McIver's Mission (11 page)

He studied the key for a moment, grinned. "I've
had women give me keys to their apartments before," he said. "But
never with such enthusiasm."

Arden glared at him. "It's so you can get
out
,
not come in."

He felt his grin widen as he pocketed the key.
"It works both ways."

She picked up the briefcase she'd dropped at the door.
"If you're not here when I get back, thanks for the work you're
doing."

"Anytime," he said.

* * *

Arden
spent a couple hours at the library. She didn't have anything pressing that
required immediate research, but she'd needed an excuse to get out of her
apartment. To get away from Shaun. It wasn't just that his presence unnerved
her, although it did, it was the way he looked at her—as if he saw so much more
than she wanted to reveal.

She'd nearly blown it when he'd asked about her
downstairs neighbor. She'd forgotten about the story she'd concocted to explain
that letter. She sighed and pushed her hair away from her face. She didn't know
whether to be grateful or annoyed that Shaun's presence made her so easily
forget the problem that seemed to be at the forefront of her mind at any other
time. So she'd fled, reverting to her plan of avoidance. She wasn't proud of
her behavior, but Shaun McIver threatened every aspect of her well-ordered life
and she wasn't willing to risk everything for a temporary fling.

She could only hope that Shaun would be gone by the
time she returned to her apartment.

He wasn't.

And he came back the following night, and again the
night after that.

Arden let him keep the spare key, preferring to stay
late at the office or run errands after work. Anything to avoid spending time
with Shaun.

Thursday night when Arden arrived home, she was
greeted by the sharp odor of wood stain. "You're finished?" she
asked, trying not to sound too hopeful.

Shaun grinned at her as he wiped his hands on a rag.

"For now."

"Oh?"

"They'll need a second coat and then a protective
sealant," he told her.

"They look good," she said. And they did. It
made her wonder if there was anything Shaun McIver couldn't do well. She
severed the thought before it could go any further.

"I should be able to finish up this weekend, then
you'll be able to unpack."

"You haven't given me the receipts," she
reminded him. He'd refused to accept payment for the labor, but Arden had
insisted that she'd buy the materials. After all, they were her bookcases.

"Haven't I?"

"No."

Shaun shrugged. "Don't worry about it."

"I can't let you pay for my shelves."

"How about a trade?" he suggested.

She narrowed her eyes. "What kind of trade?"

"Dinner."

"Would you like me to order it for you?" she
asked dryly.

He grinned. "I'd like you to share it with
me."

"Oh."

"Have you already eaten?"

"No," she admitted.

"Neither have I."

"I guess the least I could do is buy you
dinner."

"You could smile and pretend to enjoy it,
too."

She did smile at that. "I'm sorry. I must seem
incredibly ungrateful, and I do appreciate all the work you've done. Where did
you want to go?"

"
DiMarco's
," he
said. "We have reservations for eight o'clock."

"Reservations?"

He nodded as he piled his paint cans and tools in the
corner. "That will give me just enough time to grab a quick shower before
we have to go."

"You planned this," she said accusingly.

"You can't get a table at
DiMarco's
without reservations," he said, as if that explained everything.

"I'm not going to fall in with your plans,
McIver."

He shrugged, suggesting that her agreement or lack
thereof didn't matter to him. "I've been living on fast food all week. I'm
hungry and I want a decent meal. I thought you might, too."

Arden sighed. She hated that he was always so
reasonable, and she was hungry. "Fine. There are towels in the cupboard in
the bathroom. You've got twenty minutes for a shower."

"I'll be ready in ten," he promised, then he
sauntered down the hall to the bathroom.

Arden shook her head as she watched him go. She didn't
understand why he was so intent on spending time with her. Did he think she was
going to fall into bed with him just because it was what he wanted?

Probably, she admitted to herself. She didn't imagine
there were many women who were immune to his charms. She knew that she wasn't.

He was out of the bathroom in the ten minutes he'd
promised, his hair damp from the shower. He looked good. Too good.

"Ready?" he asked.

She thought he was referring to dinner, but the
sparkle in his eyes made her wonder. "What's going on here, McIver?"

He didn't hedge or pretend not to understand, for
which she was grateful. "I think we need to take some time to figure that
out."

She shook her head. "You know we're completely
wrong for each other."

"I used to think so. Now, I'm not so sure."

He leaned toward her, and her breath caught in her
throat. This time she knew he was going to kiss her, but she wasn't any more
prepared for it. He touched his mouth to hers once, softly, fleetingly. Then
again, lingering this time. She resisted, for about two seconds, then her lips
softened, responded.

She could smell her soap on his skin, but the scent
enhanced rather than detracted from his masculinity. His hands were on her
hips, as if to hold her in place, but it was his kiss that immobilized her. She
couldn't think or move or speak; she could only feel. Her lips parted on a
sigh, her tongue met his.

"You make me wish I'd asked for more than
dinner," he said huskily when he'd ended the kiss.

She took a deep breath, tried to ignore the yearnings
of her own body. "I don't want to get involved," she said after a
long moment, refusing to meet his eyes. "I can't."

"Too late."

"It's not too late." She was vehement,
almost desperate.

"You know it is," he insisted. "That's
why you look so panicked every time I touch you." He reached out and
cupped her cheek gently in his hand, and she pulled back instinctively.
"Why is that? What are you afraid of?"

"Nothing. I'm not afraid." She glanced away.
"I'm just not interested."

"Liar."

She sighed. "I'm not good at relationships."

He smiled. "We'll start with dinner."

* * *

Shaun
was feeling just a little cocky as the hostess led them to a quieter, more
secluded area at the back of the restaurant—as per his request. Despite Arden's
assertion that she wasn't going to fall in with his plans, she had, in fact,
done just that.

The table was small, the chairs positioned at right
angles rather than across from each other. Tall plants and pots of greenery
allowed for a certain amount of privacy; the single rose on the table and the
flickering candle inside the hurricane shade provided a hint of romance.

And that's what this night was about: romance.

He'd given up trying to figure out what it was about
Arden Doherty that he found so intriguing, so compelling. He knew the reasons
didn't matter so much as the result. He wanted Arden, and he would do whatever
needed to be done to have her.

Romance, he'd decided logically, was the first step.
Yes, Arden was a practical person, an independent career-minded woman. But he
had yet to meet a woman who was immune to romance.

So when Arden sat down, eyeing the flower and candle
warily, he wondered if she might be the first. "Don't you think this is
overkill?"

"What do you mean?" Shaun asked innocently.

"I'm not going to get involved with you, Shaun.
Flowers and candlelight aren't going to change my mind."

"Wine?" he asked, accepting the list the
hostess proffered.

"That might improve your chances from 'when hell
freezes over' to 'not in this lifetime'."

He chuckled, wondering at the perversity of his nature
that allowed him to be charmed by a woman so determined to be contrary.
"Red or white?"

Arden shook her head, but she was smiling. "Your
choice."

He scanned the menu, ordered a bottle of pinot noir
that he knew to be of a particularly good vintage. The wine came, they ordered
dinner, then they chatted casually while they sampled the wine and waited for
their pasta. Shaun deliberately kept the conversation light, sensing Arden's
tension and hoping to relax her.

By the time their meals were delivered, she was
smiling more easily and had even laughed at a couple of his lame jokes.

"Does this improve upon the 'not in this
lifetime' to 'maybe tomorrow'?" Shaun asked hopefully, offering her the
basket of garlic bread.

Arden shook her head again. He wasn't sure if it was a
refusal of the bread or a response to his question.

"I don't do casual sex, Shaun."

"Sex should never be casual," he agreed.
"It's an activity that should be entered into only after careful thought
and deliberation, with serious attention given to the enjoyment of both
parties."

Arden twirled her fork in her pasta. "Careful
thought and deliberation?"

"I've given this careful thought and
deliberation," he assured her. "With serious attention to the various
ways in which I might ensure your enjoyment."

"Isn't it true that the average man thinks about
sex once every seven seconds?"

"When I'm with you, it's more like every three or
four seconds."

"And is that your definition of 'careful
thought'?" She lifted an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed.

Shaun grinned. "I could share some of my thoughts
with you, Doherty. If you're interested."

"I'll pass, thanks."

Shaun chuckled at her dry tone. He was tempted to
pursue the conversation—to share some of his more erotic fantasies and gauge
her reaction. But he'd vowed to give her some time and space, and he knew that
further discussion of his desires would compromise his ability to keep that
promise.

Instead he ordered dessert. Arden insisted she
couldn't eat another bite, but Shaun indulged himself by feeding her spoonfuls
of the double-fudge brownie sundae, anyway. Her eyes closed and she murmured
her throaty pleasure as she savored the first bite, and he couldn't help but
wonder whether her sexual appetites would be as easily sated. He definitely
wanted to find out. Would she writhe in ecstasy, scream in gratification?

He tried to redirect his thoughts, but knew he was
lost when her tongue swept along her bottom lip, licking away the remnants of
hot fudge. He wanted desperately to kiss her—to taste the sweetness of the
chocolate, and the sweeter bliss that was Arden.

Throughout the drive across town, he reminded himself
that there were parameters to this relationship. Arden was still insisting that
she wanted to be friends, and although Shaun didn't doubt that he could change
her mind, he'd vowed to take things slowly. He just hadn't anticipated that it
would be so difficult to do so.

He found a parking space on the street outside her
building and walked her up to her apartment. He could feel the tension building
inside her, mounting with each step. He could almost hear her ongoing mental
debate about whether or not to invite him inside. Whether she did or didn't
wouldn't matter. He'd already decided that the evening would end at her door.
She was expecting him to push, so he'd decided to pull back a little.

She turned at the door, her key in hand.

"It's late," she said, her breathy tone in
contrast to the dismissive statement.

"Yes, it is," he agreed. "Good night,
Arden."

He turned away. And he smiled as he walked down the
stairs because he knew she was staring after him, stunned.

She'd expected him to kiss her. She'd
wanted
him to kiss her. He'd seen the desire in her eyes that mirrored his own. But
he'd decided to stop being so predictable, to give her a dose of the
unexpected. And though his body was craving full contact, his mind was
satisfied with the strategic retreat. He knew he was in for another sleepless
night, but he was willing to bet that Arden would be tossing and turning as
well.

* * *

Arden
had to be in court Friday morning, for which she was grateful. After her dinner
with Shaun the previous evening, she'd tossed and turned all night. She tried
not to think about him, tried not to speculate as to what was going on between
them, but it was an exercise in futility. When she finally did sleep, she
dreamed about him.