Free Desire by Design by Paula Altenburg Page A

seconds before replacing it in its cradle. He thought about Eve’s jumpiness, the dark circles under her eyes, and the baseball bat. He remembered the strange noises coming from her bedroom, as if she’d been rearranging furniture, and the way she hadn’t wanted him to answer her phone.
    He didn’t like the conclusion he was coming to.
    He ditched the remaining files on the floor and got to his feet. He couldn’t leave her here alone without making sure she’d be okay. First, though, he’d move her to the sofa and make her more comfortable. He slipped one arm beneath her knees, the other under her shoulders, and held his breath, waiting for her to open her eyes and demand to know what he was doing. Her head lolled against his forearm, and her mouth fell open. She snorted daintily, and Matt grinned, wishing he dared drop a kiss on the end of that trim little nose.
    The knuckles of her limply dangling hand brushed his thigh, and he dumped her on the sofa as if she’d suddenly burst into flames. She sighed, rolled over, and mumbled something under her breath. Matt’s heart pounded hard in his chest. It was probably, “ Get a life. ”
    The sooner he checked her house and got out, the better.
    He started in the kitchen.
    The patio doors leading to a small deck were latched. The screen from the open window above the kitchen table, however, rested against one wainscoted wall, and a tiny clod of dirt clung to the sill. Matt remembered Eve standing under that same window when he’d arrived, then the way she’d rushed to meet him—as if there were something she didn’t want him to see…
    A quick glance outside confirmed his suspicions. There were two man-sized footprints planted squarely in the flowerbed.
    Someone had broken into her house.
    Matt followed a trail of dried dirt to the second floor. The first room at the head of the stairs was the bathroom, where everything seemed to be in its proper place. It smelled nice, he noted. Very feminine.
    He then eased open the door across the hall and peered inside. His chin went slack. She’d sat drinking coffee with him, discussing business as calm as could be, when she’d known all along what was waiting for her upstairs. Had it even occurred to her to ask him for help? Maybe trust him a little?
    At least now he knew why it had sounded like she was moving furniture. She must have tried to lift that wardrobe by herself. It was a huge, heavy piece, another antique, and one she’d never be able to move.
    He needed to be doing something physical. After a few moments of grunting and swearing, he had the wardrobe upright. He checked it over for damage, rubbing a hand down one side, feeling the thick grain of the wood. Not a scratch on it.
    Pausing to catch his breath, he spied the black dress she’d worn the night before lying on the floor near her discarded coveralls. Flecks of sawdust clung to its filmy fabric.
    He pressed his thumbs against his eyelids. She must have had that dress on underneath her coveralls, which explained why she was so tired. He’d bet big money she’d spent the night at a construction site.
    Had she called the police?
    Probably not. From what he’d seen of her, she was just stubborn enough to try and deal with this herself.
    Preoccupied, he hung her coveralls on a hook on the back of the bedroom door. As he did so, a crumpled wad of paper bounced off the toe of his shoe. He picked it up, smoothing it between his palms while he tried to think of what he should do. He couldn’t leave her alone without first finding out what was going on, but he wasn’t likely to find out from Eve.
    He went to re-crumple the paper when bold lettering at the top of it caught his eye. He inspected the paper more closely. Then, carefully, he wadded it up again and tucked it back in the pocket of her coveralls.
    He’d been right. It was personal. And now he knew why she was so touchy about failed relationships.
    …
    The lazy drone of a fly and its feather-light touch