Shoving open the swing door with her hip, she marched into the kitchenette with the very last load, and thumped the tray of dishes down on the scrubbed pine table with such force that the delicate china plates trembled.
There, that was it Finito.
Now Lakeview Construction could get on with the job.
Flinging open the window, she curled her hands around the edge of the sink and stared out over the gravelled parking area.
Bad enough, she reflected irritably, that she was going to have to endure having Brodie Spencer in her home for the next few weeks; but that wasn’t the only thing gnawing away at her. The awkward situation with his daughter and Megan had been niggling at her, too.
What if Friday rolled around and Megan hadn’t found another friend? What if she still wanted to spend Saturday afternoon with Jodi Spencer?
Perhaps, though, after this morning’s confrontation, Brodie would be as much against the looming liaison as she was. Perhaps he’d try to steer Jodi away from Megan—
And where would his wife fit into all of this?
It suddenly struck Kendra that if Jodi and Megan were in the same grade at school, they must be approximately the same age. That meant that Brodie must have become a father when he was only nineteen.
She frowned.
He’d been a hellion in those days, ripping around on his motorbike—black leather jacket, wicked grin, the whole nine yards. The clichеd “bad boy,” always in some kind of trouble. And “bad boys” didn’t turn into family men at nineteen...
Unless...yes, he probably got some girl pregnant
Probably got himself trapped.
Kendra felt a faint flicker of curiosity. What was she like, Brodie Spencer’s wife? And where did the family live? If Brodie owned Lakeview Construction, in all likelihood he’d have built himself a fancy new house. Possibly it was one of those modern mansions she’d seen north of Lakeview Road, as she’d driven into town ten days ago when she’d come home for her grandfather’s funeral...
