“Got a man hidden behind the stove, Lise?”
The gleam of humor in his slate-gray eyes was irresistible, and suddenly she heard herself laughing. Laughing as if she liked him, she thought in panic. “Behind my stove is not a place any self-respecting man would want to go,” she said, adding, “Watch where you step,” as she led the way into the narrow galley kitchen.
Judd stopped in the doorway. “Well,” he said, looking around. “If Dave cleaned up your apartment the other day, he’s a better firefighter than a Molly Maid.”
“Dave doesn’t live here!”
“Is he your lover?”
“What gives you the right to ask a personal question like that?”
He hesitated perceptibly. “I’m not sure. Are you and Dave lovers?”
Not for anything was she going to expose the relationship between her and Dave to Judd Harwood’s knife-blade gaze. “No comment,” she said stonily.
“I see…in that case, I take my coffee black,” Judd said. “With honey if you have any. Did you throw the rice at the wall?”
She rolled her eyes. “I was trying to put away the groceries, banged my shoulder on the cupboard and dropped the rice. The bag burst. As you see.”
“Rice is a symbol of fertility,” Judd said lightly. “Isn’t that why they throw it at weddings?”
“Did they throw it at yours?”
His lashes flickered. “No. Angeline was into gold-leaf confetti. Nothing as ordinary as rice.” Angeline had never wanted to have a baby; her figure had been more important to her than her husband’s longing for children. Emmy’s conception had been an accident, plain and simple.
For a moment Lise would have sworn there’d been genuine pain underlying Judd’s voice. But the next moment his eyes were guarded, impenetrable as pewter. She’d imagined it. Of course she had. Judd Harwood hurt because of something she’d said? What a joke.
He said casually, “Where do you keep your vacuum cleaner? I’d better get rid of this mess before you slip on it and break your neck.”
He owned the largest and most luxurious airlines in the world; she couldn’t pick up a daily paper and not know that. And he was about to vacuum her kitchen floor? Something so ordinary—to use his own word—had never figured among her romantic fantasies all those years ago. As a teenager, she’d been more apt to picture him maddened by desire, carrying her in his strong arms away from Marthe, from the ugly brick house in Outremont, and the boredom of homework and appointments with the orthodontist.
“The vacuum’s in the hall cupboard,” Lise said edgily. “I’ll wipe all the rice that’s on the counters onto the floor.”
“You do that.”
As he left the room, she stared after him. Her whole nervous system was on high alert; any remnants of self-pity had fled the minute Judd had pushed his way into her apartment. But she could handle him. She wasn’t an impressionable and innocent teenager anymore; she’d been around the block a few times and learned a thing or two. No, she was more than a match for Judd Harwood. Scowling, Lise fished a cloth from among the dishes piled in the sink and started pushing the rice grains onto the floor. Which could do with a darn good scrubbing.
When Judd came back in, he’d shed his leather bomber jacket and was rolling up the sleeves of a blue cotton shirt. His jeans were faded with wear, fitting his hips snugly. Her gaze skewed away. She said rapidly, “I still can’t use my right arm—I feel such a klutz.”
“No permanent damage, though?” he asked; she would have sworn his concern was real.
“Nope. Just a Technicolor shoulder,” she said, and watched his gaze drop.
She was wearing a T-shirt that had shrunk in the drier; it was turquoise with orange hummingbirds flitting across her breasts. The bruise on her jaw was a putrid shade of yellow. How to impress the man of your dreams, Lise thought dryly, and said, “I’ll get out of the way while you vacuum. This kitchen’s never been big enough for two.”
Reaching for the plug, Judd remarked, “Perhaps that’s why you haven’t married?”
Cordially she responded, “Why couldn’t you be faithful to Angeline?”
“I was.”
She snorted. “You’ll have to do under the cupboards…you wouldn’t think one bag of rice could make such a mess.”
“Changing the subject, Lise?”
“You’re quick,” she said with a saucy grin.
“You’re so goddamned beautiful,” he said with sudden violence.
He couldn’t mean it; flattery must be his standard practice when he was anywhere near a woman. Nevertheless, Lise flushed to the roots of her hair. “Me? I’m a mess.”
“Thank you, Judd. That’s considered a more appropriate response.”
“Maybe in the circles you move in. But I don’t want your compliments, Judd. They’re as useless as your wedding vows.”
He straightened to his full height. “While we were married, I was never unfaithful to Angeline.”
“Tell it to someone who cares.”
“I could make you care,” he said softly.
Her breath caught in her throat. “I don’t think so.”
“Are you daring me, Lise?”
“No, Judd. I’m telling you I’m out-of-bounds as far as you’re concerned. Off-limits. Uninterested.”
“We’ll see,” he said with that same dangerous softness. “You’d better move—this kitchen, as you so rightly remarked, isn’t big enough for the two of us.”
Something in his steady gaze caused her to back up. With as much dignity as she could muster, Lise retreated to the bathroom, where she dragged a brush through her tumbled curls and pulled on a loose sweatshirt over her T-shirt. How to stop feeling sorry for yourself, she thought, poking out her tongue at her reflection. Invite a cougar into your apartment. A starving, highly predatory cougar.
Uneasily she gazed in the mirror. Her cheeks were still flushed and her eyes were shining. Stop it, she told herself. He’s not a knight in shining armor come to rescue you. His breastplate’s tarnished and he abused his vows. Just you remember that.
Unfortunately he was still the most vibrantly masculine man she’d ever laid eyes on. That hadn’t changed. Sexy didn’t begin to describe him. It went deeper than that to a confidence that was bone-deep, an unconscious aura of power as much a part of him as his thick black hair and deep-set, changeable eyes.
Why did it have to be his daughter she’d rescued? She didn’t need Judd in her life. He frightened her, she who could force her way through choking smoke and the crackle of flame.
The vacuum cleaner had been turned off. Steeling herself, Lise went back to the kitchen, said politely, “Thank you,” and reached for the coffee beans, which were in the container marked Flour. But she couldn’t unscrew the lid with one hand.
Judd said, “Here, let me,” and took it from her. In utter fascination she watched the play of muscles in his wrist as his lean fingers undid the jar. “Where’s the grinder?” he asked.
This was all so domesticated, she thought wildly. As though they were married. “In the cupboard by the sink. Ignore the muddle.”
As he opened the cupboard, two cookie sheets clattered to the floor. “You live as dangerously at home as you do at work,” Judd said, and fished out the grinder.
She blurted, “What’s