The Art Of Deception, Book Two, Stolen Hearts series, Romantic Suspense (18 page)

“The door’s locked,” Andy said as she climbed the front steps.

She turned and immediately felt guilty she’d asked him to carry the second bag. He could barely stagger along under the load. She put her armload on the top step and hurried back to help him.

“I don’t need help." He gripped the brown paper bag harder.

“I know, but I’m thirsty. I think that’s the one with the cans of beer." She took the bag from him. She was thirsty, and heaven knows she could use some dutch courage.

“You gonna sit on the front steps and drink beer?” The small freckled faced boy looked at her as if she’d said she was going to take all her clothes off and roll around on the lawn.

It’s the suburbs, idiot. Probably half the street was peering out from behind their closed blinds already. “Not cool, huh?”

Andy grinned, revealing the gap between his two front teeth. “Sure it’s cool." He lifted a shoulder in a negligent shrug as if he were the sophisticated suburbanite. “But I got cookies and lemonade over there in the shade. Mindy said to keep the sun off them.”

“Who’s Mindy?” Sophie sat on the top step, her stomach sinking at the mention of another woman. God, she was stupid. Of course Gage would have a lady friend. Or friends.

“She lives next door." Andy scurried around to the side of the steps and grabbed a tray that held a glass pitcher of lemonade and a plate of homemade cookies.

The frosted pitcher and the crisp cookies looked Martha Stewart perfect. Next-door-Mindy had even thought to include a blue and white cloth napkin. Sophie felt her confidence slip another notch. She’d tried to make cookies once–okay, she’d tried five frigging times in a row–but the damned things kept burning on the bottom. And they certainly didn’t look like the picture in the recipe book as these did.

Andy stuffed half a cookie in his mouth. “Uncle Vince doesn’t want her sneaking into his house any more and cleaning it. That’s why he doesn’t hide the key for me on the back porch,” he mumbled through a mouthful of crumbs.

Sophie choked on the mouth watering cookie she’d taken a bite of. “Sneaking into his house?”

“Yeah. I think Mindy’s got the hots for him. Whadda you think?”

Andy’s bright gaze made her feel as if he’d just issued a challenge or was testing her in some indecipherable way. He couldn’t be more than six, seven years old. Were kids that age supposed to know about sex?

“I don’t know Mindy." She chose her words carefully as she dusted crumbles from her hands. “But I think Gage can take care of himself."

“Me too. How come you call him Gage? His name’s Vince."

“I don’t know." She shrugged. “He’s so big and tough. Gage suits him better."

The sound of a vehicle pulling into the driveway chased any evidence of maturity from Andy. He spun around and raced toward Gage’s truck.

Sophie stood, willing the wobble from her legs. She knew she was breaking all sorts of rules coming here, but after what Gage had said to her this morning, she felt as though she didn’t have a choice. She wasn’t a coward, and she was going to prove it to him and, more importantly, to herself. First the suburbs and dinner. If that went okay, who knew? Maybe she’d find the courage to drag a few of her paintings out and show them to some people.

She watched Gage pick Andy up in his arms and hug him to his chest. Her stomach tied in a knot when he glanced at her over Andy’s shoulder. Could he look any sterner? His eyebrows lowered over his icy blue glare, and white lines bracketed his tensed mouth. Sophie pasted a smile on her face at the same time she clenched her hands into fists at her side.

He put Andy down when he arrived at the front steps and raised his eyebrows as he looked from her to the groceries to the tray of cookies and lemonade. “You brought that?” He nodded at the tray.

Sophie swallowed, her mouth so dry, she didn’t know if she could speak. What was she doing here? Was she crazy? “Yeah, I spent my afternoon making cookies and lemonade." Good idea. Piss the man off more with her sarcasm.

A corner of his mouth twitched up. “Mindy." He picked up the tray and passed it to Andy who watched them with rapt attention. “Take this back to Mindy’s, okay? And tell her I don’t like you snacking right before supper.”

“Do I have to?” Andy whined. “She’s going to ask me all kinds of questions about Sophie.”

A speculative gleam brightened Gage’s eyes. “Good. Tell her Sophie’s my new squeeze.”

“Okay." Andy scowled. “But I don’t know nothing about Sophie, so I’m not going to be able to answer her questions.”

“I don’t know anything about Sophie,” Gage corrected his nephew.

“Yeah, that too."

When Andy was out of hearing distance, Gage turned his steely gaze toward her. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Sophie bit the inside of her cheek as his harsh words hit. Oh help, she was going to cry. "I thought.... After what you said.... Can we do this somewhere more private?”

He glanced in the direction Andy had gone. “Let’s go around to the back. Only visitors use the front door." He grabbed the two bags of groceries and walked around to the back of the house.

What did that make her? An intruder or an alien? She stood on the front steps, wondering if she should just walk away. Gage could cook his own damned supper. And she could slink back to her own impersonal neighborhood where people were too busy to bother watching their neighbors. Where she didn’t even know the name of the guy living below her. Carl something, wasn’t it? Moisture at the corner of one eye made her blink again, and she hurried to catch up to Gage.

She skated to a stop when she walked through the white picket gate into the back yard. Gage was already on the spacious back deck, unlocking the patio doors. “Wow, nice place."

He pocketed his keys. “Thanks." He disappeared inside the house.

The yard was huge. She had no concept of how to measure the area into feet, but it stretched much further back than she imagined most yards did. A six foot fence, covered with a leafy green vine, surrounded the space. A garage, painted the same white and green as the house, bordered Mindy’s back yard. In the opposite corner Gage had planted a flower garden, complete with bird bath and bench.

How...cozy. Sophie’s shoulders drooped. He even had a little wading pool for Andy under the tree by the back corner of the garage. And a sand box with bright yellow trucks waiting for some child to come along and start playing.

He’d said he wanted children, hadn’t he? What she hadn’t understood was Gage was primed and ready for a family. So, what was he waiting for? An ache crept in under her heart. If Mindy was any indication, there was probably a line of women who were eager to oblige him. Women who would fit into this neighborhood, this life style.

She turned her back on the yard and climbed the steps to the deck, thinking of her apartment and the constant din of traffic, of the view of the building next door to hers.

When she stepped through the patio doors into the Italian tiled kitchen, Gage hung up the phone, a grim expression on his face. He leaned against the counter and loosened his tie. “I just talked to my sister, Maisie. Sorry she dumped Andy on you.”

She stayed by the door, an unfamiliar shyness gripping her. “He’s a neat kid.”

“He’s okay."

She balanced precariously on the silence that stretched between them as he continued to study her through narrowed eyes. Sophie edged one sandal off and nervously rubbed one foot up and down her bare leg. A muscle in his jaw started throbbing, and she held her breath, waiting for his lecture.

“You’ve got great legs. You should always wear short skirts." He pushed away from the counter and opened the refrigerator. “Wanna beer?”

“Um...sure. Please." She stuck her foot back into her sandal and stared at the way his grey slacks molded to his firm butt, but tore her gaze away when he closed the door. “Nice kitchen.”

“Thanks. It’s the only room I’ve managed to finish so far. I’m working on the living room, so it’s kind of messed up." He popped the tab on the beer and handed it to her. “Want a glass with that?”

“Beer tastes better out of the can." Wrong answer. She watched a look of amusement soften his stern features. “So, where’s Andy?”

He glanced out the window. “Playing in the sand box." He slipped his can on to the counter behind her and leaned close, the heat from his body reaching out to her. Surrounding her. “What gives, buttercup? Trying out for the suburban housewife role?”

His husky tone purred along her nerve endings, and she clutched the cold can of beer against her chest to cool the rash of heat that spread over her skin. His gaze skimmed down to her beer nestled between her breasts and stayed there for a minute, his eyes turning a darker blue. But the thin line of his lips looked grim. Angry.

“Housewife?” She snorted. “Sure, Gage. And right after I learn how to make cookies and lemonade, we can start thinking about having a baby.”

She waited for his laughter, but it didn’t come. His expression inscrutable, he continued to stare at her for what felt like an eternity. “It’s a joke, big guy." Obviously a bad one.

“I’m not laughing." He picked up his beer and watched her over the rim as he took a swig.

“Well you should be. Look, I came here because last night, or this morning, you said some things that made me think. Maybe you were right about my mother." She stopped to drag air into her lungs. “And maybe you were right about me. I thought.... It was a stupid idea. I should go."

She shoved her beer on the counter and moved toward the door, but Gage stepped in front her. “You’ve come a long way, babe." This time his lips curled up at the corners. “Might as well tell me what your idea is before you run home.”

She gazed at his mouth, his smile already disappearing. In the time she’d known him, she’d only heard him laugh once, but the deep, rich sound had stayed with her. She’d love to hear him laugh again.

She pushed away the thought and cleared her throat. “This is probably going to sound stupid, but here goes. One." She held up a finger, mimicking Gage’s action the night before. “I owe you. Raphael called before I left to tell me you let him out. Thank you, by the way.”

She forgot her next point for a second as she watched a spark kindle heat in his eyes. Oh my, he was a gorgeous man. “Okay, two." Another finger went up. “I’m not like my mother." Her voice turned husky as she pushed the words out. “I’m not a coward. The suburbs kind of freak me out, but I can handle this. I can even cook supper. I know that sounds like an every day, ordinary thing to do, but it isn’t. Not for me." She looked longingly at her beer where she’d left on the island counter behind Gage. She could really use a drink right now.

“So this is a one shot deal?”

Was he joking? She couldn’t tell from his bland expression. “Well, yeah. I mean...yeah." Very lucid, Soph. Great come back.

He took another sip of beer, then put his can beside hers, shrugged out his charcoal grey suit jacket and hung it over the back of the stool beside him. “So let me get this straight,” he said as he rolled his white shirt sleeves up to reveal tanned forearms covered with light brown hair. “You venture into the wild, untamed territory of the suburbs, wrestle a meal into some kind of shape, and that proves you’re not a coward. Have I got it right?”

Definitely no laugh coming up soon. He didn’t bother to hide his anger as he folded his arms across his chest. Well, hell. “It’s a stepping stone, Gage.”

“A stepping stone,” he repeated through tight lips.

“I already said it was a stupid idea. I thought, if I have the guts to do this,” she spread her arms out to include the entire kitchen, “then maybe I have the guts to take a few of my paintings to one of the smaller galleries. I am not my mother.”

Gage didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, but crying almost seemed almost more of a possibility, and it embarrassed the hell out of him. He spun away from her, stalked over to the patio doors and stared sightlessly at Andy playing in the sand box. What kind of world was it that a woman like Sophie Pascotto didn’t know how precious and unique she was? A dozen times since pulling into his driveway he wanted to throw back his head and laugh. Because she was here in his home, and she looked so right. Scared. Unsure of herself. But right. He felt the perverse urge to lock her up and not let her go.

When Spencer said he had it bad, his friend hadn’t even scratched the surface. He was desperate. And that, among many other reasons, was why he would send Sophie home as soon as she cooked this all-important dinner. He wiped a hand over his face and turned to face her. “So what’s for dinner?”