The Wall (17 page)

couldn't help herself. It was a comfortable room, with a big antique

wooden desk and padded chair, and a dark brown motif carried

throughout the furniture and carpeting. Two walls were lined with

bookshelves that were filled with books. She smiled at the collection

of Ian Flemings on one shelf, absently noting that they weren't in

alphabetical order. She idly pulled one out to look at it, and put it

back in the correct alphabetical order. Soon she was pulling out all

the books and slipping them into order, and the shelf looked better to

her eyes. It matched her sense of regulation and organisation.

Sara was a very neat person. She put her shoes in order, lined up pair

by pair in the closet, and she never left her room out of place. She

was the type of person that would reach out and straighten a painting

in someone else's house if it were crooked. To some people, this

characteristic would drive them crazy, but she could never

understand this. She just liked to have things neat, and to put them

where they belonged. She also liked to have something to work on.

When her hands were busy, she could be content to think; It was her

favourite form of relaxation.

Some time later she was earnestly working on the bottom shelf on

one wall, her legs curled up beneath her and skirt tucked neatly in at

the ends, when a noise made her look to the doorway. Greg was

there, casually leaning against the doorframe with his jacket slung

over one shoulder and his white shirt partially unbuttoned.

He watched her with a sardonic eyebrow cocked, mouth level.

'I suppose it would be a waste of time for me to ask you just what do

you think you're doing?' he asked, his tone dry and unemotional.

She started guiltily, a book in each hand and dust on her nose. Her

eyes were huge and startled, and she looked like a child about to

receive a scolding. 'I'm— just straightening up a little,' she said, and

looked down at her hands as if they were about to do something

completely unpredictable. She missed the fleeting look of amusement

that passed over his features in an uncontrolled quiver, and they were

soon impassive and unreadable.

The books that had resided on the bottom shelf were stacked up

around her and penning her into a tiny corral. She was peeping over a

stack that just reached her chin level. Greg sauntered leisurely over

and looked at the reorganisation of the other shelves without saying

anything. Sara's face grew longer and longer, her mouth drooping

ever so slightly, her eyelids sliding down to hide her expression.

'I'll never be able to find anything in here again,' he sighed mildly,

and draped his suit coat over the back of one chair.

She felt miserable. It truly hadn't occurred to her that he might have

enjoyed things the way they were. It wasn't in her nature to be

content when she thought that something needed organising. 'I'm

sorry,' she said in a low voice. 'I thought you'd like it.'

He was rolling up his shirt sleeves to the elbow, perusing the other

bookshelf on the opposite wall. 'How much more do you have to do?'

Her head snapped around and her eyes widened. It looked as if he

had every intention of digging in and helping her! 'Er ... I'm about

done with this bookshelf.'

He pulled over a chair and stood on it. 'Then I'd better pull down

these books from the top shelf, or the next thing I know, I'll be

driving you to the hospital because you've broken your leg.' This time

Sara caught the definite amusement in his voice, but she didn't take

offence. She was too busy feeling relieved.

She started to smile a ridiculous, foolish, delighted smile, and

mentally shook herself. Rearranging her features as best she could,

she answered mildly, 'I'd appreciate it if you would.'

They spent the rest of the morning in this fashion. Sara gave a

satisfied sigh as she took one more swipe at the bottom of the second

book shelf, dusting the rearranged books in a busy manner. Greg was

leaning against his desk, attentively. 'Feel better now?'

Bustling about had eased her feeling of self-consciousness after he

had entered and found her thus, and she grinned saucily up at him

from a kneeling position, eyes sparkling and dark hair tousled.

'Much! Now it's time to start something else, though.'

But at that he was shaking his head emphatically. 'I don't know about

you, lady, but I'm about ready to start gnawing at the woodwork, I'm

so hungry! You do what you want, but I'm having lunch.'

Sara sat back and began to notice the emptiness in her midriff. 'You

know, I'm rather famished myself. What is there to eat?'

'Let's find out, shall we?' A cursory inspection of the refrigerator

revealed plenty of sandwich material, a leftover salad already

prepared, and Greg produced several different cans of soup ready for

her inspection and approval. 'Not exactly haute cuisine, I'm afraid.'

She raised an eyebrow, picked up a chicken soup can from his hands,

and deftly whizzed it through the can- opener. 'So what? I happen to

like chicken noodle soup from a can. Not very well bred of me, I

suppose, but I also happen to like hot dogs and hamburgers.'

'. . . and making sand castles, wading barefoot on the beach in

October, sleeping with a pillow hugged to your stomach -' he

murmured, laughing.

Her face went red at this last statement, and she stammered, 'How did

you know that?' He calmly took the open can from her unresisting

fingers and pulled out a saucepan from below the oven.

'I woke you up this morning, remember?' he taunted gently, dark eyes

snapping merrily at her expression. 'And I've looked in on you

before—just to make sure that you were all right, of course.'

Her face changed and she said sarcastically, 'Of course! How remiss

of me to forget. I -'

'And,' he went on smoothly, appearing to concentrate on the amount

of water he added to the pan, 'a very sweet sight it was, too. You all

curled up in the middle of the bed, hair all mussed up and cheeks all

flushed and a little tiny smile just hovering around the corners of

your cherry red li -'

She saw his own lips twitching then, at her even redder complexion,

and said hastily, 'Yes, well, all right, that's enough of that. What are

you going to do with the rest of your day?'

His face straightened immediately into sobriety, but she detected a

devil lurking in the depths of his eyes. It made her wary. She wasn't

sure how to treat this new side of Greg's personality. She didn't know

what to expect.

'I have some work to do in the basement,' he told her innocently

enough. 'I carried a lot of firewood downstairs yesterday. That ought

to take care of my afternoon, more or less, together with taking out

the tree stumps from the two trees I felled. What do you think you'll

do?'

She was setting the kitchen table with two soup bowls, plates, and

cutlery, arranging things precisely. Greg noted the neatness with a

swift uncontrolled grin. 'I don't know,' she answered indecisively,

sighing. 'I'm not very used to having time on my hands like this.' Her

eyes travelled restlessly around the kitchen. 'Is there any housework

that needs to be done?'

'Well,' he considered her question with an overtly serious face. 'I

have some clothes that need washing, if you have any you'd like to

do, too. And, if all else fails, you can always reorganise my kitchen

cupboards.'

Her eyes rested thoughtfully on the closed rectangles of wood

drawer. 'That's an idea. Maybe I'll do that.'

'Why don't you?' His voice sounded slightly strangled, and she

looked up at him sharply.

He coughed a little. 'Are you all right?' she asked, and he nodded.

The soup was ready and he poured it with an unsteady hand. She

said, 'Maybe you're coming down with a cold?'

His eyes twinkled at her. 'I think I am.'

After lunch, Greg hurried up the stairs to change, and Sara rummaged

around the place for an apron to put over her skirt. Failing to find

one, she took a towel and tucked it in her waistband. Then she looked

over his cupboards with an assessing eye. Her senses felt violated at

the way' his heavy pans were stacked carelessly in the bottom

cupboards, and she was shoulder-deep inside, rummaging around,

when he re-entered the kitchen on the way to the basement. He saw a

neatly curved bottom and an enticingly slim waist protruding from

below the counter, and couldn't resist the impulse that came over

him.

Sara started up so violently that she hit her head on the top of the

cupboard shelf. The slap on her rear had been sharp and totally

unexpected. She backed out of the cubicle and rounded on Greg, her

cheeks flushed and her hair awry. 'Why did you do that?' she

demanded snappily.

He took her hands and yanked her up to a standing position, catching

her against his chest when she swayed momentarily, caught off

balance. 'You have a very cute bottom, madam,' he told her, nose to

nose, 'and it was sticking out all by itself. What self-respecting male

could resist such an invitation?'

'It wasn't an invitation and you know it!' was her only retort, as she

looked into deep brown eyes and found herself quite distracted. She

had calmed down amazingly. 'And besides, you're pretty darned

lucky I didn't take off your head by slapping it so hard it wouldn't

land until it hit the Mississippi river!' Her words were getting softer

and softer in spite of the biting content, because his lips were

approaching nearer and nearer. Her eyes fluttered closed and she put

her face up for the kiss. It came, and then another and another flitted

by as he brushed her lips gently, teasingly, as light as a butterfly

alighting. It was delicious, tantalising, and unsatisfying. Sara's eyes

flew open as she felt his lips withdraw and his arms loosen. Then she

squealed in outrage when a playful heavy hand descended on her

bottom again.

'Get back to work, woman!' Greg growled softly, mock-threateningly,

laughing at the expression in her indignant hazel eyes. He looked so

incredibly good laughing that she had to blink.

He was at the door before she could react, however, and she muttered

disgustedly, 'Hell, I'm beginning to feel married!' She was looking at

him, but her words weren't meant to be heard and were spoken

quietly to herself.

His hearing must have been very, very sharp, because he did hear

what she said, and he turned slowly to look at her, one heavy

eyebrow cocked. The look in his eyes, the frankly sexual appraisal,

made her go warm all over, and a slow, burning tingle suffused her

from head to foot. 'Oh, no, you aren't,' he told her softly. 'Not by a

long shot, you aren't.'

He was gone, and she was staring at the empty doorway without

seeing it for a long time afterwards.

THE afternoon fled quickly for Sara, busy as she was with arranging

the kitchen to her idea of orderly neatness. She stood back finally,

though, a gleam of satisfaction in her eyes, and surveyed the inside of

the cupboards, now meticulously arranged. It was not that Greg was

unclean by any means, she had found. It was just that now there was

a method to the .grouping of spices on the top shelf, and the glasses

were within easy reach instead of being so hard to get at.

She took a glance at the clock in the stove and began to fix coffee.

Greg had been outside for some time now, working on the tree

stumps, and after sticking her head out to call to him a question and

feeling the nippy air, Sara thought a cup of the warm brew would do

him good. She carried it to him when it was made, and he cupped it

gratefully with both hands.

'Ahh!' was his only comment after taking a drink, but it was a very

satisfied sound. Then he said, 'That was just what I needed,

sweetheart. How's the reorganisation of the kitchen coming?'

'Just fine,' she told him, 'I've got everything done now. You should

see the spice shelf! Everything is in -'

'Let-me guess, alphabetical order, right?' he interrupted, grinning. His

hair was tousled and his breathing a bit laboured from the strain of

chopping at a deep exposed root. His chest rose and fell deeply, and