“For reading. Why?”
“No reason, just…no reason.” He struck her as this perfect, godlike specimen, so it just didn’t jibe that anything about him wasn’t functioning at one hundred percent. She wisely kept that part to herself. She found the flashlight and pulled it out, switched it on, casting them both in a small pool of yellow light.
“Not exactly industrial size,” he said, looking at the tiny beam. “But it should do the trick.”
“I—it’s for reading.” She started to explain that she liked to read and that she always carried a little flashlight as a sort of book light, but he already thought she was a dork. No need to give him further reason to be amused at her expense. “But it comes in handy for all sorts of things. I had a flat tire not too long ago in the middle of the night and—” She stopped. She was babbling. She never babbled. “Anyway, I’ll sit it here on the counter and take care of the bird, if you want to look for candles.” She propped it on its end so the beam of light cast upward, but it was so small, the glow didn’t really reach very far.
“Why don’t you take it and go cover Cicero for the night and get him settled, then I’ll take it and root around in the cupboards.
“I’m surprised there isn’t a generator,” Emma said. “In a house this size, out this far from town, I’m guessing power going out isn’t entirely unusual.”
“Maybe there is one but it has to be turned on manually.”
“I don’t recall seeing it in the book or addendums, but—”
“You mean the notebook you were carrying earlier?”
“Yes. Your Uncle Lionel compiled it, or had it compiled, to help guide me through my stay here.”
“And there are addendums?”
“Oh, yeah,” she said, then realized she hadn’t sounded entirely kind, and hurried to add, “but it can never hurt to have too much information.”
Trevor chuckled. “Don’t worry, you didn’t offend. Lionel is nothing if not thorough with his attention to detail. At least when it suits him, anyway.”
Emma looked over at him. He was rummaging through the drawers that were closest to the light. She wondered what he’d meant by that last part. There’d been a slight edge to the dry amusement. She turned back to Cicero. “Okay, big guy, let’s get you your evening treat.”
“Snack for Cicero! Cicero is a pretty bird.”
He sounded a little less panicked, but still not settled. “Yes, yes, you are.”
She grabbed the plastic container from the little cupboard next to his cage and fished out a piece of dried mango. She fed that to him and watched him hike it all the way down to his water dish, dunk it carefully a few times, then scoot down the rung to the middle of his cage and quietly enjoy his soggy feast. She changed his paper from the sliding tray beneath the cage, dumped it in the trash, then turned around and put her hands on her hips. The dogs had all but shadowed her every step since she’d come in the kitchen and were right behind her, looking at her expectantly. “I’m guessing you guys want to come with me.”
Martha enthusiastically bumped her head into Emma’s stomach, while Jack wriggled around her ankles, his tail slapping back and forth. “Well, we need to find out where we’re bunking in first.” She really wished she’d done that first upon arriving, but it was too late to worry about that now.
Cicero was done with his snack, so she said her good nights and covered him up, heard him fluff his feathers out, and relaxed a little. One down, anyway. She walked back over to the counter. “Any luck?”
“No,” Trevor said, his head buried in one of the lower cupboards. “Mind sticking around here for a few minutes and letting me use the flashlight to finish looking in the cupboards and pantry? One candle and I’m good.”
“Go right ahead.” She handed him the flashlight and watched him as he turned his back on her and began systematically going through drawers and cupboards. This left her time to wonder how she’d ended up stuck in a house with a man who did things to her libido that should be illegal, when she was supposed to be stuck only with a couple of dogs and an unruly parrot. Why her? She scooted onto a stool, sighed, and propped her elbows on the counter.
“That was a particularly plaintive sigh. Am I keeping you from something?”
She hadn’t realized she’d made a sound, but she really couldn’t be faulted for it. Didn’t he know how ridiculously attractive he was? Didn’t he know that when he bent over like that to look through the lower cupboards, his jeans cupped a rear end so fine it was male model worthy? Didn’t he know that she’d spent the last seven months building her business, leaving her no time for men of any kind? Much less the kind with magazine-cover asses? “No,” she finally managed, when she realized she hadn’t answered him. Because she was staring. Again.
“Not finding much,” he said, and straightened. “Why don’t I lead you to your room, get you settled and see if maybe there are any candles in there so you can have some lighting, then borrow this”—he waved the flashlight around—“and dig around a little more.”
Oh, great. Trevor Hamilton was going to be in her bedroom after all. While she was in it. That’s what she needed. Well, that was exactly what she needed, or wanted anyway, but she doubted he’d be on board with the suggestion, especially as he’d so quickly shot down her earlier assumption that he’d been looking for temporary companionship. “Sure.” She slid off the stool, slapped her thigh so the dogs fell in beside her, hefted her nylon bag and reached for her other duffel.
“I’ll get these.”
She didn’t bother arguing. With her luck she’d swing around a corner and take out some eighth-century figurine or something. Better if he was the one who took that risk. At least he was family.
“Where are we headed?” he asked, hovering at the entrance to the front hallway.
“I haven’t a clue. I looked at the map earlier, but—” She stopped short of telling him she’d gone off exploring in the opposite direction. She didn’t need him reporting to Lionel that his sitter had been snooping. “I think I got turned around.”
He slid one bag to the floor. “Here, let me look at the map.” He held out his hand for her notebook.
She hesitated.
He smiled. “Trust me, I’m not interested in Lionel’s dog-sitting mandates and endless house rules.”
What are you interested in? She shoved the book in his hand, thankful she’d managed not to say that out loud. In her head it had sounded sexily suggestive. Best she’d left it right there.
“Good God,” Trevor murmured, juggling the book and the flashlight.
“You’re skimming.”
“Is there an index to this thing? How long are you staying, anyway?”
“Twelve days. And the section on my accommodations is in the front.”
“Ah. Says here you can choose any room in the upper east wing.” He looked up. “You were in the west wing when I found you.”
She shrugged casually. Or so she hoped. “I’m better with left and right than east and west.”
He eyed her for a moment longer, then flipped the book shut and handed it to her. “Follow me.”
As they left the kitchen for the front hall, the air got noticeably cooler.
“Uh-oh.”
“What, uh-oh?” Emma said.
“No heat.” He started trudging up the main staircase. The dogs wove their way between them, with Martha quickly out in front,