Housebound (4 page)

She assumed wrong. With the effortlessness due to long legs he climbed up beside her, one jeans-clad thigh almost touching hers, and took a sip of the hot coffee.

If she edged away from him, she'd end up in the sink, a spot both undignified and uncomfortable. Taking a sip of her black coffee, she promptly burned her tongue.

“Though if you're not interested in Holly,” she added, her mind still working, “then I don't understand why you accepted her invitation. My sister is hardly subtle—I would have thought she'd made it clear what she had in mind. If you wanted to avoid it I don't see why you agreed to come.”

There was a fleeting guilty look that crossed his face like a passing cloud, and then he smiled that impossibly charming smile that effectively banished suspicions. “I like your sister,” he said—not really an explanation. “And I admire her tremendous talent. I was also at loose ends this weekend and the idea of being maneuvered into a weekend affair seemed like a pleasant enough way to pass the time. Quite frankly, I wasn't interested in much more than that from Holly, but then I knew she wouldn't be willing to give any more. That's the problem with great artists—they're incredibly selfish from necessity.”

Having grown up sandwiched in between two brilliant artists, Anne could scarcely refute that statement. “What made
you change your mind, then?” she questioned, taking another cautious sip of her coffee.

“Change my mind?” He was staring down at her, a curious expression in his eyes.

He was silent for a long moment, a fact Anne could only be grateful for. “I don't want her to think I'm too easy,” he said finally with a twisted grin. “I want her to respect me.” Before she could push him further he changed the subject. “What kind of coffee is this?”

“Sumatran beans. Freshly ground.” At least coffee would be a safe topic of conversation.

She was wrong. “Do you realize how rare a truly great cup of coffee is?” he countered severely. “Will you run away with me?”

“I thought you weren't easy,” she murmured, a slight smile in her eyes. “Besides, I don't think Wilson would like it.”

“Wilson?”

“My fiancé. You remember, the upstanding gentleman,” she prodded, feeling that all too familiar flash of guilt. “This house would fall down around us if I left. I think you'll have to run away with Holly.”

He was watching her out of blandly curious eyes. “No way,” he said finally. “She makes instant coffee?”

Anne was startled. “How did you know that? I thought you hadn't succumbed to her myriad charms yet.”

“I haven't. I succumbed to her offer of coffee after you deserted us last night, and that was mistake enough.” He shuddered expressively. “Powdered milk wasn't much help, either.”

“I could almost find it in my heart to pity you.”

“I was hoping you would. Don't abandon me to my fate tonight, I beg of you.” He was suddenly very close, and the
coffee on his breath mingled with hers. Unconsciously she leaned toward him, her lips parted breathlessly, once more falling under his spell.

“Noah,” she murmured breathlessly, “don't do this.”

“Don't do what?” he whispered, his lips brushing hers. “You're feeling the same way I am—don't deny it.” One hand reached out and deftly removed her half-full coffee mug from her hand, setting it down on the counter. “We'd better put this out of harms' way. I didn't mind brandy down my back, but I draw the line at hot coffee.” And his mouth caught hers again, tasting of the rich sweetness of creamed and sugared coffee. Anne made a little moaning sound in the back of her throat, and she raised her hands to push him away from her. A shared kiss by a fire was one thing, and she could always blame the brandy. Right now it was broad daylight, and she had absolutely no excuse, much as she wanted one. And she wanted him. The hands pushed for a moment against his chest, then curled around his shoulders, the fingers kneading the tightly muscled flesh, as she slowly, languorously tipped back her head beneath his searching mouth.

The clatter of footsteps down the narrow kitchen steps pulled them apart, and a moment later, when a somewhat disheveled Holly appeared in the door, Anne was again staring down into her coffee, only the telltale flush on her usually pale face attesting to her recent activity.

“Good morning!” Holly said cheerily. “This certainly is the most ghastly time of day to get out of bed.”

“Then why did you? I don't think you've gotten up before noon since you were eighteen,” Anne shot back, her smile taking the sting out of her words.

“Artistic license, darling. We great talents have to have our
beauty rest. But today I made the supreme sacrifice so that I wouldn't miss a minute of Noah.” She peered around the kitchen. “Have you got any more coffee? Instant will do.”

Despite herself Anne met Noah's expressive grin, and she burst out laughing. “Holly, it's a shame to waste good coffee on you. It's on the stove.”

“You know, sis, there's nothing worse than a coffee snob,” Holly rejoined cheerfully. “There are a great many things more important in life than a cup of coffee.”

“Name one,” Noah said promptly.

“Oh, not you, too.” Holly sighed, her blue eyes narrowing suddenly as she took in their proximity at the counter. “Well, you two are certainly getting along like a house on fire,” she murmured above her coffee. “I wouldn't have thought you'd have much in common.”

“Apart from coffee and cognac we don't,” he murmured, sliding down off the counter and strolling to the door to peer out at the snow-covered countryside. “I wonder if it's snowing in Vermont.”

Holly's pout was attractive, but Noah missed it entirely. “Aren't you enjoying your stay, Noah? I hadn't realized we'd be boring you already.”

“I'm enjoying it immensely.” His eyes met Anne's for a brief pregnant moment before smiling blandly at Holly. “You have to realize that the sight of snow sends any skier's blood racing.”

“Oh, is that what did it?” Anne murmured provocatively under her breath from her perch on the countertop, and he grinned at her.

“What did you say, Anne?” A tiny bit of a whine was added to the dimpled pout, and her wide blue eyes slid from her sister to Noah with sudden suspicion.

“Nothing, darling. Are you ready for breakfast?” Anne stretched luxuriantly, yawning. “Excuse me, I'm not used to having company so early in the day.”

“You'd better complain to Wilson about that. It's up to him to get you used to it,” Holly snapped, and Anne's head shot up, her green eyes troubled as she surveyed her sister's angry face. Holly continued on, undaunted. “You haven't met Anne's fiancé yet, Noah. Ashley hates him, but Proffy thinks the match is made in heaven. He's much more tolerant of old Wilson than he is of any of my men friends. But then, Anne is thirty-four, and I guess he figures she knows what she wants by now.”

Noah leaned against the oak table, more amused than anything else. “Thirty-four, are you? My, you are ancient! I'm surprised you don't need a cane to get around.”

“I can still manage pretty well,” Anne replied lightly, her eyes concerned as they took in Holly's obvious distress. She had known for years that Holly hated to lose. But why should she feel threatened by Noah's harmless charm, unless he meant more to her than one of the brief encounters she'd enjoyed over the years.

“Yes, she's two years older than you,” Holly added with all the deftness of a sledgehammer. She had been blessed with neither Ashley's malice nor Anne's slightly mocking humor, and her attempts at acerbity fell flat.

“So she is,” Noah said mildly, taking in the tension with a wry smile.

Finally Anne forced herself to move. “Look, why don't you two go on up to the dining room and I'll get a start on breakfast? If you're feeling noble you might even set the table.” She slid off the countertop and began rustling around the stove.

“That sounds like a good idea.” Noah refilled his coffee
mug, getting one for Holly while he was at it. The anger and suspicion were gone from the younger woman's eyes—instead they were filled with belated guilt and misery.

“Anne, I'm…” Words seemed to fail her, and Anne could very well guess why. She could hardly admit to being jealous of her elder sister—Holly could never admit to any insecurities at all.

“Don't worry about it, cranky,” she said in a low voice, accompanying it with a forgiving smile. “I can see now why you sleep till noon.”

Holly smiled back, obviously relieved, as she caught Noah's arm in a lightly possessive grip. “Two eggs, over easy, with sausage and English muffins,” she demanded blithely. “What would you like, Noah?”

He stared down at Holly, his easy smile nowhere to be seen. “First of all, I'd like you to stop treating your sister like a short-order cook and honored serf,” he drawled, the sting in his voice faint but present. “And for breakfast I'll have whatever she's making, or better still, I'll make it myself and save her the trouble.”

Anne swallowed, waiting for the explosion, and Holly's eyes flashed dangerously for a moment. And then the tension left her, and she laughed, a light, unaffected laugh that was a major part of her charm.

“You're right; I was thoughtless, and I'm sorry. Anne, you go on upstairs and set the table, and Noah and I will make breakfast.”

“Now that sounds like a good idea,” Noah seconded, his eyes warm with approval. “Even better, why don't you take your coffee, go into the living room, and put your feet up? Read the paper, take it easy. Holly and I will set the table, too. You deserve a morning off.”

“Yes, darling, you look like you've been under a lot of strain,” Holly added, and for the first time Anne wondered if Ashley's malice had really passed her by.

“All right, I'm going,” she acquiesced. “But you have to clean up any mess you make.”

“Cross my heart!” Holly promised. “I'll put Noah in charge of KP.”

“Hey!” he protested.

“Women's lib,” she chirped back saucily. “Go on, Anne. You can trust us in your precious kitchen.”

As she climbed the narrow stairs to the second floor, Anne was conscious of a queer feeling of isolation. Their laughing voices drifted up to her, and more than anything she wanted to be a part of that laughter, share in the lighthearted banter. But Holly had made it clear that banter could only include two people.

Curiouser and curiouser, Anne thought as she ensconced herself on the frayed sofa in front of the now cold fireplace, propping her feet on a pile of magazines atop the cherry wood butler's table. Never had she seen Holly so snappish, and there could be little doubt as to the cause of it. Hadn't she said Noah Grant was the sexiest man alive? Without question he was definitely in the top ten, and it was little wonder Holly had set her sights on him. What was a surprise was her jealousy of Anne. She suspected that Noah's flirtation was second nature to him—that she meant no more to him than Holly.

But Holly was no challenge; she was his for the taking. Not that she had put up much of a fight, either, Anne thought wryly, staring into the empty fireplace. It would be a very good idea if she spent the day in her studio, working on the Chinese manuscript, and then have Wilson come over early.
A good dose of Wilson's steady charm would drive these absurd fantasies from her mind in short order. Never mind the fact that she'd been having second thoughts about Wilson these last few months. There was still no room in her well-ordered life for a charming, overgrown leprechaun like Noah Grant, and there was certainly no room in his for the likes of Anne Kirkland. It would be an extremely good idea if she didn't forget that again.

The political ramifications of the Ming dynasty, written in Harvey Etling's turgid, academic prose, were hardly conducive to keeping Anne's mind off the distracting presence of Noah Grant. Shortly after breakfast she disappeared into her studio, equipped with a box of ginger snaps and her third cup of coffee, leaving strict instructions with Holly that she wasn't to be disturbed. She'd had little doubt Holly would manage to keep intruders from her studio, particularly a certain one, and during the next six or seven hours she slogged through just over half of the five-hundred-page manuscript. Unfortunately Etling's urge to sound erudite quite often circumvented grammar, necessitating rather tedious line editing, and by the time Anne finally looked up from the manuscript scattered around her on the bed, her head and eyes ached, her muscles were cramped, and her temper hovered between depression, exhaustion and definite snappishness.

The faint rich aroma of coffee filtered through the narrow door to her haven, the smell tickling her nostrils and bringing a latent resolution to her tired body. Straightening from her reclining position, she started pushing the scribbled-on manu
script into some sort of order when the door opened and the doorway filled with a distracting male body.

“So this is where you've been hiding all day,” Noah observed casually, looking around him with interest as he ducked into the room. The door cut into the solid rock wasn't suited for people more than five feet eight.

“I haven't been hiding; I've been working,” she said irritably, angry at the sudden quickening of her pulses. “And looking for some solitude.”

He held up the tray holding two mugs of steaming coffee. “I come bearing gifts. Surely you can't kick a messenger out who comes equipped with coffee?”

“You seem to have an uncanny ability to find all my weaknesses,” she said with a sigh, reaching an eager hand for the mug. She took a tentative sip. It was slightly stronger than she usually made it, but divine nonetheless. “And you must have made this. No one else in the house knows how to make coffee, unless Ashley's friend has hidden talents.”

“I'm sure he must.” Noah slid down to sit on the floor, his long legs stretched out in front of him, and Anne could only be thankful he didn't choose the bed. “But I'd guess Ashley would know that better than anyone else. They've been off somewhere all day.” His blue eyes surveyed the twilit room before coming to rest on her. “I like your studio.”

“So do I. It's a great place to escape to when my family's demands get overwhelming.”

“I can imagine so. Your family seems to be the type to get overwhelming quite frequently. This does look a little unfurnished for a bedroom, though.”

“Oh, this isn't usually my bedroom,” she said blithely, then her unruly tongue ground to a halt.

“I didn't think so. You usually sleep next door to Holly, don't you?” He grinned at her.

“Did you go through my drawers?” she questioned curtly, unable to hide her discomfort.

“Didn't think of it. Though that's a good idea. No, I can recognize that delicious smell of roses that permeates the room. And I can recognize your taste. No one else in this house would have such a strange collection of books. Your mind fascinates me.”

“Why? Because I like steamy romances and Doris Lessing?”

“Not to mention Dick Francis, Dorothy L. Sayers and Charles Dickens.”

“Acquit me of the last!” she begged. “Dickens found his way up there while I was looking up something. I disapprove of him heartily—he's tedious and sexist.”

“So was almost everyone back then.” He took a sip of his own coffee. “He has things to recommend him, though. You ought to try him again.”

“Forget it. He had his chance and he blew it with
A Tale of Two Cities
. Did you say you had a message for me?” She tried to keep her mind off his lovely long legs, the sensual curve of his mouth, that mop of thick black curls, and how much she liked having him stretched out comfortably in her inner sanctum, arguing about Dickens.

“Wilson's car is broken down.”

“No!” She was immediately panic-stricken. Noah Grant was already playing havoc with her fantasies—she needed Wilson around to make her see some sense, or heaven only knew what might happen. She hadn't been prey to this kind of nervous schoolgirl passion since she was seventeen.

“Don't worry, he'll be there to protect you from me,” Noah
said with a grin. “Holly went to fetch him, which explains why I'm momentarily free. Did you tell her to cling to me like a burr all day, or was that her idea?”

“She didn't need much encouragement, I'm afraid. I'm sorry, has she been intolerable?” Anne knew still another pang of guilt.

“Almost. I know I have myself to blame as much as anyone. I realized what I was getting into.” His clear blue eyes caught hers for a long, silent moment, and Anne was suddenly, belatedly aware of the encroaching winter night. The sun had set, and the room was filled with blue shadows reflecting off the snow. There was a bright sliver of moon already in evidence, casting eerie shadows of bare limbs onto the wide oak floor, across Noah's face, reaching out ghostly fingers to touch Anne's restless body.

“I should start dinner,” she said, not moving, and her voice came out low and breathless.

He ignored her inane comment. “Are you afraid of me, Annie love?” His voice was low and beguiling. “I wouldn't hurt you, you know.”

“Wouldn't you?” she found herself saying caustically, then gave herself a mental and physical shake. “And why should you? This is an entirely ridiculous conversation, Noah. You're not in a position to hurt me.”

“Aren't I?”

“No!” Her voice was stubborn and a little too loud in the quiet room. “And I think we'd better retire to the kitchen before Holly comes back and slits our throats.”

“Not Wilson? Isn't he the protective type any more than Ashley?” Slowly, casually, Noah rose to his full height, stretching his lean, lithe body indolently.

“Wilson, as you'll soon discover, is eminently civilized. Holly's more emotional.” A frown crossed her face. “And surprisingly jealous.”

“Maybe I bring out the worst in her,” Noah offered lightly. “Though I never fancied myself as irresistible.”

Anne let that pass. “No, it's been going on longer than that. She's been edgy around me and Wilson for the past eighteen months, and I can't imagine why.”

“Past eighteen months?” Noah echoed, suddenly very curious. “How long have you been engaged?”

Anne looked at him without batting an eye, daring him to mock her. “Eighteen months,” she replied briefly.

“Don't give me that fierce look, Annie love. It's none of my business if your fiancé is a little slow on the uptake,” he murmured. Before she could protest he caught her hand, pulling her off the bed to stand beside him, and for a moment Anne could smell the faint trace of spicy after-shave he used, mixed with the coffee. She took a sudden step away from him, toward the door, and he laughed.

“And I wouldn't worry about Holly doing us in,” he said, following her out into the kitchen. “I think I've finally found the perfect distraction for her. She lit up when she heard your fiancé on the phone.”

“Holly and Wilson?” Anne dumped her coffee mug in the sink and headed for the refrigerator. “Don't be ridiculous. She thinks he's a stick-in-the-mud and he thinks she's an impertinent baby. He calls her ‘brat.'”

“How endearing. Maybe that's what Holly needs.” Noah deftly removed the salad fixings from her hands and headed toward the chopping board.

The sudden temper that had been plaguing her of late flared
once more. “Well, that's too bad for her. She's not going to have him, too.”

“Too?” he echoed, fascinated. “Who else has she commandeered? Or did you mean because of her obviously favored position in the household? Your father does seem to dote on her.”

“Yes, he does, and I learned long ago not to let that bother me,” she said frankly. “A lot of men prefer their women to be charmingly scatterbrained and helpless. Gives them a sense of superiority. Holly's very good at appearing helpless, when actually she's capable of just about anything she puts her mind to. She wouldn't be where she is in her profession if she couldn't. Brilliant talent isn't enough. You need discipline, determination, ruthlessness….”

“And that selfishness we talked about earlier,” Noah added, shredding the lettuce in large, capable hands before tossing it in the bird's-eye maple salad bowl. “Selfish with their time, their energy, their emotions, their love.”

“Not to mention their money,” Anne added wryly, remembering the cost of the cognac. “You sound like you've been through it before. Have you known many artists?”

“I was married to one.” The words were short, clipped, the expression on his face shuttered. Anne stared at him for a long, silent moment, trying to still the absurd rush of jealousy that had swept over her at his terse words. There was no doubt in her mind that he didn't care to talk about his marriage, no doubt that if she did pursue it he would abandon her in the kitchen. And even if that was a very sensible idea, she couldn't bring herself to do it.

“Well, then, you know as well as I do what it's like. And it's even worse growing up with them,” she said easily, slicing onions. “I hope you like
carbonnades à la Flammande?
”

“What kind of beer do you have to go with it?”

“German and Dutch. I wanted to find some Flemish beer but I couldn't think of any.”

“I can't either.” There was still a note of strain in his voice, and he whirled on her suddenly, his lean, strong body taut. “Do you know what the definition of blemish is?”

He looked so very serious, the smile wiped from his dark face, and all sorts of things ran through her mind. The scarring of a bad marriage, the wounds left by petty jealousy? “No, what?” she questioned, her voice as tense as his.

“The language they speak in Felgium.”

“Damn you!” She collapsed against the sink, weak with laughter.

“I thought you'd like that,” he said with a smirk. “Do you know how they torture seasoned criminals?”

“They make them listen to your jokes?”

“No, Annie love. They torture seasoned criminals on a spice rack.”

“Oh, no,” she moaned. “Go away. I'd rather do the salad myself.”

“Sorry, but I haven't found a willing victim for a long time. I was almost kicked out of law school for that last one.”

“I'm not surprised. You should be ashamed of yourself, Mr. Grant.”

“I can't help myself, Ms. Kirkland. It comes over me sometimes, this dreadful compulsion to tell bad jokes. I need help.”

“You do indeed. I think you should corner Holly and tell her. Then she'd leave you alone for certain.”

“And then I could spend the rest of the weekend backing you into dark corners.” There was a dangerous gleam in his eyes. “That sounds like an excellent idea.”

“On second thought, maybe you'd better spare Holly the disillusionment. She told me you were the sexiest man alive—I'd hate to see her illusions shattered so completely.”

“You think telling bad jokes diminishes my sexuality?”

She paused midway through her third onion. “It quite effectively unmans you,” she said, gesturing with her knife for emphasis.

“If you didn't have that knife around I could very easily prove you wrong,” he murmured, the gleam in his eyes more pronounced. “That's not a challenge I can let pass by.”

“Too bad. I'll defend my virtue at all costs.”

“Then I'll have to wait until I can catch you without a knife,” he replied, undaunted.

“And when Wilson and Holly are out of the picture, and when I'm as addled as I was last night and this morning,” she added sternly. “That's a tall order, and one I don't think fate is likely to fill.”

“Addled, were you?” he queried, much interested. “I wonder why?”

“How could I help it with the sexiest man in the world bent on adding me to his list of conquests?” Anne replied, her voice wry.

He started to say something, then changed his mind. “I don't have a list of conquests,” he said quietly.

“That's not what Holly said.” She was concentrating very hard on the onions, but she could feel those mesmerizing blue eyes watching her, feel the heat from him as he moved closer to her slender body by the sink.

“I'm not a monk,” he said finally. “I have normal, healthy urges that I try to fill in normal, healthy ways. And having to bed every woman in sight isn't a healthy, normal way as far
as I'm concerned.” Abruptly he changed the subject. “Why don't you have a food processor? Any cook as good as you deserves one.” Reaching deftly around her knife, he took half-a-dozen onions with him to aid in her slicing.

“Don't I know it.” She sighed covetously. “At this point we can't afford it. Every penny goes into this old house.” She looked around her with mingled exasperation and affection. “I'm afraid a new roof is going to have to come first. I only wish we could afford to replace the slate.”