Mad About You (51 page)

He laughed, swept off his hat, and ran his hands through his flattened hair. "No, but that would explain a lot of things, I guess. To be honest, I'm not sure what happened, but if it was a quake, this might not be the safest place for you to be right now."

"Funny," she said thoughtfully, "I was having coffee nearby and didn't feel a thing." Her gaze fell on the remnants of black pottery littering the floor a few feet away. She gasped in dismay and scooped up a large broken chunk. "Oh, the McCoy punch bowl—I nearly bought it last week and now I could kick myself!"

"Aw, it could have been much worse," Ladden said, putting his usual cheerful spin on things, she noted. "I haven't been back to the storeroom," he added, picking his way toward the rear, righting small pieces of toppled furniture as he went. "But the table I'm holding for you is sturdy, so it should be all right."

Jasmine followed Ladden. Her heart felt heavy for him. He worked hard and ran a reputable business, and this bit of misfortune didn't seem fair. She stopped when a pile of broken glass blocked her path, then glanced up in surprise when she felt Ladden's hand on her arm.

"Careful." His broad fingers felt warm and strong on her skin. She watched the muscles bunch in his tanned forearm as he assumed her weight to help her across, amazed at the thrill of awareness that barbed through her.

"Thanks," she murmured when he released her. Ladden inclined his head, his easy smile crinkling his dark eyes around the corners and lighting his smooth face. Despite the dust, his uniform of jeans and T-shirt seemed to fit him especially well today, emphasizing his broad shoulders. Jasmine shook off the train of thought, telling herself it had been too long since she and Trey had spent a romantic evening together.

They entered the brightly lit storeroom and Jasmine was pleased to see the damage looked minimal since the contents consisted mainly of larger, less fragile pieces.

"Looks like the table is fine," Ladden announced.

But Jasmine was no longer listening. She was enthralled. She crawled over an old trunk, sneezed, then ran her hand over the short, nubby pile of the most beautiful carpet she had ever seen. Static electricity crackled, sending a tingle through her fingertips. Only then did she notice the butterflies. At least a dozen brilliantly colored specimens dotted the carpet, their bodies still, but their wings moving with the quiet regularity of intermittent windshield wiper blades. The entire scene was somewhat... magical.

"Ladden," she said in wonder, "where did you get this rug?"

He turned, eyes wide, then glanced at the bare wall behind her before answering. "I found it at an auction hall this morning." He picked up a large wooden clip from the floor, frowning at its clasp. "I hung it up to air out. The quake must have knocked it down". He scattered a few butterflies with a sweeping motion, then he turned a smile her way. "I thought you might like it."

"Like it? I love it," she breathed. "It's Persian, isn't it?"

Ladden nodded, running the back of his hand across the fibers. "But I can't date it—its condition is too good to be as old as I first guessed."

Her heart pounded. "I want it."

She looked up and saw his lips pressed together. Finally he dropped his gaze. "It might not be for sale."

Jasmine laughed merrily. "Ladden, I've seen you take down light fixtures from this store and sell them."

He nodded, stroking his chin. "I don't even know what it's worth. One of my experts is stopping by later this week to take a look at it. I think it's quite a find, though."

Jasmine lovingly traced the outline of an intricately woven flowering plant. "The governor would pay handsomely for something so dear."

"I'm sure he would," Ladden agreed in a subdued tone.

"A perfect complement to a quilt the Turkan prince gave him," Jasmine continued, imagining how magnificent the carpet would look on the pale hardwood in his bedroom.

"And if he isn't reelected?" Ladden asked, careful to keep his voice neither supportive nor reproachful.

Jasmine winced, the discouraging results of this week's polls flashing in her mind. Influencing state policy was everything to Trey—his ambition was the quality she admired most about him. He hadn't been afraid to tackle unpopular issues during his first term, and he seemed likely to pay for it this election day. But she didn't like to think about how much losing would crush him—or how much it might affect their fledgling relationship. She conjured up a smile for Ladden. "The governor owns several homes."

He stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Actually," he said abruptly, "I was thinking the carpet would look nice in my private quarters."

"Oh." She straightened, flipping her ponytail behind her shoulder. Of course Ladden would have his own place. She simply hadn't given it much thought before now. They had never broached personal subjects, although for the past few months, her own life had been chronicled on a regular basis in the local newspapers. The state held its collective breath to see if California's most eligible bachelor would marry. And she had to admit the prospect of being the governor's wife held no small amount of appeal. She forced herself to turn her attention back to Ladden and found his compelling gaze already on her. "Do you live nearby?"

"I have a fixer-upper in Glenhayden."

Jasmine couldn't contain her surprise. "Glenhayden? I grew up—" she stopped, then added, "spending summers near there." She didn't make a habit of sharing the extent of her meager upbringing. More often, she stuck to the loose background she had fabricated with just enough fact to keep the reporters happy.

"It's a nice, older community," Ladden said. "Do you still visit?"

"No," she said, nodding at the rug. "Let me know when you decide on a price."

"
If
I decide on a price," Ladden corrected with a grin, shaking his finger at her.

She laughed, suddenly struck by the revelation that she enjoyed his company, his good-natured banter. "I fully intend to wear you down," she warned.

His smile slipped just a bit, and she saw something akin to desire flicker in his brown eyes. "I'm looking forward to it."

And suddenly, she felt something leap between them, a feeling that stole the moisture from her mouth. How many conversations had she shared with Ladden over the past three years? It seemed as if she had always known him. Yet at this moment, she felt as if she were seeing him for the first time. Sexual awareness enveloped them. Panic rose in Jasmine's chest, panic that Ladden felt something emanating from her that she couldn't possibly mean. Could she?

"I—I'd better be going," she said, unable to drag her gaze from his. Goose bumps skittered along her arms, raising fine hairs and sending a shiver down her spine. She stumbled backward, remembering the trunk behind her a second too late. When she landed and the wind whooshed from her lungs, Jasmine faintly wished her sixth grade gym teacher could have witnessed her perfect backward somersault.

Ladden was at her side immediately. "Are you all right?" He clasped her hand and leaned over her, searching her face. In his mad scramble, he had lost his hat. With his dark hair curling haphazardly, he looked boyish and incredibly sexy. And Jasmine presumed she had hit her head rather hard because, for the duration of a heartbeat, she wanted Ladden to kiss her.

With her first breath of air, she laughed, half because she must have looked foolish, half because she couldn't believe what she was thinking.

His face relaxed and his laughter joined hers. "I give you a nine-point-seven for technique."

Still on her back, she smiled. "You're just glad I'm okay so I won't sue you."

He lifted his arms to indicate the clutter around them. "What you see is what you get—no riches here."

She wet her lips. A direct comparison between him and the governor? She wasn't sure. "Are you going to help me up?"

He hesitated, then a mischievous smile creased his face. "I was hoping you'd faint so I could give you mouth-to-mouth resuscitation." He leaned closer, bracing one hand next to her shoulder. "I'm certified."

Her ears hummed with the sudden silence. He, too, had been affected by their close contact. But she had more sense than to allow these fleeting desires to spin out of control. "Certifiable, perhaps," she said, extending her hand. He gently pulled her to her feet. For a second she felt lightheaded, but she wasn't sure whether to attribute it to her tumble or to her full-body proximity to Ladden.

"Are you sure you feel okay?" he asked, wrapping his fingers around her upper arms.

"Yes," she lied, then glanced down at her dusty slacks. "A little worse for wear," she muttered, stepping back to brush off her clothing—and to escape his disorienting nearness. "I really do need to get going."

He unearthed his hat, then blazed a safer trail through the debris to the front of the store.

"I hope the damage isn't as bad as it looks," Jasmine offered sympathetically.

Ladden shrugged his big shoulders. "I needed to do inventory anyway."

Her foot nudged something and Jasmine glanced down to find a wonderful little copper pot. "How quaint," she said, retrieving it from the littered floor and dusting it off. "It's an oil lamp."

"Nice quality," Ladden said. "I was cleaning it up when the quake struck this morning."

"Well, at least you didn't have a store full of customers."

"Yeah," he agreed. "Although some skinny old homeless man wandered in, scared out of his wits."

"I can't remember ever leaving here without buying something," Jasmine said, turning the lamp over in her hands. The lid was missing, but the piece spoke to her… and it would look nice on her fireplace mantel. "I'll take this."

He looked surprised. "Fine—give me a few hours to find the lid and finish cleaning it. Can you stop by later this afternoon?"

Jasmine mentally reviewed her schedule. "I need to drop off some cushions at the upholstery shop next door. I can come back around six or so." She refused to acknowledge the voice whispering in her head—she was
not
already anticipating the return trip.

"Just bang on the door," Ladden said. "I'll be the guy with the broom."

Jasmine laughed, hesitating with her hand on the doorknob. Ladden's dusty face wore a sunny expression that belied his situation, and suddenly, she didn't want to leave. Staying to help him clean up sounded more enjoyable than the buying trips she had planned for the afternoon—and the revelation shook her. "I'll see you later, Ladden."

After an awkward pause, he offered her a small wave. "Later, Jasmine."

Feeling unsettled, she wondered if he had wanted to say something else. She slowly walked back to her car, trying to make sense of what—if anything—had just transpired between them. She sat with her hands on the wheel for a full minute, her mind racing. Hormones, she decided. Hormones, pure and simple. Ladden was a good-looking, attentive man who exuded a physicality that was hard to ignore. She was a normal, red-blooded woman who hadn't seen much of her boyfriend lately. Hormones.

But as she pulled away from the curb, Jasmine couldn't resist a glance at his storefront in her rearview mirror. She bit her lip, hard. She had known the man for a long time. Why was she noticing these disturbing things about him this morning?

Chapter Three

LADDEN HELD HIS BREATH until Jasmine's car disappeared from view. Then he reached for the broom and danced a jig with his spindly partner around the littered floor, humming along with the jaunty song on the radio. He wasn't absolutely, positively certain, but he felt as if they had finally connected. He swept off his hat and held it over his heart as he dipped the broom low in a swoon, then drawled, "Was that a spark of interest I saw in your lovely green eyes, my dear?"

At the sound of a knock on the window, Ladden bolted upright and jammed his hat back on his head. Mrs. Pickney stood outside with her hand to her brow, smiling and waving. Tingling with embarrassment, he pretended to sweep violently as he made his way to the door.

"My windows look suspiciously clean," she said as she stepped inside, "so thank you—" She gasped, covering her mouth, rendered speechless by the unsightly mess of his showroom. Ladden abandoned the broom and guided her to a dusty chair.

"It's okay, Mrs. Pickney, the damage seems to be isolated here and no one was injured."

"I—I don't understand," she murmured. "I didn't feel a thing—how... why..." She raised moist eyes. "It doesn't seem fair."

He shrugged and squeezed her frail shoulders. "It was a freak tremor. Don't worry—my insurance is paid up." Scanning the crowded showroom, he added, "Besides, I needed to scale down my inventory, anyway. It was getting too cramped in here."

She glanced around and finally grinned. "This place was starting to look like a fire hazard."

"See?" he said. "A blessing in disguise. Now, hadn't you better see to your customers?"

"I'll close for the day and help you clean up."

He shook his head. "No need—I can't do much until I contact my insurance agent anyway."

The color had returned to her cheeks. "You're right, of course." She rose from her chair and walked to the door. "Ladden, why do bad things happen to good people?"

Feeling a burst of affection for the woman, Ladden said, "Don't waste a minute worrying about me, I'll be fine."

She angled her white head at him. "I can't imagine why some smart young lady hasn't scooped you up by now."

He adopted a lovelorn expression and sighed. "I'm waiting for you to realize our age difference doesn't matter, Mrs. Pickney."

Laughing, she waved him off and walked out.

After he locked the door, Ladden groaned, scrubbing his face with his hands. Despite his forced cheer, the damage the quake had wrought only heaped more pressure on the business decisions he'd have to make soon. Should he interpret this incident as an omen, a sign to move to another location, one large enough to offer him room to expand?