...Jeff watched her dig through one of the many cardboard boxes scattered throughout the living area. “Moving in or out?”
“Out.” She pulled a crystal vase from a wad of newspaper. “My lease is up and I can’t afford the rent increase.” She pointed to what looked like a sun porch at the other end of the house. “Everything is all set up in my studio. Why don’t you make yourself comfortable? You can look through the paintings. I won’t be long.”
Halfway to an island that separated the gold-brown living room from rust-red kitchen, she spun around to face him. “My moving won’t interfere with doing the work for you. I can give you references if—”
“No, no, honey.” The endearment was a hold-over from the old days. It felt natural to use it. He hurried her way. “I…it’s…” Another head reared its ugly head, that of the coward. While he struggled for the right words, Jeff dusted his hand from her shoulder downward until he could cup her elbow.
“It’s not your business that brought me here. It’s mine.”
Confusion wrinkled the space between her arched brows. “I don’t understand. When we last saw each other, you said you’d applied for a government job and were going through the acceptance process. Michael said he’d heard it was something in research.”
“I suppose that’s a polite way to say it. I’m a special agent for the DEA.”
The wrinkle deepened. A flash of anger shadowed it. “You’re a drug agent? What in the world would you want with me? I don’t do drugs. I don’t sell them. I don’t—”
Jeff lifted his hand to stop the mounting tirade. “I was asked to approach you for your help.”
Megan cocked her head slightly. “I don’t under—” She pulled in a deep breath. “Perhaps this is a conversation best had sitting down. Go on into my studio. It’s about the only room not cluttered with packing boxes. I’ll just be a minute.”
Professional and polite. Whatever vibe that had existed when he walked in the door was gone. In fact, Jeff rather felt like he was a kid being sent to his room, especially when she turned her back to him to tend to the flowers. He wanted to plead for Megan’s understanding right then and there. Somehow he had a feeling begging wouldn’t help his case.
He gave her a nod and walked on to a studio as brightly lit as her face had been when he arrived. Jeff doubted he’d see that look again any time soon, if at all. And it hurt more than he wanted it to. Seeing her again had made him want her all the more. The wall she’d slammed up between them hurt and that wasn’t good. Business and pleasure were a lethal combination.
Seeing the sage green bistro table and chairs set with a carafe of coffee, sea green cups with matching plates, and wedges of chocolate cake tiered between the settings didn’t help his dilemma. It was a homey touch, a hint of the life normal people had. Jeff lived out of a suitcase. His friends were few, limited to those he worked with. Romantic entanglements were nil. Any needs he had were relieved with the date of the month. It wasn’t enough anymore. He wondered if it ever had been. All because the light he’d seen in the love-of-his-life’s eyes was snuffed out by the reality of his visit. And at that moment, Jeff would do anything to get it back.
Business and pleasure? Very lethal combination. For the first time in his career, Jeff wasn’t smart enough to keep them divided. He wanted Megan and, damn it, he was going to have her…somehow.
Maybe one time would take the edge off.
Jeff nearly laughed out loud. One time? Who was he kidding? He’d been sucker punched. Megan O’Connor had him by the balls. He’d be wise to keep that little tidbit to himself. She’d be figuring it out soon enough on her own...