would be okay,” he suggested. “Maybe some of that Jamaican stuff.”
Arden laughed. “Now I know the real reason for your visit.”
“Just an added bonus,” he assured her.
She opened the front door of the building and led the way up the stairs. Mrs. Dempsey was just coming out of her apartment with a plate heaped with cookies as Arden turned down the hall. She could smell the mouth-watering scents of nutmeg and cinnamon.
She wanted to ask Mrs. Dempsey if she’d seen anyone she didn’t recognize in the building the previous afternoon, but she couldn’t do so in front of Shaun. If she did, he’d know she’d been lying about the envelope coming from her landlord. And she had no intention of discussing the letters with him.
Greta passed off the plate of cookies to Arden and smiled. “Smart girl,” she said in a stage whisper.
“Thank you, Mrs. Dempsey,” Arden said. Then, to clarify, “For the cookies.”
Greta winked at them both. “Enjoy.”
Arden shook her head as she juggled the plate of cookies and her briefcase, trying to reach the keys in her pocket, but she was smiling. Shaun took the cookies, inhaled deeply, and a low hum of pleasure sounded in his throat. The sensual sound caused Arden’s insides to quiver.
She stepped away from him quickly, into the apartment, and set her briefcase down. “Mrs. Dempsey makes fabulous cookies.”
“And oatmeal-raisin are your favorite,” Shaun said.
“How do you know?”
“She told me.” He followed her into the kitchen.
Arden didn’t want to speculate about what else her neighbor might have told him. “That doesn’t mean she has to give me three dozen.”
“She thinks you’re too skinny,” Shaun reminded her, helping himself to a cookie.
“If she wants cuddly, she should get a teddy bear.”
He laughed. “She worries about you. She doesn’t have any children of her own to fuss over.”
Arden measured coffee grinds into the filter. “How long were you talking to her?”
“I didn’t clock the conversation,” he said dryly.
“Approximately?” she prompted.
“Half an hour.” He grinned. “It was…informative.”
“I’ll bet.”
He bit into the cookie, finished it off in two bites and reached for another. “These are fabulous.”
“I’ll send some home with you,” she promised.
“Thanks. Mrs. Fields can’t compare to Mrs. Dempsey.”
Arden smiled and took a cookie for herself. “I’ll be sure to tell her you said so.” She pulled a couple of mugs out of the cupboard and filled them with fresh-brewed coffee. Then she carried both cups to the table, setting one in front of Shaun.
“I didn’t only stop by to take measurements,” he told her.
Arden sipped her coffee, waiting for further explanation.
“I wanted to make sure you were okay—after yesterday.”
After her breakdown in the park? Or after his kiss? Her answer would be the same in either case, but she chose to accept the first interpretation. Just because she was obsessing over that kiss, she wasn’t going to delude herself into thinking that he was. Shaun McIver probably went around kissing women all the time; she just happened to be the only one in the vicinity last night. What bothered her more than the way he’d kissed her was the way she’d kissed him back. Her response to him had been disproportionate and out of character.
“I’m fine,” she told him.
He nodded. “Good. You look good.” His gaze skimmed over her and he smiled. “A little on the skinny side, but good.”
“You might want to think about whose cookies you’re eating and whose coffee you’re drinking before you start throwing the insults around.”
“I apologize,” he said with mock solemnity.
Arden pushed the cookie plate a little closer to him.
“I was a little concerned when you weren’t here this morning,” Shaun told her.
Arden frowned. She wasn’t comfortable with other people worrying about her. “I told you I was okay.”
He nodded. “Mrs. Dempsey guessed that you were at the women’s shelter. She said that you spend a few hours there a couple of days a month.”
“That’s true.”
“Visiting clients?”
“Sometimes. Sometimes just to talk to the women about their legal options.”
“Can you bill for that?”
“Not everything is about billing,” she said testily.
“It was just a question,” he said. “There’s no need to get defensive.”
She sipped her coffee, considered another cookie.
“I think it’s admirable that you’re willing to share your time and expertise. Not many lawyers do pro bono work anymore.”
“It’s surprising, and depressing, how many clients I get from the shelter.”
“It’s probably reassuring, though, for those clients to meet you in an informal setting. Most people don’t like having to see a lawyer at the best of times. I imagine it would be a lot worse for a woman who’s been abused, having to face someone she’s never met and share the horrors of her life—particularly if the lawyer is a man.”
His insight surprised her. Most people didn’t want to hear about the work she did, didn’t understand her commitment. Still, his sudden interest confused her.
“I’m sure you don’t want to talk about my career, or my crusade, as some call it.”
“Everything about you interests me, Doherty.”
She tilted her head. “Are you hitting on me, McIver?”
“If you have to ask, I’m doing something wrong.”
She laughed softly. “Don’t bother. I don’t date lawyers.”
In fact, she hadn’t dated at all in a long time. But even if she was looking to date someone, even if she was willing to bend the rule, it wouldn’t be for Shaun McIver. Shaun was everything she didn’t want in a man.
“Neither do I,” he admitted, contradicting his earlier statement.
