Mr. Hyde’s Assets Page 7

  Mr. Hyde answered the door quickly, a blur of golden hair and fierce blue eyes. Candice had little time to do more than gasp as he grabbed her arm and pulled her inside. They landed against the wall next to the door, his body almost touching hers, his breath warm against her ear as he whispered in a deep, mock-sinister voice, “Were you followed?”

  A scream had locked in her throat. Now her body went limp as a noodle, then instantly rigid again when she realized going limp caused her to press against him. They were already too close—so close she could smell the mint toothpaste on his breath and feel his belt buckle against her belly.

  The man was hopelessly insane.

  Breathlessly, she inched along the wall until her body was free. Her laugh came out all shaky, revealing. “You scared the dickens out of me!”

  “Well, we can’t have that, can we? Especially when you’re here to relax.” But he smiled wolfishly, his eyes dancing with the devil. His hair was still damp from a recent shower, and he wore a faded striped cotton shirt open nearly to the waist of his low-slung jeans, almost as if he had forgotten to button it.

  And he was barefoot.

  Candice swallowed, jerking her gaze up, only to collide with the disturbing sight of his bared chest. She looked away, anywhere but at him. The man obviously needed tutoring in etiquette. To say the least, shoes were expected when inviting a woman—

  “Take off your shoes.”

  Candice gawked at him. “What?”

  He leaned a casual arm against the wall, smiling mysteriously as he repeated, “Take off your shoes. And let your hair down. In fact, it wouldn’t hurt to unbutton the first few buttons of your shirt as well.”

  She gasped. “I beg your—”

  “Lady, you don’t have to beg me for anything. Just crook your little finger, and I’ll come running.”

  His drawling words shivered over her, alarming and arousing at the same time. She never should have come; she should have known her friendly, harmless version of Mr. Hyde was too good to be true. Drawing herself up, she pressed her unpainted lips together, hoping the hurt didn’t show. “I think coming here was a mistake. You obviously have the wrong impression of me, Mr. Hyde.”

  “Nope.” He was smiling again, a secret, coaxing smile. “Just showing you how to loosen up, relax, have some fun.”

  Candice tried to swallow, but her throat felt too dry. Tears threatened, adding to her humiliation. How had she misread him so totally? Considered him a potential friend? “I think your idea of fun is very different than mine, Mr. Hyde.”

  “Nope. We have the same ideas. You just don’t know it yet. Let me show you.”

  His arrogance amazed her. Adding to her outrage, he reached for her shirt collar, as if to unbutton it. She slapped at his hand, then made a clumsy dive for the door. It wasn’t easy, with all six feet of him in the way. “Let me out of here, you barbarian!”

  “Nope.”

  “And stop saying that!” She wiped a strand of hair out of her eyes and glared at him. So what if her lips trembled and he knew she was about to cry? She didn’t owe him anything, and she didn’t care what he thought. In fact, first thing in the morning she would have Mrs. Merryweather fire him!

  He grabbed her gently by the shoulders, holding her effortlessly as she struggled. Finally, she released an exasperated breath. She wasn’t frightened… yet. Which was absurd, considering she was being held hostage by a brawny, golden-skinned handyman who could easily snap her in two, as Mrs. Merryweather had warned.

  That reminder should have scared her, but it didn’t. Instinct told her she was safe. It had to be instinct, or maybe sheer stupidity, but something about that smiling mouth and those dark blue, twinkling eyes clobbered any fear she might have felt.

  “Mrs. Dale, relax.”

  Well, that was comforting—he was mauling her but still addressing her with respect. “How?” she snapped, glaring up at him. She blew harshly at that irritating strand of hair that had worked loose from her barrette, wishing she could fix it so he wouldn’t think her slovenly.

  Dear God, what was she thinking? She shouldn’t care about such a thing. Besides, Mr. Hyde wouldn’t care if her hair was mussed, or her lipstick smudged, or if anything else was out of place. Why would he?

  “That’s what I’m trying to teach you here,” he said with a smile. She drew a sharp breath. And realization belatedly began to dawn. What had he been trying to tell her for the last ten minutes… before she had twisted his meaning so? How could she be so dense? All she had to do was take a good look at his eyes and see the gentle, merry light dancing there. Not insanity, not arrogance, not lust, but fun-loving, caring human emotion. And somehow—amazingly—understanding.

  The resistance left Candice like a rush of air from a balloon. She sagged against him, her head falling to his shoulder. She couldn’t look at him, not after that embarrassing display. “I’m sorry. I… I guess I misunderstood you.” His chest jerked a bit, and she realized he was laughing and trying to hide it. Heat flushed her cheeks, but she wasn’t angry. She deserved to be laughed at.

  “I’ll say. Woman, you are one uptight person,” he teased. “Good thing I’m here to give you some lessons in relaxing.”

  “I know,” she mumbled, glad for the concealing shelter of his shoulder. He smelled like soap, a clean, manly scent, reminding her of a commercial she’d seen long ago for Irish Spring. And he smelled faintly of paint, a not unpleasant smell. Just as she was about to pull away, she felt his hand on her hair. She stilled, wondering, fearing.

  Hoping?

  A few seconds later there was a slight pressure against her neck; then she heard the distinct click of her barrette snapping open. Her hair tumbled free. She rarely wore it loose. Howard…

  Mr. Hyde’s voice sounded slightly rough. “That’s better. Now, how about those shoes.”

  Candice leaned away, shaking her hair out a little self-consciously. It felt strange but good. And she felt shy and reckless, a confusing combination. But then, this man had a way of doing that to her.

  When he took her by the hand and led her to a chair, she didn’t resist, even though now he would see her feet and likely poke fun at her. She had such ugly—

  “You have beautiful feet. Elegant, so slim and… sexy.”

  Sexy? Candices mouth fell open in shock. “I—my feet are big and ugly and—”

  “Nope. They’re beautiful.” As if to prove his point, he lifted her leg and admired her foot from every angle. “See that curve? High arches—a sign of nobility. Long, slim toes. Smooth heels. I even admired them the first time I saw you.”

  The first time he’d seen her, that day at the clinic, she had indeed been wearing sandals, she remembered, to complement a rather daring dress she’d bought long ago. One Howard had forbidden her to wear. Donning it that day had been a tentative step toward independence, and an attempt to camouflage herself from the media.

  “In fact, your feet were the first thing I noticed about you.”

  “They were?” she squeaked, trying to draw her foot away. He held fast. A pulse pounded where his thumb pressed into the arch, and his skin felt hot. It had to be, because everywhere his hand touched, she burned.

  Finally letting go of her foot, he rose and placed her shoes by the door, then came back, kneeling before her. Candice held her breath. He’d said something about unbuttoning her shirt, but surely he wouldn’t—

  He would. He did. One button at a time. But with all the emotion he might exhibit while undressing a child. Candice was shocked at the disappointment she felt, berating herself for her shameless thoughts. Friends, that’s what they were. And that was all she wanted or needed. She was his employer, and now they were striking up a tentative friendship.

  Her breath hitched in shock as his knuckles grazed the top of her breasts.

  An accident. A pure and innocent accident, she was certain, even as a startling, unfamiliar warmth flooded her stomach and thighs.

  Just as she was about to panic over he
r own reaction, he suddenly backtracked and refastened a button, not looking at her as he mumbled, “Just the first two will suffice.”

  He settled back on his heels and finally met her gaze, his eyes clear, his gaze direct. The teasing light had faded, replaced with an elusive emotion Candice would have given her eyeteeth to decipher. She experienced a burning need to know Mr. Hyde, inside and out.

  “Now you look the way a mother-to-be ought to.”

  She blinked, startled. She wasn’t certain what she’d expected him to say, but it wasn’t that. Her curiosity got the better of her. “And what did I look like before?”

  His gaze drifted slowly over her, still unreadable, serious. “My mother,” he stated quietly.

  Chapter Six

  Candice resisted the urge to slap her hands over her ears. Surely he hadn’t said… “I don’t understand.”

  “No, you wouldn’t.” He sighed, looking uncomfortable. “It’s a long story. Forget it. I’m sorry I ever brought it up.”

  Candice wasn’t one to push. Even when he’d pried into her personal life earlier, he’d had the grace to back off. She would do the same. But some day she hoped he’d trust her enough to confide in her. Because she sensed he needed to, wanted to, she told herself. And because she was curious, which, she also told herself, was natural.

  The timer on the oven began to buzz, breaking the queer silence. They both turned to look in the direction of the tiny kitchen adjoining the small living area. Candice knew the apartment also boasted a bedroom and a bath. Furnished with cast-offs from the big house, it was actually a homey, comfortable place. She recognized the mauve-and-blue striped sofa and chair; she’d ordered them for the den, and Howard had hated them.

  That’s in the past, Candice. All in the past.

  “You made a pizza?” she registered. Then she flushed, realizing her surprise might sound rude. Lots of men cooked these days, didn’t they? “I mean…”

  With a grin, Austin let her off the hook. “No, I sent out earlier so the deliveryman wouldn’t wake the dragon. I put the pie in the oven to reheat a few minutes before ten. Come on, let’s eat.”

  She placed her hand in his outstretched one, and he gallantly helped her rise. Much more of this and she might want to move in. He made her feel… like a person instead of an object. Like a woman, instead of just a dutiful, obedient wife. Feminine, yet strong.

  Weak-kneed with desire.

  Candice covered her gasp with a cough. Lord, what was wrong with her? She was a widowed, moral, pregnant woman who…

  Who possessed normal desires.

  Desires? Well, maybe it was a hormonal thing, because she’d never really experienced desire this way before.

  In a daze, she accompanied Mr. Hyde to the table, where he politely pulled out her chair.

  When she was seated, she watched him turn to take the pizza from the oven. She smiled at the sight of the smoking box, relaxing a bit as she realized that at least the man lacked expertise in the culinary department. Another few moments and the cardboard would have burst into flames.

  While he shoveled pizza onto paper plates, Candice dug her toes into the carpet, trying to remember the last time she’d eaten a meal barefoot. Maybe as a child. Never with Howard.

  Candice sighed and hooked her hair behind her ears. A breeze from the ceiling fan above the table caressed the skin exposed by her now open collar, making her a bit uneasy again. Then she reminded herself that loosening her collar had been an innocent act, a lesson in relaxing. Oddly, though, it was working the opposite way. It made her more conscious of her femininity.

  Mr. Hyde turned to bring the filled plates to the table and set one before her. Broad-shouldered and barefoot? He looked every inch the confident, comfortable male.

  A moment later, he sat across from her and scooted a can of ice-cold Coke her way.

  She noticed it was decaffeinated, and she smiled. Then she scanned the table, puzzled. “No forks?”

  “Nope.” The grin was back, the strange shadows gone from his expression. “It’s illegal to eat pizza with a fork.”

  “Another… lesson?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She watched him pick up a slice of pizza and take a huge bite. How many years had it been since she’d eaten pizza? Way too many. Just looking at the greasy pepperoni sitting atop a thick layer of gooey cheese made her mouth water. After a surreptitious glance to make sure he wasn’t watching, she lifted the hot slice and took the plunge.

  It was delicious, every fattening, cholesterol-laden bite of it, and probably worth the heartburn Howard always told her would come after eating such plebian fare.

  Howard was probably turning over in his grave.

  “You’ve got tomato sauce on your chin,” Austin pointed out matter-of-factly.

  Candice automatically grabbed for her napkin and dabbed her chin—before catching sight of his mischievous expression.

  “Gotcha. Lesson number two: don’t take everything and everyone so seriously.” He started on his third slice of pizza. She was still working on the first. “By the way, are you going to breast-feed?”

  Candice jerked in shock, and the pizza in her hand did a somersault, landing pepperoni side down on her silk blouse.

  Austin kept right on eating, his look way too innocent to be believable. He shrugged his big shoulders. “Pizza now, baby puke later—one way or the other, that shirt had to go.”

  Lesson number three? Candice wondered. She peeled the pizza from her shirt, grimacing at the stain left behind. Yuck.

  Austin pushed back his chair. “I’ve got a T-shirt you can throw on.”

  “No, I—that’s okay.” The possibility of wearing his shirt sounded so… intimate.

  He kept on going as if she hadn’t protested, returning with a black and gold football jersey. “It’s my favorite shirt.”

  “You played football?” Why was she surprised? With those shoulders and muscled thighs, was it any wonder?

  Nodding he rolled the shirt into a ball and threw it, football style. She caught it, fingering the material. Silly tears stung her eyes. She must be tired, to cry just because he’d offered her his favorite shirt.

  “Tight end. You know where the bathroom is?”

  Tight end. Referring to the position he played in football conjured up an image of him cleaning the pool in those indecently short shorts. Oh, boy, was it ever. Another admirable asset of Mr. Hyde.

  Candice scrambled to her feet and headed for the bathroom to change before he could notice her flaming face and guess her illicit thoughts. She shut and locked the door, unfastening her blouse with shaking fingers. He did have a tight butt, and was it really all that horrible of her to notice?

  Slipping the jersey over her shoulders, she moved to stand in front of the mirror over the sink. There was a dab of pizza sauce at the corner of her mouth, and Coke fizzling on her upper lip. The shoulder seams of the jersey hung nearly to her elbows, the hem to her knees, covering her skirt and making it appear as if she had nothing on beneath.

  Austin had created the perfect disguise, she thought, looking at her wide-eyed expression. Nobody would recognize this teenager wannabe. Including Mrs. Merryweather.

  Including herself.

  “You okay in there?” He rapped on the door.

  Her heart leaped against her ribs. “Y—Yes, I’m fine. I’ll be out in a moment.” Darn and double darn! Even her voice sounded like a teenager’s, all fluttery and silly. Maybe Mr. Hyde wasn’t such a good influence. She had to agree she was a little uptight, but this was a rocket blast in the opposite direction.

  Maybe she shouldn’t open that door and let him see her like this.

  “I don’t own a camera, you know.”

  Candice wiped at her mouth with a piece of toilet tissue and eyed her messy blouse, deliberating on whether she should wear it anyway. Although the jersey covered more, she felt more exposed emotionally. Nearly naked. This was too much, too soon.

  He tapped on the door aga
in. “However, there is a hidden video recorder in there. Can’t be too careful these days—most people don’t consider it stealing to take toilet paper.”

  Despite herself, Candice nervously scanned the tiny enclosure, calling herself nine kinds of silly. She found nothing, of course. If only he’d go away, let her compose herself.

  “I can’t believe you can stand up to a clan of money-hungry in-laws, but you can’t face me.”

  Candice froze. Anger wiped out her shyness in the space of a heartbeat. She jerked open the door, surprising Austin. “I thought you said you didn’t read the newspapers!” she flung at him with unmistakable accusation and a big dose of hurt.

  He’d lied. And if he’d lied about that, then how could she trust him at all?

  ———

  Austin tried to think of the best word to describe his stupidity. He’d committed a major blunder, and just when he was making so much progress. Still, his mouth watered as he took in the sight of Candice standing, so furious, in the bathroom doorway. She was one beautiful bundle of sexy mama, with her hair all tousled and wearing his jersey in a way he never could. Gone was Miss Chilly, and in her place was Ms. Hot Tamale.

  Yet, he still couldn’t picture her burping a baby. No, a baby wasn’t in this picture at all. But he was, and the things he wanted to do to her, a baby should never be exposed to.

  Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to embark on this quest to loosen her up. It might be interfering with his objectivity just a tad. He had to remind himself, sternly that Candice Vanausdale was everything he didn’t like in a woman. Yeah, so maybe there was a chance she might make a good mother, with his help, but she’d always be Mrs. Howard Vanausdale. Rich. Spoiled. Sophisticated. Uptight.

  And not for you.

  That inner warning seemed to bounce in one ear and out the other into oblivion.

  When he finally managed to swallow and force his gaze to her eyes, he immediately realized just how seriously he’d blundered. In more ways than one. He said the first thing that came to his dazed mind, which just happened to be the truth.