Flushed (2 page)

But then, Damon didn’t have a brother, let alone a
condescending prick of a half-brother.

Kim pulled on his light-duty gloves and dug through the
augers in his toolbox. Odds were he’d need the six-foot unless the plumbing had
been updated at the same time as the fixture. He’d start with the three.

Kerry had bought a new house. Something gigantic, no doubt.
Something appropriate for celebrating his position as the perfect heir to his
late father’s business. Stable. Successful. Respected family man.

Prick.

Kim looked around the bathroom for a distraction. He gripped
the auger too tightly and he’d learned early in his apprenticeship that working
when pissed off meant risking the job’s safety. On a job as simple as this, Kim
wasn’t likely to get hurt himself, but he might damage his client’s pipes or
fixtures.

The bathroom had its original floor, he forced himself to
notice, small white tiles in a tight herringbone pattern, larger white tiles on
the walls up to chest height, little black lines that made a good-looking
border. The painted upper walls were hung with framed displays of small beaded
purses. A feminine room, but not hopelessly girly. Kim liked it. He’d been in
god-awful bathrooms in his day, choked with floral wallpaper and lace-trimmed towels.
The lady had class and taste.

The lady was expecting guests. Kim hefted the auger and got
to work.

* * * * *

It took Isabelle far too long to focus on the choices in her
armoire. She could no more stop smiling than she could stand to leave a dresser
drawer hanging open. Something about this man made her want to flirt, want to
laugh, want to forget the consequences of giving in to charisma like his. Her
whole body vibrated with his nearness.

Dangerous. Very dangerous. Especially since she’d seen something
devilish flicker in his gaze. It had been a long time since she’d allowed a man
to look at her like that without calling him on it. She
should
have
called the plumber on it, but she was guilty too, leering herself, thinking a
glimpse of plumber’s crack wouldn’t be so awful on a plumber as fine as this
one. She had to get a grip on her hormones.

Why couldn’t Kim have been a woman?

As Isabelle fastened the jeweled buttons of a matte satin
blouse, the doorbell rang. Her first guest had arrived.

She knocked on the bathroom door. “Are you okay in there,
Mr. Martin?” She opened it to a view of a gaping metal toolbox on her bathroom
floor, the plumber squatting next to it, pulling off a pair of work gloves. He
looked up at her with eyes like a husky’s—arctic blue, ringed in black.

“Won’t be a minute,” he said, rising to his feet. He took a
breath and let it out without saying anything, his smile offering a healthy
measure of male appreciation. As reactions went, it beat looking in the mirror
any day.

She tried not to return the smile and failed. “Please join
the party when you’re through.”

“I will,” he said. “Thank you for the invitation.”

All this and manners too.
Not every man who looked
like him would bother. Fewer still could make it work. She excused herself to
get the door.

Steven had made it work, she reminded herself.

Not in coveralls, though. Never in coveralls.

It was Mike Lemley at the door. He handed her a bouquet. Of
course. She kept inviting him to bring a special friend. He kept bringing her
flowers instead. She should stop inviting him so he’d get the hint, friend of
Charlie’s or no. Luckily, Charlie and his girlfriend Gina arrived on his heels,
and Isabelle left the problem of entertaining Mike to her brother. Then she had
her hands full, greeting her remaining guests who arrived two by two, including
Stacey and Stacey’s latest, who turned out to be named Bob.

In minutes, the house was filled with friends and food and
music. Isabelle took the hopeless bouquet into the kitchen. Stacey followed
her, carrying her customary spinach dip.

“What do you think of him?” Stacey asked.

“Bob? I just met him.”

“He’s so hot. I have such a good feeling about him,” Stacey
said. “He came into the paint department and we sparked right away, talking and
talking. He stuck around for the end of my shift—now, here we are,” Stacey said
as she peeled the plastic wrap off her bowl and turned to the refrigerator for
the veggies Isabelle always cut for her.

“I hope he’s wonderful for you,” Isabelle said, hardly one
to deny the reality of lust at first sight in spite of her friend’s tendency to
blaze ahead and build whole relationships in her mind. Getting back on the
horse was never an issue for Stacey.

As Isabelle dropped the flowers into a vase and fluffed them
absently, Stacey pointed and squished up her nose. “Lemley?”

Isabelle nodded.

“At least they’re not glads this time,” Stacey said.
“Someone must have told the boy only gay men buy glads.”

She would not smile. She wouldn’t. Mike was a sweet man.
Maybe she should give him a try. Sweet might be nice for a change, assuming she
ever saddled up again.

“Lemley ought to give you whatever kind of flowers they
recommend for men who want to make you their mommy,” Stacey said.

Isabelle sputtered, Stacey snorted and to Isabelle’s horror,
she found herself laughing at Lemley’s expense. Maybe she shouldn’t give him a
try after all.

Stacey dug into her purse and gave Isabelle a business card.
“I don’t want to forget, so I’ll give you this now. I know you want commercial
business, and I think this guy would be receptive to what you can do. Last
week, he spent an entire hour poking around the shelving department and didn’t
buy a thing. Call him.”

Isabelle looked at the card.

Damon Franklin

President

Wall Werx Indoor Climbing Gym

“Thanks,” Isabelle said. “This means a lot to me.”
Organizing closets for homeowners was fine, but she longed to test herself by
taking her business into commercial spaces. She wasn’t sure what an indoor
climbing gym was, but if Stacey thought they might need her skills, Isabelle
was all over it.

Stacey grinned. “You and me. We’re not just
simpatico
,
we’re symbiotic.” She laced her fingers together to demonstrate. “Besides, it’s
all part of my plan. One day, you’ll be huge and I plan to be the one who
figures out how to franchise you for big bucks.”

Isabelle laughed. “I’ll call him tomorrow. I wouldn’t want
you to wait a minute longer than necessary for your payout.” She backed through
the swinging door to carry the vase of flowers to the dining room. Stacey
followed, setting the dip and accouterments on the dining room table.

“Stacey,” her friend’s date called, “come over here. I want
you to meet a buddy of mine.”

Isabelle looked up to see who Bob had added to her guest
list without asking and nearly dropped the vase.

“We’re acquainted. Nice to see you, Stacey, it’s been too
long.” Isabelle’s ex, Steven, took Stacey’s hand, leaned close and kissed her
cheek.

“Steven,” said Stacey, her eyes seeking Isabelle’s, her face
stricken. She mouthed,
Oh God
.

Steven merely smiled. His dimples were out in force. He wore
a civilized cotton sweater with khakis. He’d dressed up to come to her house,
damn him. “Hi, Isabelle,” he said. “We need to talk.”

Isabelle’s brain refused to work. It was easy to be mad on
the phone. In person, in the face of that smile…she turned and pushed through
the swinging door back to the kitchen without a word.

He followed her. Of course.

“You look great, Isabelle.”

Isabelle clutched the vase of flowers she’d failed to put
down in the other room. “What do you want, Steven?” Her throat constricted, her
mouth dry. How could he have made such a fool of her? It was worse than
college. At least Daniel had kept his foreign squeeze a stranger.

“Are those flowers from someone special?” Steven asked.

She wished, rather she wished they were from a man she was
vastly in love with, a man who’d filled her life and erased every trace of this
big jock with the silver tongue.

“Why are you here?” she asked. All she should feel was
anger. Instead, she was sickened to find herself becoming lightheaded. Was she
such a simple conquest?

“It’s Monday, Izzy. I knew I’d find you home.”

At the sound of that ugly name, it became easier to breathe.
No matter how many times she explained her name wasn’t “Izzy”, he seemed to
think it cute. It was not cute. And now he’d called her predictable as well.

“You mean you figured there was less chance I’d call the
police if I had guests.” That was better.

“You wouldn’t call the police,” he said in the voice that
had made her forget so many arguments in the months they’d lived together. No
more.

“Try me.”

He smiled, showing those damn dimples. “I miss you,
Isabelle.”

“I don’t miss you,” she said, though her voice was growing
weaker the longer this went on. She still wasn’t ready to deal with Steven in
person, she was much better on the phone.

“Is it because of him?” Steven gestured at the vase of
flowers Isabelle still clutched. His smile changed to the wistful one he’d used
to explain the other woman didn’t mean anything, Isabelle was the one he loved.
Idiot. His dimples weren’t that great.

“Not exactly. Isabelle has many admirers.”

Kim Martin, sleek and dangerous in his silky knit pullover,
gave Isabelle a smile that drained even Steven’s dimples of power. He cocked
his head at her from the kitchen doorway. “Right, Isabelle?”

He was asking if she wanted rescuing. She wanted more than
rescuing. She wanted to wipe the dimples right off Steven’s lying face. Being
on the arm of this charismatic hunk sounded like a nice start.

“There you are,” she said, setting the vase on the kitchen
island and extending her hands to the plumber. He crossed the kitchen to take
them in his. His amazing eyes told her he had an idea what was going on, while
his fingers were like sandpaper. She shivered at the unexpected friction.

“Kim Martin, this is Steven Yaeger, the cheating son of a
bitch I threw out of my life but who won’t go away. Steven, this is what a real
man looks like.”

“Steven,” Kim acknowledged, his face serious. He circled an
arm around Isabelle’s waist. “You didn’t tell me he carried a torch for you,
Isabelle. Are you trying to make me jealous?”

Kim was perfect. Steven’s face flamed red. He never could
stand being one-upped in the charm department.

Isabelle smiled up into that gorgeous, dimple-free face and
let herself feel the heat that had arrived on her doorstep with Kim Martin,
knowing Steven would see it on her skin and in her eyes. Knowing it would make
him crazy. “Only one torch in here,” she murmured.

Kim pulled her closer. He smelled clean and soapy, though
sexy stubble showed along his jaw. His ringed eyes were incredible—intelligent,
intense and coming ever closer.

Her pulse throbbed, pushing heat throughout her body. A
lusty promise hovered between them. Isabelle drew it out until she feared she’d
embarrass herself by believing it was real.

Steven would never forget this moment. No doubt about it.

As she was about to ease back and offer the plumber a beer
to seal the scene, Kim Martin kissed her.

He was going to get slapped. Kim knew it the moment his lips
touched Isabelle Caine’s unresponsive mouth. Clearly, the lady hadn’t intended
this act to extend as far as kissing.

Neither had he. But holding her close like this, with her
cheeks flushed and her lips parted and her smoldering eyes suggesting an
imagination even more interesting than his own, he couldn’t help himself.

And now he was going to get slapped.

Or maybe not. She relaxed against him, her hand resting on
his arm. Even better, her mouth moved against his, taking his lip between hers
and tugging, inviting a second kiss.

Happy to oblige.

She tasted of spice—oregano and bay and something wilder.
Her back warmed beneath his hand. He wanted to touch her skin, wanted to see
how far her becoming flush extended, to find out whether she tasted the same
all over.

And if he tried any of that here, he
would
be
slapped.

He let her go.

She gripped his sleeve, her eyes unfocused, and seemed far
more exposed at this moment than mere flushed skin would tell. It did something
to his gut that had nothing to do with lust and everything to do with
protecting her from more hurt at the hands of her football jock ex. Or anyone
else.

It wasn’t like him. He wasn’t Protector Guy. He was the fun
one. He was good at being the fun one.

She pulled herself together and gave him an uncertain smile
that made him ache. Then she frowned past him. A frat-boy type in a blue
button-down had pushed through the kitchen’s swinging door, rubbing his chin
with a napkin.

“You okay in here, Isabelle?” he asked.

“Thank you, Charlie,” she said. “Could you show Steven the
door, please?”

Charlie grinned, lounging in the doorframe. “You’d think
after getting tossed through it, he’d remember where it was, but if he’s that
dumb, okay.”

Whoever Charlie was, Kim liked him.

“Isabelle, I really need to talk to you,” Steven said.

“He’s that dumb, Charlie,” said Kim. “You want help?”

The jock’s face got red and cords stood up on his massive
neck. Funny, he didn’t like being called dumb. “I left something here and I
need to get it back,” he said.

Isabelle stiffened as if he’d surprised her. “I took your
stuff to the Salvation Army,” she said. “They might still have some of it. You
can look for it there.”

Steven took a deep breath and his neck shrank marginally.
“It’s not like that, Izzy,” he said, calming his features in a convincing
imitation of a man with every right to continue an argument Isabelle had just
declared closed. He smiled the same oily smile Kim had seen when he first came
upon the two of them in the kitchen and realized the lady had a problem. “This
is embarrassing, but to be honest, I hid it.”

“Isabelle,” she said.

“What?”

“My name is Isabelle. What do you mean you hid it?”

Kim squeezed her before he realized his arm was still
loosely around her waist, before he remembered she wasn’t his to be proud of.
She didn’t object. Then again, she was a little preoccupied.

“It’s important,” Steven said. “Please, Izzy—Isabelle—it’s
an heirloom.”

Her shoulders slumped. Steven smiled at the sign of her
surrender. “I wanted it to be safe,” he said in a voice like a repentant
television evangelist.

“That’s it?” Kim said, pissed to see this proud lady
conquered. “If you get this treasure of the ages, you’ll leave?”

Steven glared at him. “I’m talking to Isabelle, do you
mind?”

“Where is it?” asked Isabelle.

“I do,” said Kim at the same time.

From the doorway, Charlie said, “Seems to me anything you
left here two months ago can’t be that important, Steven. Seems to me it
belongs to Isabelle now.”

Kim blinked in surprise at Charlie’s words. This Steven guy
was two-month-old news and he still got under her skin? Clearly, Isabelle Caine
hadn’t mastered the art of moving on.

While Steven divided his lowbrow stare between Charlie and
Kim, two more people appeared.

“Problem, Steve?” asked the man, another hulk Steven’s size.

Steven stood up straighter. “No problem, buddy. Isabelle is
just walking me out to my car.”

Isabelle scowled. “Fine. If that’s what it takes, let’s do
it.”

Steven gestured toward a wooden door at the back of the
kitchen, beyond a shadowed laundry nook. “I parked in your driveway, Izzy.”

“Isabelle,” Kim chorused with Charlie. Isabelle smiled. That
was something, at least.

Kim watched from the back door. Maybe it was her house that
inspired him. When he’d finished with the plumbing and sought the lady of the
house, he’d seen about every room in it. It had great historical
details—hardwood floors, and nice built-in shelving with elaborate glass doors.
Plus, the excellent black-and-white tile work in the bathroom. She favored
bold, simple shapes for furniture and art, with lots of intense colors that
appealed to him. The house was an antique version of what he’d done in his own
downtown loft. Rather, paid a decorator to do, much to Damon’s dismay.

Hers felt homier. Maybe it was all the old hats. They were
everywhere. Isabelle seemed to collect them. Dresses, too, to judge by the
flapper-esque thing on display in the bedroom. Orange. His favorite color. Kim
had never known someone who collected old clothing. It intrigued him. Isabelle
Caine intrigued him.

And so he hovered at the back door and watched as the woman
who tasted of oregano, dressed like a queen and threw large men out of her
house seemed to shrink the longer she was in her ex’s presence. Five more
minutes of it and she might disappear altogether.

Kim decided to give her four. Then he’d go out after her.

* * * * *

“Just give me a chance to get in there, Isabelle,” Steven
said. “Ten minutes, tops, and I’ll be out of your hair for good, if that’s what
you want.”

Isabelle’s stomach churned. It was what she wanted, but damn
if she’d give him access to her house to make it happen.

“Charlie had a point,” she said. “By now, the thing is
rightfully mine.”

They stood in her driveway beside Steven’s old Cadillac.
He’d parked behind her van, same as old times. The motion-activated security
light she’d persuaded him to mount to the roof of her freestanding garage
provided the only light, same as old times. This was not old times. She didn’t
want him in her house, not ever again.

“It’s an heirloom, baby,” he said. “Please?”

“No one here named ‘Baby’.”

“What do you want me to say, Isabelle? It’s sentimental and
valuable.”

Crap. How did he always know the magic words? Was she such
an easy mark? Bastard.

A rectangle of warm light was visible at the back door of
her house, silhouetting someone waiting in the doorway. It might be Charlie. Or
it might be the plumber. A girl could dream.

Steven reached for her. She stepped back and his fingers brushed
her satin sleeve. “Please?” he repeated.

“I’ll get it for you, Steven. Tell me where.”

He said nothing.

It was late March, still too early for noisy insects, but
music and laughter and conversation spilled from her house—the hum of happy
people who weren’t out to tear up her home in the name of sentiment.

“I mean it,” she said. “If you want it, tell me where it
is.”

“You know your medicine cabinet?”

“That had better be a rhetorical question.”

He laughed. She didn’t. She had to hand it to him—he was making
it easy for her to stay mad. “Steven, I have a houseful of guests.”

“And a ‘real man’?” He tried the wistful look again. No
doubt he was about to tell her again how much he missed her.

“And a ‘real man’.”

“Can he do this for you?” Steven had his arms around her,
kissing her before she guessed what he intended. He tasted like licorice. Or
was it embalming fluid? He was definitely a dud compared with the kiss she’d
had in the kitchen. She stomped on his foot and slapped his face.

“Go away, Steven.”

He actually looked mad. At her. As if this was her fault,
any of it. For the first time tonight, Isabelle noticed how big he was—a
bulldozer with a nice haircut. If he wanted trouble, he could cause it.

“You heard the lady.”

She swung around as Kim Martin arrived in a hurry.
Apparently, his was the silhouette she’d seen in the doorway. He certainly was
thorough about playing his role, not that she minded at the moment.

Still steaming, Steven got in his car, leaving her alone
with Kim in the driveway. Apparently even bulldozers backed off in the face of
reinforcements.

It created quite the awkward moment.

What could she say to the man who had come to fix her
toilet, witnessed the revival tour of her romantic humiliation and kissed her
as if she was the last Coke in the desert?

Not a thing came to mind.

“Sorry about that,” Kim said, which would have been the
perfect thing for Isabelle to say. Too late now.

“Me too. What was I thinking? The man has the mental
capacity of a jelly-dipped guppy.”

He laughed. It was a good laugh, soft and forgiving. It made
her think about how his kiss had made her feel. Understood. An equal. At home.

She shook herself. Sexy men were going to be the death of
her, especially ones so good at saying things she wanted to hear.

“I didn’t realize when I called you were a full-service
plumber.”

“Whatever it takes to flush the clog.” He was smiling, but
it wasn’t the same flirty smile he’d given her earlier. If anything, he looked
uncomfortable.

It wouldn’t do. Of all her unbreakable rules, top of the
list was a hostess never insulted a guest, even one who’d started the evening
as a contractor for hire. Had to be her tone, tainted by how pissed she was
over Steven hiding something in her beloved home.

“I’m dying for a beer,” she said. “Can I offer you a
Shiner?” It wasn’t the best apology, but it was a start.

“So, a man can’t kiss you without getting hurt?”

As she stiffened, he grinned. Shiner. Slap to the face.
Right. What a relief. She let herself relax. “You have conquered the toilet of
doom?” she asked.

“I have.”

“I’ll let it slide.”

“Then a beer sounds great.”

They entered through the mudroom door at the back of the
kitchen. Charlie was saying, “Just ‘cause I don’t know him doesn’t mean
anything. Isabelle seems to know him pretty well, if you get me.”

Of course, the conversation died as Isabelle and Kim came
in—Charlie and Bob turning to look, Stacey and Gina pretending not to. How
rude. She ignored them and took a pair of Shiners from refrigerator.

“Thanks,” Kim said.

“Thank you.” They toasted with a clink of brown glass and
Isabelle savored the mouthful of cold brew and the nearness of a sexy comrade
in arms. It beat figuring out how to handle this moment.

“So…that was weird,” said Stacey. Gina laughed
uncomfortably.

Bob had his arm around Stacey and she looked happy to be
there. “Seems Steven really wants you back, Isabelle,” he said.

Charlie snorted. Bob frowned at him.

“I’m sorry, Isabelle,” Kim said with his melt-me gaze. “I
don’t do threesomes. You’ll have to choose between us.”

He remained in character, even though Steven had gone. Maybe
it was because Bob was buddies with Steven. Smart guy. Nice someone was
thinking clearly tonight. She pretended to pout, enjoying herself hugely. “Take
it back. I don’t do well with ultimatums.”

He shook his head, his features serious but for the mischief
in his amazing eyes. “I can’t, Isabelle. I won’t share you.” He kissed her
cheek and pulled her into a sideways hug.

Isabelle purred with laughter, her arms sliding as readily
around his waist as if they’d been dating for months.

As if they’d been dating at all.

Charlie cleared his throat and offered Kim his hand.
“Charlie Bach,” he said. “I’m Isabelle’s brother.”

“Kim Martin,” Kim said, shaking Charlie’s hand. “I fixed
Isabelle’s toilet.”

Kim waited for the laughter to die, then he said, “No,
really.”

Isabelle stood stiff and wary in the circle of his arm,
waiting for his next move. Even now, she wouldn’t trust him to help her through
this? He’d have thought such an outrageous flirt would find it easier to let
herself go.

“I happen to be a plumber,” he said, “but Isabelle didn’t
tell me until tonight she had century-old plumbing that needed babying.”

Isabelle relaxed. It felt good, her trust.

“I don’t think of you as a plumber,” she said. “You’re far
too sexy to be a plumber.”

“Ain’t that the truth?” said the redhead Isabelle’s brother
seemed to be with.

“Hey,” Charlie said.

She shrugged. “Not as if you don’t look.” She wore no rings.
Whoever she was, she wasn’t Isabelle’s sister-in-law.

Which reminded Kim to be amazed Isabelle herself seemed to
be unattached. Which reminded him how many other assumptions he could make
about her and be wrong. He should say very little, lest they be revealed before
Isabelle was ready.

“Thank you,” he said, smiling down at her. She smiled back,
her arms still around him, her weight against him, her breasts a warm pressure
at his ribs. He could imagine many ways to spend time quite happily with this
woman without speaking at all.

Charlie surreptitiously wiped his hand on his slacks. “Maybe
you guys need a room.”

“Don’t be stupid, Charlie.” This from the curly-haired
blonde attached to the other guy. She smiled. “I’d much rather hear about how
Isabelle met her plumber. I certainly remember him.” Her smile became broader.

Kim racked his brain. Had he dated her? He tried imagining
her as a pre-blonde, an awful lot of Dallas women had had a different hair
color before they found their calling. This one was shadowed around the roots.
Still, nothing.