Playboy Bachelors. Marie Ferrarella

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СКАЧАТЬ seeing only a jogger in the distance, Philippe experienced a smattering of disappointment. He retreated. Somehow, this was all wrong, although he couldn’t begin to untangle the reasons why. He had work to do.

      Maybe he was working too hard. Rather than take his time or kick back, as was his cousin Beau’s habit, Philippe was always doggedly at his desk, working every available moment he had. Because he believed that all work and no play not only made Jack a dull boy but also helped contribute to the death of his brain cells, he had gone out of his way to institute his weekly poker game, making sure never to miss one.

      But maybe that wasn’t enough. Maybe, like his mother had said to him time and again, he needed to get out of his shell. Needed to go out. With someone of the opposite gender.

      Philippe frowned.

      The fact that he was even thinking like this was proof that he needed to let up a little. To let go.

      Right after this baby’s packed up, he promised himself.

      Famous last words, he mocked. He’d thought somewhere along the same lines when he’d worked on the last program—and all he’d done was jump right into this one.

      Just before he reached his office threshold, Philippe stopped abruptly. Cocking his head to the right, he listened intently.

      No, this time the doorbell wasn’t his imagination. Retracing his steps back to the front door, he swung it open.

      And smiled.

      Kelli was clearly the one who had rung his doorbell. She was standing on her toes, stretching as far as she could, about to press her small finger to the white button again. When the door opened, she offered him a smile that he imagined angels looked to as a standard by which to measure their own smiles.

      “I’m here,” she announced brightly.

      He exchanged looks with J.D. who was standing beside her. A man in jeans and a T-shirt was behind them. His wheat-colored hair and fair complexion fairly shouted that he was related to both.

      “So I see,” Philippe said, turning his attention back to Kelli. He hadn’t really intended to take the girl’s hand, but Kelli had other ideas. She slipped her small hand into his and then tugged him back into his house.

      “I brought stuff to do,” she informed him. “So I won’t get in your way.”

      How could someone so young sound so adult? He nodded in response. “Very thoughtful of you.”

      She beamed. Then suddenly, as if she’d forgotten her manners, she turned around to look at the man behind her. “This is my Uncle Gordon. Mama says you want your house done faster.” A little pint-sized feminine pride slipped into her narrative. “Uncle Gordon is fast, but not as fast as Mama.”

      Philippe caught himself wondering just how fast Mama was. Reining in his thoughts, he slanted a glance toward J.D.

      Damn, but worn T-shirts never looked so good to him before. “I’ll bet,” he acknowledged.

      Something in his tone had Janice struggling to tamp down a wave of warmth. She raised her chin a little, not certain if she should be defensive or not.

      But she could be polite. She nodded at her daughter, her eyes on Philippe’s. “Thanks for letting me do this.”

      “No problem.” He glanced at the man standing behind the little stick of dynamite who still had his hand. “I’m Philippe Zabelle.” He extended his other hand to Kelli’s uncle. “Nice to meet you.”

      Gordon was nothing if not friendly. Grinning broadly, he shook the hand that was offered to him. “Yeah, likewise.” Walking toward the kitchen, he looked around as he passed. “Nice place you have here.”

      Philippe’s laugh was dismissive. “For a bomb shelter.”

      Gordon turned around. “No, I mean it. You’ve got a really great exterior.” He jerked his thumb toward the front of the house. “It gives the place a ritzy look.”

      Philippe supposed so, but that had never been the draw for him. The fact that he and his brothers could all lead separate lives but still be in close proximity to one another was what had sold him on the house.

      That, and that the fact that the outside was painted Wedgwood blue with white trim. Most of the other houses in the immediate vicinity were painted either in shades of rust or in some drab, strange color never to be found in nature. Blue had always been his favorite color.

      The clock was ticking, Janice thought. Both for her and, probably more importantly, for Philippe. She broke up the impromptu meeting.

      “C’mon, Kel, let’s get you settled in,” she said, taking the little girl’s free hand. In her other hand, Janice was carrying a large portfolio filled with several drawings and a painting that Kelli was currently working on. Pausing, she eyed Philippe hesitantly. “It is all right that we use your dining room table, isn’t it?” she asked, quickly adding, “I brought this tablecloth so that it doesn’t accidentally get dirty.”

      “Actually,” Philippe cut in, “I’ve got a much better idea.”

      Kelli watched him eagerly, a kernel of corn about to pop. Janice, hearing the same sentence, felt very protective of Kelli’s feelings. She didn’t want anything to diminish the girl’s zest. “Such as?”

      He led the way to an alcove just off the living room. Yesterday, there had been a refrigerator shoved into the space. He’d moved it last night to the already overflowing family room. He had something different in mind for the space.

      “I thought Kelli might like to use something else instead of just a flat surface.” Walking past the living room, he gestured over to the alcove. It was empty now—except for the small easel that stood in the center.

      Kelli’s eyes became huge. “Look, Mama, it’s kid size,” she exclaimed, running over to it. She touched the easel reverently, as if afraid it would disappear once her fingers came in contact with it. And then she looked at him over her shoulder, joy tinged with a hint of hesitation. “This is for me?”

      He came up to join her. It had taken him several hours to hunt this up. “This used to be mine,” he told her. “But it’s a little too small for me now and it’s been rather sad, sitting all alone in storage. So I’d take it as a personal favor if you used it.”

      Excited, the girl shifted from foot to foot as if about to break into an impromptu game of hopscotch. “Where’s your new one?”

      He laughed, shaking his head. “I don’t have one.”

      “You don’t paint anymore?” Surprise was imprinted on every inch of the small heart-shaped face.

      It was a long story, built on rebellion and not one to tell a child, even a child as stunningly intelligent as Kelli. The easel had never really been put to use and he was surprised he’d saved it. But to keep things simple, he merely said, “No.”

      Surprise was replaced with sympathy. It was obvious Kelli felt that everyone should experience the joy of painting. Reclaiming her hand from her mother, she patted his. “Bet you could ask your mom to get you one and to give you lessons,” she told him.

      It СКАЧАТЬ