Miz Rusty accepted the sweet with a smile of gratitude and for several minutes the only sound was melodious smacking. The smell of mint filled the air.
“How about a ghost story?” Reo next heard himself say, an idea that surprised him as much as it did Miz Rusty, who gave him a decidedly doubtful look.
“Don’t you think we’re, um, stimulated enough?”
“Trust me,” Reo said, an entreaty she honored with a shrug. He then made everyone, including Miz Rusty, sit in a semicircle and began to recite a time-old story about a less-than-genius grave robber, stolen bones in a box and the ridiculous skeleton who wanted them back. Drawing on memories from one of the few times he was allowed to sleep over with friends as a child, Reo acted out the drama, which ended in a surprise “Boo!” that resulted in squeals and then giggles.
Before the revelry had ceased, the elevator jerked into motion, this time reaching the twenty-second floor before it ground to a halt again. Miz Rusty and Reo reached for the Open Door button at the same time and inadvertently tangled again, resulting in more hilarity.
So it was a joyful group that spilled out of the elevator to be greeted by a maintenance man and two women Reo guessed to be more day-care workers.
“Oh, thank goodness,” one of the women exclaimed, reaching out to hug three children at once.
“Are we in time for the party?” Miz Rusty asked, clearly trying to change the subject. Her hint to downplay the event was apparently well taken.
“Of course you are!” the woman exclaimed.
In seconds the children were herded toward the stairs. The wide-eyed maintenance man, who obviously recognized Reo, darted down the hall as if the hounds of hell nipped at his heels—no doubt to report the incident to his boss. That left only Miz Rusty and Reo standing at the foot of the stairs. For a second they just looked at each other without speaking. Reo tried to see past her irresistible girl-next-door charm to the young woman inside. Was she really what she appeared to be—warm and caring with a dash of mischievousness thrown in?
Apparently...and what a contrast to Colleen, a divorce lawyer he’d originally hired to clear up a family mystery and then wound up dating on and off for the past two months. Cold, unless she thought hot would better serve her purpose, Colleen had at first seemed to be the woman of Reo’s dreams. Then she’d begun to cling and tried to take charge of him.
In retrospect he doubted she’d ever really cared about him as a person, seeing him instead as an asset to her image, a goal to be obtained. As for .that mischievous streak so appealing in Miz Rusty...Reo couldn’t remember the last time Colleen really smiled. Certainly not this morning, when he refused her demand that they attend tonight’s charity ball together.
Reo winced, recalling that ugly, very public scene in the reception area of her law office. Damn, but he was glad he’d finally ditched Counselor Colleen. It felt good to be free again, and he intended to retain that precious freedom for a long time to come.
“You were great,” Miz Rusty said, breaking into his memories. Reaching into a pocket hidden by the folds of her gown, she withdrew a tissue that she attempted to dab the sweat still beading on his forehead.
Reo instinctively ducked her touch. “I, um, just followed your lead.”
She looked surprised by his action—surprised and a little confused.
“Obviously you’re a natural with kids,” he added somewhat lamely, unwilling to hurt her, even though he’d just remembered how much he cherished the single life. It wasn’t Miz Rusty’s fault that she was so sexy. In fact, he doubted that she even knew... which was, of course, part of her appeal.
“Why, thank you.”
She studied his expression for a moment as if trying to do some mental probing of her own. Then her lips slowly stretched into what could only be called a hopeful smile, which made Reo wonder if she saw right through his grown-up cool to the lost boy inside.
“What time do you finish up today?” she asked. “I have a meeting right after this party, but after that I’d really like to buy you a beer for being such a good sport on the elevator.”
Reo tensed. More times than not when a woman he’d just met got friendly it was a matter of the pocketbook, not the heart. Had she picked up on his attraction to her? Was she now ready to make use of it?
“Brad...?”
Who? Oh, yeah. The alias. Miz Rusty thought he was Brad Turner, a peer, which meant she wasn’t after his money at all. How refreshing. So refreshing, in fact, that Reo was very tempted to accept her invitation... vulnerability or no.
Then he remembered he couldn’t.
“I have another obligation.”
“Oh.”
Her smile remained, but he sensed her disappointment.
Reo felt a stab of remorse and, yes, disappointment of his own. At this moment, he realized, there was nothing he’d rather do than spend time with Miz Rusty, who thought he worked in the mail room. They’d find a tavern somewhere where they could drink, dance and get to know each other intimately.
Intimately? He was a hormonal wreck! And, it seemed, an idiot, too. What else would one call a man so obviously eager to jump out of that proverbial frying pan into that proverbial fire? Rattled by his apparent dim wits, Reo quickly changed the subject. “Are you, um,, supposed to be Tinkerbell?”
She shook her head. “Guess again.”
“An angel?”
Miz Rusty bubbled with incredulous laughter. “Not by a long shot.”
At that softly drawled promise, Reo’s brain shut down for good, leaving him a babbling victim of desire. “I—I give up then. What are you?”
“A witch,” she whispered, her mouth quite close to his ear as if she feared someone else might overhear, even though they were now too, too alone.
Reo put his hands in his pockets to keep from touching her hair, her cheek, her—“But witches wear black.”
“Only the bad ones. I’m good.”
I’ll bet you are. Shivering as if someone’s fingertips had traced a path up his spine, he could not resist asking, “What, exactly, do good witches do?”
“Why, good things, of course.”
Her eyes twinkled with mischief. Her smile had returned full force. He could tell she enjoyed this foolish exchange as much as he—God help him. “Can you please be more specific?”
“More specific... Hmmm. Well, good witches cast good spells.”
“Yeah? What else?”
“They break bad ones.”
“And?...”
“They mix love potions.”
Something she’d never need, Reo realized, since that wicked smile of hers was all it took to turn one of the city’s most savvy businessmen—namely him—into a libidinous lunatic.
Time to get the hell out of the Sampson Building.
“Rusty? Are you coming?” The words wafted down the stairs from somewhere above, startling them both.
“Be right there,” Miz Rusty called back, much to Reo’s relief. “Now I want you to repeat after me—”
“What? Why?”
“Just do it, OK?”
Reo nodded cautiously.
“Five, five, five...”
“Five, five, five...” he muttered, so dazed that he hadn’t a clue as to where she was headed.