and led the way down the hall. “I have a lot of books, so if you really do want to help, you can start there.” He motioned to the neatly stacked boxes in the center of the room. Two of the walls contained floor-to-ceiling built-in bookcases.
“Dr. MacAllister, could you let us know where you want the sofa?” one of the movers called.
“Be right there.” Trevor walked to the door. “Thanks, Dana. I appreciate your help.”
When he was gone, she moved to the pile of boxes and opened the first one. Inside were medical texts. No surprise there. She took an armful and placed them on the bookshelves. So much for escaping from what was on her mind, she thought with a grin. She’d gone from the frying pan into the fire. Now she wasn’t just thinking about Trevor— she was actually in his house. Oh joy. And they were going to be neighbors. Could it get worse?
She mentally withdrew the question, not wanting to tempt fate any more than she had. The only good thing about the situation was that she would see him with an assortment of women. That should take care of her wayward hormones. Even they would eventually figure out he wasn’t worth lusting after. Not when he was more interested in quantity than quality.
Time passed quickly. She worked efficiently, flattening the boxes as she emptied them. There were tons of books. Not just the medical texts, but a collection of mysteries and bestsellers, three boxes of biographies and some books on travel. Surprisingly, all looked well read. She fingered the spine of a battered techno-thriller about a Russian submarine escaping to the West. He couldn’t have read all these himself. When would he have had the time? He worked long hours in his office and in surgery, and he was out every night. But she didn’t think Trevor had bought the books used.
“You’re looking serious about something,” he said, walking into the room and carrying two canned soft drinks. He handed her one. “I thought you might be thirsty.”
“Thanks.” She took the drink and popped the top. “I was just admiring your collection.” He eyed the full shelves. “I like to read. It’s how I relax after surgery.”
“I’m surprised you have the time.”
“When something’s important to me, I make the time.”
She sensed a double meaning there, one that made her uncomfortable. “Are the movers finished?” she asked.
“Yeah, they left about twenty minutes ago. So did my dad. You want the nickel tour?”
“Sure.” Easier to trail after him than to keep looking at him, she thought as her body once again betrayed her.
He led her through the three-bedroom town house that was a mirror image of hers. In the three years she’d lived in the complex, this unit had always been a rental. The walls were cream, the carpet a neutral beige. Cream vertical blinds allowed in light.
They started in the living room. Like the furniture she’d seen in his bedroom, the pieces were conservative and tasteful. A dark-blue leather sofa with a matching recliner stretched across the back wall. A television and other complex-looking electronic equipment filled an entertainment unit opposite. The end and coffee tables were oak, oversized but simple. A few paintings leaned against the wall—a couple of oil seascapes, and three watercolor scenes of a bay—along with a collection of photographs that looked to be blowups from several different trips. Knowing what she did about him, she would have pictured something flashier.
The room she used as an office he’d filled with exercise equipment. She didn’t dare picture him in shorts, and a cropped T-shirt, covered with sweat—her pulse was already rapid. In the master suite, several boxes stood open. She saw piles of linens—not silk or satin, but plain colors in cotton. Even the comforter was a sensible shade of blue and not the least bit exotic.
“What do you think?” he asked as he led her back to the living room. He motioned for her to take a seat on the sofa.
“It’s very nice,” she said, not sure how to reconcile what she’d seen with his life-style. She settled in the far corner, sinking onto the soft leather cushion. “You’re living here temporarily?”
“Until my house is built. I bought a piece of land.”
He sat down just left of center, which put him far enough away that they didn’t touch but not so far that she could forget about him. Of course, that might require his moving to an eastern bloc nation.
“Have you started construction?” she asked, pleased her voice sounded normal. That was something.
“I’m still working with the architect. I have some definite ideas, but I don’t know if they’re practical. We’re still figuring out things.”
So he could be her neighbor for a while. Great. She took a sip of her soda. Silence filled the room. She glanced at the coffee table, then at the fireplace in the corner.
“You’ll like that—”
“You don’t have to—”
They spoke at the same time. Dana shifted in her seat “Go ahead.”
“You don’t have to stay if you have plans,” he told her. “I appreciate your help, but I don’t want to take advantage of you.”
If only he did, she thought before she clamped down on her wayward thoughts and willed them into submission. She looked at her watch. It was barely noon.
“Expecting someone for lunch?” she asked, then covered her mouth in horror. She hadn’t really said that, had she?
He finished his soda and set the can on the coffee table. A lock of dark hair fell across his forehead. “Not at all. I meant what I said. I don’t want to keep you, but if you’d like to stay, I’d enjoy your company.”
Dana wondered how he could say that. She wasn’t being especially nice, which made her feel slightly ashamed. She wasn’t sure how to respond to him.
“Come on,” he said, rising to his feet. “You can talk to me while I unpack my desk.”
She followed him up the stairs. The last bedroom was a combined office and guest room. There was a gray-and-white striped sofa that folded out into a sleeper. His desk was relatively small and L-shaped, with a computer set up on one side. He reached for one of the boxes in the center of the floor.
“The moving company packed for me,” he told her as he opened the top. “It makes unpacking a treasure hunt. I’m never sure what’s inside.”
She pointed to the writing on the side of the box. It said Office. “I guess that’s not much help.”
He chuckled and reached inside. Instantly his smile faded. He pulled out a framed photograph.
“What is it?” she asked, moving toward him.
He turned the frame toward her. It held an eight-by-ten photo of a beautiful dark-haired woman. She had wide green eyes and a perfect smile. For a second Dana thought she must be a fashion model and tried to figure out if she’d seen her on any magazine covers. Then the truth sank in.
“This must be the former Mrs. MacAllister,” she said, wondering if she sounded as shocked as she felt It was one thing to know intellectually that someone like Trevor would marry a stunningly
