Tears trailed down the girl's cheeks as James rocked her in his arms. He never guessed she'd spill the serious stuff right off the bat. He regretted stirring up such emotions in her.
"I'm not even a—adopted, not r—really," she stammered between the sobs that wracked her small frame.
"Shh, Landi, hush now," he said in a low, soft tone.
He wiped the free-flowing tears from her face with his thumb, tucking her beneath his arm. She fit perfectly against his side, like she'd been created just for him. Getting the information he needed no longer seemed important.
"No more secrets today," he stated, holding her tight.
Chapter 7
-Shared Confidences-
The next day, she dreaded returning to the apartment. Even though James had managed to lighten the mood and they'd ended the day with laughter, she still felt the embarrassment of her confession and her tears. His tenderness only made her more emotional—she regretted that more than anything.
She found him pounding away on his computer.
"You're tardy," he said without looking up.
"I had to run an errand, but I'll stay late to make up for it."
She put her purse down and settled in across the table from him. The small unit didn't allow for multiple workspaces. She checked emails and returned a call from Bernard Bronson, director of Special Exhibits at a local museum. He'd been invited to the wedding, but he wisely chose to go out of town instead. He and Katrina remained on good terms, even though they'd once dated. He wanted to know when her boss would return. He hoped to get her input on an upcoming visiting collection of Victorian jewelry.
"Impressive," James said after she'd hung up. "You've got good communication skills for a rock hound," he added.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Well, I wasn't too impressed with Billy Goat's Gruff or whatever his name was. You know, the guy we met in the desert?"
Katrina sighed and tried to hide the deepening blush that rose to her cheeks.
Is he jealous, or just making conversation so I won't feel awkward about yesterday?
"You mean my friend, Billy Johnson? He communicates just fine."
"Whatever you say, Kumquat. Is he an old flame?" he asked, walking the short distance to the kitchenette and feeling that pinch in his gut that was becoming all too familiar.
"No," she replied, pretending to focus on her computer screen.
He returned with a large pastrami sandwich, a scoop of potato salad, and a pickle, the size of which dominated the plate.
"Here. I picked up lunch for us, but when you didn't show, I ate mine."
"Oh, that was kind of you, but why don't you have it later? I'm not that hungry."
"Eat!" he insisted, pointing at the dish. "You need some meat on those bones," he added, returning to the refrigerator and retrieving a bottle of tea. He continued, "Wash it down with this."
His military bearing didn't leave much room for discussion. Truth be told, she enjoyed his older brother routine. Landi complied, ignoring his coming and going while she devoured her lunch. He sure knew where to find the tastiest meals. She didn't notice when he allowed his eyes to roam over her from the living room. She wore a simple mint cotton dress that flared from a fitted waist to just below her knees. Sparse daisies spread across the light green fabric. Piping at the boat neckline and short sleeves made the garment look crisp, while still revealing her delicate clavicle bones. White canvas tennis shoes kept the innocent look sporty. Her glossy tresses tumbled over the back of the kitchen chair. James had a hard time resisting running his hands through those locks.
"Where did you get the sandwich?" she asked after rinsing her dish in the sink.
"Junior's Deli, just off Pico. I've got a couple of slices of New York cheesecake in the fridge for later, too."
"Of course you do," she said, joining him at the table. "I'm going to get downright fat if you keep this up."
James snickered, reading an email.
"I doubt that," he said absent-mindedly, then added, "this is good news."
"What is?"
"Oh," he said, lifting his head to look her in the eye. "My friend at Walter Reed in Bethesda is making progress."
"What's wrong with him?" she asked.
Landi knew Walter Reed was a hospital on the east coast for military personnel, but not much else about the medical center.
"He has a spinal injury. He's learning to walk again, something the doctors didn't think he'd be capable of," he said, fixing his gaze on her.
"Well, that is good news, then." Landi smiled at James, glad his friend would recover.
James nodded and kept his eyes trained on the girl long after she'd returned to her computer work. An hour passed in easy silence, except for the clicking of keyboards.
"Do you mind if I get your sister's things from the bedroom to take to the cleaners?" she asked, rising.
"No, go ahead."
Landi entered Katrina's bedroom. Her boss had a system that made laundry easy. Items intended for the dry cleaners hung on hangers outside the shuttered closet. Those destined for the washing machine stayed in a hamper. Unfortunately, Kate's bedroom now looked as if an explosion had gone off. She began picking up clothes from the floor and sorting them into piles. Most items belonged to James, and many of them appeared clean. It seemed he'd left his dirty clothes where they fell when he removed them at the end of the day. She recognized the T-shirt he wore yesterday and flung it into the open hamper. She shook her head and began folding undershirts, dress shirts, and pants. The closet remained full of women's clothing. Glancing around, she spotted a suitcase stuffed under the bed. She'd stack his clean things in there, then grab items for the trip to the dry cleaners.
She sat on the floor and tugged on the luggage. Surprisingly, the piece seemed heavy. Another yank, and the bag slid from under the bed. It had no zipper, instead sporting old-fashioned latches. She hadn't seen baggage like this since her stepfather's trips to Las Vegas. When she was in grade school, Daddy Bill made frequent visits to Sin City, leaving her and her foster mom at home in Cadiz. Her forehead creased at the memory as she popped one of the latches open.
"What are you doing?" James said.
She hadn't heard him come in, and his cold tone sent a shiver up her spine even as she jumped from the startle. She glanced up to see him towering over her, his lips pressed into a hard, thin line and a pulse throbbing near the back of his clenched jaw.
What are you hiding?
"I thought I'd put some of your clothes up. The closet's filled with your sister's stuff, and this place is a mess," she said, waving her hand about. "Your suitcase seemed a good spot for these." She pointed to the stack of clean clothing she'd folded.
"Don't bother," he said, pulling her from the floor to a standing position. "I don't want you cleaning up after me."
"Whatever you say. If you throw your dirty clothes in that hamper, I'll wash them with Katrina's clothes this afternoon," she ventured, reaching for the items destined for Zippy Dry Cleaners, one block over, with her free hand.
James clung to her other arm, the one he'd used to yank her away from the case. He released his grip, allowing her to move freely again.
"I'll take care of what's in the hamper," he said, softening his tone.
She lifted an eyebrow in his direction, as if to doubt his laundry abilities.
"I don't want you ruining any of your sister's garments," she said, dipping her chin and rolling her eyes towards the ceiling.
"Who do you think did the wash after Mom died? It sure wasn't Dad or Kate," he added.
"Well, I can see you've got many hidden talents," she said, risking one last glimpse at the forbidden suitcase before leaving with a pile of soiled clothing draped over one arm.
"You're coming back, aren't you?" he yelled after her.
"Yes," came the answer, just before he heard the door slam.
After tidying his sister's room, he carried his luggage to his car and placed i
t in the trunk. He didn’t need the curious girl discovering his tools of the trade. Then, he made a pot of coffee with Katrina's new appliance—a wedding gift—and placed the cheesecake slices on plates at the table. He checked his watch. The girl should have returned by now. A battle raged in his head. He had caught her about to go through his things, although her explanation seemed plausible. Could Ireland really be as innocent as she seemed? In her presence, he believed so, but when left to his own devices, he had his doubts.
When heard the knob turn, an hour later, he had to consciously cease tapping his fingers on the counter. He'd gotten used to the rhythm, waiting for her arrival. He took a breath and carried the coffee pot to the table.
"Ah, just in time for dessert," he said, pouring the robust liquid into the cups he'd placed there a half-hour before.
"Great, I could use a pick-me-up."
He spooned strawberry sauce, provided by the deli, over the dense cake and sat down. Landi had already taken several swallows of his hot brew and purred appreciatively.
"You make a mean cup of Joe," she said.
"Thanks. Ready to spill your guts?"
Her eyes darted from her dish to his face. His irises appeared steely gray and glinted with something unpleasant. She squirmed under his cold stare as an uncontrollable chill shot through her.
Regaining her composure, she said, "Sure, after dessert."
She'd already prepared for today's maneuvers, and she wouldn't allow him to throw her off her game. She played with the scrumptious cheesecake, taking a nibble here and there, then moved sauce around the dish with her fork, before repeating the process over again. After ten minutes, he'd cleaned his plate while hers still appeared full.
"Oh, for Pete's sake!" he exclaimed, swiping a forkful of cake from her plate and shoveling it in his mouth.
"Help yourself," she said sweetly, pushing the dish closer to him.
He downed the remainder in seconds flat, scraping up every last morsel.
"You first," he commanded, impatient to hear her secret.
This is going to be fun.
"Oh, I'm still working on my coffee," she claimed, taking a small sip.
He huffed. At this rate, they'd be here all night. The corners of his mouth curled up at the thought. He wished he'd served the afternoon treat in the living room, like yesterday. Then he'd be sitting close to her, instead of across this dumb kitchen table. He'd put a stop to her waiting game in a hurry if he had her on the sofa. He watched as she swallowed what must be tepid liquid by now and fluttered her eyelashes as if she'd never tasted anything so wonderful.
"Blast it! I'll go first, Kumquat." He inhaled before continuing, "Instead of re-enlisting, I went on a special assignment with the Defense Intelligence Agency. They sent me to extract one of our men from an Afghan warlord."
Speaking rapidly, James spat the information out, his breath ragged. She could tell that revealing this information caused him distress. Unsure why he shared this fact, she took their dishes to the sink.
"That must have been awful. Were you successful?" she asked, her voice timid.
He didn't answer. She turned and saw the same beads of sweat forming on his forehead that she'd noticed at the wedding. She turned off the faucet and approached him slowly, stopping when she stood in front of him.
"It depends on how you define success," he murmured. "Your turn," he added, fixing his eyes on hers.
"I was teased and bullied unmercifully because of my hair color growing up," she said without hesitation.
She hoped he'd get the message that she didn't appreciate the moniker of Kumquat, a tiny, bright orange fruit similar to a miniature, misshapen orange.
He sprang from his seat and had his fingers in her tresses in a split second, his movements so smooth and quick, she didn’t have time to gasp. He gently tugged on a long lock, forcing her face up, towards his own.
"They didn't bully you because of the color of your hair, Kumquat," he growled in a low tone, inching nearer.
He held her gaze until he shifted his eyes to her lovely, pink lips. Landi saw something in his sizzling stare that made her knees go weak and her heart pound violently against her rib cage. Her breath caught as his lips hovered a fraction of an inch above her own, and he gave her hair another pull.
"They attacked you because you're beautiful," he whispered, fixing his eyes on hers again as he ran his fingers through her long curls.
Landi felt as if she'd lost her senses. She wanted to throw her arms around his neck and feel the safety of his embrace and his hard muscles—except that didn't seem so safe at this moment. Instead, she took a step back, hoping for some breathing room. She prayed he couldn't hear her wild heart beat. If she didn’t get out of here now, she wasn’t sure what might happen.
"I have to go," she said, surprised by the coolness of her own voice.
She grabbed her purse from the table and ran for the door, not noticing the shocked expression on Jim's face. After the door slammed, his astonishment bled into hurt.
Behind the wheel and safely down the street, Landi hyperventilated. Her chest heaved as she tried to gather her wits. What just happened? No man had ever made her feel the way James did. She couldn't figure out if it was a good thing or a bad thing—if he cared for her or just toyed with her affections. How could she ever face him again? She saved her tears until she reached her own place, taking solace with Sizzle, who dashed up her stairs as soon as she opened the door to her apartment.
Chapter 8
-Like a Moth to the Flame-
James pulled the strings of his hoodie tight, covering his blonde hair and much of his face. He jogged through the morning fog, past a canal and into the sketchiest part of Venice. At eight thirty, the skies still hadn't cleared, and the mist hung so thick it seemed a perpetual, faint drizzle hit his face. He spied Landi's apartment in the distance, and just as he guessed, her old green pinto couldn't be seen. She'd already left for her classes across town.
Thankful for the weather conditions which supplied him cover and complete anonymity, he made a quick glance around before approaching her building. One last nonchalant look to each side, and he took a key from his sweatshirt pocket and slipped it in the lock. It went in just fine, but refused to turn. He tried flicking his wrist counter-clockwise, but still, it would not budge. James removed the key and tried again, in both directions.
"Why, that little minx!" he said aloud, his voice filled with frustration and admiration.
He glanced up to the eaves just to make sure the girl hadn't also installed a nanny cam, then felt Sizzle rubbing against his calf. He reached down and picked up the alley cat, rubbing the animal behind its ears.
"Your mistress changed the lock, eh? Didn't see that one coming," he whispered to the cat, now scratching under its chin. "In future, we'll give her more credit, won't we, Boy?"
James placed the cat back on the ground and resumed a slow jog back to his car, parked several blocks away in a swankier part of the seaside town. His trunk held a lock pick and other devices that would easily grant him entrance to her apartment. He pondered whether he should return another time or get this over with today. By the time he reached his car, the fog began to clear. He'd have to come back later to search her place. He didn’t want to risk being spotted by a neighbor or the landlord.
Arriving at Katrina's, he changed from his sweats to jeans and a polo shirt. Then, he called his boss with an update on his progress before continuing his research on the internet. When Ireland arrived, he realized he hadn't gotten lunch.
"Hello, James," she said without looking at him.
She felt heat flush on her neck and tried to calm herself. Coming to work became more difficult each day with this man present. After yesterday, even his scent caused her to blush.
"Hey, Kumquat. How was class?"
"Great," she replied, sitting down and turning on the laptop she used when at work.
"Make anymore earrings?" he asked, referring to the pair she'd given
her stepmother.
"No. Today, we studied how to polish different stones for different effects—nothing hands-on," she explained.
"Say, Landi, I've got two Dodger tickets for tonight's game. Do you want to come with me?" he asked.
He watched as she buried her nose in her keyboard as if searching for a missing letter of the alphabet. She bit her lower lip, and her cheeks turned a charming shade of pink.
"Uh, no, thank you."
"Why not? I bet you've never even had a Dodger dog. You can't miss that."
"Uh, I'd like to, but—" she said, chancing a glimpse in his direction.
She saw the pleasant smile on his face and his confident countenance. He didn't get turned down often, and the thought probably hadn't even crossed his mind. Still, she wished she could go with him.
"But what?" he interrupted.
"I already have plans this evening." There, she'd said it.
"What kind of plans are those?" he said, his tone demanding as he raised an eyebrow.
"I'm going to dinner with Douglas."
She risked another glance his way and saw his lips curl into a snarl, then relax into a smile. She checked his eyes and watched them shift from deep blue to grey in a matter of seconds. They did not smile along with his mouth. She could read him easily after only knowing him a couple of weeks. Years surviving with the bare minimum of affection and material goods, along with interpreting the moods of others, had made her keenly observant.
"Have fun," he said cheerfully, then returned to his computer work, furiously typing away.
Ireland checked her emails and then began responding to comments left on Katrina's blog. Her boss insisted every remark be replied to, unless, of course, they were disparaging. Those they ignored or tried to placate if not too rude. The two worked on this together, so Landi had a pretty good idea of how to answer the fans of Violet Sparks, Kate's pen name. Sometimes, this required research. The girl was in the middle of googling a jewelry designer from the 1920s when her computer pinged with a message. She switched to her email account and saw a note from Katrina.
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