“Forget to pay your electric bill?”
He reached the bottom without making a sound.
“Sometime you’re going to have to tell me how you do that.”
“Do what?”
“Step on that third step without making any noise.”
She suspected he smiled, although she couldn’t see his expression as he led her off to the left. She’d turned right before.
His workroom was cluttered and brightly lit. Her gaze instantly fastened on the clay taking shape on the largest table and she inhaled audibly. Even incomplete, the piece was magnificent.
“You have so much talent.”
Looking embarrassed, he indicated the ratty old couch and un-upholstered wood chair in the far corner of the room next to an ancient, badly scarred desk and a battered filing cabinet. Exactly what she had been looking for. But if the toxin was hidden in this room, he wouldn’t have led her here now.
“I have to finish this tonight.”
“Okay.” She ignored his impatience and stared around curiously at the crowded workspace. “Go ahead and work. You won’t even know I’m here.”
RIGHT. CASSIOPIA RICHARDS was the biggest distraction Gabe could imagine. How was he supposed to work with someone in the room? Whenever Beacher came over, Gabe always stopped, got a beer from the basement refrigerator and sat down to talk with him. He didn’t have that sort of time tonight.
“There’s beer,” he told her gruffly with a nod toward the refrigerator.
“Thanks, but what I’d really like is a bathroom.”
“Through there.” He indicated the door at her back. She turned, still clutching her bag, and disappeared inside. For a moment he wondered if he should have searched the bag. He dismissed that thought as true paranoia and replaced the gun under the table. He must be insane.
He was working when she finally emerged with the coat slung over one arm. Whatever she’d been wearing beneath it had been replaced by the jeans she’d had on earlier tonight and a sweatshirt. Her hair was now clipped behind her ears, flowing down her back to emphasize the graceful curve of her neck.
Right. He was going to have no trouble concentrating now.
Without a word, she crossed to the refrigerator, hesitated over the selection and came out with a bottle of imported beer. Carrying everything to the worn green sofa, she sat on a sagging cushion.
A ton of questions crowded his mind, but the clock discouraged him from starting the sort of conversation they needed to have. He’d be lucky to complete the piece tonight as it was.
True to her word, Cassiopia remained silent. At first it was disconcerting to have her watch, but amazingly, his fingers continued to work, quick and sure, while his thoughts tumbled chaotically. After a while he was lost in the rhythm of his work.
His muscles had started a serious burn of protest by the time the final rose took shape beneath the tool in his tired fingers. It unnerved him to realize Cassiopia had been right. As impossible as it seemed, he had been able to ignore her presence.
Looking up, he found her with her head pillowed on her coat, fast asleep. Strands of silky hair covered most of her face. The partially emptied bottle of beer was on the corner of the desk, in danger of falling at the slightest jar.
Gabe rolled his shoulders to stretch tensed muscles and washed his hands before crossing the room to rescue the beer. It was warm and flat. He was too tired to be drinking alcohol, but he finished it, watching her sleep, and tried to ignore the faint stirring of desire.
She wouldn’t appreciate his interest. Cassiopia had made her opinion of him clear. She had a lot in common with a rose. Soft and lovely to look at with plenty of thorns.
He couldn’t see her with Beacher. Beacher liked his women delicate, plentiful and quick to fade. The thorny ones tended to get tossed back fast. Even ones as appealing as her.
Gabe pinched the bridge of his nose and carried the empty bottle to the recycle bin. Eyeing the finished piece critically he decided it was good. It might even be one of the best things he’d done.
For a moment he debated removing the tiny bee he’d added at the last minute. Somehow, it seemed a little too symbolic sitting on a petal, staring at an unopened bud as if wishing for what it couldn’t have. But knowing he couldn’t remove it without disturbing the work, Gabe began cleaning up. Cassiopia never stirred, even when he ran the shower in the bathroom next door.
Dumping his dirty clothes in the washer, he wrapped a towel around his waist and called to her gently. No response. There was no way he could carry her up two flights of stairs tonight. He wasn’t sure he could carry himself to bed, as tired as he felt. It was going on five and he had to be at Denny’s with the bears that were currently cooling in his open kiln by eight.
In the laundry room he found a clean sheet and used it to cover her. A good host would go up and bring her down a blanket. He could live with being a lousy host.
He left a light on for her and headed upstairs. If she decided to search his basement when she woke, she wouldn’t be the first. Like the others, she’d be doomed to disappointment.
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