by Nancy Gideon
“No, it was dark and they surprised me. I’m afraid I’m not a very good witness.”
His jaw clenched tight as he kept his eyes on the road. “I’m sorry,” he said.
She looked startled. “About what? None of this was your fault. I was careless. You have every right to be angry.”
She was taking the blame for his own mistakes. She’d been sitting there expecting him to chew her out, while he was close to drowning in shame.
“I’m not angry with you.” He drew in a savage breath. “I didn’t answer your call.”
Again, the guileless blink of her eyes. “There was nothing you could have done even if you had.” After that cool logic, she turned away to stare out the side window, dismissing any further apology or explanation.
When Jacques brought the Caddy to a stop outside his construction trailer, his humiliation twisted into a tight knot.
What was he thinking, bringing her here?
Susanna was obviously from wealth and privilege. He imagined her horror at being cloistered in his dingy bachelor accommodations, and almost put the car into reverse. But where would he take her?
Well, she was his responsibility. She would just have to make do.
“Welcome to my humble abode,” he drawled ruefully. “Emphasis on humble.”
Inside, she paused in the center of the main room to look around. There was no sign of disgust on her dainty features, just curiosity.
“You work here, too?” she asked, touching the stack of invoices he’d left on the stained formica-topped table.
“Yeah, it’s convenient. I like to be on-site so I can keep an eye on things.”
Susanna picked up and examined the magazines scattered across his couch: Entrepreneur, Time, Bloomberg Businessweek. Thankfully, Philo had five-fingered his latest “pictorial” magazine to admire the tri-fold air brushing.
“You have interesting taste,” she commented.
“My Metropolitan Home and Food and Wine come next week.”
She smiled, and glanced at the books he’d stacked on the floor. “When do you find time to read, working two demanding jobs?”
“While I’m not sleeping. The bathroom and bedroom are down there.”
He rummaged through the tiny linen closet for clean towels as she went down the hall, looking ready to drop from fatigue.
After he set the towels out, he found Susanna seated on the edge of his bed. She looked up through eyes swimming with distress.
He dropped down onto one knee so they were eye-to-eye and made his tone low and soothing. “It’s going to be all right.”
Tears finally streamed down her cheeks. “I hate being afraid all the time. I feel so safe when I’m with you.”
She leaned forward, her arms going about his waist, her head nestling beneath his chin as if his chest made the perfect pillow. Jacques brushed his lips across her hair, then rested his cheek there with an odd feeling of familiarity. What in hell had he gotten himself into?
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