A bit dizzy from the nearness of Rafe’s half-naked body and becoming just as aggravated as he at being the butt of Matt’s joke, Angela wanted to explode. Instead, for the first time in months she kept her wits about her. Though she would have given the world right then to throw herself into his unsuspecting arms and kiss the living daylights out of him, she only smiled calmly. “Matt Leads was the one waiting for you at the bar after you danced with me?”
“Yes,” Rafe replied, with a curious look in his eyes.
“Your ranch house and all this property are to be sold. Correct?”
“Yes, but...”
“And Matt is acting in your behalf to dispose of this land due to your bankruptcy?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’m not leaving.”
“I don’t want you to be my real estate agent,” Rafe said flatly.
Angela’s eyes narrowed. Hardball was one of her favorite games. “Are you discriminating against me because I’m a woman? Have I in any way conducted myself unprofessionally in our dealings thus far?”
Taken aback, Rafe replied, “Well, no.”
“Then let’s get something straight, Mr Whitten. You and I shared a birthday kiss in a public place on a dance floor viewed by over a hundred people. I have attached no importance to it and neither should you.”
Surprised, Rafe sucked in his breath as she continued.
“My firm has contracted with your representative to list this property. I can guarantee I will do a better job for you than any other Realtor in this city for one reason, and one reason alone. I have a reputation for keeping my mouth shut.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that if news of your bankruptcy were to leak out anywhere in this city, it would spread like wildfire not only in real estate, but other circles as well. People would think you must be desperate to dump this lovely home at fire-sale prices. We don’t want that. We want to get you every dollar you deserve for preserving its inherent beauty and tradition. I believe we can get you the right price, and we can also sell the property in a relatively short period of time—no more than three months—and at this time of year that’s considered rather fast. Not only that, when we do find a buyer, they will be the kind of people you’d like to invite for Sunday dinner.” She clasped her hands behind her back and rocked a bit cockily back on her heels.
His blue-gray eyes flashed merrily. “You’re damned good at what you do, aren’t you, Miss Morton?”
Angela didn’t miss the fact he’d dropped the familiarity of her first name. He was making a point. Well, so was she. “Yes, sir. I am.”
He stuck out his hand to her. “Then you have a deal.”
Angela shook his hand. Just as before, she felt a charge of electricity jolt through her body She wished to heaven she didn’t have to look in his eyes ever again. She wished she’d had the good sense to drive away when he told her to leave, but she hadn’t. She needed this listing. She needed to make the sale and redeem herself in her boss’s eyes. More important, she wanted to prove to herself she could be just as detached from him as he appeared to be from her.
He bowed slighdy, his washboard stomach rippling as he did, and gave her a mocking smile. “Then may I suggest I show you the interior, Miss Morton?”
“Fine. We’ll start with the kitchen,” she replied following him. He thinks he’s irresistible, with that cute apple-shaped butt, twisted steel arms and back, and that come-hither smile. The only thing is, none of it will do him any good, unless a lady is willing. Fortunately, this lady’s done that, been there, bought that T-shirt.
Angela was in the game now, deeper than ever But this time she was prepared.
Four
“The house was built by my great-grandfather in 1850, the year of the Great Compromise,” Rafe said breezily as he showed Angela the original kitchen cabinets and cupboards that he’d painstakingly oiled since he was a child, as had his father before him. He explained that all the solid brass hardware was original, as were the cypresswood floors, mahogany-interior doors and trim. Nothing had been changed or added except the appliances and the granite countertops he’d installed five years ago.
“I hadn’t expected to see anything quite this expensive or well done,” Angela said.
“I had more money than sense back then, I guess.”
Angela investigated the climate-controlled wine cellar with its rustic wooden crisscrossed racks. Rafe explained that his great-grandfather had built the room half below ground to ensure a cool climate for his homemade wines. It wasn’t until Rafe’s father, Michael, installed a modern cooling system in 1970 that their wines had been properly preserved
“You’ve got wines that old?”
“Yes,” he replied stiffly. “But some things are not for sale.”
As Angela toured the rest of the house, she realized how bitter Rafe’s words had been. Almost every room was completely bare of furnishings. Corners of rooms, where unfaded rugs met dark stained, untrodden wood, revealed the places where treasured family heirlooms had rested for nearly a hundred and fifty years...until now.
How devastating all this must be for him, she thought. To know that three generations had gone before him never losing, always gaining ground. Rafe was being forced to sell furnishings, china, silver and leatherbound books to settle a bankruptcy. Angela couldn’t help thinking she wished there was some other, saner way for someone in his position to recover his losses. Unfortunately, she knew of none.
She followed him up the stairs to the second floor noticing the runner had been removed. “What color was the stair carpet?” she asked, simply for herself, so that she could better visualize how it had looked a hundred years ago.
“Royal blue and gold. Persian. My grandfather bought it in Tabriz from a trader. He said the blue was the color of my grandmother’s eyes.”
Thinking she’d never heard anything more dear or poetic, she felt her resolve toward Rafe melting with every word he spoke.
The bedrooms were larger than she’d imagined and the ceilings were higher, which would help bring a substantial price. Only the master bedroom still contained the original furniture. The antique mahogany rice bed nearly took Angela’s breath away. She walked toward it with an outstretched hand, as if she were being pulled into another century. “He gave this to her, didn’t he?”
“My grandfather?” Rafe asked dispassionately. “Yes. Nearly everything of value was his. But I’ve adopted his philosophy.”
Angela touched the delicate handmade lace canopy, thinking it felt lighter than an angel’s wing. “Which is?”
“Things are meaningless...” He stopped in midsentence as Angela raised her face to him. At that moment she had that same faraway soft look in her eyes as she’d had the night they’d met. He didn’t know what it was about her when she looked at him like that, but it was compelling and he thought he would lose his mind if he didn’t touch her, hold her, kiss her...just one more time.
She hadn’t realized he’d moved so close and when she looked up at him she was still thinking