Darcie grinned but let a few beats pass while her grandmother scooped up a stack of newspapers, some magazines. She was addicted to the New York Times crossword puzzle and at least twenty financial publications. Since being widowed fifteen years ago, Eden had become a success in the stock market. Her love life was equally legendary.
“If you don’t behave, I’ll have to tell Mom.”
Eden made the sign of the cross. “Spare me, you thankless child. That son of mine could have married well. Instead, look at him. Henpecked by that virago of a wife in Via Spiga pumps and—have you seen it?—that faux fur jacket. It looks like road kill.” She admired her own thinly strapped sandals with three-inch heels. Sweet Baby Jane wound around Eden’s slim ankles before moving on. “Still, if it weren’t for Janet Harrington Baxter, I wouldn’t have you.”
In spite of herself—Eden said such things a hundred times a day—Darcie felt her eyes mist. “I love you, too, Gran.”
She waved away the sentiment. “You, and every man in this building.”
“That’s hardly the same thing.”
“God be praised.” Eden’s blue-green eyes twinkled like peridots. “I’m going to miss you, you know. There’ll be no one to keep those wolves from my door.”
“With that sign dangling from the bell saying Abandon Trousers, All Ye Who Enter Here? I suppose not.” As she spoke, she tracked the cat’s slow saunter in her direction. Every time Sweet Baby Jane got near, she clawed the hell out of Darcie—on purpose, Darcie felt sure. She’d never known an animal so vicious at heart (dogs usually like me) but the small injuries seemed worth the free rent at Gran’s. Never mind the traffic.
“Darcie Elizabeth Baxter, there is no such sign.”
“There should be,” she had just said when, without warning, Sweet Baby Jane’s sharp teeth suddenly clamped down on her calf. Darcie yelped, but Eden chose not to notice. Her beloved pet could do no wrong.
“I am far from being a promiscuous woman. At my age?” She covered her heart with scarlet-tipped fingernails. With the exception of her one mild heart attack years ago, Eden remained in excellent health, allowing for occasional bouts of angina during stress. “Don’t be ridiculous. If you even think of spreading that vicious rumor, no one will believe you.”
Darcie shook off the cat, trying not to draw Eden’s attention, her leg stinging.
“They won’t listen,” she teased. “They know you.”
“Well.” Eden raised a perfectly penciled brow. “The last man who slept in my bed did leave with a big smile on his face.”
“Norman?”
“No, not Norman. Jerome Langley.”
Darcie rubbed her injured calf. “The little bald Jewish guy who never holds open the elevator door? He picks his nose, Gran. I’m disappointed in you. Again.”
“The last man—it may have been Norman at that—was six months ago.” Eden spun Darcie toward the stairs that led to the second level of the apartment. “How promiscuous is that?”
“Not very. But you’re lying.”
Her grandmother marched her across the pale-beige carpet, Sweet Baby Jane following Eden like a devoted dog. “You’ll never know. And although I’ll miss you, it’s time to pack instead of snooping in my romantic business.”
“You’re right. But did I tell you? They sun topless over there.”
Gran’s steps faltered. “That southern hemisphere sun is strong, I’m told, and the new hole in the ozone doesn’t help. Be careful then—but do show your wares, Darcie. You have nice breasts, which some Australian hunk is bound to appreciate. With a bit of ‘exposure’ there’s no telling what you’ll find.”
“You want me to look for a man?” And bare herself so he’d even notice?
“You’re not getting younger yourself, dear. It’s time you considered a home of your own, several children…not right away…but still, a nice hard organ to bump up against you every night.” She repeated, “Every night, Darcie.”
She groaned. “I’ll see Merrick twice this week.”
Darcie had a sudden image of him on Monday, Palm Pilot in hand. Thursday night’s free, too. Same time, same place.
“Then by all means,” Eden murmured, “let’s fling open the patio doors and shout. Loud enough that those idiots trying to kill each other in traffic on the bridge can hear—” she waved toward the George Washington “—that man has seen fit to bestow his presence and his sexual attributes—”
“Down, Gran.” She was blushing. When Sweet Baby Jane smirked at her, Darcie sidestepped the cat. While Eden wasn’t looking she booted SBJ gently in the rear. With a shriek of outrage, the animal streaked upstairs to lie in wait for her.
“Why, what happened, my little furball?” Eden called. As if she didn’t know.
Darcie cleared her throat for attention. “It’s not only Merrick’s fault we don’t see each other often. I have the trip across the river to consider.”
“Horse pucky.”
At the stairs to the upper floor Eden dumped her duster in a teak stand by the shorter flight of steps that led down to her small foyer. No cloud rose from the clump of feathers, which seemed to satisfy her.
“I know you don’t welcome my meddling. But if I were you,” she said, “I’d kick Merrick’s highly toned ass right down an elevator shaft at the Grand Hyatt. You can do better. Remember your father’s mistake.”
Gran had a point. Her words about Merrick only echoed Claire’s.
“Merrick does like Via Spigas, too,” Darcie admitted.
Eden grinned. “I am going to miss you. You always make me laugh.”
But before Darcie could put a foot on the first step to go upstairs, and shut her bedroom door before the cat could find her, Eden caught her arm. “Here’s more advice—which I urge you to heed, dear. It’s a very good sign for future happiness. Never—but never—marry a man who can’t make you roar with laughter.”
“Assuming I find this paragon of masculinity while I’m in Sydney working, would you like me to bring you one, too?”
“Don’t stop there. A pair would be nice. In those sexy Akubra hats.”
“Roll over, babe. You know you love it from behind.”
Darcie couldn’t imagine what she’d done to deserve such sweet nothings in her ear—just as she couldn’t comprehend Merrick’s indifference to her news last night that she was going to Australia. He’d barely said a word. In the dark hotel room on Friday near dawn she came awake to the murmured male voice beside her. A hard arm lightly covered with honeyed hair wrapped around her waist to drag her closer across the warm sheets, then turned her. A hard appendage jutted against her spine, insistently moving in a provocative rhythm Darcie recognized too well—but at the moment didn’t welcome.
His delivery left something to be desired, too. His attitude.
“Would you stop? Merrick, quit.” She shoved hair out of her eyes and struggled up in bed. She stared at him, bleary-eyed, then squinted at the clock on the night table. How had she slept so long? “It’s almost 5:00 a.m. I need to get home to change for work. You know Gran worries when I don’t come back all night.”
“That’s what you get for living with an eighty-two-year-old woman.” His laugh turned into a groan when she jabbed his ribs. “Ouch. I bet she hasn’t made love in four decades.”
“You’re