But, dammit…if they were anywhere, the papers had to be hidden in that antiques store.
Then he finally understood.
Thatwas why the old bastard hadn’t left the shop to a family member.
* * *
It was crazy, but he couldn’t get Fiona out of his mind. Maybe it was the way she’d said, “You’re an incredible kisser,” and then laid one of her own mind-boggling kisses on him…and then breezed out the door without a glance.
Gideon pulled his gaze from the window back to his laptop. Somehow, work didn’t seem so necessary any longer. He had other things on his mind…at least, one other thing.
He gave himself a sharp, mental shake. Thoughts like that—distractions and obsessions—and diversion from good, hard work were what had ruined his father. Chasing pipe dreams and setting aside practical pursuits had screwed him up—diverted him into drugs and deals and a lifetime in jail.
It had ruined his mother’s life as well.
God, he missed her.
Gideon firmed his lips and sternly returned to his work, poising his fingers on the smooth, concave keys of the laptop.
Men like his father were poison for any woman, and he knew he had the same tendencies his old man had. Good thing he’d basically been raised by his grandfather—the old slave-driver. The old man, who’d actually begun to soften since meeting Iva, had never had time for unimportant things—like self-expression or daydreams. That was just as well. Gideon’s father had allowed self-expression to rule his life and daydreams to ruin it.
Gideon was a good attorney—an excellent one—he reminded himself again, and he was not about to allow himself to be swayed from what was really important.
Stability. Predictability. Nose-to-grindstone. Professionalism. Integrity.
Besides, allowing a woman to dictate to him who he could or couldn’t see was not going to happen in this lifetime. He didn’t need that from Fiona Murphy, or anyone. It was her loss, after all.
* * *
A week after the open house, Fiona and Carl were just closing up the shop. It was late Monday evening, and it had been a slow day—but an appreciated reprieve from a surprisingly brisk weekend.
“I’m glad we had a bit of a break today,” Fiona commented, leaning against the heavy walnut secretary that held the three lamps. Since Carl had come on board, she’d become ambivalent about that piece of furniture, and the weird lamp as well. Once he told her that the desk was pretty worthless—except for the fact that it was made of walnut—she lost her sense of awe toward it. They’d moved it out from the small alcove where it had been nestled under the staircase, and now it sat off to one side in the main part of the shop.
There had been no more unexplained lights, no more cool breezes. Everything seemed completely normal.
Carl nodded in response to her comment. “Yes, it was nice to spend time pricing some of that inventory in the back and upstairs. Listen, Fiona, do you mind if I take off now? My headache is raging, and all I want to do is lie down and take some aspirin. I don’t mean to leave you in the lurch or anything, but do you mind if I go?”
“No, not at all,” Fiona said breezily, although a wave of panic washed over her. She quashed it firmly. What was wrong with her?
She couldn’t avoid being alone in her own shop forever, for pity’s sake.
“Go on home and take care of yourself,” she said breezily, in case anyone—or anything—was around to hear.
He looked at her strangely. “Are you all right? Is something wrong?”
“No, no.” Her cheeks heated. “Please, go on home. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
As Carl left, Fiona realized that shehad,in fact, been alone in her shop since he’d started working for her. Not for long, and not at night as she was now, but she had been alone. That made her feel better, and after Carl left, she turned on Janis Joplin and sang about Bobby McGee as she cleaned up for the night.
Fiona was sweeping along the back of the hall when she looked down in the place where that large walnut secretary had been sitting and noticed something yellow on the floor. When the broom didn’t pick it up, she crouched to see what it was.
Suddenly, a breeze—icy cold, sudden and cutting—zinged across her cheek and over the nape of her neck. The air moved so sharply it buffeted her hair.
Fiona swallowed hard, freezing in an awkward crouch. Her heart thudded nauseatingly as her stomach twisted, turning into a big, tight knot.
Then she smelled something, and a cold sweat broke out over her torso.Roses.Strong and sweet—it was definitely roses.
She breathed slowly, waiting.
