noticed. “Did you call to lecture or talk about Megatron’s financials?”
“I never lecture, Rourke. If I did, you wouldn’t listen.”
He laughed. “You make a horrible victim. Leave the antics to the weaker sex.”
“What are you doing there and why is it taking so long?”
“Tying up loose ends.” What an understatement .
She sighed her impatience. “You’re opening yourself up to tremendous exposure every day you stay in that town. You do realize that, don’t you?”
“I’ve got it handled.”
“What if the widow finds out you own Reese Construction?”
“Her name is Kate.”
She ignored him. “Miles agrees with me.”
“So, the two of you have been discussing me? I thought you were negotiating a huge deal.”
“We are. We’re also trying to protect our biggest asset.” She paused, then added, “You.”
***
Kate changed her shirt three times. The first revealed cleavage, the second was too tight, and the third had a paint stain on the sleeve. She yanked a fourth from the hanger as the doorbell rang, signaling Rourke’s arrival. She hastily buttoned the lavender cotton, smoothed her hair, and raced down the steps.
When she opened the door, Rourke stood there, looking cool and handsome in slacks and a navy silk shirt. She doubted he’d ever suffered clothing indecision, or any indecision for that matter. His gaze swept over her and a smile slid across his lips. “In a hurry?”
She glanced down and spotted a scrap of skin and pink lace where she’d missed a button. She jerked around and rushed toward the bathroom, propelled forward by the low rumble of Rourke’s laughter. Once inside, she buttoned her shirt and sucked in several breaths. He’s just a man. Stay calm.
Kate found him standing in the living room by the fireplace mantle. The silk shirt pulled across the muscles of his back and she wondered what he’d look like minus the shirt. She cleared her throat. “Would you like something to drink?”
“Chardonnay?”
Kate blinked. “I haven’t had any in years.” So what if it was a lie? She wasn’t about to dig it out of her closet and offer him a glass.
His eyes glittered with feigned innocence. “Neither have I, but I find that since I’ve returned to Montpelier, I have a sudden desire,” his gaze narrowed on her lips, “to taste it again.”
Damn him, he knew it was the wine they’d shared the night they’d— “No,” she shook her head, “I don’t care for it anymore.” Another lie.
“Really?” He settled on her couch and crossed his long legs.
Rourke looked so different than Clay had sitting in that same spot. Clay preferred to hunch over a crossword puzzle or toy train magazine, hands fisted under his chin. When he’d exhausted his mind, he’d slide back onto the couch and stretch his compact frame flat out.
In contrast, Rourke sat like a king, chest expanding, head high. If he deigned to lie down, his feet would dangle over the edge. They wouldn’t be double cotton, moisture-wicked stocking feet either but silk clad, Italian woven. She’d never be able to sit on the couch again without the image of Rourke Flannigan attacking her brain. And if she considered him stretched out on the plaid print—
“Kate?”
…with her body on top of his…
“Kate?”
Dear Lord. “Yes?”
“Water’s fine.”
“Oh. Yes. Water.”
This seemed to be a night where she was bound to make a fool of herself. At least Julia wasn’t here to witness her mother’s rapid brain cell deterioration. Rourke’s secretary had taken both girls, under protest of course, to the movies, though Kate wasn’t sure who’d been more uncomfortable.
She’d been able to postpone the inevitable one more day—but soon, Rourke would meet Julia.
Kate returned from the kitchen with two waters and sat on the Lazy Boy opposite him. He took a sip and flipped open the folder resting in his lap. “Clay was contracted by Reese Construction to head up the demolition crew for