Conflict of Interest (The McClouds of Mississippi) (17 page)

Isabelle nodded. “I wouldn’t want to go to his old birthday party, anyway. He’s too mean.”

“Let’s just forget about Danny. Tell me more about the good things that happened at school today. The people who were nice to you.”

Isabelle complied happily enough. “Tiffany got her hair in braids. There were a bunch of them, with little bows at the end. It was pretty. And Justin got a new watch. It has Spiderman on it, and it tells the time in numbers because Justin doesn’t know how to tell time on the other kind of clock yet. I don’t, either, but Nate said he’s going to teach me. And we’re going to get a dog when Nate and Caitlin get back from their honeymoon. Caitlin and me want a little white dog.”

Though she wasn’t sure how the conversation had suddenly switched from school to dogs, she followed along encouragingly. “I like dogs, myself. I used to have a silver poodle named Susie who was my very best friend when I was growing up.”

She had spent many lonely hours with that little dog after her mother died, finding the unconditional love that her father had been incapable of offering.

“Caitlin thinks we need to get a, um, something that starts with a
b.
Like beecher?”

Adrienne thought a moment, then suggested. “A bichon, maybe?”

“That’s it, I think.”

“A bichon frise. They’re cute little white dogs, very similar to poodles.”

“I want to name my dog Fluffy.”

“That’s a lovely name.”

“But Nate says we need a big, black dog with big teeth and we should call him Killer or Spike.”

“Um…”

Isabelle giggled. “Nate likes to make jokes. He’s silly sometimes.”

Remembering that Gideon had said he and his older brother were quite different, Adrienne remarked, “Nathan sounds very nice.”

“He’s the best big brother in the world,” Isabelle agreed fervently. And then looked suddenly stricken. “But Gideon’s nice, too,” she added a bit loudly, as if he might overhear.

Amused, Adrienne agreed, “Yes, he is—in his own way.”

“Do
you
like Gideon, Miss Corley?”

Her eyebrows rose in reaction to the child’s tone. Isabelle wasn’t indulging in a bit of toddler matchmaking, was she? “Yes, I like Gideon. He’s my client— I work with him to sell his books. I think he’s a very talented writer.”

“Are you going to marry him, like Caitlin married Nate? They work together. Caitlin’s my sister now, and you would be my sister, too, if you marry Gideon. I have another sister, too. Her name is Deborah, but I don’t see her very much.”

All amusement gone now, Adrienne cleared her throat. “Gideon and I are friends and business associates, Isabelle. We aren’t going to be married.”

A flicker of disappointment crossed the child’s face. “I wish you could be my sister.”

“Couldn’t I just be your friend instead? Everyone could use more good friends.”

Isabelle nodded in resignation. “Okay, Miss Corley. I’ll be your friend.”

“You can start by calling me Adrienne.”

Pleased, Isabelle nodded. “Okay, Adrienne. I think I’ll go play now. Gideon said I could take my toys outside and sit on the swing.”

“Put on a jacket, okay? That wind is a bit chilly.”

“Okay.” Climbing out of the chair, Isabelle dashed from the room, leaving Adrienne to tidy the remains of the snack and spread out her work again.

She could see Isabelle through the big window over the sink. The little girl had settled into the free-standing lawn swing in Gideon’s backyard with a doll, her stuffed owl and a couple of books. As she had promised, she had donned a lightweight denim jacket with her T-shirt and jeans. Her little white sneakers pumped the air to keep the swing moving as she read with animated expression to her stuffed friends.

Adrienne found herself spending more time watching Isabelle than concentrating on her work. The child made such a pretty picture, her golden curls glittering in the afternoon sun, her cheeks pinkened by the brisk March breeze.

She would be proud to have this child for a little sister, she thought.

Or a daughter.

That thought took her aback.
Whoa, Adrienne. Who wound your biological clock?

Hoping the faint ticking would stop if she ignored it, she focused fiercely on the computer again. A rather whiny and petulant e-mail from one of her authors was on-screen and she had to figure out a way to answer it patiently, effectively and reassuringly.

Who needed kids? She already spent most of her life holding hands and averting emotional crises.

When Gideon hadn’t emerged from his office by dinnertime, Adrienne took matters into her own hands and prepared a meal without consulting him. She assumed he had gotten so involved with his work that time had slipped away from him.

She hoped he had gotten more accomplished that day than she had.

Preparing a simple meal of baked pork chops with rice and vegetables, she moved around the kitchen with only an occasional twinge of pain from her ankle. The prescribed anti-inflammatories and exercises seemed to be doing the job. The swelling had gone down significantly, and though it still ached almost constantly, she didn’t allow herself to dwell on the discomfort.

When the meal was ready, she set the table, sent Isabelle to wash her hands and then approached Gideon’s office. She tapped firmly on the door. “Gideon?”

“What?”

Though his tone wasn’t particularly encouraging, she opened the door, anyway. “I’ve prepared dinner. Everything’s on the table.”

He didn’t look around from the computer. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

She knew better, of course. If she closed this door now, he would forget all about her again. “You haven’t eaten since breakfast. You really should take a break. Besides, Isabelle will be disappointed if you don’t join us for dinner.”

He exhaled gustily and spun his chair away from the computer. “Fine. I’ll come to dinner. Give me a few minutes to wash up.”

She didn’t take offense at his curtness. She didn’t like to be interrupted when she was trying to concentrate on something, either.

If Gideon seemed unusually quiet during dinner, Isabelle made up for it with her chattering. She was as animated that evening as she had been subdued the day before, making Adrienne marvel at the mercurial resilience of childhood. She repeated nearly everything she had said to Adrienne earlier, including Danny’s stint in the time-out corner, and then spent another ten minutes describing the antics of a couple of squirrels she had watched in the backyard. That somehow led her back to the subject of the dog she had been promised.

“Adrienne had a poodle named Susie,” she informed Gideon. “Did you ever have a dog, Gideon?”

He shook his head. “Nathan had a couple of dogs when we were kids, but I never considered them mine.”

“Why not?”

“Too much trouble. They always have to be fed or watered or walked or cleaned up after. I always had other things I wanted to do.”

Isabelle considered that a moment, then said firmly, “I don’t care. I want a dog. I’ll take care of it all by myself.”

Adrienne and Gideon exchanged a knowing look.

Oblivious to their skepticism, Isabelle kept talking, listing all the things she would do with her dog. Teach him to fetch and roll over and catch a Frisbee and jump through a hoop—those were only a few of her plans for the future Fluffy.

When they had finished eating, Isabelle dashed off to play while Adrienne began to clear away the dishes. Gideon gathered a handful of utensils to stuff into the dishwasher.

“I can clean up in here,” she assured him. “There isn’t much to do.”

“You cooked. The meal was delicious, by the way. Least I can do is clean up. You need to get off that ankle.”

“It’s not too bad right now. I can tell it’s getting better.”

“It won’t keep getting better if you overexert yourself. Go put your feet up. I’ll finish in here.”

Because he effectively blocked her access to the sink and dishwasher, she gave in. Rather than leave the room, she settled at the table to watch him. “You’ve put in long hours today. Did you get much written?”

“Some.”

His curt reply told her it hadn’t been a satisfying session for him. “Have you thought any more about the changes I suggested?”

“No. I told you, your suggestion didn’t fit with my vision of the book. It’s a story of one man’s single-minded and all-consuming quest for revenge and justice—in that order. Alanya has to die.”

“Or Jackson has to
think
she’s dead.”

She watched his shoulders stiffen before he glared at her over his shoulder. “You’re determined that I’m going to write a passionate ending to this book, aren’t you?”

“Gideon, you have to understand that it’s my job to help you market your work. If I think there’s something you can do to make your book more successful, I would be remiss not to tell you what I think.”

“If I had wanted to create generic, marketing-driven, cookie-cutter products, I’d have gone to work on some factory assembly line.”

She sighed and shook her head. “You’re overdramatizing a bit, aren’t you? I haven’t exactly asked you to prostitute yourself. I simply made a suggestion because you’re having trouble finishing the book.”

“Of
course
I’m having trouble finishing the book!” He slammed the dishwasher door closed. “How can I write with so many people in my house? With toddlers having emotional meltdowns and my agent nagging me to write romantic drivel?”

Elbows resting on the table, she propped her chin on her crossed hands. “Should I remind you that you invited me to stay the weekend? And that you asked me to read your manuscript and tell you what I thought?”

Her calm, dryly amused tone seemed to douse his flash of temper. He stopped pacing, shoved a hand through his tumbled hair and gave her a look that might have held a faint touch of remorse. “I’m a little stressed.”

She supposed it was as close as she was going to get to an apology. “I know. You’ve had a difficult week.”

“It would have been even more difficult if you hadn’t been here to help me with Isabelle.”

And
that,
she decided, was his way of saying thank-you. She smiled at him. “You’re welcome.”

Stopping beside her chair, he reached down to catch her wrists and pull her to her feet. “There’s something else that has been distracting me from work this week.”

Gripping his forearms to steady herself, she gazed up at him. “I—”

He kissed the words back into her mouth.

He wasn’t holding her tightly, but their bodies were pressed together from chest to knees. She remembered her first impression of him—that he was built like an athlete. Each time she felt him against her that impression was reinforced. He was lean but roped with muscle. All male. And her response was entirely feminine.

He broke off the kiss very slowly, holding her gaze with his as he lifted his head. “I really should stop doing that.”

She was still holding his arms, and she was in no hurry to release him. There was a definite possibility she would melt into a puddle at his feet if she did so. She cleared her throat. “Yes, you really should.”

He kissed her again. And she tightened her fingers around his sleekly muscled arms, because she felt herself slowly beginning to puddle…

“Are you
sure
you aren’t going to marry Gideon, Adrienne?” Isabelle asked curiously from the kitchen doorway. “Caitlin kisses Nathan all the time, and they got married.”

By the time the child finished speaking, Adrienne and Gideon were several feet apart. Feeling her cheeks flame, Adrienne couldn’t look at Gideon. For those few, reckless moments she had forgotten all about Isabelle and she suspected that Gideon had, too. How could they have been so careless?

“Come on, Isabelle, I’ll tell you another story,” she said hastily, holding out a hand that wasn’t as steady as she would have liked. “How about the story of Little Red Riding Hood? Would you like to hear that one?”

It seemed an appropriate choice for her, as well. She needed to be reminded of the girl who had been distracted from her planned destination by a dangerously intriguing wolf.

Gideon didn’t trust himself to pace the hallway outside Adrienne’s bedroom that night. This time he left the house altogether, moving outside to the lawn swing.

It wasn’t exactly quiet out; frogs and other night creatures were in full voice this evening. It was a bit chilly. The slightly damp night air leached through his long-sleeved T-shirt, and his breath hung in ghostly puffs in front of him. Better than a cold shower, he decided, looking ruefully toward the darkened window of his bedroom, where Adrienne slept.

He had been particularly antsy that evening, ever since Isabelle had caught him kissing Adrienne in the kitchen. He could still hear her innocent voice saying the
m
word. He’d been as shocked as if she had uttered an expletive.

Couldn’t a guy kiss an attractive woman around here without someone mentioning marriage? And kissing wasn’t all he wanted to do with Adrienne Corley—not by a long shot. But whatever happened between them before she headed back to New York, he had no intention of letting it turn into anything more than a pleasant interlude between two unattached adults who happened to be attracted to each other.

He was sure he and Adrienne could explore that attraction for a few days without taking it too seriously. And after she returned to New York, they could return easily enough to the comfortably professional relationship they had shared before, maybe even consider themselves friends as well as business associates. He had remained on reasonably friendly terms with one or two ex-lovers. Though he had to admit with a wince that most had left never wanting to see him again.

Adrienne was different from the women he had known before. Smart, sophisticated, competent, independent. She wouldn’t expect more than he could give her—hell, she probably wouldn’t want any more. Why should she? She didn’t need any man, especially a grouchy, self-centered loner like him.

He still regretted the way he had snarled at her after dinner, simply because she had asked about his work. Not that she had seemed particularly offended. Probably because she didn’t care enough about him to let him hurt her feelings.