by Anna Sugden
As it turned out, there had been nothing to worry about. The Frenchwoman had misunderstood the wording in one of the documents she’d received from the removal company regarding the packing of valuable and precious items. Tracy explained what the formal language actually meant and reassured Lise that her collection of Japanese porcelain would be perfectly safe.
“I’m sorry to...trouble you,” Lise said in her halting English.
“Ce n’est rien. Not a problem. Call me anytime. That’s what I’m here for.”
“I’m glad for your help, Tracy. Merci beaucoup.”
“My pleasure. Au revoir.”
Tracy delayed going back into the kitchen after ending the call. She wanted to be in control before facing Ike again.
That kiss. She touched trembling fingers to her tender lips. She was surprised by how quickly, how urgently, she’d responded to Ike, after all this time and all that had happened between them. Tracy had realized in the hospital that the attraction between them wasn’t as dead as either of them might have hoped. Still, she hadn’t expected to be swept away by one kiss. Certainly not to the point where she’d been prepared to ignore her clients.
So much for putting her business first.
And that was the problem. With Ike, she seemed to lose the ability to balance both halves of her life. And the harder she strived to fix the balance, the more off-kilter she became. That was what had happened last time. She’d seen the signs, felt herself slipping into old habits and panicked when Ike had asked her to move in with him.
With the benefit of hindsight, she knew she’d overreacted.
Part of it had been down to bad timing. Her divorce had only recently been finalized, leaving her wary about commitment. At the same time, her business had started to take off. She’d been so determined to make it succeed. So scared of Hank’s snide prediction—that she’d be broke before the year was out—coming true, that she hadn’t been able to think seriously about anything else.
The other part of it was she was afraid of tying herself to another man with the same old-fashioned attitudes about relationships and marriage. Ike believed women should be taken care of by the men in their life. It wasn’t that he didn’t think a woman should have her own interests or careers, but that they should take a backseat to her husband and family. Although Tracy understood now that his views were a reaction to his tough childhood and his mother’s struggles when his father had left, at the time that kind of future had been her worst nightmare.
She’d tried to explain to Ike that she wasn’t ready for such a big step, that she needed more time, but he hadn’t been able to see past her refusal. He’d known where he wanted their relationship to go and hadn’t wanted to wait. The more he’d dug his heels in, the more nervous she’d become. And the further she’d backed away. Until their relationship had imploded.
The chiming of the grandfather clock brought her back to the present. Time to go back into the kitchen. She had a job to do.
A job that would not involve kissing. No matter how much she was tempted—she couldn’t lie to herself about that—she had to remember that nothing had really changed. They were still attracted to each other, but they were also still miles apart in what they wanted from a relationship. Only a fool would put herself through all that again.
Tracy ignored the twinge of disappointment and strode purposefully back to the kitchen.
Ike was putting his plate into the microwave when she entered. She was surprised to see that he’d waited for her before eating. Good manners. There was that courtly side of him again.
“I would have served up your dinner, but I didn’t want it to end up on the floor.” He programmed the microwave and leaned against the counter to wait for it to reheat his food.
“Thanks for the thought.” She thought briefly about forgoing dinner and the awkward conversation that was bound to occur. But she was hungry. And she wanted to establish some ground rules.
The microwave pinged as Tracy spooned cottage pie and peas onto her plate.
“Please start.” Tracy stuck her plate in the microwave as Ike took his to the table. “Your dinner will go cold again otherwise.”
He looked like he wanted to argue, but grabbed a fork. After his first mouthful, he moaned with pleasure. “Man, this is good.”
She couldn’t help her delighted smile. “There’s enough for you to have seconds and another meal.”
“Awesome.”
Once her dinner was ready, she joined him at the table, sitting across from him. With the first mouthful, she realized she was famished. She seemed to eat half of her dinner without taking a breath.
They both concentrated on their food rather than conversation for a while. The silence was surprisingly companionable. Once Ike had finished, their argument about who should refill his plate—which she won—was good-natured. Slowly, they began talking. They discussed neutral things like the latest news from the NHL, what they’d both been reading and which TV shows they’d been watching.
As Tracy sipped her wine, she thought how nice it was to have a civil conversation again with Ike, one free from sniping. She’d enjoyed his company when they’d been together. It was one of the things she’d really missed.
Ike finished his food and laid his cutlery on his empty plate. “That was amazing. Who knew you were such a great cook?”
His compliment pleased her. She wasn’t a domestic goddess by any stretch of the imagination, nor did she want to be. But she liked to think she was half-decent in the kitchen. “I have a few foolproof dishes that I make, but I’m no expert. Though I must admit my cheese scones are pretty special.”
His pleading expression was worthy of a puppy. “They sound like the perfect thing for me to eat one-handed, don’t you think?”
She laughed. “If you’re good, I might make a batch for you.”
“Trust me, I’ll be very good.”
Her pulse skittered at the double meaning in his words.
Oh, no. They were not going down that path again.
“Great,” she said brightly, pushing back from the table and gathering their plates. “Just what the doctor ordered.”
She held up a hand to stop him from getting up. “I’ve got this. I’ll clean up and be out of your hair. You must be getting tired. You don’t want to overdo it on your first day home.”
She bit her lip to stop the babbling, then darted about the kitchen, cleaning counters and loading the dishwasher. She was aware of Ike watching her.
Thank goodness she was nearly done. “Don’t forget to take your clothes out of the dryer when they’re done, or they’ll be wrinkled. Ironing is not one of my favorite chores.”
Ike stood. “I’m perfectly capable of managing my own laundry.”
“I know, but it’s—”
“Yeah, yeah. It’s your job.” He said it like it was a swearword.
Time to leave before things degenerated. She forced a smile. “If there’s nothing else, I’ll be off.” She looked around for her bag.
Ike picked it up from the back of a chair and dangled it in front of her. “Are we going to talk about the kiss or not?”
She grabbed the bag from him and slung it over her shoulder, carefully avoiding his gaze. “There’s nothing to talk about. It happened. It’s over. It won’t happen again.”
“That’s it?”
She shrugged. “What do you want me to say?”
“Hell, I don’t know. But you’re acting like it was a root canal. You were right there with me, kissing me back.”
She didn’t need the reminder. “Just because I enjoyed it doesn’t mean I want to repeat it.”
“Honey, you were all over me like white on rice. I bet I could prove you wrong in five seconds flat.”
Tracy stepped back instinctively, even though he hadn’t lifte
d a finger. His smirk told her she’d proved his point for him.
“I’m sure you could,” she said primly. “But I don’t see how that helps.”
“Sure will help me feel better.”
His innuendo only made her cheeks heat. “The chemistry... The whatever you want to call it—” she waved a hand back and forth between them “—was never the problem.”
She didn’t need to spell out what was.
“You want to ignore the kiss.” Ike’s tone said he didn’t want to let it drop.
“I think that would be best. You’re my client. It’s not a good idea to mix business and...” Her voice trailed off. Hoist by her own petard.
Tracy snapped her mouth shut. She should leave before she made any more mistakes.
Ike looked at her long and hard. Finally, he scrubbed his hand over the back of his neck. “Whatever.” He refilled his empty wineglass and stalked out of the kitchen.
Even though it was what she wanted, his rejection stung. Tracy got her coat from the hall, then walked into the living room where Ike was sprawled on the sofa, flicking through the channels on the TV.
“I’ll be back tomorrow. Will you want breakfast, or shall I come in at lunchtime?”
He didn’t shift his gaze from the television. “I don’t need you at all until Monday.”
“Excuse me?” Her eyes widened with surprise.
“I can manage over the weekend. I have plenty of food, the house is clean and I can handle a dishwasher.”
“Very well,” she said coolly. “What time shall I be here on Monday? The housekeeper interview is scheduled for four.”
“I have to be at the hospital in the morning to get this cast replaced with a splint. I’ve also got a physio appointment. How about three o’clock?”
“You’re the client—whatever time you need me.”
“Three it is.”
“Okay. I’ll see you then. Have a good weekend.”
Ike raised a hand in farewell, but pretended absorption in a commercial for car insurance.
By the time Tracy got home, her temples were throbbing. She felt like she’d been through the wringer. She’d known today wouldn’t be easy—nothing involving her and Ike ever could be—but she hadn’t anticipated going through so many emotions. Maybe the low note the day had finished on was harder for her to take because there had been some unexpected high points. Including that bloody kiss.
“What are you so upset about?” she demanded as she got out of the car. “There’s not a snowball’s chance in hell of that happening again. You made it perfectly clear you wanted everything to be strictly business and that’s what you’ll get.”
In truth, she admitted, if anyone had been rejected, it had been Ike. But he didn’t need to give in so easily.
Tracy was grateful for the distraction of Poppet and Moppet, who scampered to meet her the minute she walked through the door, meowing for their dinner. She kicked off her shoes, then bowed to their demands. As she filled their bowls, Tracy contemplated the weekend ahead. It seemed pitifully empty and lonely. Oh, well. At least she’d be able to catch up on some of the work she’d pushed aside to help Ike.
Somehow that didn’t make her feel better.
Enough. Tonight she would treat herself. No more work—she wasn’t even going to step into her office. Tracy poured herself a glass of wine, then changed into her favorite brushed cotton pajamas. She clambered into bed and nestled into the pillows with the latest romantic suspense from one of her favorite authors. Moppet and Poppet jumped up and padded into their usual spots.
Perfect. What more could she want?
When the image of a certain green-eyed goaltender flashed into her head, she dismissed it with the same ease with which he’d dismissed her earlier and opened her book.
* * *
THE RELIEF OF being home had worn off pretty quickly. After twenty-four hours, Ike had been restless and edgy. After forty-eight, he’d been bored out of his mind. Now, after seventy-two excruciatingly long hours, he was ready to climb the walls. Or would be, if he could do anything remotely like that with his useless arm. At one point last night, unable to sleep and in pain, he’d been ready to do that “coyote in a trap” thing and gnaw his damn arm off.
The inactivity was killing him. He’d never gone so long without exercise. He kept telling himself things would get better. It had only been bad this weekend because no one had been around. With his mom and Rory in Ireland, the Cats on the road and Linc at college, things had been unusually quiet. Even Maggie hadn’t visited because baby Joe had a sniffle.
As for Tracy—that was his own damn fault. He shouldn’t have pushed her away, but the way she’d shut down had stung. One minute she’d been kissing him as though her life depended on it and the next she’d grabbed that cell as though she’d been making the biggest deal in her career. Then she’d thrown that clichéd crap at him about not mixing business with pleasure. Tired, his arm aching, and fed up with the whole damn situation—as well as pissed at the sense of déjà vu—he’d lashed out.
And shot himself in the foot.
Now things were worse than ever between them. When Tracy had stopped by earlier for the housekeeper interview, she’d been cool and distant. Even though he’d agreed to hire the woman she’d recommended, Tracy had been so desperate to get away from him he’d practically seen the vapor trail behind her as she’d hurried out the door.
The perfect ending to a perfectly crappy couple of days.
His iPad jingled, alerting him to an incoming Facetime call.
With pathetic eagerness, he grabbed the tablet. His boredom lifted at the sight of Jake, Tru and Kenny crowding in front of the camera. “Your ugly faces are a sight for sore eyes.”
“Back at you, bro.” Tru grinned. “How’re you doing?”
“Living the high life. Non-stop parties and fun, fun, fun.”
“So, bored to death,” Jake said.
Ike groaned. “Yeah. The highlight of my weekend was putting a waterproof sleeve around my cast so I could have a bath. Man, did that suck. I don’t get why women like lying around in a bath.”
Jake grimaced. “Me, neither. Especially not with all the smelly crap they use.”
Kenny laughed. “You’re both doing it wrong. The idea is to have a woman with you in the bath.”
Naturally, his kid brother’s comment made Ike think of Tracy. The last thing he needed. “Nice idea, but I wouldn’t be much good with this.” Ike held up his bandaged arm.
“Still not got the hang of the woman doing all the work.” Tru shook his head. “Gotta be an age thing. Too stuck in your ways. Can’t give up the control.”
“Bite me.”
“That’s progress, net boy. Now, say it to a woman, and you might enjoy bath time more.”
A memory from when he’d first bought the place popped into Ike’s head. From when he and Tracy had christened the main bathroom. He could still see her flushed face, tendrils of dark hair curling around her face in the steamy air, water cascading over her curves as she rose up out of the water and straddled him. He could practically feel her lowering herself onto his hardness, sheathing him. Hot and tight and slick.
Fingers snapped, jolting him out of his reverie.
“Stay with us, bro,” Kenny teased. “Indulge in your bath-time fantasies later.”
“I’m still here. You guys cut out on me for a few seconds,” Ike lied smoothly. “Must have been a blip in the Wi-Fi connection.”
“Bullsh—” Kenny coughed as Tru cuffed him round the head.
“How was your trip to the hospital?” Jake asked. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah. They removed my cast and put me in this splint. Doc Gibson said I’m progressing on schedule. Got a mean-looking scar.”
“That’ll impress the
ladies.”
“That’s what the nurse said.” Then she’d given him some cream to apply to help the scar fade. Not that he’d be sharing that information with his brothers.
“So what’s the verdict? When will you be back?” Jake asked.
“Not soon enough. I had physio this morning and it looks like it’ll be a long road.”
Physio? Hah. More like baby exercises. He’d been pleased when Cheryl, his physiotherapist, had unwrapped his hand, freeing his fingers. Now we’re talking, he’d thought. But that had been it. The only exercises he’d been allowed to do had been to “gently and slowly” bend one finger at a time. Not even the whole freaking hand at once.
“I can’t hold or lift anything with this hand for at least a month, and I can’t start working out until then.”
“No running or the elliptical?” Tru asked.
“Nope. Nothing. In case I reinjure my arm.” As if he was a numb-nuts who tripped over his own feet. “What do they think I’ll do—bench-press a couple hundred pounds for fun?”
Kenny barked out a laugh. “You can’t even do that when you’re healthy.”
“Sure, I can.” Well, he had once.
“Easy to say, net boy, when you can’t back it up.”
“I’ll prove it once I’m better.” Hopefully Kenny would have forgotten by then. “In the meantime, I can’t even ride a stationary bike. What the hell kind of damage could I do to myself on that?”
“Be patient and follow instructions,” Jake said sternly. “It’ll only be worse in the long run if you try to rush your recovery.”
Jake had been in a similar position after he’d been badly injured in a tragic car accident a few years ago. He swore he could tell when a storm was coming now, from all the steel in his leg.
Suddenly Ike was tired of talking about his injury. This was his chance to shoot the breeze with the guys and he wasn’t going to waste it whining about his waste-of-space arm.
