caught her by the shoulders as she reached for her blouse. “Hey, slow down a minute.”
“But I—”
Peter placed a silencing finger over her mouth. “I want you to take a deep breath.”
She did as he instructed, and her nerves settled somewhat.
“All right. Now, did Liza turn off the water?”
Aimee nodded.
“Good.” He tugged her into his arms and held her head to his chest. He stroked her hair. “I know this guy who’s a plumber. Why don’t I give him a call and have him take care of it for you? He’ll have it fixed in no time.”
Aimee pulled away from him. “Peter, I can’t afford a plumber.”
“You don’t have to.” He massaged the back of her neck with his fingers. “I’ll take care of it for you.”
“No,” Aimee said firmly. She stepped out of his arms and away from his touch. “I can’t let you do that.”
Peter frowned. “Why not?”
“You know why. Because it’s my building and my responsibility. Not yours.” Ignoring his sullen expression, Aimee started for the bedroom.
Peter followed. “Then make it my responsibility. Sell me the building. I’ve offered to buy the place from you before. The offer’s still good. Just say the word and I’ll take it off your hands.”
“I don’t want it taken off my hands. It’s my home,” she said, kicking her nightgown aside. Conscious of Peter’s gaze on her naked back, Aimee pulled her shirt over her head and then reached for her jeans.
“All right. Forget about the building, then. But don’t go rushing home. Not yet.” He brushed his lips against her nape and moved his body behind hers. “Stay, Aimee,” he whispered.
Aimee could feel his arousal pressed against her. Her breath quickened. She curled her fingers into the jeans she was holding. Oh, how she wanted to stay, how tempting he made it for her to forget her responsibilities and be with him. “I can’t,” she said finally, breaking free of the sensual spell of his nearness.
Peter’s mouth stilled on her neck, and Aimee was keenly aware of the loss of his warmth as he released her. “Can’t or won’t, Aimee?”
She knew he didn’t understand her not allowing him to pay for the plumber, any more than he had understood her reasons for not marrying him. Sometimes she wasn’t even sure she understood them herself. All she knew was that she loved him and it was his love she wanted in return-not his money or his help fixing her building or even in launching her art career.
But Peter didn’t believe that, because he was convinced everyone wanted something, everyone had an angle. She slipped into her jeans, then turned to face him. “Can’t. I’ve got a leaking pipe to fix.”
Peter remained silent, his face a stone mask, as she located her sandals and slid them onto her feet.
He yanked open his closet door and came out with a sport shirt and slacks. Tossing the clothes on the bed, he stripped off his pajama bottoms. Except for low-rise teal briefs, he was naked. Lean and solid, muscles rippling across his chest and shoulders as he moved, he reminded her of an ancient warrior. “Give me a minute to get dressed and I’ll take you home.”
“Don’t worry about it,” she said, averting her gaze. “It’s just a couple of blocks.”
He ignored her and pulled on his slacks. “I said I would see you home.”
“Peter, please. I don’t want to argue with you. I don’t have time. I have to go. Besides, you and I both know I can be home before the valet can even bring your car around.” Grabbing her purse from the dresser, she rushed over to him and gave him a quick kiss. “See you later?”
“Sure,” he said.
But from the look of frustration on his face, Aimee wasn’t so sure that she would.
The woman was driving him crazy, Peter admitted silently. He shut the door to Gallagher’s and headed out into the summer heat. Despite the smoldering temperature and choking humidity, he strode at a clipped pace along the battered sidewalks of the French Quarter. A trickle of perspiration dotted his brow, and he loosened the tie at his neck.
How had his life gotten so out of hand? What had started out as a simple plan had turned into something a great deal more complicated. Any way he looked at it, Aimee Lawrence was tying him up in knots.
He didn’t like it. He liked even less the fact that he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about her.
The sun gleamed down, hot and punishing, and Peter slowed his steps. He glanced about the nearly empty streets and grimaced. Even the tourists who had been foolish enough to visit the city in the middle of June had enough sense to avoid the oppressive afternoon heat. Only idiots like himself were out roaming the streets in the sweltering sun.
And he did feel like an idiot, Peter acknowledged. He should be at Gallagher’s, uncrating the Matisse he had battled for so fiercely at the last auction. Instead, he was wandering through the streets of the French Quarter and thinking about Aimee.
Pausing, Peter wiped at his brow with his handkerchief and then glanced up. He frowned when he discovered he was standing in front of Aimee’s building. That in itself demonstrated just how completely she had been occupying his thoughts. He hadn’t planned to come here today. He had promised himself he was going to stay away from her until she came to her senses…until she came to him.
Only Aimee hadn’t come. She hadn’t bothered to call him either.
The frustration he had experienced that morning came back to him in a rush, along with the anger. He was still angry with her, he realized—not for leaving him when he’d asked her to stay, but for refusing his help.
It was one thing for Aimee to refuse to sell him the building. After all, he had been less than honest with her. She didn’t know that he was the unnamed buyer who had tried to purchase the place from her when she first inherited it.
She certainly hadn’t known then, and didn’t know even now, that the building had once belonged to him and he had sworn it would be his once again. Besides, he was sure she would be less than pleased to learn that the reason he had sought her out in the first place was to convince her to sell him the place. And he had no doubt that, if she ever learned that part of the reason he had asked her to marry him was to regain control of the building, she would be furious.
Still, his offers to help her with the repairs had been genuine and had had nothing to do with his interest in the building. He’d made the offers because he cared about her. He didn’t like seeing her work so hard to keep the place up. And he was getting damned tired of her throwing his offers to help back in his teeth.
Seeing his scowling reflection in the shop’s window, Peter tried to school his expression. He didn’t want to attempt to reason with Aimee while he was still angry.
But he was angry…and confused. Nothing about Aimee or his feelings for her fit in his orderly life or in his plans. And
