house.”
“Why look at decay I can’t clean out?” An unaccustomed blush warmed her skin. She sounded melodramatic, but it was the truth.
“How would you change the house if you could?”
“Paint.” Plans she’d never consciously made spilled out of her without warning. “After twelve years, I’d probably have to rehang doors, take down wallpaper, redo the floors—” She interrupted herself, appalled. “But I don’t think about it.”
One corner of his wide mouth tilted, and he looked human. “Maybe you should think.”
“Want to explain what you mean?”
“What if I could make the house yours?”
Pain streaked through her body. She pressed her hands to her cheeks. “Are you saying you’d sell my family’s house back to me? I can’t afford to make an offer you wouldn’t laugh at.”
“I’m not asking for money.”
“What do you mean?” Either money or power fed the Dylans.
“Let’s get a drink and talk seriously.” He opened the door and reached for the light switch, but stopped. “Think how you’d feel if I could give your house back to you.”
She didn’t know she’d backed away from him until she bumped into the table. “Why would you?”
“Have you heard the terms of my father’s will?”
She shook her head. His words, “give your house back,” repeated over and over in her head, the rasp of his tone burrowing deeper into her mind.
“Jeff left everything to me,” he said absently, as if he’d forgotten she was listening. “Land, investments, bank accounts, your house.” He switched off the light. “But he made stipulations.”
“Please turn the light back on.”
“He said I have to marry. Fall in love and marry within twelve months, and stay married for a year.”
Only Jeff Dylan would be arrogant enough to believe he could regulate love. She shook her head to chase the thought away, feeling too close to Nick in the darkness. They both knew too much about the effects of his father’s illogical resentment. A sense of intimacy with Nick Dylan was the last thing she wanted. “Turn on the light.”
“Every time you look at me I know you despise me, but your voice—when I can’t see your face—your voice hates me more.”
“What do you want?”
“Clair, I want you to marry me. If you pretend to be my loving wife for twelve months, I’ll sign your house over to you, and no one will ever take it from you again.”
A gust of wind rattled the glass behind him.
“Do you think you’re funny? I’m not laughing.”
“I saw that as a good sign. I’m serious. Give me what I need, and I’ll give you your house.”
“I want it.”
“I knew you did when I found you planting pansies.”
Suddenly safe in the dark with her own disjointed emotions, she was glad he hadn’t listened to her about the light. “You must know other women. What’s wrong with you?”
He laughed without joy or happiness. “I know other women, but I don’t want to marry any of them. I’m not seeing anyone right now, and I don’t want to start a marriage with someone who’d expect it to last. Can you imagine you’ll want to stay married to me?”
Her stomach knotted. “No.”
“Then you’re the wife I want.”
The light switch clicked, and Clair blinked in the startling brightness.
“Want to come for that drink now?” he asked, weariness in his voice.
“Someone might see us together and misunderstand.”
“We may need people to see us together. If you want your house back, everyone will have to believe we want to be married to each other.”
“Stop using my house against me. You’re trying to buy me.”
“I’ll do what I have to,” he admitted.
Silence lay between them. Why pretend she felt any differently? “If I said yes,” she ventured, “I’d want our agreement in writing.”
“Wilford Thomas is my attorney. You won’t want me to suggest someone for you, but I believe you know Judge Franklin?”
“I’m staying with him and Selina.”
“He’ll suggest someone you can trust.”
Clair hugged herself more tightly. “How did you choose me?”
“I have to marry someone. No one else wants something I have as badly as you do.”
Clair thought of the Dylan mansion, the stables, the pools and tennis courts. The offshore bank accounts. “Use your imagination.”
He had a way of smiling that made him seem as if he saw his own failings. Clair looked away from him.
“I need to think,” she said. “I never expected a chance to take my home back.”
“I’m trying as hard as I can to give you a chance.”
He broke off as another man stepped out of the darkness into the light from the windows on the sidewalk. Clair couldn’t place his rugged, weather-lined features. He stared from the pediment over the door to the interior of the shop. Nodding at them both, he opened the door and came inside, looking at them with a curious frown.
“Something wrong?” he asked.
“What do you mean, Fosdyke?” Nick eyed the other man with surprise.
“I saw the lights go off and on. Thought you might be having a problem over here.” He studied Clair. “I know you.”
Nick moved closer to her. “I forgot you might not recognize each other. Ernest Fosdyke, this is Clair Atherton.”
“I knew your mother,” he said. “I’m the fire chief. You certainly look like Sylvie.”
“Thank you.” She didn’t want to talk about her mom in front of Nick.
“I heard you were working for Paul Sayers.”
She used her job to head off gossip about Nick’s visit. “Dr. Dylan and I were discussing some work on his house.”
“No problems, then? You know these old buildings and their electricity. I guess I’ll move on. I was on my way home. Night, Clair. Nice to see you back in town.”
“I’m
