There was a flash of humor in his eyes, but still he shook his head in negation. “Will you show me around the shop a little?” he asked in an obvious bid to change the subject.
“All right, then, H. Gideon. I’ll show you around, although, honestly, I haven’t seen the whole place myself yet. Come on back with me, won’t you?” She turned, gesturing for him to follow her toward the rear of the store.
H. Gideon?Fighting an exasperated grin, he shoved his hands into his pockets and walked behind as she led him down the two main aisles, one by one, from the middle to the front and back again. He discovered that he was more interested in watching the shift and sway of her hips in the long, flowing skirt than in examining the shop’s wares.
That surprised him, because Fiona Murphy wasn’t anything like the type of woman who normally caught his eye. She wasn’t polished or professional—for God’s sake, her auburn hair looked like it reeked of static electricity. He’d never seen it—or her—resembling anything sleek or styled, and she certainly wasn’t a sharp, ambitious businesswoman.
She was as different from the type of women he usually dated—like Rachel Backley—as a White Zinfandel was from an oak-barrel Chardonnay—or, better yet, more like fruit punch compared to a blush Moscato: colorful, sweet, and punchy, but not what one would serve to guests.
Yet, the woman had been drifting into his mind more often than she should…and he felt as though he had no choice but to try and figure out why. Perhaps that was why he’d decided to return the compact himself—so he could try and put his fascination to rest. To move on.
Gideon dragged his attention from his intriguing hostess and focused on his surroundings. The little boutique was surprisingly intriguing and inviting, with the glow of light and the ambience of history and age.
Fiona led him past a large desk, where papers and writing utensils were scattered, and an old fashioned, wired telephone sat buried among them.
“What happened here?” he asked when he noticed a pile of ceramic shards scattered over the floor about three-quarters of the way back into the store.
Fiona stopped to see what he meant, and he fancied she looked a bit uncomfortable.
“I—uh—backed into that table and knocked it off,” she explained. “I haven’t located a broom yet, so there it sits.” She gave a little laugh, then continued to walk along the aisle into the rear of the shop, where the lighting became dimmer and the ceiling lower.
“It’s like a cave back here,” Gideon commented, watching her turn on lights as they went. The bell-like sleeve of her sweater fell back to the elbow as she reached for a pull-cord. He admired the long, graceful line of her arm and allowed his gaze to continue its logical path over her shoulder, then to wander over the swell of her breasts. In the low light she looked elfin and ethereal with her halo of burnished hair, flowing clothing, and long, slender build.
“It is,” she agreed, and for a moment, he forgot what it was she was agreeing to. “It’s a little nerve-wracking coming into the back here alone in the dark when you don’t know where you’re going,” she continued after a pause.
“I can imagine.” He followed as she turned a corner, and noticed a large desk with three lamps on it, sitting just at the juncture of the bend in the aisle. Something about the walnut secretary caught his attention, and he paused, peering at the wall behind it. Fiona had only switched on one of the lights. He reached to pull the cord of the middle one, the one with the cream-colored shade decorated with fringe.
He thought he heard a sharp intake of breath from Fiona, and when he glanced at her, she was staring at him and the lamp as though waiting for them to spontaneously draw swords.
Her eyes seemed fixed on his hand. “Is something wrong?” he asked, yanking the lamp cord. The cord clicked, and nothing happened.
She puffed out the breath she’d been holding, making him even more confused. “It doesn’t seem to work,” he said, wondering what was up with her.Such a strange woman.
“Why don’t you check to see if it’s plugged in.” Her voice sounded thready.
“All right.” Still confused by her sudden change of demeanor, Gideon shifted around the massive desk and followed the cord, which, sure enough, dangled to the ground. He found a plug, shoved it in, and pulled the cord. The light glowed.
“Thank you.” Her words were fervent, and the expression on her face still appeared drawn.
“Are you all right?” he asked again. He felt as if he were missing something important.
“I’m fine. Fine now. What were you looking at back here?” Indeed, she sounded more like her easy, informal self.
“I just was looking at this desk a bit more closely.” He couldn’t explain why he was interested in the ugly piece of furniture. It wasn’t his style at all. Heavy-featured walnut with tarnished silver pulls and nicks throughout did not turn him on.
But Fiona did.
Gideon stepped away from her abruptly, wondering if she sensed his suddenly raging testosterone.Where the hell did that come from?
“When I came here yesterday, that same desk caught my attention too. Maybe it’s because of where it’s situated, here in this little corner, kind of under the stairs.” She smiled up at him, and for the first time, he noticed the tiniest little dimple near the corner of her full, sensual lips. His mouth went dry and he discovered he couldn’t seem to look away.
“I found what looks like a storage room back here,” Fiona was saying, pointing to a closet door on the back wall. “The door to it is locked, but I bet the key is in that mess you gave me the other day. I’m hoping to find a broom in there so I can clean up that porcelain. I just have to go back to the front and get the keys.”
Gideon allowed her to pass by him in that narrow aisle way, and he caught the same spicy scent that had seemed to filter in and out of his office since she’d been there on Thursday—which was ridiculous. There was no way her perfume still permeated his office. He was imagining things.
He followed her on along the aisle toward the rear of the store. Along the way, the shop morphed from the neatly cluttered arrangement of merchandise into the disorganized array of a back room. There was no door that led to the behind-the-scenes area, nor even any indication that one had left the store and entered a domain available only to the proprietor—but this part of the establishment was clearly not for the eyes of the customer.
The only separation from the front area from the back was the large secretary, situated against the wall by the stairs, and an old wooden and silk divider that had probably been used as a dressing screen.
