Mei watched their progress. She saw first one, then two long white ears and a twitching pink nose peek out from under the towel both children fought to carry.
“Excuse our chaos,” Freda murmured. “Follow me please, Lieutenant. I’ll take you to Mr. Archer. He’s in his office and said to show you right in.”
The woman dashed off, deftly avoiding a pile of little olive-green men Mei identified as toy soldiers. As she walked, Freda pushed aside a doll carriage and then a big red fire engine. Mei picked her way through various rooms and hallways, noting as she did how incongruous the toys were among well-lit, clearly locked cases containing Samurai swords. On a wall, she spied at least two Renoirs. Scattered among overturned toys were pedestals on which stood Chinese vases that appeared to be the real thing.
In Mei’s childhood home, as she and her brother were growing up, neither would’ve been allowed to leave toys within sight of guests. She and Stephen had had a room designated for play. Even there, her mother expected order at all times.
Because the man she’d come to see was on the phone when Freda opened his office door, Mei had a chance to assess him.
Cullen Archer glanced up and rose politely while attempting to end his call. “Cloris, I’ll fax you a list of the people we invited to the Villareal showing last year, okay?”
Freda’s gesture toward Mei Lu appeared to suffice as an introduction. Archer acknowledged her presence with a nod. But then Mei Lu felt abandoned by the housekeeper, who left her standing awkwardly in front of a total stranger.
And when she took a second look at Cullen Archer, Mei suffered a little punch to her stomach. Not easily rocked by a man’s looks, she found it odd that her heart beat noticeably harder. Granted, he was tall, rangy and casually but expensively dressed. An abundance of black hair glinted silver at his temples.
He was distinguished, yes. But Mei had expected a much older man. Even after seeing the children, she’d presumed her host had grandchildren visiting. These homes typically belonged to Houston’s long-established residents.
Clearly, the western-cut shirt Archer wore didn’t come off any rack. Nor did his gray slacks, one leg of which had caught on the upper edge of rich-looking, hand-tooled cowboy boots. It wasn’t until he stepped around his desk and pulled out a chair he obviously intended for her that Mei drew near enough to glimpse his eyes. They were indecently long-lashed and a shade lighter than his slacks. She felt pierced through as his gaze ran the length of her body, and in a more leisurely manner cruised up to her lips, where his incredible eyes lingered.
Mei flushed, wondering if in her haste she hadn’t put her lip gloss on straight. Reluctantly, she dropped into the chair, discreetly tugging down the navy skirt that slid up to mid-thigh. Clutching her purse atop her notebook, she sat statue-straight instead of letting her shoulders touch the brown leather chair back.
ONCE HIS GUEST had taken a seat, Cullen circled behind his desk again, all the while attempting to wind down his call. “Listen, Cloris, I know you’ve had a hard time corralling the committee members for a meeting. I’ll find an hour to discuss the glitch in the program this week. Right now I have a scheduled appointment.”
Cullen turned then and stared squarely at said appointment. Heat crawled up his spine. He didn’t know what he’d thought a Houston police lieutenant would look like. Not, he decided, like the woman seated across from him as still and regal as a princess. For a fleeting moment, he wondered what it had taken her to reach a lieutenant’s rank.
He’d expected from the name Mei Lu that she’d be Asian. The police chief, whom he’d never personally met, had assured him the lieutenant fluently spoke and read Chinese. Cullen had just never imagined his interpreter would be so slender, so tall or so attractive. Standing, she’d barely had to look up to meet his eyes, and he was a solid six feet. Her sleek hair was imprisoned in a knot a millimeter or so above a starched shirt collar; Cullen’s fingers itched to loosen the bonds holding the shiny black mass. Or maybe it was her blouse with its severe front tucks and pointy collar that made him feel an uncharacteristic desire to muss her up a little. More than a little, he realized, then deliberately turned and paced as far from her as the phone cord allowed. It’d been a long time since he’d been attacked by such immediate lust.
Stretched to the end of his tether, Cullen wheeled again and noticed that the woman—the lieutenant—had beautiful skin. A pale saffron. As she’d taken the chair he pulled out, Cullen had detected a faint hint of sandalwood mixed with something sweet. He found the scent a pleasing combination. Too pleasing.
“Cloris. I have to go. I’m keeping my guest waiting. Yes, I’ll call Robert and Caroline. We’ll coordinate for Tuesday, I promise.”
Absently dropping the receiver in its cradle, Cullen drew a hand through his thick hair. “Sorry about the wait. May I offer you a beverage before we begin? I believe we have coffee, tea, or bottled water in various flavors.”
“Thank you, but no.” Mei wanted to get down to business. The intense way this man studied her left her feeling at a disadvantage.
“I hope you don’t mind if I pour myself a cup of coffee. That was this year’s chairwoman of an art showing we’re trying to put together. Cloris Gaston has a way of talking on and on without taking a breath. I find I need some caffeine.”
Mei relaxed a little. “In that case, I’ll have a cup of tea.”
Cullen rounded the desk and strode toward a corner of the room Mei now saw held a coffeepot, microwave and minibar. He’d just set two cups on a tray when one of the children Mei had seen earlier, the girl, tore into the room, sobbing loudly. Cullen stepped out from behind the counter and swung the child up in a tangle of bare arms and legs.
Mei noticed that the child’s bathing suit was wetter now than it had been before. A damp stain spread across the front of Cullen’s shirt and dripped down his gray slacks when he abruptly sat, placing the girl on his lap.
Mei tensed, expecting a severe reprisal.
“These look like real tears,” Cullen said after a cursory assessment. Taking out a snowy handkerchief, he dabbed the girl’s tear-streaked cheeks.
Nodding, the child managed to sob out, “Bobby punched a hole in my sea horse float. He was playing monster, but I told him I didn’t wanna play. He wouldn’t quit even when Freda told him to stop, Daddy. Bobby knows I hate it when he makes monster noises. I slipped on the pool steps and fell and cut my knee.”
Mei watched Cullen inspect the injury. The tender manner in which the big man ministered to his child impressed her. If she or Stephen had ever interrupted her father when he was holding a meeting, they’d have spent a full day in their rooms contemplating their grievous infraction of the house rules. It wasn’t that she and Stephen weren’t loved; it was more that all things in the Ling home had an order. The adults’ privacy held the highest priority.
Mei listened as the girl Archer introduced as his daughter, Belinda, begged her father to punish the offensive Bobby. Cullen didn’t barter, which also impressed Mei. He washed her cut at a sink behind the bar, dressed her knee and gave his daughter a hug. After which, he advised her to go back and settle her differences with her brother.
“Belinda and Bobby are twins,” Cullen remarked to Mei. He filled a tea ball, which he placed in a flowered cup, then poured hot water into a small metal teapot. He set the cup and pot on his desk. “By and large they’re great kids for eight-year-olds,” he said, returning for his pottery mug. “Belinda, though, is the original drama queen. I suspect sometimes she only wants to check out my guests. If she’d really come to complain about her brother, he’d have flown in right behind her to defend himself.” Grinning, Cullen sat down again