by Louisa Trent
At the absence of glib on his brother's face, Steve broke his own firm rule about never discussing his love life, or the lack thereof, with his family. "I've never been involved that way with Ronnie."
Greg examined his tightly knotted fingers. "Thanks. That's what I had to hear. The last thing I want to do is move in on territory already staked." His grip loosened. "I like her. A lot."
"She's a few years older than you..."
"Only a few. Besides, the way I look at it, Ronnie's insecurities actually make her act younger."
His brother's sensitivity floored him, and all Steve could say was: "I think you may be right."
"I know I am. And I'll tell something else I'm right about-you want Ma off your back, bring a date to the barbecue. You'll put a smile on the cook's face and we won't have to listen to the 'When are you bringing home a nice girl?' speech again."
"For the sake of family harmony, maybe I will."
* * * *
After waving off Greg's dented pickup from the kitchen door, Steve fixed a brown bag lunch for his new employee-two hefty sandwiches, an apple and a bunch of cookies. What wouldn't fit in the bag was crammed into the pockets of his overalls. A quart of ice-cold milk from the fridge in hand, he jogged back to the garage to Emily.
"Why aren't you taking a break?" he asked, placing the bag on the table and emptying out his pockets.
She didn't look up from pushing the industrial sized broom. "I took a break. Now I'm back to work. You pay by the hour, right?"
Steve didn't bother to argue; he went and got her instead.
Ungluing her grip from the broom handle, he walked her to the card table where her lunch awaited. "Eat. Drink. Relax."
"I told you, I'm watching my figure."
"And I told you, lunch comes with the job!"
He pressed her into the chair, poured her a glass of the milk. "Chocolate syrup?"
She eyed the flavoring like it was her next score. "I'm not a little kid."
Debatable point. "Syrup?" he repeated.
She licked her lips. "Two squirts. Please."
"I like the manners. Keep them up and I may not have to wash out your mouth with that bar of soap after all."
With a smirk, Emily picked up the glass and downed the contents. Hunger overruling pride, she unwrapped the sandwich and attacked.
When there was nothing left on the plastic wrap but mustard, he reached into the bag and tossed over the second sandwich.
"I couldn't possibly," she demurred, her street talk lapsing.
"Humor me."
She eyed the sandwich, then him. "Turning it down might be construed as rude..."
"The very height of impoliteness," he concurred. "Wasteful too. Think of all the starving mechanics in the world."
He timed her. The second sandwich was gone in under a minute.
Satisfied with the rosy glow in her cheeks, he said, "I can't have a mechanic too weak to lift a wrench. Everyday-you, me, and a bag of sandwiches. Got it?"
"Does bullying come naturally to you?"
"I pretty much have to work at it."
"I'm so relieved. One doesn't like to believe these character traits are inbred."
His grin broke out of captivity. Emily's tough talk kept cutting in and out like static on a cell phone. "I had younger sibs and a working mom. Early on, I got plenty of supervisory practice."
Steve reached for his wallet, pulled out some bills, plunked them on the table. "An advance on your pay."
She pushed the cash back at him. "Bring me your lunches and I'll eat them, but I won't take money from you 'til payday."
No woman had ever before turned him down when he had cash in his hand. He offers cash to a thief, and gets rejected. Something was wrong with this picture. "I think you're in trouble. I know you're scared. I want to know why."
"Mr. Gallagher, you have an overactive imagination. I am neither in trouble nor frightened." She rose to her feet. "Could we please get back to work?"
CHAPTER NINE
By week's end, they had a routine going. His mechanic always arrived at the garage first. How she walked up the drive without him seeing her was anybody's guess, but she always managed somehow. They would work together, shoulder to shoulder, all morning, not saying much, and then break for lunch and superficial small talk at noon. Emily never revealed anything about herself during these 'gab sessions' but she pumped him plenty. He fed her a few little tasty tidbits, just to keep her interested, but essentially told her nothing, and wouldn't, not until he knew why she had come to him and what she wanted. Their afternoons were a repeat of the morning. Emily never watched the clock, never seemed in any particular hurry to leave at the end of the day. Swell with him. For sure, he was in no hurry to see her go.
On Friday, payday, he handed her a check.
"I would prefer cash, please," she said politely.
Why hadn't he thought of that?! Checks were hard to cash, left a paper trail; liquidity was much easier for a woman on the run.
He opened his wallet, counted out the agreed upon amount.
"Thank you," she said, pocketing it without bothering to count the bills. "I can't wait to get started on the installation of that new drive shaft this afternoon." Her eyes lit up, her breath got choppy; she looked and sounded like a woman in sexual heat. It had nothing to do with him.
A new drive shaft-oh, the way to a woman's heart...
Coming in a distant second to an auto part tickled his funny bone-though, if the truth be known, his own drive shaft could've used some tickling. At any rate, both car repairs and his raging testosterone would have to wait. It was the end of the workweek and the start of a beautiful Cape Cod weekend and he wanted to play hooky. With Emily. His mechanic could use a little sunshine and sea air. She was too tense. Always looking over her shoulder, watching every word she uttered. The stress couldn't be good for her heart...
"We're knocking off early," he told her.
Fair brows, that didn't come anywhere close to matching the black shoe-polish tone of her hair, lifted. "Oh?"
"Yep. You're my little buddy for the day."
"Excuse me?"
The scowl she was sending his way looked real, which meant she was steamed, which meant he had gotten under her skin. The ability to read her expression was a huge breakthrough; Emily was one guarded young lady.
"I'm on vacation this summer," he explained. "And I thought maybe you and I could hang out. You know, have some fun."
Her cute nose wrinkled. "Fun? I'm getting paid to work on your car, not act as your little playmate."
Good for her! Emily had her pride. He heartily approved of her putting him in his place.
That didn't mean he was staying there.
He intended to stick to Emily like glue. Otherwise, he would never find The Cuzin. Or earn his five percent retriever's fee off the top of the appraised value of the painting. Not exactly chump change. Emily was his only lead, and he wasn't about to let her slip through his fingers.
"Aw c'mon," he coaxed. "Haven't you heard? All work and no play makes a grease monkey cranky. We deserve some hooky time. Whatd'ya say?"
She rubbed a splotch of oil on her wrist. "I don't do hooky."
Steve removed his coverall and hung it up on a utility hook on the wall. "Couldn't you use another friend in your life? Can't have too many friends, right?"
He didn't wait for an answer. Grabbing her slim hand, he pulled her along after him.
"Wait a minute." The rubber soles of her ugly work boots braked on the garage floor. "Where are you taking me?"
"Up to the house."
"I'm not sleeping with you."
He batted his lashes. "Why, I'm positively shocked you would bring up sex so early in our acquaintance."
"Oh, you can tease me all you want." Her chin went stubborn. "But you asked me up to the house and I know what that means. And ... and I think it's only fair to tell you that I'm not having sex with you this afternoon."
Steve's long stride s
topped.
Emily plowed into him.
After steadying her, he kept his hands on her slender shoulders and looked down into her not-so composed features. His cock was straight-up and eager, but even if it killed him, he would be mature about this. "Who asked you to sleep with me?"
She blushed. "You did! Just now."
"I'm sorry you misunderstood. Because I agree with you: I think we should wait too..."
"That's not what I said. I never said we should wait!"
"Then, you do want to have sex this afternoon? Well, sorry to disappoint, but I really do think today is too soon for us."
Her mouth gaped. "I never said..."
Emily, for all her gritty street talk, was no dirty street fighter.
Unlike him.
Steve Gallagher fought dirty and he always fought to win.
Giving her a little push, he cajoled, "I've got this great porch overlooking the water. You'll love it."
"But I never implied, not in any way, that I would sleep with you, now, tomorrow-ever!"
"Relax! All I want to do is drink a nice glass of ice tea and gaze at the ocean. You can just sit there and listen while I do all the talking. You know how men love to talk about themselves. Think of all the interesting information you'll learn about me."
Her fair brow quirked.
His dark one followed. "So ... what d'ya say?"
Emily worried her bottom lip. Then, her lips lifted in a flirty smile. "I would just love to hear all about you, Steve."
If his ego needed stroking, her interest would've been flattering. Only, his ego needed no boost. And he wasn't flattered. But he was amused.
She wanted him to talk? He would talk until her ears burned, and say nothing. And maybe when she found out how uninteresting he really was, her defenses would lower and he would learn how much she knew about the missing painting. It was worth a shot.
When he held out his hand, she took it.
"Now to the story of my spectacular life." He fluttered his lashes some more. "My, wherever shall I start?"
* * * *
"...so, even though my father's great aunt Helen wanted me called George, after her father, in her fifth month of pregnancy, my mother finally decided on naming me Steve, after an unmarried uncle on my father's side. Now my Uncle Steven was the middle son of..."
Steve paused in his narrative: "I hope I'm not boring you?"
"Not at all," Emily replied, smothering a yawn. "I'm fascinated. Really."
Steve's monologue had lasted nearly an hour, and though she was now familiar with every branch of the Gallagher family tree, she had learned absolutely nothing about him.
Dark eyes twinkled at her. "All this talking has made me thirsty. I could use that drink of iced tea right about now. How 'bout you?"
"Iced tea sounds absolutely wonderful." She jumped out of her chair. "I'll make it!"
"Geez, that's so sweet..."
This was her chance to get inside Steve's house and do some fast snooping, and she was not letting it slip away. "You stay right here and relax, and I'll carry it back out. While I'm gone, think up some more fascinating anecdotes to tell me about your family."
Thankfully, Steve didn't get up. "The kitchen is straight through there," he said, pointing. "Make yourself to home."
"It might take a while..."
"No hurry. Kettle's on the stove, ice is in the freezer, tea bags are in a blue flowered canister on the counter, glasses are over the sink. The mint is growing in a clay pot on the windowsill."
With a lazy grace, he propped his feet up on the seat of the old-fashioned gliding swing she had just vacated. "When you come out, I'll start in where we left off. The story of my mama's ride to the maternity ward in my old man's pickup truck is a real hoot. Wait 'till you hear it! Cracks me up every time. Takes a bit of telling though. But we've got the rest of the day, right?"
She backed up to the screen door, hand groping the knob. "Right, but I think I should ... you know ... like go make us that iced tea now.
As soon as the screen slapped closed behind her, Emily flew.
Inside a homey, knotty pine kitchen that positively oozed Cape Cod charm, she skidded to a stop before the stove, plopped the kettle on the lit burner, and then started checking out the first floor for Steve Gallagher's office.
There was no office on the first floor.
Taking the plush carpeted stairs two at a time to the second floor, she quickly located Steve's bedroom at the end of the hall. The door was open, and she stepped inside the large, rather ordinary room. There was a dressing room/bath off to the right, which connected to a smaller room. The site of a future nursery, she suspected, peeking in.
Aha! A computer flanked the far corner. Making a beeline for it, she discovered the PC was turned on, and lucky for her, not password protected.
Second doubts assailed her. What if Steve caught her? How would she explain going from tea making to computer hacking?
Only one excuse came to mind.
Whipping the shoelaces from the eyelets of her work boots, she stepped out of them. Next, she removed her heavy socks. Her hands went to her coverall...
...and hesitated.
She mustn't weaken now!
With trembling fingers, she undid the snaps.
If she heard footsteps outside, it would take less than five seconds to exit the computer screen, race through the dressing room to the master suite, and drape herself decoratively over the bed. When Steve appeared at the door, she would tell him she had decided to have sex with him after all.
And then what?
Emily wouldn't allow herself to think that far ahead. Taking a seat at the desk, she went to Steve's documents and opened them, one by one.
CHAPTER TEN
"There you are!"
Twisting on the seat, Emily looked up from her snooping.
Steve Gallagher, the man she was investigating for his possible connection to art theft, leaned against the doorframe, hands in pockets.
Damn those cushy carpeted stairs! She had never heard him approach.
Closing out the document, Emily laughed, said brightly, "Yup, here I am all right!"
"The jig is up," he said. "I know what you've been up to."
She blinked. "You do?"
"Sure. You got tired of waiting for me and decided on a quick game of solitaire to pass the time?"
It was the perfect excuse for being on his PC, and he had unwittingly handed it to her.
"Exactly!"
Rising from the chair, she undulated her way across the room to the doorway. Scared to death, but vamping it up, she placed her hands on the wide cut of his shoulders. "I thought you would never get here." Lifting to tip toes, she kissed his cheek
His eyes hooded. "You should have given me a hint, angel."
"Angel," she purred. "How sweet. But most men prefer a she-devil in bed."
"I'm not most men."
She wouldn't know; she had learned nothing in her snooping and she still knew nothing about him.
It was awkward, leading a man to his own bed. Emily couldn't help but look back over her shoulder to make sure he followed her. How uncool was that?
Steve was following her, an amused tilt to his lips.
She gave him what she hoped passed for a sexy smile in return.
At the footboard, Steve took a detour. Going to the nightstand, he pulled a row of foiled packets out of the top drawer and tossed them on the bed.
He raised a brow. "Think that will do us?"
"For now," she replied, accepting and raising the challenge, while her heart just about exploded in her chest.
Under the coverall, she was naked. Well, apart from her panties, the elastic of which was stretched from repeated washings, the bud roses faded to dull orange spots, she was naked.
An embarrassed flush suffused her face with warmth. Steve would expect fancy silk lingerie, not faded cotton undies.
Wait a minute! Was she really going through with this? Would she rea
lly use sex to cover her computer break-in?
She had been prepared to lend an air of authenticity to this staged seduction ... up to a hitherto undefined point. That point needed defining now.
It was her own moral search, yet she glanced up into Steve Gallagher's face for guidance.
His shuttered gaze offered none.
What had she expected? Her boss was a closed book. She hadn't found anything on his PC. She couldn't read his expression. Even when he related the story of his life, he hadn't said a blessed thing.
He still wasn't revealing anything about himself. He was watching her, though. Waiting for her to make the first move. She had already kissed him on the cheek. Didn't he know that was the first move?
Evidently not. During the peck on his cheek, his hands had remained pocketed. He hadn't touched her, hadn't done anything to take charge. What was she supposed to do now? Get naked and get into bed?
Steve was an imposing sight. He was physically powerful, built like a boxer, with those large, rough-looking hands. He stirred her. There was no sense pretending he didn't. But when she thought about that big bed and those big, hard hands stroking down her body, apprehension made her go tense.
She had lost her virginity at the age of thirteen. After all these years, she still wasn't completely sure in her own mind exactly what had occurred. Regardless of what had happened or hadn't happened, the result was, she hadn't had sex since.
The thought of going to bed with Steve now sent a tingly pleasure from her peaked nipples to her pussy. She wanted Steve, but using sex as an alibi for snooping just wasn't right. She didn't want her second sexual experience to be about one person using another, about one person taking advantage of another.
"Steve," she whispered, "about my sleeping with you..."
"Didn't I tell you? The girl's nothing but a manipulative gold-digger!"
Ronnie Thomas stood at the door.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
His partner, timing as bad as usual, flounced into the room, head and finger both wagging. "My dainty foot your mechanic is in the house making iced tea! This is an ambush! A set-up! Where's the hidden video cam, honey?"
