The Very Thought of You (18 page)

“It's crossed my mind, given my current problems.” He held up his hands in a defensive gesture. “Don't worry. I won't go there.” An expression that rivaled the most angelic altar boy's suffused his face.

“Be honest, you just can't bring yourself to part with it.”

“That's not entirely true. Granted, I'd let it go only as a last resort. I could survive if I absolutely had to sell and there was a way to do it.”

“Don't you think that down the road you absolutely might have to find a way?” She held up her hands. “That wasn't a reference to you-know-what. Without the time and money to finish this project — and I can see how it would break your heart to abandon it … ”
Oh, yes, I can really feel his pain. Ha!
“Yet, it might be best to let it go anyway, regardless of other … matters that shall remain unmentioned. It seems to bring you more guilt than pleasure.”

He laughed. “That's okay. I know what you think. I've got a couple of other problems. One, I carry a mortgage on this place. Second, when I bought the property, it was with the stipulation that if I ever decided to sell, it had to be back to Todd. He doesn't want a succession of strangers living here, who could blame him? We kicked the idea around a couple of months ago. He's strapped with the new expansion. So even if it became an absolute necessity, I have no choice. Selling right now is not an option.”

Molly had to smile. He was better than good. Way, way better. She wondered if he'd ever thought about running for public office. He'd be right out front bamboozling the voters. Probably, she was supposed to pass the information on to his tenants. Like Duncan Serk would care Nick had a slight problem with his weekend retreat in Napa. Still, Nick did offer to sell or, at least, claimed he did. Since she didn't figure him for a liar, she decided to believe him. Heck, she wanted to believe him.

“The only way to finish this house in the near future would be to unload the San Francisco property where my future condos and tenants are located. The man I bought the three parcels from approached me recently and made a serious offer.”

“Have you considered it?”

“Not at present.”

“It sounds like if you sold, it would solve your problems.”

“If all I cared about was money, yes. This is the kind of guy who would invite the sheriff in the front door and run the tenants out the back. Without a buyout, either. Count on it. I heard a few stories about how stingy he was with the heat, how the plumbing often quit for days, and how he was impossible to get a hold of to make necessary repairs.”

“In other words, you're the only thing standing between your tenants and the street.”

“I guess you could look at it that way.”

Was he putting her on? Who was
he
channeling, Robin Hood?

“Don't sell.” She laid her hand lightly on his arm. Her eyes pleaded with him.

“I won't as long as there's a chance my tenants do an about face and decide to become reasonable. I haven't given up hope yet. Anyway, this conversation probably cost me a couple of grand. So, before I'm out any more, why don't I rescue our food basket from the car? What will eventually become a kitchen is that way. I'll only be a minute.”

Molly headed in the direction he indicated. An opening in the only wall that didn't feature exposed stone led to a room that contained a relic of a refrigerator and another pair of saw horses. They supported two long stout planks that together formed a surface deep enough to serve as a table for their picnic. Maybe he had a couple of folding chairs stashed somewhere. A sheaf of blueprints lay stacked at one end of the planks. Molly only had time to peruse the top print when Nick entered the kitchen with the basket. He also carried a plaid blanket.

“Are these for your construction project?” She replaced the prints. “There seem to be too many for a single house. Don't worry. It won't cost you a cent to answer.”

“Yeah.” He spread the blanket on the planks and set the basket on it. He began to remove the cellophane. “I've kept those extra copies up here ever since someone broke into the trailer and trashed my office.”

“Really? Do you know who was responsible?”

His expression implied the answer didn't require Einstein's brain.

“You think it was one of your tenants?” A picture of Duncan Serk wielding a crowbar came to mind.

He shrugged. “I won't know anything unless the police come up with an answer. I'm not counting on it, though. Still, there's no way the frequent vandalism is going to halt the construction.”

She guessed he expected her to pass that on, too.

“It's a pretty ambitious project for such a downtrodden area.”

“Maybe I'll start a trend after all.”

Not a single vestige of the apartment house appeared in the blueprint she scanned. On paper, it was already obliterated.

“You mean inspire other builders to follow suit like you suggested earlier.” Molly hoped not.

“Is that such a bad idea? Last time I heard, it was called urban renewal or beautification or just turning a crappy area into someplace habitable.” He wadded up the cellophane and pitched it into a nearby bucket. “Come on, Molly, admit it. There are areas South of Market desperately in need of improvement. Don't tell me you were against all the new construction that blossomed downtown and around the Giants' new ballpark in China Basin.”

“No … not exactly.”

“I'm going to take that as a definite no. So, we're in agreement there. See, we do think alike.” He removed two small jars from the basket, one that contained mustard and the other chutney, and set them aside. “Why don't we eat?”

Molly removed a couple of small ice packs she'd wedged down among the food items to keep them fresh.

“I think there should be a few things in here for a starving man.”

“I'm sorry I don't have any furniture. That doesn't mean we can't sit.”

He placed his hands around her waist. Strong hands, yet with a suppleness in the fingers that made her want him to stake a claim on that particular piece of territory and stay for a while. A long while. Her sundress served as the slimmest barrier between her skin and his. She might as well have worn a sheet of saran wrap. She held her breath and stifled the purr that throbbed deep in her throat.

He lifted her up and sat her on the blanket. “I'm starved,” he said in an almost hushed tone. His eyes stayed on hers; his fingers probed her sides.

She tried not to read anything suggestive in any of it. Not when her synapses twanged like guitar strings and the word “willing” flashed in giant neon letters through her addled brain.

He blew air out through his mouth. “I think we need something to drink.”

Molly swallowed hard and nodded her agreement.

He removed his hands.

A wine rack atop the refrigerator held three bottles of red. He selected one, brought it over to Molly and offered it for her inspection as if he were a Sommelier.

“Would madam care for Cabernet or something cold from the refrigerator?”

“Do you have Chardonnay?” It surprised her that her voice sounded normal and not like she just survived a bungee jump off the Transamerica Pyramid.

“No. I meant beer. Sorry.”

“Hmm. I'll take the Cabernet. Not that I don't ever drink beer, but that's usually at an outdoor barbeque, in the heat.” It was pleasantly cool inside the house with all the stone.

He retrieved an opener and stemmed glass from the top of the refrigerator. She assumed he kept the wineglass for visitors since he preferred beer. Possibly — no, probably — he came up here plenty of times with women over the course of three years. A twinge of jealousy pricked Molly's skin. The opener was the two-pronged kind that Molly had never mastered. Naturally, he extracted the cork with no effort. He filled her glass halfway and handed it to her. Then he fetched a beer from the fridge and joined her on the blanket with the basket between them.

“Okay. Let's see what we have in here.” He retrieved two black handled knives, forks, and spoons from the basket and laid them aside. A pair of linen napkins along with two small china plates followed. He passed one of each to Molly. She set them on her lap. Next he produced crackers, cheese, and a link of summer sausage. “Oh, good. I was afraid we were going to be stuck with girly food. Why don't we start with these?” He used a knife to load a hunk of brie onto a cracker and handed it to her.

She figured he wasn't much of an hors d'oeuvre man.

He cut off a thick slice of sausage and put it on her plate. He added another slice to a cracker and bit into it. Crumbs scattered and he caught most of them with his free hand. He brushed the others off his lap.

He gave her a sheepish smile. “I guess I'm not very good at this. Usually, when I eat a cracker, I push the whole thing in my mouth.”

Molly bet he probably managed it without looking like Gordo the Gastronomic Glutton, too.

“Go for it.” She fished out a tin of caviar. She held it toward him.

He pulled the edges of his lips down so far the tendons in his neck corded. “I'm not into exotic foods.”

“I forgot. You prefer junk.”

He smiled. “There's a lot to be said for it.”

“Okay. Then, I guess we can scratch the jellied eel.”

He tilted his head toward her. “Absolutely, unless the big quake hits pronto and that's all we have left to eat. How about you?”

She shuddered and wrinkled her nose. “Not even then.”

He laughed and lightly tapped her cheek with his knuckle.

She felt another surge of heat.

He rummaged around in the basket. “What's this?” He held up a plastic container of pasta salad with pesto. He removed the lid and sniffed. “Hmm. I'll bet this tastes good.”

Man food. Green, too. No wonder it appealed to him. They ate quietly for a while. Molly discovered a jar of olives, along with smoked salmon pate (her favorite), chips and salsa (his), dried fruit, which they both passed on, and chocolate fudge shortbread cookies, which they devoured.

“I'm glad I bid on the Napa package.” He dusted the last of the crumbs off his hands. “I had a really good time today.”

“So did I.”

He stood and took her plate and glass from her and put them aside with his. He set the basket on the floor. “I'm glad, too, that I got to know you a little better.”

“Why is that?”

“I found out more about what you're like. We're pretty similar in a lot of ways.”

“You mean the jellied eel.”

He moved in front of her. “I mean in important ways.”

She perched several feet above the floor and sat close to the edge of the plank. Her knees bumped his hard abs just above the waistband of his jeans. Her shins brushed his fly.

“Really, like what?” She debated whether to move her legs. In case he hadn't noticed, she decided to keep them in a holding pattern. Why direct his attention
there
?

He rested his hands on the blanket, one on either side of her. His thumbs lightly stroked her fingers. “Oh … I think we proved today we're both pretty easy to get along with. We're considerate and caring. We're both serious about our work. Come to think of it, too, we know how to get down and dirty and have a good time.”

She nodded, although she wasn't sure about the “down and dirty” part. She might have questioned one or two other points as well. Right now, though, he was proving a lot more than easy to get along with. As for her, she was nano-seconds away from feeling just plain easy.

“This was fun.”

“I'm glad you think so. You spent plenty of money on today's outing.”

“It was worth every dollar.”

He placed his hands around her waist. His thumbs pressed into soft flesh as his fingers spread along her lower back. A shiver prickled her skin and spiraled into her toes and scalp. Her abdominal muscles tensed. She wondered if the “down and dirty” part was about to begin. She looked into his eyes and saw her desire reflected back at her. She laid her palms against his chest and touched lightly, her fingers rigid, making up her mind as to just how “dirty” she wanted to get with him.

His forehead rubbed the spot above one of her eyebrows. The edge of his nose touched the tip of hers. A corner of his lips grazed her cheek. Then his mouth moved over hers. Any thought of pushing him away evaporated under a seductive power that turned her hands to marshmallow fluff. The warmth from his mouth sent her body heat into a zone she'd never experienced. The kiss deepened and her heart pumped so fast it thumped inside her chest. The temperature in the room shot from cool to warm to something close to a tropical burn. Her lips parted, and he slid his tongue inside her mouth. A moan echoed from deep inside her throat, like the ocean's roar in her ears. Her Aunt Vi's warning flicked along the edges of her mind: “Either ride him until he's spent or prepare to be gored.” How prophetic. He edged back just about the time she thought she'd need resuscitation from a posse of EMTs.

It took a few moments before she remembered how to breathe like a normal woman.

“You taste like chocolate cookies,” he said.

“Is that good?”

His hands moved up her back. “So good, I'd like more.”

“Are you going to kiss me again?”

“That's sounds like a plan.” He smiled. “Do you want me to?”

Did she? Sure, she did, although it probably wasn't a smart idea. He looked more than ready. So why didn't he just do it? She didn't recall him negotiating with her either of the other two times.

“Well, do you?” His finger traced a slow S curve down her spine.

“I … think so … ” Why couldn't she just come right out and say yes? Maybe because warning bells were already … if not clanging, at least pinging.

His nostrils twitched.