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He also didn’t want to be hanging out at a smoky bar with the usual crowd, trying to seem duly enthralled with Sarah Jones, a court clerk he’d dated a few times last year. He was tired of the bar scene, weary of the dating game. Which was why he’d practically leaped at the opportunity to have dinner with Arden. He felt comfortable with her. And because he wasn’t trying to get her into his bed, he didn’t have to impress her. He didn’t have to pretend.
But if he really wasn’t interested in Arden, why was he finding it so difficult to tear his eyes from her? Why was he unable to stop imagining the subtle curves hidden beneath her tidy little suit?
In the interests of self-preservation, he moved away from her, stepping out of the kitchen to survey the modest apartment.
The living room walls were off-white in color and completely bare. No artwork or photos marred the pristine surface. The furniture was deep blue: a plush sofa and two matching chairs that were covered in some suedelike fabric. In front of the sofa was a dark wood coffee table polished to a high gloss. A matching entertainment unit sat against the opposite wall, containing a small television, a VCR and a portable stereo.
There was a short bookcase beside the front door with two framed photos on top of it. Shaun stepped closer. One frame held Nikki and Colin’s wedding picture, the other, their daughter, Carly’s, most recent school photo. There were no other mementos or knickknacks around the room. No magazines tossed on the coffee table, no decorative cushions on the sofa, no fancy lamps or little glass dishes. There were no plants or flowers, no signs of life. In fact, there was nothing in the room—save those two photos—that wasn’t useful or necessary.
Even the books on the shelves, arranged in alphabetical order, were legal texts. The room was very much a reflection of its tenant, he realized. Practical, efficient, ruthlessly organized. A beautiful façade, offering no hint of anything inside. The realization frustrated him, as did his sudden curiosity about a woman he’d known for so long. Except that he didn’t really know her at all.
He glanced in the direction of the dining room. At least, he assumed it was the dining room. It was hard to tell as the room was bare of furniture except for the packing boxes stacked four and five high against the back wall.
Beyond the dining room was a short hallway, probably leading to Arden’s bedroom. He turned away. The last thing he needed to think about was where she slept. What she slept in.
He moved back to the kitchen.
There were no dirty dishes in the sink, no crumbs on the countertop. Just the coffeemaker, currently bubbling away, and a microwave. Curious, he peeked over her shoulder as she opened the refrigerator again. She put the can of coffee inside and pulled out a carton of milk. Other than those two items, there were half a dozen containers of yogurt, a couple of cans of diet cola and a half-empty bottle of white wine. That was it. He frowned. No wonder her kitchen was spotless—she didn’t eat here.
As she closed the door again, he noticed the flutter of a small newspaper clipping that had been taped to the outside. It was the obituary of Denise Hemingway, age twenty-nine, and her four year-old son, Brian. He remembered reading about them in the paper, how they’d both been killed by Eric Hemingway—Denise’s husband, Brian’s father—before he’d turned the gun on himself.
It was hard to miss the story. Things like that might be commonplace in bigger cities, but in small-town Fairweather, Pennsylvania, domestic slayings were a rare occurrence and, consequently, front-page news. The victim, he realized, must have been Arden’s client.
He scanned further, noted that the funeral was…today.
Finally the pieces clicked into place and confirmed his earlier suspicions about Arden. She wasn’t cool or detached. She was a woman who cared about her clients, and cared deeply. Not only had she taken the time to go to the funeral, she’d shed deep, grief-filled tears for the mother and son who had lost their lives so tragically.
“How do you take your coffee?” Arden asked.
“Black.”
She filled the two mugs and handed one to him, then added a splash of milk to the other.
“Denise Hemingway,” he said, and saw her back stiffen.
She set the milk carton down before turning to face him.
“What about her?” Her eyes were stark, almost empty, her voice the same. But he knew now that it was a mask, that her emotions ran deep.
“She was your client?” he prompted.
Arden nodded.
“That’s where you were earlier today,” he guessed.
She nodded again. “Yes.”
She didn’t ask for his compassion, but he felt compelled to offer it. He set his mug on the counter and moved toward her, breaching the few-foot gap that separated them to take her in his arms. She resisted at first, her back straight, her shoulders stiff. But he continued to hold her, running his hand down her back, his fingers roaming over the silky fabric of her blouse.
Would her skin be as soft? He chastised himself for the wayward thought. He was supposed to be offering her comfort, not speculating about the feel of her naked skin beneath his hands.
She didn’t cry again, but she finally let out a long, shuddering breath and relaxed against him.
“She came to me for help,” Arden said, sounding completely dejected. “She was counting on me, and I let her down.”
“You did everything you could for her,” he said, knowing it was true, and knowing she would find no comfort in that fact.
Arden pulled out of Shaun’s arms. She didn’t want to talk about Denise and Brian, she didn’t even want to think about them right now. When Shaun went home, when she went to bed, she’d think about them then. She wouldn’t be able to stop. Nor would she be able to stop the nightmares that plagued her sleep.
“Why don’t we take our coffee into the living room?” she suggested.
“Okay,” Shaun agreed.
She was grateful that he didn’t ask any more questions or try to appease her with useless words or platitudes. Nothing anyone could say or do could make up for what had happened.
She moved over to the sofa and curled up in her usual spot at one end, then wished she’d chosen a chair when he sat down beside her. She wasn’t sure why she was so unnerved by his presence today. She’d spent a fair amount of time in his company over the past few years. When Arden had been living with her cousin, Nikki, and Nikki’s daughter, Carly, Shaun had visited often to spend time with his former sister-in-law and his niece. Maybe that was the difference. It was just the two of them tonight, and being alone with him felt strange to Arden.
“This is great coffee,” Shaun said.
Arden was grateful for the change of topic. “It’s Jamaican. I don’t share it with everyone, but I figure you earned it. Putting up with me this afternoon, buying me dinner.”
“It was my pleasure.”
She managed a smile. “I doubt it, but thanks.”
“That’s what friends are for,” he said easily.
She propped her feet up on the coffee table, crossing them at the ankles as she settled back against the cushions. “I don’t need anyone to take care of me, McIver.”
“Did I suggest you did?”
“No, but I think your sudden offer of friendship was inspired by the fact that I cried on your shoulder. Believe me, it was a one-time thing.”
“That’s too bad,” he said. “I thought it was a pretty good excuse to hold you in my arms.”
“I wouldn’t think you needed any kind of excuse to hold a woman. Aren’t they lining up for the privilege?”
Shaun grinned. “I wasn’t talking about any woman. I was talking about you. You fit in my arms, Doherty.”
She rolled her eyes.
“I noticed it before, when we danced at Colin and Nikki’s wedding.”
Arden didn’t want to be reminded of the dance they’d shared. Of the way their bodies had melded together, like two pieces of a puzzle. It had made her wonder if they would mesh so perfectly if they were horizontal.
“Anything you want to share?” Shaun sounded amused.
“No,” she snapped, conscious of the flush in her cheeks.
“I’ve never seen you blush, Doherty. It’s…endearing.”
“I don’t blush.”
“Yeah.” He stroked a finger down the curve of her cheek, and her breath caught in her throat. “You do.”
She pulled back, stood up. “Do you want more coffee?”
His smile was lazy, satisfied. “Sure.”
Arden retreated to the kitchen, chastising her overactive hormones. All he’d done was touch her, and her skin had burned. She took several deep breaths before returning to the living room with the pot of coffee. She refilled his mug, conscious of his gaze following her even though she avoided looking at him. She wasn’t sure she understood what was going on here, what the undercurrents were about. She was probably experiencing some kind of emotional meltdown—a normal reaction after the kind of day she’d had.
Somewhat reassured, she returned to her seat on the sofa.
“What’s in all the boxes?” Shaun asked, gesturing to the stack against the dining room wall.
“Books.”
“What kind of books?”
“Textbooks, case law.”
“Why aren’t they unpacked?”
“I don’t have any shelves.”
He looked around, visually confirming her statement. “I could build some for you.”
She frowned. “Why?”
“I like to work with my hands,” he said.
The innocent comment brought to mind erotic images of things she’d like him to do with those hands, and building shelves wasn’t in the top ten. “I’m sure you have better things to do with your time,” she said, sounding just a little breathless.
“Not really. And it would give us a chance to get to know each other better.”
“Why?” she asked again.
“Why not? We’re friends, aren’t we?”
“I guess so,” she agreed, not completely convinced.
“I built the shelves in Nikki’s den,” he told her. “In case you have doubts about my abilities.”
No, Arden had no such doubts. “Fine, you can build shelves for me if you want to.”
“Great. I’ll come by tomorrow to take some measurements. Think about what kind of wood you’d like.”
As if she would know the difference between maple and mahogany. She smiled. “All right.”
“You have a beautiful smile, Doherty.”
Arden tried to shift away from him, but her hip was already against the arm of the sofa. “Thank you.”
“Why does that make you uncomfortable?” he asked.
She didn’t bother to deny it. She’d always felt that too much importance was placed on appearance, and she knew she hadn’t done anything to earn her looks. The flawless skin, the silky hair, the dark, almond-shaped eyes were a result of genetic makeup. She looked like her mother, and she’d never been particularly proud of that fact. Every time she looked in the mirror she was reminded of the woman who’d given birth to her, and who had abandoned her. “Looks are superficial,” she said. “They shouldn’t matter.”
He seemed to consider her statement, then nodded. “You also have a beautiful heart.”
His words caused an unfamiliar warmth to expand inside her. Uncomfortable with the feeling, she set her mug on the coffee table. “It’s getting late, Shaun.”
“You’re trying to get rid of me again.”
“Yes.”
“That’s not a promising start to a friendship,” he said.
“I would think a friend would appreciate honesty,” she countered.
He sipped from his cup. “I’m not finished with my coffee.”
“Too bad. I have a busy day tomorrow and I need to go to bed.”
“Now that brings to mind all kinds of interesting possibilities,” he said.
A reluctant smile tugged at her lips. “Go home, McIver.”
“All right,” he agreed, and drained the last of his coffee.
Arden followed Shaun to the door. She should have been relieved that he was leaving, but now that his departure was imminent, she wasn’t so eager to see him go. She’d enjoyed the verbal sparring, the chance to think about things other than the hellish day she’d had, and she didn’t want to be alone with the memories and regrets that plagued her.
As if sensing the direction of her thoughts, Shaun paused with his hand on the doorknob. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine.” Or she would be, anyway. If there was one thing she’d learned over the years, it was how to take care of herself.
Still he hesitated. “You know you can call me if you need anything. Anytime.”
It was a nice thought, but she couldn’t—wouldn’t—take him up on it. “Go home, Shaun.”
He smiled, and her traitorous pulse skipped a beat before she ordered it to behave. She wasn’t going to get all giddy and weak-kneed just because Shaun McIver smiled at her. But she couldn’t help the way her breath caught in her throat when her eyes met his, watched them darken.
Something crackled in the air between them. Something powerful and unexpected and just a little scary, and if her brain hadn’t seemed to shut down, she might have stepped away. Instead, she stood rooted, mesmerized.
He leaned toward her, and if Arden didn’t know better she might have thought he was going to kiss her. But she did know better, and she knew—
Chapter 3
Whatever it was Arden thought she knew slipped from her mind as Shaun’s lips touched hers.
