Strapless. Leigh Riker

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      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 wrong.” So wrong he couldn’t imagine. “And rude.”

      “Come on, I’m joking. I could tell, the one night we had dinner at her place, that she had eyes for me.” He reached for Darcie again, his long-fingered hand grazing a breast before she scooted away. “You wouldn’t run off and leave a man in need, would you?”

      Darcie didn’t plan them. The words popped out.

      “Claire thinks you’re married.”

      Merrick sat up. “Claire should mind her own business.”

      “Are you?” Darcie persisted.

      “If I was, I wouldn’t tell her.”

      “Or me?” she couldn’t help saying.

      His gaze flickered. “What is this, Darce? We went to dinner. Fell into bed. Had a good time. Just like usual. Didn’t we?”

      “Did we?” She wasn’t sure at the moment.

      “Christ’s sake.” He rolled out of bed, raising the scent of stale sheets. “If you’re going to get funky on me with the relationship thing, I’m gone.”

      “The relationship thing?”

      “You know. ‘It’s time for us to talk about commitment.’ Wedding rings. Honeymoons on Maui or St. Kitt’s.” He grimaced. “Babies.”

      “What’s wrong with children? You always tell me you love kids.”

      “Sure, somebody else’s.” He leaned over to plant a kiss on her mouth while an image of his sweet-faced nephew, then Claire’s newborn daughter flashed through Darcie’s mind. “Why would you want to get fat and gassy carrying some guy’s brat?”

      “I don’t. Yet. But someday…” With someone, she thought.

      He brushed another kiss along her collarbone. “You sure can’t see me walking the floor with a squalling infant, can you?”

      Hmm. With that image, another flash of memory caught her. Merrick in a dimly lit bar the night they met. Merrick, with his smooth blond hair, his dark-blue eyes, his upper-class smile, talking her into bed that first time. Then a newer fantasy came to mind: Merrick, pushing a baby carriage. Obviously, a far-off vision he didn’t share.

      “No, I suppose not.” She didn’t know why but disappointment surged inside her. “I suppose your nephew’s birthday party is enough for a man of your stature….”

      “What, are you being sarcastic?”

      Darcie slid from bed to face him, toes digging in the carpet. “No. Are you?”

      “What nephew?” he said.

      She frowned. “The little boy you told me about. СКАЧАТЬ