Housebound Read Online Free PDF Page B

suspicion that this was more than just a spare bedroom. There was a subtle scent in the air, a delicate hint of flowers mixed with something sharper. A grin slashed his face as he recognized the smell of the spilled cognac on his discarded shirt, and for a brief, dangerous moment he let his thoughts drift back to that moment by the fire.
    It had been irresistible. She’d sat there, cross-legged on the faded Oriental carpet, her green eyes shyly flirting, her mouth smiling, her entire manner treating him as if he had the combined sexuality of Old Mother Hubbard and Mister Rogers. And while he didn’t consider himself possessed of an overwhelming sexual vanity, he wasn’t used to being treated like an eunuch. And when she’d looked up at him with that innocent, sexy face of hers he’d given in to the temptation to show her just how uneunuchlike he was. And had enjoyed every moment of it, from her sudden, astonished response to that clutching, unexpectedly heated need that had spread between the two of them like wildfire.
    But it had been a stupid mistake. He had complicated an already unbearably complex situation, and there didn’t seem to be anything he could do about it. He was here to do a job, a last favor for his father-in-law, and then his debts, emotional and professional, would be paid in full, and he’d be free. And he needed that freedom very badly. He couldn’t affordto let an impulsive attraction for Anne Kirkland deter or distract him.
    Pushing away from the door, he crossed the room, absently unbuttoning his shirt as he went, sniffing the air with an appreciative delight. It smelled like roses. Innocent, with a touch of full-blown passion beneath the fragile petals. Anne Kirkland chose well when she chose her scent. He could still remember the faint trace of it against the soft skin of her neck. And what was he doing, standing in the middle of what must be her bedroom, having erotic fantasies about a woman he was going to hurt very badly? Through no fault of his own, through no desire of his own, he was going to be the instrument of the destruction of her security. And standing there thinking about her delicious skin wasn’t going to change matters.
    It had all seemed so easy just three days ago. Wendell James had outlined the situation, leaving Holly Kirkland to fill in the details. The Allibet Foundation was very interested in purchasing an estate on the New Jersey side of the Delaware, just across from New Hope, as an artists’ colony and retreat. Negotiations were delicate—three of the four owners wished to sell. It was up to Noah to find out just how suitable the Kirkland house was for their purposes, just how likely they’d be to knock down the price a bit, and what sort of encumbrances, including the recalcitrant fourth owner, stood in the foundation’s way of purchasing the property.
    Holly Kirkland had been exactly as he’d expected when he met her Wednesday night at her preordained singles bar. He’d heard her play once, years before, when Nialla was still alive, and been favorably impressed with her facility and her light, lilting touch. Nialla had insisted she lacked depth, but Noah had argued that age and experience would remedy that. Niallahad disagreed, accusing him of being bemused by her prettiness, and they had spent the rest of the night fighting, as they spent so many of their nights in the year before she died. Fights that would resolve in the passion that neither of them could get enough of.
    Part of him had dreaded meeting Holly, remembering those interminable fights and their unforgettable aftermath, but her light flirtatiousness had managed to push Nialla’s memory into the background, and he’d been grateful. It was too much to hope that Nialla’s reproachful ghost would disappear entirely.
    Holly had leaned across the tiny table at the bar, her strong hands with their short, serviceable nails pressed together, the