out.
It would be just business, he’d told her earlier that day. Well, of course it would be just business. The man went out with supermodels and actresses who wore Gucci and smelled like eight-hundred-dollar perfume, not a clumsy mail girl who wore clothes from the secondhand store and considered Ivory soap her signature scent.
But one question still lingered: Why her? With all the women who drooled over him, why had he asked her?
Abby sighed and shook her head. It would remain a mystery. By now Mr. Tanner had probably forgotten her name—forgotten she even existed—and found someone else to play his wife for the weekend.
“Everyone done?” she asked the class when several faces appeared over the tops of their easels.
They all nodded.
She exhaled heavily as she stared at the dejected expressions on their faces. “The center can make more money with computer classes, you guys. And this is a slow time of year for them.” She smiled weakly. “But I’ll figure something out, I promise. Give me a week.”
“I can’t afford lessons anywhere else,” one student said.
“Shoot, I can hardly afford them here,” another added.
Abby nodded. “I understand, but—”
“What if they were free?”
The husky baritone came from the direction of the doorway. The entire room turned to stare, including Abby. Her eyes widened and her heart slammed against her ribs.
C. K. Tanner stood in the doorway, his eyes set on her.
Gone was the pinstripe suit. Jeans and a simple sweater had taken its place. Simple. Hah! Nothing on or about C. K. Tanner was simple, Abby thought wryly, wishing she’d fixed her hair or worn something nicer—something from a boutique.
He moved into the room with the confidence of a general. Tall, dark and sexy as all get-out. And the way he fitted into those jeans had to be illegal, she mused, then quickly told that half of her brain to shush.
“My name is Tanner,” he informed the class. “I’m a friend of Abby’s.”
“Go, Abby,” one female student hooted.
Everyone laughed. Abby’s cheeks burned.
“He’s not a—” she stuttered, then frowned at him, whispering, “I haven’t changed my mind, sir.”
“Hear me out, Abby,” he whispered back. “There’s an element to this proposal that might interest you.” He plunked down beside her on the desk and addressed the class. “I’m here to offer all of you,” he glanced over at Abby, “and you, too, of course, a building where you can hold your art classes. As for the rent—”
“Here it comes,” muttered one of the students.
“It will be a dollar a month,” Tanner finished.
Silence. All twenty students stared openmouthed at Tanner, then at Abby, then back again.
Abby’s muscles felt like water, but her temper was piqued. The man had some nerve. How dare he come in here and raise her students’ hopes like this. How dare he come in here and make their teacher’s pulse race. She jumped off the desk and motioned for him to follow. “Come with me,” she said, the sound of hoots and catcalls following them as she pulled him out of the room.
Once out in the hallway, Abby whirled on him, ready to give him what for. But her heel caught on the doorsill and she pitched forward into his arms.
Her cheeks flamed. Why did her clumsy nature have to show itself every damn time C. K. Tanner was near? Was she cursed?
“I got you,” he said in a husky whisper, tightening his hold on her.
Man, he felt good, she mused, steadying herself on her feet. All solid muscle and formidable strength.
Get a hold of yourself, Abby. The guy’s a corporate jerk.
“What are you doing here, Mr. Tanner?” she asked, once she was free from his grasp and a few feet away.
He grinned. “Well it looks as though I’m saving your neck—and your class. Now they have a space.”
She glared at him. “How did you know we needed a space?”
He shrugged. “Does it really matter? The point is you need one.”
Abby couldn’t refute that inescapable logic. “I guess I don’t need to ask why you’re doing this. But right now my students are wondering why. And I’m sure some of them have some pretty…obscene guesses.”
He raised a lazy brow. “Like what?”
“That’s not funny.”
“Why do you care so much about what people think, Abby?”
“Why don’t you care more?” She looked directly at him, choosing her words carefully. “Look, Mr. Tanner, I don’t understand this. Why me? You must have a dozen women who would do this for you.”
“I need a stranger,” he said simply. “I have no wish for anyone to know about it, nor do I want my…” He hesitated a moment, as if searching for just the right word. “I don’t want my female friends thinking the words C. K. Tanner and marriage belong in the same sentence. Do you understand?”
She nodded. “I’m afraid I do.”
“Here. Maybe this will help you decide.” He pulled an envelope from his jacket pocket and handed it to her.
With great reluctance she took it and peeked inside with as much unease as if it held a snake.
“It’s a contract and keys to a warehouse space downtown.” He rubbed his jaw. “You can pay me the twelve dollars in advance or at the end of the year. I don’t care.”
She pulled out the small set of keys, shock slamming through her. A whole building for a year for twelve bucks. What on earth did he expect her to do on this weekend? There had to be more to this than—
As if reading her mind, he answered her silent queries. “Three days. That’s it. I’ll probably be down at the plant most of the time. You won’t have to see me very much.”
That should have reassured her, so why was every traitorous part of her balking at the notion?
“I’ll sleep on the couch,” he continued. “In the bathtub—whatever makes you comfortable.”
She rolled her eyes. “Whatever makes me comfortable?”
“Trust me, Abby, you have nothing to worry about.” His voice was resolute, his eyes sincere.
She buttoned and unbuttoned the collar of her sweater nervously.
He glanced down at the keys in her hand. “I’m sure you could find many uses for that space.”
Darn
