Conflict of Interest (The McClouds of Mississippi) (8 page)

She couldn’t help overhearing his side of his conversation with his brother as she sipped her water. Isabelle listened openly, squirming in her seat to signal her impatience to have a turn at the telephone.

“That was my agent,” Gideon said, sounding resigned to explaining Adrienne’s presence yet again. “She’s spending a few days here on business…. Yes, I’m being hospitable,” he added crossly in response to something his brother said.

“Isabelle’s fine,” he said a moment later. “You can ask her yourself. She wants to talk to you…. No, there’s no reason to cut your honeymoon short. I can handle things here until Mom gets back.”

There was another pause, and then Gideon spoke gruffly again, “That’s not necessary. You’d do the same for me. Here, talk to Isabelle. She’s about to explode.”

Hopping down from her chair in response to Gideon’s motion, Isabelle took the phone in her eager little hands. “Hi, Nate. I’m not really going to explode. Gideon was joking. Are you having fun on your honeymoon? Is Caitlin having fun, too? I lost Hedwig last night, but Miss Corley helped me find him. She’s nice and she’s pretty, too.”

Gideon pulled the chair he’d settled into closer to Adrienne. “I think you’ve got a fan,” he murmured, keeping his voice low so he wouldn’t distract Isabelle. Not that it seemed likely, since the child barely paused for breath before moving on to a recital of everything that happened at school that day.

Very aware of how closely he was sitting to her, she managed a smile. “Your little sister certainly loves to talk.”

“I’ve noticed that. Funny, she’s always been more reserved with me than with other people, but she seems to be getting over that.”

“Maybe she was waiting for a signal from you that you wanted to be her friend. She told me she didn’t think you were used to having children around.”

“She was right about that. And I never expected to spend this much time with
her.
”

Glancing at Isabelle, who was still babbling happily into the telephone, Adrienne asked just as quietly, “Don’t you enjoy being with her?”

“It hasn’t been too bad so far,” he conceded. “But you’ve been here to help me with her almost since she arrived. That’s made it a lot easier.”

She cast a rueful glance at the crutches propped nearby. “I don’t know how you can say I’ve helped you, when all I’ve done is add to your problems.”

“Not true. I’m sorry you hurt your ankle, but you’ve actually been very helpful in keeping Isabelle entertained.”

He was trying to be nice, and because she sensed that wasn’t something he made an effort to do very often, she was touched.

“Gideon,” Isabelle said then, “Nate wants to tell you goodbye.”

Gideon nodded and rose to take the phone again. Adrienne wondered if it was simply accidental that his hand brushed her arm as he stood. The jolt of response deep in her stomach seemed out of proportion to the casual touch.

Maybe her pain was going to her head. Why else would she suddenly be so sensitive to every move Gideon made, every nuance of his expressions, every slight physical contact between them? Just the sound of his deep voice as he exchanged a few more words with his brother before disconnecting the call made little shivers of awareness course down her spine.

Maybe she should take a pain pill, after all. She seemed to be on the verge of becoming downright delirious.

Gideon had lived alone for quite a long time. Though he dated occasionally, he was rarely involved with anyone for more than a few months, and even during those brief liaisons, he had never invited anyone to spend the night in his home.

His privacy served as a barrier between himself and the complications of interpersonal relationships, romantic and familial. His life just seemed tidier that way and more easily controlled.

Because he was so accustomed to his solitary surroundings, he seemed particularly attuned to the slightest atypical noise. He was silently prowling the hallways at about two o’clock Wednesday morning, because he often paced when he had trouble sleeping, when he heard a sound from his bedroom. A moan, perhaps? A low whimper of pain?

Barefoot and shirtless, wearing nothing but a pair of jeans, he hesitated a moment outside the closed door. Should he knock? Ask Adrienne if she was all right? But what if she was sleeping and he’d merely imagined the sound? She needed her rest. Besides which, the guest room was directly across the hallway, and he didn’t want to wake Isabelle.

What did he know about this sort of thing, anyway? He was no caretaker. He’d never even had a pet.

He was just turning away from the bedroom door when he heard the sound again, and this time he was convinced it was, indeed, a soft moan. He reached for the doorknob, telling himself he would just peek in and make sure Adrienne was okay. After all, she was his guest and she had been injured. It was probably his duty as a host to check on her.

It was dark outside the room, but just enough moonlight filtered in through the sheer curtains to help him make his way to the bed. Adrienne was sleeping, but it was a fitful, restless slumber. She lay on her left side, her legs curled in front of her, and even as he watched, she shifted her right leg, making a very faint sound as she did so. She had refused the pain pills before turning in—she seemed to believe that even a couple of doses would turn her into an addict—and he suspected that her abused ankle was trying to make itself known even as she slept.

He slipped into the private master bathroom, filled a plastic cup with tap water and carried it back to the bed. The pill bottle was on the nightstand. Setting the cup beside it, he shook two of the small tablets into his palm. Only then did he lean over Adrienne and place a hand lightly on her shoulder. She wore a thin satin pajama top—he assumed there were matching bottoms beneath the sheets—and it seemed to him that she felt a bit too warm beneath the cool fabric. “Adrienne?”

She shifted beneath his touch. “Mmm?”

He gave her shoulder a gentle shake. “Adrienne, wake up. I want you to take these pills.”

Even in the heavy shadows, he could see that she was frowning when she looked up at him. “What are you doing? What’s wrong?”

“You seem to be in pain. These pills will help you rest more comfortably. Open your mouth.”

It was a measure of her disorientation that she followed his instructions without protest, swallowing the pills with a few sips of water as he steadied the cup for her. He was trying to keep this impersonal, but he was all too aware that she was lying in his bed, warm and tousled and sleepily cooperative. She was an attractive, interesting and desirable woman, and he would have had to be made of stone not to respond physically to these intimate circumstances.

He might be a loner, but he was no monk.

Maybe it was the water that roused her to full consciousness. She shifted suddenly away from his helping hands and attempted to push herself upright. The movement must have jarred her injured leg; she gasped a little and went very still.

Placing a hand on her shoulder, he nudged her back down on the pillows. “Take it easy. You need to get some more sleep.”

“How did you know my leg was hurting?” she asked huskily.

“I heard you moan in your sleep when I walked past the door. Thought I’d better check on you.”

He didn’t expect gushing gratitude for his solicitude, but he was a bit taken aback when she muttered crossly, “I really didn’t need the pills. I would have been fine without them.”

He reminded himself that he didn’t like people hovering over him when he was under the weather, either. He’d been told, in fact, that he was a nightmare of a patient, but she could have at least said thanks for caring that she’d been hurting. “Just lie back and let the pills kick in. You can yell at me for my presumption tomorrow after you’ve had a good night’s sleep.”

She gave a soft sigh and reached out to catch his arm when he would have moved away. “Gideon, I’m sorry if I sounded ungracious. It’s just that I hate being incapacitated in any way. I’m used to taking care of myself.”

He settled onto the edge of the bed again. “I understand that. I don’t much like doing what I’m told, either, especially when it’s for my own good.”

That made her smile a little. “But I do appreciate you checking on me. It was very kind of you.”

He glanced down at her hand, which still lay on his bare arm, and it occurred to him that he should probably get the hell out of there. Immediately, if not sooner. “I am not a particularly nice person,” he felt the need to tell her. “You can ask anyone.”

She responded to that with a soft laugh. “I prefer to make up my own mind about whether someone is nice.”

He really needed to get out of there, before he did something stupid, like making a clumsy pass at his injured agent.

“Yeah, well, I just don’t want you to get the wrong impression of me,” he muttered, and shoved himself to his feet while he was still able to do so. “I’m basically surly and self-centered and I like being that way.”

She still sounded amused when she nestled more deeply into the covers and murmured, “Good night, Gideon.”

Feeling like a fool, he didn’t look back as he made a beeline for the door. “’Night.”

This was what he got, he told himself, for acting completely out of character and trying to take care of other people instead of himself. As soon as his mother returned to take Isabelle off his hands, and Adrienne had healed enough to make the trip back to New York, he was reclaiming his solitude.

“Gideon?” Isabelle’s sleepy voice floated through the open doorway of the guest room. “Is that you?”

“Yes, Isabelle. Everything’s fine, you can go back to sleep.”

“Could I have a drink of water?”

He sighed heavily. “Hang on a minute. I’ll bring you one.”

And then, he vowed, he was going to lock himself in his office again. And he would stay there this time.

Chapter Five

I
t must have been the pain pills that made Adrienne sleep later than usual Wednesday morning. Even the bright sunlight from the window didn’t rouse her. It was nearly 9:00 a.m. when she forced open her gritty eyes and peered at the clock. Normally she would be at her office by this time, wide awake and already inundated with calls and e-mail.

Pushing her hands through her hair, she eased upright, moving her right leg with care. Her ankle was still bruised and swollen upon inspection, but maybe just a little less sore than it had been? An experimental flex made her teeth clench. Okay, maybe not.

Rubbing the back of her neck, she wondered for a moment if she had dreamed Gideon’s middle-of-the-night visit. Had he really sat rumpled and shirtless on the side of her bed, supporting her while she had washed down the pain pills? She remembered, if fuzzily, that his touch had been very gentle, though his voice had been characteristically gruff.

She went all warm inside just thinking about it.

It took her a while to shower and dress, since she was still barely able to put her weight on her ankle. Gideon had moved several items of clothing to his office and had been using the shower in the guest bathroom. She still felt rather guilty about taking his bed and bath, even though he’d brusquely insisted he didn’t mind at all.

She’d thrown the clothes she’d worn yesterday into Gideon’s washer last night. They had been damp and dirty from her fall. She was rapidly running out of clean clothes, but she still had one casual outfit she hadn’t worn yet, a pair of black slacks and a black-and-white-patterned top. She slipped a black loafer on her left foot, but could only wear the black brace on her right. Using the crutches for balance, she left Gideon’s room.

The kitchen was empty, but a covered plate sat on the counter. Lifting the lid, she found two large, golden-brown muffins oozing with blueberries. Apparently Gideon had stopped by the bakery again after taking Isabelle to school. Certain he had left these out for her, she poured herself a cup of coffee, set it on the table, then carried one of the muffins with her to a chair. Serving herself was quite a balancing act, but she managed.

She took her time drinking the coffee and eating the muffin, enjoying both immensely. She’d been hungrier than she’d realized, probably because she hadn’t felt like eating much the night before. And she needed the time alone to prepare herself for seeing Gideon. If, of course, he ever emerged from his office.

He did, in fact, less than ten minutes later. She had just finished her breakfast and was trying to muster the energy to pull out her computer when Gideon entered the kitchen, carrying an empty coffee mug and wearing a rather ferocious frown in addition to his standard uniform of jeans and T-shirt. “How’s your leg?”

“Better, thank you.”

His narrowed eyes swept her face. “That’s a lie.”

“Not entirely. It is a little better.”

Though he still looked skeptical, he grunted and moved toward the coffeemaker. “Don’t you want your other muffin?” he asked, glancing at the plate.

“No, one was enough for me. It was delicious, by the way.”

Snagging the remaining muffin, he nodded and headed toward the doorway again, his filled-to-the-brim coffee mug in his other hand. “I’ll be in my office if you need me.”

“Gideon?”

He paused with an expression that combined impatience and wariness. “What?”

“When are we going to discuss the offers from your publisher?”

“We’ll get to it. As soon as I—”

“I know,” she interrupted in resignation. “As soon as you finish the scene you’re working on.”

He looked at her a moment, then turned without another word and left the room. Adrienne stared after him thoughtfully. Something was different about him today. He was just as blunt as usual, but a bit more distant, perhaps. Did it have anything to do with last night? Had he, too, found that interlude a bit too…intimate for professional associates?

A telephone rang, distracting her from that line of thought. At first she thought it was Gideon’s phone again. And then she realized it was her own cell phone, which was sitting on the counter beside her briefcase. Fumbling with the crutches, she got to it on the third ring. “Hello?”