what sounded like a drawer opening and shutting, and headed in that direction—what was he up to?
She found him rearranging some flower vases by the window over her desk, and studied him for a moment before querying.
“What are you doing?” Her tone was sharper than she intended. She didn’t say anything else, waiting for his response. He turned, smiling in an embarrassed manner at being caught—caught at what, though?
“Sorry, Jen. I noticed you had these on the table in the hallway. They don’t get enough light there, so I just moved them near the window. The blossoms will last longer that way.”
“Oh.” She wasn’t quite sure what else to say, flustered by her first, defensive instinct at anyone touching her things, rummaging around her apartment. It was only Nathan. Still, she thought she’d heard a drawer opening. It must have been him moving the flowers.
She was so rattled, she couldn’t be sure what she was hearing. She’d lived a careful life, protecting her privacy for so long, that she didn’t know if she could ever trust anyone completely. That well-worn reasoning, however, didn’t stop her from feeling ridiculous.
“Are you ready? We have reservations for seven.”
She nodded, turning to the door first, though every gut instinct she had told her to wait until he walked out in front of her—why was she being so antsy? She tried to shake it off again, brightening her voice. She was going out with a handsome, younger man for a night on the town. She was just nervous about it, and that was all. She needed to relax.
“On the water? Where are we going?”
“I chartered a private dinner boat—we’ll have a four-hour cruise around the Bay. Dinner is provided, we just have to sit back and get to know each other a little better, I hope.”
“Ian must be paying you better than the rest of us.”
He just laughed, and didn’t elaborate. She was touched that Nathan was going all out to impress her—he was really pulling out the stops. Whatever he hoped could come of this probably wasn’t going to happen.
It was the probably that bothered her—making room for doubt—not so long ago it would have been definitely.
He knew how to get under her skin, though it wasn’t an entirely uncomfortable feeling. He stopped on the sidewalk halfway to the car, turning her to him, placing his hands lightly on her shoulders.
“Listen, we’re just going to have a nice time. No expectations, so relax. I just wanted to do something special for you.”
“You do things all the time, the flowers, now this…”
“I do it because I want to, not because I’m trying to pressure you. There is no pressure, okay?”
She felt the knot in her chest loosen a little, and she smiled up at him; his irises were dark in the dusky light of the evening. He stepped a little closer, and she swallowed, feeling her breath come a little faster. Her tongue darted out to moisten dried lips, and he groaned a little.
“I know it’s more traditional for the kiss to happen at the end of the date. Let’s just get that particular pressure out of the way now, you think?”
She found herself nodding, not entirely of her own volition, though she didn’t have much time to think about it. His mouth met hers. It was a gentle first kiss, an introduction, a question and a promise of what might come later. It startled her to realize, when he pulled back, that she wanted more.
Much more.
Damn.
He smiled and took her hand, though she could see the pulse at the base of his throat beating faster than before. Smiling in spite of herself, she followed him quietly to the car.
“SO YOU HAVEFOURSISTERS?”
Nathan lifted his glass of Chardonnay as if inspecting the color, looking over the top of the crystal at Jennie’s features, warmed by the candle lantern on the table between them and relaxed by a good dinner and several glasses of wine. How did she get even more lovely every time he looked at her? The little voice in the back of his head had been sending warnings every ten seconds that he was walking on thin ice pursuing this woman whom he was also investigating. He took another sip from his glass, washing them away.
She was very likely innocent—he’d never seen a single thing in the time he’d worked with the HotWires indicating Jennie was a mole. On top of that, Ian Chandler and E. J. Beaumont were no one’s fools. Unless they knew, the voice chided. Was he being naive? He wrenched his mind back to her question.
“I’m sorry, I was lost in thought.” He set his glass down, unable to take his eyes off her. “Yes, four. Mary, Kathryn, Shelly and Gwen, in that order. I’m the only boy, and the youngest.”
She laughed then, her face lighting up. “You poor guy. They must have had such fun with you. Did you find yourself being the victim of dress-up parties at a young age? You must have been like a little doll to them.”
He shook his head, grinning. “I learned early on how to defend myself from all that. Dad helped. Said he wouldn’t have his only son growing up girlie. Of course, he made sure his daughters could hold their own, so he wasn’t a complete sexist.”
“So you’re the baby. Your parents kept trying for a son?”
“No, they were just really Catholic. No birth control and the like. Mom actually had a few miscarriages in between each of us, which accounts for the intervals in our ages, but I was her last, at forty-two. When I get on her nerves, she tells me they played with the idea of naming me, ‘Enough.’”
As he laughed with her at the joke, he studied her carefully, as well. The family life he’d grown up in shouldn’t be completely unfamiliar to her—or to Maria Castone, anyway. She’d also been raised in a Catholic Boston family that adhered to traditional values, when it came to religion and reproductive traditions, in any case. It was a subtle form of fishing, a way to find out what was going on under the surface. She didn’t bite, however.
She didn’t even blink, showing no sign of connecting with what he was saying. She was very good at keeping it all hidden, then again, she’d had lots of practice. The warning voice started humming again, and he shut it off.
“You don’t often see large families like that anymore.”
“People can’t afford them, not that we could, either. It was a stretch a lot of the time, but there was plenty of love to make up for what we didn’t have.”
“That’s nice.”
“How about you? Sisters or brothers?”
He thought he saw something flicker briefly in her eyes but then it disappeared—whatever it was, it was sad.
“No, I was adopted. An only child of older parents. They’ve passed on now.”
“So you’re all alone?”
When she shrugged, he saw the tightening of her facial muscles, the way she averted her gaze. Whatever the truth was about why she was here, and what she was up to, she wasn’t thrilled with this topic of conversation. The pain of the secrets
