“We’ve been complaining about that tree for years,” grumbled the middle-aged woman who’d given Quent the umbrella. “I’m glad nobody got hurt.”
“I’m going to ask the battalion chief if it’s safe to go in and fetch some of my clothes.” Amy took the umbrella. “My laptop, too, and some case files I brought home.”
“I’ll talk to him.” Quent swiveled toward the firemen.
“It’s my condo. Besides, those guys have been taking funny looks at your sweatshirt,” she said.
“Huh?” He glanced down in surprise. Darn, he’d forgotten about the pink top and the feminine-looking cat.
“I can handle the situation,” Amy said. “Why don’t you just stand here and look pretty?”
“Why not? I’m so good at it,” he shot back. Her answering grin told him she’d enjoyed the quip.
Despite his remark, Quent would have preferred to take care of business himself, but Amy had already crossed the pavement. Her slim figure managed to be authoritative and sweetly appealing at the same time as she put her case to the man in the yellow slicker.
“Tell Amy to keep the umbrella as long as she needs it,” said the neighbor, and went inside.
Quent stuck his hands in his pockets to keep from obeying his instincts to charge out there and protect Amy. It was obvious she didn’t need his help.
She stood her ground, speaking calmly as the chief listened. A younger fireman, working nearby, kept glancing at her with unconcealed interest. If that guy came any closer, Quent was going to intervene.
It came as a relief when the younger man moved away. Besides, the guy looked too callow for Amy.
Quent hoped he hadn’t annoyed her by grabbing her that way on the couch. After holding himself in check all these weeks, he’d seized his chance so abruptly he hadn’t shown much subtlety.
Maybe it was a good thing they’d been interrupted. Going to bed with Amy would be fabulous, but he wasn’t sure how they could strike the right balance. Relationships, in his experience, had a way of careening out of control.
Several years ago, Quent had nearly become engaged to a graduate student in business. The closer he and his girlfriend grew, however, the more they’d quarreled.
She’d resented his long hours at the hospital, while he’d experienced a spurt of jealousy when he saw her studying with a male friend. Their friendship had degenerated into mistrust and tension that all his efforts had failed to dispel. Soon they’d broken up and gone their own ways.
He didn’t want anything like that to happen with Amy. He didn’t want to lose her, and he knew their relationship would change irrevocably once they became intimate. Yet there’d been a fierceness to her response that stirred him profoundly. The things she could teach him…
He swallowed hard and tried to turn his thoughts to something unpleasant to cool his ardor. Foul-tasting medicine. Tetanus shots. Dr. Fingger, the interim head of the Well-Baby Clinic, wearing his customary prune-sucking expression of disapproval.
The tactic failed, to Quent’s dismay. He knew perfectly well that his cutoffs didn’t hide much of anything. He preferred not to think of Amy’s pals chuckling if she described his awkward groping on the couch, followed by his obvious physical arousal as he stood watching her in the rain like some lustful tomcat.
Oh, heck, Amy wasn’t the kind of woman to make fun of him to others. At least, Quent didn’t think so, but the image of her friends’ mirth succeeded where his discouraging thoughts had failed, and his body came under control.
Amy returned a moment later. “They believe the place is structurally safe but they have to err on the side of caution,” she said. “They’re going to allow me inside for ten minutes. Can you believe that? Ten minutes to collect my gear for who knows how long!”
“Let me help,” he said.
“Great! I’d appreciate it.” She led the way to the wide-open front door. “We’re ready,” she told the battalion chief.
He nodded. “Go on in.”
The two of them hurried into a living room that resembled a war zone. It was too bad one lousy tree could do so much damage.
The other rooms appeared undamaged. With her usual efficiency, Amy handed Quent a suitcase from the hall closet.
“I’m going to get the papers and laptop out of my office,” she said. “Grab my clothes out of the bedroom, will you? Business suits, jeans and blouses are in the closet. My underwear’s in the top drawer of the bureau and my nightgowns are in the middle.”
“You want me to handle your—?” He stopped, remembering that they had only ten minutes and he was wasting time. Her approach made sense, since he’d have no idea what papers to take or where to find them in her office. “Okay.”
She vanished through a doorway to the right. The other bedroom on that side was empty, so Quent turned left.
The first thing that struck him was Amy’s fresh floral scent. The second thing were the framed posters of ice skaters and gymnasts. He was surprised not to see one of the 49ers, and realized she must not be as big a fan as she claimed.
After plopping the suitcase on the bed, he retrieved some clothes from their hangers. There wasn’t time to fold them neatly. Suits, jeans and blouses all got rolled up and stuffed inside.
Although he knew they were pressed for time, Quent hesitated before opening the bureau drawers. He didn’t like invading Amy’s privacy. Even with his girlfriend, his only contact with her lingerie and lace nighties had been removing them in a hurry.
He yanked on the center drawer first and took out a folded nightgown. The silky fabric flowed across his hands like warm water. Draped on Amy’s body, it must reveal every curve and inlet, he thought, and hurriedly stuffed it into the suitcase.
Quent braved the top drawer. Panties and bras were stuffed together, entangled with pantyhose. The jumble reminded him of his own sock drawer.
Try as he might, he couldn’t suppress an image of Amy wearing this stuff and peeling it off in front of him. With her experience, she’d probably perfected the art of the striptease.
“Hey!” the subject of his yearnings called from the hallway. “They’re calling for us to come out. You ready?”
“I’ll be right there!” Quent grabbed a handful of underwear, shoved it into the suitcase and clicked it shut.
They scurried out together. Amy lugged a satchel full of papers plus her laptop and the umbrella. “I’m glad they let me in there. I kept thinking of other things I need. Did you get everything?”
“You bet,” Quent said. “If I ever need a job as a ladies’ maid, you can give me a reference.”
“You did take some shoes, didn’t you?” she asked.
“Shoes?”
“You know, the things to go on my feet?” Amy groaned as they emerged into the blustery day. “Oh, well, I suppose it’s my fault for forgetting to mention it.”
The firemen refused to let them back in. “The building inspector called and said to keep the premises vacated until he makes sure it’s safe,” the battalion chief told them. “He won’t be able to get here before Monday.”
“I’ll survive,” Amy said. “At least I’ve got my credit cards.”
“I’ll pay you back for the shoes,” Quent said.
“You will not. I can always use a new pair.”
She