Conflict of Interest. GINA WILKINS

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ and leather jacket at one end, then turned toward the child. “Okay, let’s look again.”

      They searched behind the cushions and beneath the couch, then peered under a big leather recliner and a couple of armchairs covered in a Southwestern tapestry fabric. Their efforts netted nothing. There weren’t even any dust bunnies beneath the furniture. She wished Gideon’s housekeeper lived in New York; Adrienne could use someone this scrupulous, she thought, recalling her own string of less-than-dedicated domestic workers.

      Sitting back on her heels, she looked at Isabelle again. The child had been peering under tables and behind the television cabinet to no avail. Adrienne could hear doors opening and closing forcefully in another part of the house, probably the kitchen, the slams accompanied by a low mutter that was very likely a string of unintelligible curses. Gideon wasn’t having any better luck with his own search, obviously.

      Remembering what he’d said, Adrienne spoke to Isabelle. “You’ve only been here a few hours?”

      The child nodded. “Nanna brought me.”

      “And you haven’t been anywhere else since?”

      Isabelle shook her head. “I’ve been right here.”

      “You had your owl when you got here?”

      Another nod.

      “Okay.” Adrienne stood. “Tell me everything you’ve done since you arrived.”

      Isabelle puckered her face in thought. “I watched TV, and I drew pictures in Gideon’s office.”

      “He said he would look in the office.”

      The child sniffed. “He already did. He looked all over it.”

      “What did you do after you drew pictures?”

      “I had dinner. Gideon made spaghetti. I spilled some on my clothes,” she added, her lip quivering again, “so Gideon told me to change into my pajamas.”

      “You changed in a bedroom?”

      “No. In the bathroom, because I had to wash spaghetti off my face and hands.”

      “Where did you put the clothes you had on before?”

      “In the hamper.”

      Adrienne held out her hand. “Show me.”

      Slipping her little fingers into Adrienne’s, Isabelle led her down a short hallway to a small bathroom papered in a muted plaid and fitted with oak cabinets and a marble sink and tub. White globe lights framed the beveled mirror over the sink, and a wicker hamper stood beneath a print of ducks in flight at sunrise.

      Isabelle opened the hinged lid of the hamper and pointed at the brightly colored knits tumbled in the bottom. “Those are mine.”

      Adrienne reached in to pick up the spaghetti-sauce-splashed shirt and slacks. Two brown plastic eyes stared up at her from the bottom of the hamper. “Is this a friend of yours?” she asked with a faint smile, holding the toy up for Isabelle’s inspection.

      The child’s face brightened with a broad, dimpled smile. “Hedwig!”

      Adrienne watched as Isabelle hugged the stuffed owl tightly, and then she said, “We’d better go tell your brother we found it.”

      “He’ll be glad. I think he was getting sort of mad. It’s hard to tell with Gideon, though.”

      Adrienne couldn’t help chuckling. “Is it?”

      “Mmm-hmm.” As naturally as if they’d known each other for a long time, she reached up to take Adrienne’s hand again as they moved into the hallway. “I don’t think Gideon’s used to being around kids.”

      Adrienne was intrigued by Isabelle’s mannerisms. She was such a tiny little thing, yet her self-possession seemed years ahead of her age. Adrienne suspected she’d spent a great deal of time with adults. “You don’t think he’s used to kids? Don’t you know?”

      “I haven’t known him very long,” Isabelle confided, then pulled Adrienne into an airy kitchen, where Gideon was peering into an oven.

      The little girl seemed to find the sight amusing. “Hedwig’s not in the oven, Gideon. He’s right here.”

      Closing the oven door, Gideon turned to stare at the child who had transformed from tearful to cheery. “Where was it?”

      “We found him in the clothes hamper. She, um, what’s your name?” Isabelle suddenly thought to ask Adrienne.

      “I’m Adrienne Corley.”

      Isabelle nodded gravely and turned back to Gideon. “Miss Corley found him.”

      Gideon released a pent-up breath. “Good. Now why don’t you and Hagar go watch TV or something while Ms. Corley and I talk a few minutes?”

      “It’s not Hagar, it’s Hedwig,” Adrienne corrected him before Isabelle could do so. “From Harry Potter, right?”

      Isabelle smiled and nodded, then skipped out of the room with her owl. Adrienne watched her leave, then turned to find Gideon looking at her questioningly.

      “I’m in publishing,” she informed him. “I know about Harry Potter.”

      “You want some coffee or something? I could use some myself. Actually, a couple of shots of bourbon sound pretty good right now, but since I’m baby-sitting, I guess I’d better stick with coffee.”

      “Coffee sounds good. Thanks.”

      He waved her to one of the four chairs grouped around a round oak pedestal table. “Have a seat. Want something to eat? I’ve got some lemon pound cake I bought at the bakery yesterday.”

      “That sounds great,” she said, realizing only then how hungry she was. She’d missed dinner during her travel adventures.

      A few minutes later she found herself sitting across the table from Gideon, cake and coffee in front of them. It was somewhat disconcerting to be facing him that way, after the unexpected chaos surrounding her arrival. The search for Hedwig had certainly been an ice-breaker, but now she was having a bit of trouble getting her mind back to business.

      She couldn’t stop thinking about how attractive he was, with those amazing green eyes and that brooding mouth, and his thick, dark hair. She noted only as an objective observer, she assured herself—someone who had reason to imagine his photograph on the back of a book jacket.

      As for anything more than that, she still wasn’t even sure she liked the guy.

      Chapter Two

      Gideon studied the woman sitting across his kitchen table. She didn’t look exactly the way he’d pictured her during their telephone conversations. She was younger, for one thing, no older than his own thirty years, if that. And prettier, with glossy auburn hair and dark-chocolate eyes set in a creamy heart-shaped face. Nice figure, too, the type he referred to as “society sleek.” Small bust, narrow waist, slender hips, long СКАЧАТЬ