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Interesting, Sabrina thought. It almost sounded like he’d taken the Hell’s Angel part as a compliment.
“Just look at the mess you made.” He waved a black-gloved hand at the floor.
Sabrina looked down. What would have been a respectable pile of envelopes, catalogs and folders, probably a hundred in all, had scattered like a shotgun blast across the granite floor, some skittering as much as ten feet across the slick stone. “I’ll admit to being a bit clumsy,” she said. “Look, I’m sorry I didn’t see you, but you must have noticed me. And you could have walked around me, you know.”
“How? You’re right in the middle of the doorway, as much in the way as it’s possible to be. Can’t that project be done somewhere else?”
“It could,” Sabrina said, “if the delivery company hadn’t planted the tank right here.”
“It’s on wheels.”
“Yes, but wheels or not it’s too heavy for me to move. If you’d like to lend a hand—”
He moved quickly for a big man, Sabrina had to give him credit for that. So quickly, in fact, that before she’d even realized what he intended to do, he had seized the tank and tipped it back, nudging the wheels into motion with the toe of his boot.
The bunch of balloons she’d tied haphazardly to the hook on the side of the tank floated loose. Desperate not to see the rest of her work escape to the ceiling, Sabrina made a wild leap for the trailing strings.
Her foot hit one of the scattered envelopes, which slid like an ice skate across the smooth floor. She missed the balloons, and her shoulder hit the top of the tank and over-balanced it. All three of them—motorcyclist, tank and Sabrina—spun out of control and hit the polished granite.
The crash echoed around the atrium for what seemed hours.
Sabrina lay still for a long moment, trying to gather her wits and catch her breath, afraid to open her eyes. She’d hit the granite with only a glancing blow, she knew—probably because the motorcyclist’s body had broken her fall. But what about him? If, in addition to her, the tank had landed on him—
After the echo of the crash died, all she could hear at first was a faint hiss. Was that him, or had the valve on the helium tank ruptured at impact?
She rolled clear and sat up. The hissing stopped. Now he was groaning—but that was good, wasn’t it? At least he was alive, though it was hard to tell through the darkened visor of his helmet whether he was conscious or not.
Mixed with the groans, she began to make out words. He was conscious, she concluded. And—judging by his choice of vocabulary—he was not very happy. Well, she couldn’t exactly blame him for being upset.
His muttering was getting louder, she noted.
“Excuse me,” Sabrina said. “But the kids are starting to come in for this party, so if you could modify the language—”
He stopped talking for a moment, and even through the darkened visor there was no mistaking the glare he sent her way. “A bit clumsy?” he quoted grimly. “That’s what you call a bit clumsy?”
“Wait a minute. You’re not going to blame this on me when the whole thing was your fault.”
“Mine?” His voice was little short of a howl. “I didn’t knock over the damned tank!”
“If you’d just told me what you were planning to do, I could have gotten the balloons out of the way—and if you’d picked up the mail, my foot wouldn’t have slipped.”
“You mean, the mail you knocked on the floor in the first place.”
Sabrina bit her lip. She couldn’t exactly argue with that, so she decided it was safer to change the subject. “Here, I’ll help you up.”
“No, thanks. I’ll get myself off the—” He shifted position as if to sit up and let out a yell of pain, twisting his body so he could clap both hands to his right knee. “I can’t get up.”
Sabrina felt the blood drain out of her face. She looked wildly around for help.
Though it felt like forever, it could only have been moments since the accident, for just now were people starting to cluster around them. A man moved through the crowd, edging between onlookers until he reached the center of attention and knelt next to the motorcyclist, and Sabrina loosed a sigh of relief at the sight of Cassie’s fiancé.
Jake Abbott shot a questioning look at Sabrina as he reached down to release the chin strap on the motorcyclist’s helmet. “What happened this time, Sabrina?”
“What do you mean, this time?” the motorcyclist said as Jake pulled his helmet loose.
Sabrina got her first good look at his face, but it didn’t tell her much. He looked vaguely familiar, and she thought that under normal circumstances he’d probably be quite good-looking. A lock of dark brown hair tumbled engagingly over his forehead, and any woman who needed mascara would have killed for his eyelashes—long, thick, dark and curly.
Of course, at the moment it was hard to tell, because the man’s face was twisted in pain and sweat had broken out in big drops on his forehead.
“Is she in the habit of assaulting perfectly innocent bystanders?” he demanded.
Sabrina ignored him. “Thank heaven you’re here, Jake,” she said. “He fell, and—”
The man on the floor spoke through clenched teeth. “I did not fall,” he said grimly. “Cat Woman there knocked me down. She’s a menace—I think she’s broken my knee.”
“Let’s not leap to conclusions, Caleb,” Jake said. He released the zipper at the motorcyclist’s ankle and gently folded back the tight-fitting suit.
Caleb, Jake had said.
Sabrina’s gaze flew to the motorcyclist’s face. Now that she’d heard his name and knew what to look for, she could see him more clearly. Sure enough, under the pain-twisted expression lay the handsome features of Denver’s most famous entrepreneur.
Of all the people in the world she could have collided with, Sabrina had flattened Caleb Tanner. Electronics wizard, playboy millionaire…brand-new client.
Stunned, Sabrina stared at his exposed knee. The flesh was already so puffy it was no wonder he couldn’t bend it. And much as she tried to convince herself she was seeing a shadow, she couldn’t honestly deny that the joint was already bruising, as well.
In fact, his knee was starting to resemble one of the multitude of black helium balloons that were now cheerfully bouncing against the ceiling.
Her stomach felt queasy. What was it she’d been thinking just an hour ago, about impressing Caleb Tanner?
Well, Sabrina told herself gloomily, it looked as if she’d impressed him, all right. In all the wrong ways.
Sabrina was still sitting cross-legged, almost stunned, on the cold granite floor when the paramedics came. She watched as they worked over Caleb, and for a moment, she hardly noticed the petite redhead in a milkmaid’s outfit who stooped over her, holding out a headband to which a set of cat ears had been attached. The ears looked as if they’d been stepped on.
With a sigh, Sabrina reached up to take the ears, raising her gaze to her partner. “Thanks, Cassie. I hadn’t even realized they were gone. They must have gone flying when I hit the floor.” She poked the headband approximately into place atop her head.
Cassie pulled it loose again and turned it so the ears faced properly forward. “Are you okay? The ambulance crew is about ready to transport Caleb, but maybe they should take a look at you before they leave. Did you hit your head?”
“No. At least I don’t think so. Oh, Cassie—Paige is going to kill me for this.”
“For what? Assaulting a brand-new client? She won’t if I have anything to say about it.”
“You’re a love, Cassie.”
“Because I’m going to get you first,” Cassie said lightly. “After all I went through to land this account, you treat the boss like a punching bag….”
Sabrina felt tears sting her eyelids.
“Hey, I’m teasing,” Cassie said hastily. “In the first place, you obviously didn’t do it on purpose.”
“He thinks I did.”
“Sabrina, a man who’s in pain always looks for someone to blame.”
The paramedics elevated the gurney in preparation for rolling it out to the ambulance, and the crowd shifted and moved back to give them room.
Sabrina’s conscience nagged till she caught Jake’s eye and offered reluctantly, “Should I come along? Since I know exactly what happened—”
Caleb raised a hand in a commanding gesture. “Don’t you dare let her, Jake. If that woman gets into the ambulance, I’ll walk to the hospital.”
Sabrina felt like sticking her tongue out at him, but there wasn’t much point; he wasn’t in a position to see because the gurney was already rolling toward the door.
A small boy who was standing nearby, wearing a super-hero costume, said, “Where’s the blood? Isn’t there going to be blood?” Disappointment dripped from his voice.
The door opened, and a whoosh of cold air surrounded Sabrina. Wearily, she forced herself to stand. The chilly granite had left her feeling stiff and sore, and for a moment she wondered if she should have let the paramedics look her over.
From the doorway came a feminine shriek. Only half-curious, Sabrina turned to look.
A princess in long, flowing robes and a faux medieval headdress was blocking the door, hands pressed to her mouth, staring at Caleb in horror. “What happened, darling?”
His tone was dismissive. “Just an accident, Angelique. Nothing for you to have hysterics over.”
“Figures,” Sabrina muttered. “For her, he’s brave and manly. A couple of minutes ago you’d have thought he was barely hanging on to life.”
“There’s no need for you to miss your party, Angelique,” Caleb said.
“The party? Darling, surely you don’t think I could possibly stay here and have fun while you’re in agony!”
Beside Sabrina, Cassie muttered, “She will if she knows what’s good for her.”
The princess seized Caleb’s hand as if she was daring anyone to remove her from his side. The gurney started to roll again, and she walked alongside.
“I don’t need to be fussed over,” Caleb was saying as the door closed behind them.
“Whew,” Cassie said. “My guess is that will be the final straw. Angelique’s time as bimbo of the week has just expired. Of course, it may take her a while to realize it, but—”
Sabrina frowned. “How do you know that?”
“Didn’t you see the way he looked at her when he said she didn’t need to have hysterics?”
“Yeah, I saw. It looked pretty mild compared to the way he’d been looking at me. It’s my opinion you’re suffering from wishful thinking, Cassie. Just because you don’t like Angelique…” Sabrina sighed. “And I thought the biggest problem I was going to face tonight was having to apologize to Paige for baiting Eileen about your bridal shower gift.”
Cassie opened her mouth, then obviously thought better of the question. “Let’s get the party started,” she said instead. “What’s first? Bobbing for apples?”
Sabrina looked at the house, then at the number scrawled on the square of paper clipped to the convertible’s visor. The address agreed, there was no doubt of that. But had she written it down wrong? The last place she’d have expected the playboy millionaire to live was in a neighborhood that had long since passed its prime.
In the strong morning sunlight, the three-story colonial revival house looked nothing short of dilapidated. Its white paint was alligatored; one faded green shutter hung at a tired angle and another was gone altogether. The railing on the small balcony above the pillared front porch was missing half a dozen balusters, and one of the pair of chimneys looked as if it could benefit from a serious tuck-pointing.
As she looked at the address again, however, a truck pulled into the semicircular driveway and parked directly before the front door. Two uniformed men climbed out, and a moment later they began unloading what looked like a hospital bed.
Yeah, Sabrina told herself. Unlikely as it seemed, she had the right place after all.
She squared her shoulders and gathered up a small, bright-colored shopping bag and a sheaf of fresh fall flowers wrapped in cellophane. Caleb Tanner would probably throw the contents of the bag in her face and use the sharp flower stems to defend himself, she thought gloomily. But she had to make the effort. Whether he was likely to accept her apology wasn’t the point; she still had to offer it.
She followed the bed to the front door and up two steps onto a crumbling concrete porch. The door stood wide open; a small, fussy-looking elderly man was just inside, giving directions to the delivery men.
The bed crossed the wide hallway and stopped while the men debated how to make it fit through a too-narrow door. They tipped it on one side and pushed; a rail scraped the door molding, and the little man held his breath until the delivery men set the bed down and stood back to scratch their heads and consider.
From the doorway on the other side of the hall, opposite the room where the bed was noisily being set up, a familiar feminine voice cooed. “Darling, are you absolutely certain there isn’t anything I can do to make you more comfortable?”
Angelique, Sabrina thought. Cassie had been wrong; the bimbo’s time in the sun obviously hadn’t expired just yet.
Sabrina edged closer and peeked around the corner of the doorway. Beyond it lay a large living room with a high-beamed ceiling, two sets of French doors and a fireplace where a blaze crackled cheerfully. Over the back of a black leather couch, which sat directly in front of the fire, she could see just the top of Caleb’s head.
Next to him, perched on the edge of the couch cushions, was Angelique. “If you’re certain,” she said, and leaned against him for an obviously intimate embrace.
Sabrina drew back into the hallway and debated her next move. Fortunately, the little man was too absorbed in watching the delivery crew to ask what she wanted.
Before Sabrina had made up her mind what to do, Angelique appeared in the doorway. “What are you doing here?” she asked suspiciously, eying Sabrina. “Not that it matters. Mr. Tanner is resting, so you’ll have to go away. Jennings, take the things this woman has brought and see her out. I have an errand to run, but I’ll be back in an hour to see how our invalid is doing.”
Without another word, she paused beside the front door and waited until the little man opened it for her. Head held high, she swept out.
The little man closed the door and turned to Sabrina.
Just as he opened his mouth, the delivery men gave the bed a superhuman push. It went through the doorway, but it left four deep, raw, precisely parallel scratches.
The little man squeaked, almost as if the scratches had been made in his flesh rather than in unfeeling wood, and stormed across the room, chattering almost incoherently.
The instant his back was turned, Sabrina ducked into the living room.
The first impression she’d gotten from her initial glimpse of the room, of size and light and perfect proportions, was modified on closer examination. The room’s pale yellow paint was faded with age, except for spots here and there where artwork had obviously blocked the sunlight for years, and the carpet was almost threadbare.
She walked around the end of the incongruously modern black leather couch. Caleb, wearing a worn navy-blue jogging suit, lay with his right leg propped on a couple of pillows and strapped into a canvas-covered immobilizer, which stretched from mid-thigh to his lower calf. Nearby a pair of aluminum crutches leaned against a small table.
Jake had told her last night when he’d finally returned to the party what to expect. Still, the sight stopped Sabrina in her tracks. Her throat tightened. Very deliberately she looked away from the injured leg and focused on Caleb’s face.
His eyes were closed, and he was a little paler than she’d expected him to be. But of course she was basing her assessment on photographs she’d seen, and she was assuming, because many of those pictures had shown the playboy millionaire in outdoor activities, that he’d sport a perpetual tan. But that wasn’t necessarily so, she told herself, and so his lack of high color didn’t mean he was still in pain from his injury.
“I thought I made it clear—” he said, and opened his eyes.
Sabrina braced herself.
Caleb pulled himself up a little higher. “I suppose you’ve come to assess the damage you did.”
She bit her lip. “I’ve come to tell you I’m sorry for my part in the accident.”
“Your part?” His gaze roved over her. “Well, it’s just as well you showed up—because otherwise I’d have had to come looking for you. Figuratively speaking, of course, since it’s apparent I’m not going to be able to move much beyond this couch for a few days, at least.”
He sounded perfectly matter-of-fact, not in the least vindictive or threatening. And yet there was something about the tone of his voice that sent a trickle of fear oozing through Sabrina’s bones.
