Thinking about this as he sat there in Antonio's, Ian felt that if there was anything he could do for her, any problem she'd let him solve, he would do it. In a heartbeat.
Maggie leaned over to pat Andy's hand. "It's sweet of you to want to protect me, hon, but I can hold my own with your dad."
Andy's gaze, however, went uneasily to his father.
Ian, meanwhile, watched Maggie.
But she didn't look at him again. Her eyes went everywhere else around the restaurant. "Anybody seen our waitress?" she muttered.
She was definitely avoiding contact with him.
Ian felt a tiny chill inside. Had he upset her? If so, he'd get to the bottom of it. Then he'd make it up to her. Somehow. He'd make sure of it.
Letting out a quiet breath, he reached for his water glass. Now was not the time, but later. Yes, later, after the kids had gone to bed. Then he'd talk to Maggie and get to the bottom of this.
CHAPTER NINE
Surely this weird attraction to Ian was going to disappear. All through dinner Maggie waited for the strange ripples he stirred in her to fade and settle down. They simply had to. She didn't even like Ian.
But the ripples hadn't faded during their meal at Antonio's. If anything, they'd gotten worse. Ian's teasing, his smiles—ripples had been splashing all over the place.
Now as Maggie followed everyone back into the house, she wondered if there were any reason she could give for retreating right away to her guest bedroom. Surely a good night's sleep would drive away this insanity.
But before Maggie could figure out an opening, Kathy spoke up. "Can I watch TV, Dad? I finished my homework."
"Ah." Ian dropped the keys onto the table in the foyer. "And how much TV did you already watch today?"
Still holding the leftover pizza in a box, Kathy scowled. "Not that much."
"More than two hours?"
The eleven-year-old narrowed her eyes to slits. "And what else is there to do?"
"Hm." Ian pretended to consider that. "Read?"
"Read? Like, that is so—" Unable to come up with a dire enough epithet for this suggestion, Kathy simply swung her ponytail.
Biting her lip, Maggie watched the interaction. The old Maggie, the one who'd existed before this evening, would have found Ian's attitude controlling. Why couldn't he let his daughter have a good time watching TV? The new Maggie, the one who'd crept up on her unawares, could see he was simply looking out for his daughter's long-term welfare. Kathy did watch an awful lot of TV.
"How about a game of Scrabble?" Maggie suggested. What? Why did I do that? Not only had she sided with Ian, but also she was sticking herself down in the living room when she'd intended to escape to her room.
But Kathy liked the idea. She turned to smile at her aunt. "Sure. That could be fun."
"Go put your pizza in the fridge," Maggie said, "and I'll get the board. Hey, Andy, do you want to play?"
Andy idly watched Kathy move toward the kitchen. "No, I haven't finished my homework."
"You haven't?" Kathy stopped and whirled. "But you've been closed up in your room ever since you got back from school."
Andy shot his sister a dark look. "So what? I'm not done."
"Well, you don't have to get all bent out of shape about it."
"I'm not bent out of shape."
"Then why—?"
"Okay," Ian broke in, his voice calm. "We don't need to argue about it. Andy, if you have homework, then be my guest and get to it. Kathy, he is in high school. You may find when you're in ninth grade it may take you longer than twenty minutes to finish your homework, too."
"But I—"
"Ah!" Ian lifted a finger. "That's what you call a 'last word.' Go put your leftovers away and you can start your game with Aunt Maggie."
Rolling her eyes, Kathy marched off to the kitchen.
Though he'd been officially validated, Andy stood there looking utterly miserable.
His expression confused Maggie. Why was he miserable?
But Andy turned away too quickly for her to investigate any further. "G'night," he mumbled and hustled up the stairs.
Ian looked after him with an expression of bafflement that mirrored her own thoughts.
Maggie lowered her eyes quickly. Damn. Ian's concern for his son had just pushed another set of those terrible attraction ripples through her.
"I'd like to use that catch-all, 'teenagers,'" Ian muttered, "but I'm not sure it covers the situation here."
"No," Maggie mumbled. "He seems to be even more shook up about things than you are." Belatedly hearing what she'd just said, Maggie threw him an appalled look. "I mean— That isn't to say—"
"It's okay." Ian's mouth curved into a wry smile. "I don't pretend to be my usual self."
He certainly was not. But what excuse did Maggie have? Why was she standing here, keenly aware that they were alone now, and feeling his smile curl her insides?
Did she not remember this man was exactly like her father?
Before Maggie could perish of self-disgust, Kathy walked back into the room. "Are you ready, Aunt Maggie?"
"Uh. Right. Let's go get the set. Where is it?" With a jerky movement, she turned from Ian.
Though she still had no idea why this was happening to her, she could no longer deny that it was happening. She was feeling—interested, feeling intrigued, feeling... Okay, she was feeling attracted to Ian. Of all people.
At least he'd never have to know.
Or that's what Maggie hoped as she helped Kathy set up the Scrabble board on the living room coffee table. But through her whole game with Kathy, she could sense his presence, even though he sat reading a newspaper all the way over on the other side of the room. To Maggie, he was like a big buzzing sun.
"Gee, Aunt Maggie, I really creamed you." Kathy picked up their score sheet and gazed at the numbers in delight.
"Must not have been my day," Maggie murmured. "Or maybe you've gotten better at Scrabble." She patted Kathy on the arm. "Could be all that reading."
Kathy glanced up over the score sheet. "I read enough."
Maggie fluttered her eyelashes. "How much is that?"
"I read the assignments. And I did all my homework tonight before dinner, unlike somebody else I know."
"We're not talking about Andy." As she said this, Maggie realized she was borrowing Ian's words from earlier. In fact, she was borrowing his understanding of an evasive technique Kathy had often used, but Maggie had never before noticed. "You need to read more than just the assignments," she now told Kathy.
Kathy tilted her head. "Why?"
There had to be a reason?
"Because reading expands your mind," Ian put in. Clearly, he'd been listening to the exchange.
Kathy heaved a deep, theatrical sigh. "Yeah, yeah. Anyway, I kind of did some reading by playing Scrabble, right?" She turned to face her dad. "So can I please watch TV now?"
"No."
"Da-ud."
"Read my lips, honey. No."
Kathy heaved another theatrical sigh. "Then I might as well go up and veg in my room."
"Go right ahead." Ian pointed to the coffee table. "But put away the Scrabble set first."
"Okay." Kathy began tipping the tiles into the box, apparently happy she hadn't been ordered to open a book once she got to her room.
This would be an excellent opportunity to retreat to her own room, Maggie thought. Trying to look casual, she got up from her seat on the floor. "I think I'll turn in, too." Hoping she wasn't taking it too far, she stretched. "Must have been that big dinner. I'm exhausted."
Ian put down his newspaper. "Before you go, can I talk to you?"
Maggie halted mid-stretch.
Meanwhile, Kathy picked up the Scrabble set and walked the box over to the cabinet.
"Uh, sure, Ian." Maggie cleared her throat, where her heart seemed to have lodged. "We can talk." Surely he hadn't discovered her recent insanity.
Had he?
At the cabinet, Kathy opened the doo
r and shot Maggie an arch look.
What did that mean?
"I know when 'little pitchers' have ears that are too big," Kathy said. "You want to talk about us, don't you?"
Maggie's gaze shot to Ian. Was that it? Did he want to talk about the kids? He certainly never had before.
"None of your business." Ian smiled amiably. "Obviously."
"Oh. Obviously." But Kathy was smiling too as she started up the stairs. It seemed she didn't mind getting talked about behind her back, or else she assumed they'd be talking about Andy.
Maggie relaxed. That was it. Of course. Ian wanted to talk about Andy. His son was behaving good. Too good. Not Andy-like at all.
Come to think of it, sort of the way Ian had been behaving.
Ian set his newspaper to one side and lowered the footrest of the lounger. "Let's go into the kitchen. Sometimes 'little pitchers' loiter in the upstairs hall to see what they can hear."
"Oh." Maggie hadn't thought of that. "By all means then, the kitchen." She hoped this little talk wouldn't take too long.
"I know you said you're tired." Ian made sure the kitchen door closed after them. "But do you want anything while we're here? Tea? Juice?"
"No. No, thanks." Maggie positioned herself against the sink, as far from Ian as possible. It was so very strange. All these years she'd stared him right in the face without so much as a blip on the sexual radar screen. Now that sexual radar screen was blipping all over the place. His eyes, the slight shadow of his beard—it all appealed to her, reached out and wakened the sleeping female part of her.
Clearing her throat, Maggie stuck her hands in her front jeans pockets. She was appalled to find she was trembling. "So, what did you want to talk about?"
Ian leaned a shoulder against the refrigerator. "I was hoping you could tell me."
Maggie's breath stopped in her throat. "What?" she croaked.
His dark eyes fixed on her. "At dinner I got the impression something's bothering you."
He'd noticed that. Suddenly she couldn't breathe. "Uh," she said. Her heart commenced pounding.
"If it's none of my business, just let me know. But if there's anything I can do—" Briefly, he grinned. "Hell, if it's something I'm already doing that's pissing you off, please tell me." He paused and sobered his expression. "I don't want you unhappy."
She couldn't help staring at him. Ian—Ian—was acting sensitive. He wanted to make sure she was happy. The man was sincerely concerned...on her behalf.
She didn't know this man, did she? What had happened to that arrogant and controlling guy?
For one horrified moment she was sure her feelings were in her eyes, open for him to see: the unexpected vulnerability, the weird longing, the truly mortifying sexual draw.
But Ian only continued to regard her, his face clear, patiently waiting.
He couldn't see it.
Her tensed shoulders relaxed. She felt a smile, wide with relief. "Nothing's wrong," she claimed. "Everything's fine."
"Oh." He appeared almost disappointed. "Oh...okay, then."
"Is that all?"
"Uh, yeah. Yeah." He shook his head and smiled sheepishly. "We haven't always seen eye to eye, so I just wanted to make sure...I wasn't being any kind of a pain to you."
"No." Though her weird awareness of him was as sharp as ever, Maggie made the assertion with bubbly relief. "You're not any kind of problem for me."
"Um...good."
"So I'll, uh, see you in the morning, then."
"Right." He inclined his head. "See you in the morning."
Maggie thought he frowned for a moment as she turned to leave the kitchen, but she discounted any importance to the fleeting expression. She practically skipped up the stairs, feeling light-headed.
He couldn't see it, even when he was looking as hard as he could.
She was safe.
CHAPTER TEN
There was something she wasn't telling him. Ian was sure of it.
That night in his bedroom, he pondered the matter as he lay on the floor doing his cardio exercises. Maggie definitely had a problem, but she wasn't willing to tell him what it was.
With the hard mat of the Navajo rug beneath his back, Ian wondered if Maggie's problem was really any of his business. But he discarded the scruple immediately. If he didn't know what was bothering her, he couldn't determine whether or not it was any of his business, could he?
So he had to discover her problem.
On the floor, Ian lifted one knee, then the other. The direct approach hadn't worked: simply asking. Clearly, he now needed to try something indirect. But what?
Ian rolled to a sitting position. It briefly occurred to him he'd do better to consider his own problems rather than Maggie's. He had plenty. Not only was there the matter of his health, which was still a big unknown, but also the issue of his job. On Tuesday he'd been placed on indefinite leave. Would his boss, Howard, ever want a 'known quantity' like Ian back in the office? Who could ever trust him? For heaven's sake, Ian didn't trust himself. In consequence, he hadn't a single plan for his future.
Releasing a deep breath, Ian shook such thoughts away. They were like vultures, ready to feed on the carrion that had been his previous life. He wasn't ready to let them feed. He hadn't figured out how to become a phoenix, and rise out of his own ashes. He wasn't sure he could.
No, no, no. Much better to concentrate on Maggie. She was pure challenge...and so strong. Ian could say anything, anything, and she'd be able to handle it. Not like Sophia—precious, but delicate—Sophia.
Ian climbed to his feet. The vigorous exercises had him panting, which felt good. Still panting, he walked into the bathroom and took down the plastic container for his meds. He fished out the appropriate pills, too preoccupied to remark his resemblance to a feeble old man with his multitude of medications. No, he was concentrated on Maggie, wondering how to proceed, where to find the best 'in.'
Maggie. As long as he kept his focus there, he wouldn't have to think about himself.
Thank God for Maggie.
~~~
Maggie's weird attraction to Ian did not disappear overnight. If anything, the ripples in her equanimity grew worse than ever as she drove them both to the nursery on Friday morning.
Thankfully, Ian kept to himself most of Friday, busy trying to get Maggie's new computer to function. But late in the afternoon, he came out of the building. From a distance he stood and watched Maggie work with a customer. No doubt he assumed that because he wasn't interrupting, he wasn't disturbing a sale.
Fat chance. Maggie sensed the minute he came out the door. It was as if she'd suddenly grown know-where-he-is organs. The whole time she was trying to help Mrs. Blumenthal figure out if her flowering plum tree would look better with dwarf mountain flax or Martin's tea trees, Maggie's focus was actually on Ian. Even without looking, she knew he lounged against the side of the building, his hands in his pockets, watching her with a faint smile.
It was no big surprise when Mrs. Blumenthal left without buying a thing. Maggie had done little to help the poor woman make up her mind.
As soon as he saw Maggie's customer leave, Ian pushed off of the building. "Gotta minute?" His faint smile had grown wide.
How had Maggie spent so many years ignorant of the radiant power of Ian's smile? Somehow, she produced a smile of her own in response. Meanwhile, one of her hands jumped up and nervously pulled a curl of hair behind her ear. "Uh, sure, Ian. What's up?"
He gestured with his head. "This way."
Maggie followed him back into the building.
Once there, Ian booted up her computer with a flourish. He insisted Maggie sit in the old desk chair in front of it while he leaned over her, pushing keys and showing her how the computer could now print, access the Internet, and send faxes. Maggie could barely pay attention to his breezy instructions. Every cell in her body was aware of his masculine bulk looming behind her.
"Great, Ian." She tried to infuse her voice with an emotion appropriate t
o the occasion. "I didn't think you could, but you certainly managed to pull it all together."
He straightened from his position bending over her shoulder.
Maggie started to relax. He wasn't quite so close any more.
"Hey," Ian said. "I think this calls for a celebration."
"What?" Her heart took a sideways leap as Ian moved around to face her. She met his eyes and could barely think. "Uh...celebrate?"
He laughed, apparently oblivious to her inner chaos and perched his hip on the side of her desk. "I didn't want to tell you how close I came to giving up. And, yeah, I know dinner and the kids'll be waiting. But how about...a cup of fancy coffee? Or, wait, you like those chai teas, don't you?"
Maggie blinked. He knew she liked chai tea? Ian had paid that much attention? "Chai tea," she said, blankly. "Sure."
Ian grinned.
He could be nice, Maggie noticed. Considerate. Ian.
At the café, he opened the door for her. Once inside, he put a hand on her arm to ask where she'd like to sit. Asking, not telling. And his hand, so very there on her arm. She could feel the healthy heat of it and sense his underlying strength.
But I don't go for strength, the whole macho bit, Maggie reminded herself. She couldn't deny, though, that at least her body was going for it. The blood was rushing through her veins.
"Um, how about over there?" She pointed to a small, wrought-iron table in the center of the café.
Ian hesitated a fraction of a second, just long enough to tell Maggie he'd noticed she'd picked a table with considerably less privacy than the number available in more comfortable nooks and window crannies. But he didn't argue. "Okay." Still holding her arm, he led the way over.
Very considerate, Maggie thought. One might almost say...sensitive.
She did a mental head shake. 'Sensitive' and 'Ian' were two words she wasn't used to putting together in the same sentence.
He pulled out her chair, an antiquated courtesy she decided not to complain about for it meant he let go of her arm. Meanwhile, she forced her shoulders to relax and her breathing to even. Ian hadn't figured out her infatuation problem last night. He wouldn't figure it out now—that is, if she could calm herself down.
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