скачать книгу бесплатно
At once all eyes were on Reo. He felt sweat pop out on his forehead and wished for a cigarette, an amazing development considering he didn’t smoke. But on second thought, maybe it was natural. He did feel a lot like a prisoner facing a very observant firing squad. He could only pray the pleats in his khaki pants would hide his current state of semiarousal for that firing squad’s captivating captain.
“Would you like to play, Mr. um—” Miz Rusty reached out and grasped the clip of the lost-and-found ID badge, protruding from the pocket into which Reo had thoughtlessly tucked it earlier “—Brad Turner of the mail room?” She clipped the badge to his collar with a take-no-piisoners smile.
As disconcerted by Miz Rusty’s proximity as he was insulted by the mistake, Reo didn’t bother to correct her. Instead, he just shook his head. He’d never played I Spy as a child. Why should he risk it now when his wits had apparently failed him?
“Please?”
The whispered entreaty gave him goose bumps. Well hell. “OK. All right.”
Disgruntled, Reo took his sweet time picking out what he spied. Finally he came to a decision.
“I spy something...red.”
Immediately he was bombarded by guesses—someone’s shirt, someone else’s vest, shoes or hat. Each time, Reo shook his head in the negative and instructed them to “guess again.” He took great comfort in the fact that none of his peers or employees were around to see him acting the fool for this woman. They respected him. He didn’t want that to change.
“I know! I know!” It was Princess Amy, hopping from one foot to the other in the glee of discovery. “Miz Rusty’s hair!”
“Right!” Unable to resist, Reo stepped forward and reached over the children’s heads to tug on a long lock of Miz Rusty’s hair, which was as silky soft as he’d imagined. She blushed—a response that flattered her and sent his pulse to triple digits—then slapped his hand away. “Good for you. Now who wants to be next...?”
Instead of the chorus of me’s Reo expected, there was silence that loudly proclaimed impatience to be free.
“No one? Does that mean you want to play a different game?”
How did she manage her enthusiasm? Reo wondered, noting her ever-bright smile. He glanced at his watch.
Fifteen minutes they’d been trapped. Fifteen minutes that must seem like fifteen hours to the children and felt like fifteen days to him.
What the hell is wrong with the electricity?
On that very thought the elevator lurched into motion... for maybe half a second. Then it stopped again, so abruptly that one of the costumed children was tossed to the floor. Reo and Miz Rusty moved to rescue him at the same time, soundly bumping heads in the process.
“Ow!”
“Oops!”
Screams of fright became a chorus of laughter that lightened the mood more than I Spy or any other kid’s game ever could. Ruefully Reo set the downed child, who wore a goalie mask of all things, back on his feet and assessed him for damages. The boy, who Miz Rusty called Matt, seemed OK.
Obviously taking advantage of the moment, Miz Rusty clapped her hands to get everyone’s attention. “Looks like it’s going to be another few minutes before we get out of here, so why don’t we sing for Brad? Do you know any funny songs?”
They certainly did, and in seconds Reo was treated to a seemingly endless ditty about great green gobs of greasy, grimy gopher guts. The children sang with the enthusiasm and volume of youth. And though Reo’s ears soon begged for mercy, he pretended to enjoy the serenade—more uncharacteristic generosity that amazed him. Clearly Miz Rusty’s magic was as potent for thirty-five-year-old businessmen as it was for the under-six set, if in a slightly different way.
When that song finally ended, they sang another. And when it ended, others, until a solid hour had passed. Covertly Reo assessed their situation. Plenty of air. Plenty of light—though it flickered threateningly now and then. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that a maintenance crew labored to put the elevator in motion again. He just hoped it didn’t take much longer. The mood aboard would surely take a turn for the worst—
“Miz Rusty...Miz Rusty...?”
“What is it, Chad?”
Chad, dressed up like some kind of animal, maybe a bear, tugged her down to his level and then whispered loudly in her ear.
“Can’t you hold it?” Miz Rusty whispered back, words that elicited a mental groan from Reo. Here it was...the beginning of the end.
“Maybe,” came the not-so-reassuring reply.
“I’m hungry,” piped up Chris, the spaceman.
“And I’m thirsty,” added Sarah of the sequins and rhinestones.
Miz Rusty’s gaze met Reo’s across the crowded elevator. She gave him a half smile that could mean anything and then sighed rather lustily. “When we get to the party, there’ll be plenty to eat and drink. Meanwhile, did anyone bring any of the candy we gave you earlier?”
If anyone did, they weren’t telling.
“I have gum,” Reo heard himself blurt, words that resulted in ten new friends...maybe eleven, judging by the relief on Miz Rusty’s face.
With great ceremony, Reo withdrew the gum and opened the package. He took out five of the seven pieces and tore each in half. After distributing them to the children, he collected the wrappers and stashed them in a pocket, then shared a sixth piece with Miz Rusty. The other piece he put back in his pocket for an emergency... as if things could get worse.
Miz Rusty accepted the sweet with a smile of gratitude and for several minutes the only sound was melodious smacking. The smell of mint filled the air.
“How about a ghost story?” Reo next heard himself say, an idea that surprised him as much as it did Miz Rusty, who gave him a decidedly doubtful look.
“Don’t you think we’re, um, stimulated enough?”
“Trust me,” Reo said, an entreaty she honored with a shrug. He then made everyone, including Miz Rusty, sit in a semicircle and began to recite a time-old story about a less-than-genius grave robber, stolen bones in a box and the ridiculous skeleton who wanted them back. Drawing on memories from one of the few times he was allowed to sleep over with friends as a child, Reo acted out the drama, which ended in a surprise “Boo!” that resulted in squeals and then giggles.
Before the revelry had ceased, the elevator jerked into motion, this time reaching the twenty-second floor before it ground to a halt again. Miz Rusty and Reo reached for the Open Door button at the same time and inadvertently tangled again, resulting in more hilarity.
So it was a joyful group that spilled out of the elevator to be greeted by a maintenance man and two women Reo guessed to be more day-care workers.
“Oh, thank goodness,” one of the women exclaimed, reaching out to hug three children at once.
“Are we in time for the party?” Miz Rusty asked, clearly trying to change the subject. Her hint to downplay the event was apparently well taken.
“Of course you are!” the woman exclaimed.
In seconds the children were herded toward the stairs. The wide-eyed maintenance man, who obviously recognized Reo, darted down the hall as if the hounds of hell nipped at his heels—no doubt to report the incident to his boss. That left only Miz Rusty and Reo standing at the foot of the stairs. For a second they just looked at each other without speaking. Reo tried to see past her irresistible girl-next-door charm to the young woman inside. Was she really what she appeared to be—warm and caring with a dash of mischievousness thrown in?
Apparently...and what a contrast to Colleen, a divorce lawyer he’d originally hired to clear up a family mystery and then wound up dating on and off for the past two months. Cold, unless she thought hot would better serve her purpose, Colleen had at first seemed to be the woman of Reo’s dreams. Then she’d begun to cling and tried to take charge of him.
In retrospect he doubted she’d ever really cared about him as a person, seeing him instead as an asset to her image, a goal to be obtained. As for .that mischievous streak so appealing in Miz Rusty...Reo couldn’t remember the last time Colleen really smiled. Certainly not this morning, when he refused her demand that they attend tonight’s charity ball together.
Reo winced, recalling that ugly, very public scene in the reception area of her law office. Damn, but he was glad he’d finally ditched Counselor Colleen. It felt good to be free again, and he intended to retain that precious freedom for a long time to come.
“You were great,” Miz Rusty said, breaking into his memories. Reaching into a pocket hidden by the folds of her gown, she withdrew a tissue that she attempted to dab the sweat still beading on his forehead.
Reo instinctively ducked her touch. “I, um, just followed your lead.”
She looked surprised by his action—surprised and a little confused.
“Obviously you’re a natural with kids,” he added somewhat lamely, unwilling to hurt her, even though he’d just remembered how much he cherished the single life. It wasn’t Miz Rusty’s fault that she was so sexy. In fact, he doubted that she even knew... which was, of course, part of her appeal.
“Why, thank you.”
She studied his expression for a moment as if trying to do some mental probing of her own. Then her lips slowly stretched into what could only be called a hopeful smile, which made Reo wonder if she saw right through his grown-up cool to the lost boy inside.
“What time do you finish up today?” she asked. “I have a meeting right after this party, but after that I’d really like to buy you a beer for being such a good sport on the elevator.”
Reo tensed. More times than not when a woman he’d just met got friendly it was a matter of the pocketbook, not the heart. Had she picked up on his attraction to her? Was she now ready to make use of it?
“Brad...?”
Who? Oh, yeah. The alias. Miz Rusty thought he was Brad Turner, a peer, which meant she wasn’t after his money at all. How refreshing. So refreshing, in fact, that Reo was very tempted to accept her invitation... vulnerability or no.
Then he remembered he couldn’t.
“I have another obligation.”
“Oh.”
Her smile remained, but he sensed her disappointment.
Reo felt a stab of remorse and, yes, disappointment of his own. At this moment, he realized, there was nothing he’d rather do than spend time with Miz Rusty, who thought he worked in the mail room. They’d find a tavern somewhere where they could drink, dance and get to know each other intimately.
Intimately? He was a hormonal wreck! And, it seemed, an idiot, too. What else would one call a man so obviously eager to jump out of that proverbial frying pan into that proverbial fire? Rattled by his apparent dim wits, Reo quickly changed the subject. “Are you, um,, supposed to be Tinkerbell?”
She shook her head. “Guess again.”
“An angel?”
Miz Rusty bubbled with incredulous laughter. “Not by a long shot.”
At that softly drawled promise, Reo’s brain shut down for good, leaving him a babbling victim of desire. “I—I give up then. What are you?”
“A witch,” she whispered, her mouth quite close to his ear as if she feared someone else might overhear, even though they were now too, too alone.
Reo put his hands in his pockets to keep from touching her hair, her cheek, her—“But witches wear black.”
“Only the bad ones. I’m good.”
I’ll bet you are. Shivering as if someone’s fingertips had traced a path up his spine, he could not resist asking, “What, exactly, do good witches do?”
“Why, good things, of course.”
Her eyes twinkled with mischief. Her smile had returned full force. He could tell she enjoyed this foolish exchange as much as he—God help him. “Can you please be more specific?”
“More specific... Hmmm. Well, good witches cast good spells.”
“Yeah? What else?”
“They break bad ones.”
“And?...”
“They mix love potions.”
Something she’d never need, Reo realized, since that wicked smile of hers was all it took to turn one of the city’s most savvy businessmen—namely him—into a libidinous lunatic.
Time to get the hell out of the Sampson Building.
“Rusty? Are you coming?” The words wafted down the stairs from somewhere above, startling them both.
“Be right there,” Miz Rusty called back, much to Reo’s relief. “Now I want you to repeat after me—”
“What? Why?”
“Just do it, OK?”
Reo nodded cautiously.
“Five, five, five...”
“Five, five, five...” he muttered, so dazed that he hadn’t a clue as to where she was headed.
“Six, three, seven, seven.”
“Six, three, seven, sev—” Her phone number! She was giving him her phone number! Damn. “Six, three, seven, seven.”
“Good. Now say it again so I can be sure you have it right.”
“Five, five, five, six, three, seven, seven.” He’d always been a whiz with numbers—a blessing until now.
“Perfect,” Miz Rusty said, adding, “And remember... my offer to buy you a beer has no expiration date.” With a wave she moved quickly away from him, her skirt billowing out behind.
It took Reo several seconds to recover from the rain check, and by then she’d reached the midpoint landing and disappeared from view. She took with her the sunshine, leaving him in the shadow that was his life these days. Disgusted, disoriented and apparently as weak in the head as the knees, Reo stood looking after her for a moment. Then he slowly turned and trailed the maintenance man down the hall.
Chapter Two
“Chin up. Shoulders back. Stomach in. Chest out.”
“Chest out!” Beatrice Hanson, dubbed “Rusty” at birth by her older sister, snorted her opinion of that ridiculous order and tugged up the strapless bodice of the evening dress her housemate, Jade Martinelli, had rented for her to wear to tonight’s charity ball. Tight, black and sequined, it boasted a neck cut halfway to her belly button. Rusty felt naked. “I’ll have you know that if my chest sticks out any farther than it already does, I’m going to be arrested for indecent exposure.”
“Not tonight,” her friend replied, eyeing Rusty’s shiny finery in the full-length mirror before which the two of them stood. “Tonight you’ll fit right in and turn the head of every rich bachelor in the place—exactly what I’m hoping to do. And to think you’re only going to this shindig to make some business contacts.” She sighed as if Rusty were crazy or, at the least, a lost cause.
For a second they stared at their reflections in silence—two young women so opposite in looks, personality and motives, yet both dressed to knock ’em dead. Rusty suddenly wished she hadn’t let Jade talk her into tonight’s glitzy affair, even though it would be an excellent opportunity to rub elbows with some well-to-do moms more than willing to let someone like Rusty plan their children’s elaborate parties.
“Thanks for agreeing to go with me on such short notice,” Jade said, as if picking up on Rusty’s regrets.
“How could I refuse when you bribed me with a free ticket, free dress and free manicure.” Rusty held out her hands and inspected the bright crimson polish applied at a nail boutique barely an hour ago. “What do you think of the color?”
“Snazzy. Hides the red punch stain under your fingernails.”
