The Perfect Man. Carla Fredd

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СКАЧАТЬ and apartments where he and Marc grew up. It was the kind of house a kid like him had dreamed of living in. How different would his life have been if he’d lived here? He shrugged then reached inside the car and grabbed his briefcase and a box of Marc’s possessions. That was the past. Now, home was wherever his next assignment took him. No strings. No obligations. No ties. Only the next assignment, or in this case, where his promise to Marc took him.

      Heat enveloped him as he walked up the front walkway that was lined with a straight row of bushes thick with small, white flowers. As he climbed the short flight of stairs to the wraparound porch, he could smell the sweet scent of the flowers.

      When he reached the door, he rang the doorbell and waited under the cooler shade of the porch. The cement floor had been painted the color of the reddish-brown Birmingham soil. A green mat in front of the door spelled Welcome in black letters. He waited a moment then rang the bell again. She couldn’t have forgotten that he was coming, of that he was sure. She’d even sent him an e-mail verifying the date and time of their meeting. The front door was solid and for her sake he was glad. Doors with fancy glass were pretty, but provided little protection if someone was trying to break in.

      A few seconds later, Chris walked to the windows on the left. Heavy curtains blocked the view inside. He moved to the windows on the other side of the house and cupped a hand over his eyes. The lace curtains might as well have not been there for all the good they were doing. Four froufrou girly chairs were grouped together. In one of those chairs sat Renee Foster. She sat with one foot beneath her knee and the other leg swung lazily. Her pant leg bunched at the knee revealing her calf. A pair of geriatric black shoes sat at attention beside the chair. His gaze went to the bright blue nail polish on her feet.

      She had the prettiest feet he’d ever seen. If they were as soft and smooth as they looked, why in the hell did she hide them in shoes that were just plain ugly? It made him wonder what else she was hiding. He let his gaze follow the arch of her foot, to her ankle and up the smooth curve of her calf. He felt a pull of desire and heat that had nothing to do with the summer weather. What the hell was wrong with him? All she was doing was reading a book and showing her calf and he was acting like she’d offered to strip naked for him.

      “Hell, Foster. Get a grip,” he muttered. She was off-limits. Way off-limits. Chris rapped hard on the window. “Just find the damn necklace and get back to Atlanta.” He knocked harder, making the glass rattle from the force. She blinked as if coming awake after a long night’s sleep. She stared at him as if she didn’t recognize him for a second. Then color flooded her cheeks. He watched as she put the book facedown on the armrest and mouthed, “Be right there.”

      Chris watched as she walked out of the room. Her black pants outlined the shape of her rear. He stood, enjoying the sway of her hips. If things were different he’d make a point of getting to know this woman. But things weren’t different. He turned from the window and walked to the door.

      She opened the door and gestured him inside. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t hear the bell. I hope you weren’t waiting long.”

      He stepped inside the foyer. Sunlight streamed in from a large second-story window and the sweet smell of chocolate reminded him of his favorite bakery in Los Angeles. He hoped she’d offer him a sample of whatever it was she’d baked. If it was as good as it smelled, it might make up for him leaving his apartment so early in the morning.

      “I didn’t wait long,” he said. “You seemed to be really into your book. Do you always get so involved in your book that you don’t hear the doorbell?”

      She closed the door and he saw the faint hint of color in her cheeks. “Not always, but I can pretty much tune out anything when I really get involved with a book. Do you want anything before we get started?”

      Not really, but if getting a drink would get things started he’d take one. He shifted the box and nearly dropped it. “I’ll take anything cold.”

      “Let me take your briefcase,” she said, reaching for the battered leather case.

      Their hands touched briefly, but he could feel the touch as if he’d been branded. Only years of training kept him from jerking his hand away. She walked to the door opposite the library and opened it. “We’ll do most of our work in my office.”

      Chris whistled low and long when he stepped inside. Her office was more like a computer lab. He counted at least five computers and various other types of equipment stacked on racks—lights flashed and blinked. All of the equipment looked brand-new. “I can see why you have your curtains closed for this room.”

      “I like to play with my computers.”

      He raised a brow and looked at her. “This is more than playing.”

      “It’s not really,” she said, placing his briefcase on one of the desks. “I’m going to get something to drink before we get started. What would you like? I’ve got Coke, sweet tea, lemonade, ginger ale and water.”

      “Tea’s fine.”

      “I’ll be right back.” She turned and hurried out the door. He placed the box on the desk beside his briefcase and walked to a rack on the opposite side of the room. He knew enough about computers to know that Renee didn’t “play” with these computers. The equipment looked like top-of-the-line stuff.

      When she’d mentioned her computer network, he thought she meant she had a relatively new home computer network. What he saw here was above and beyond the average home setup. There was nothing in her background check that mentioned her skill with computers. Math and library science—yes. If she was so good with computers why didn’t she work in that field? This bit of information played hell with him. Like the blue nail polish. He was beginning to think there was more to Renee Foster.

      He turned when he heard her footsteps. She carried a good-size metal tray loaded with a pitcher of tea, two glasses and a plate of cookies. “Here, let me help you with that,” he said. He took the tray and set it down on the desk next to his briefcase. “You didn’t have to do this.”

      “It’s no trouble. Besides, I figure we’ll need it. I hope you like chocolate pecan cookies.”

      Chris felt his mouth water. “What’s not to like?” He reached for a cookie and bit into it. The cookie tasted like chocolate-covered sin. “This is good. Really good.”

      “I’m glad you like them,” she said and smiled. It was the first time she’d really smiled at him. He was surprised how much he wanted her to remain smiling. Keep your mind on the job, Foster.

      “The recipe makes three dozen so feel free to eat as many as you’d like,” she continued.

      Chris looked at the stack of cookies on the plate and wondered how she would react if he told her he wanted something more than cookies.

      “Thanks,” he said. “I am curious why a librarian has a network like this in her home.”

      “I have a graduate degree in Information Science. Most people get jobs as librarians with that degree, but you can also get a computer specialization with an Information Science degree. After all, a library catalog is just one big computer database,” Renee said.

      He relaxed a little at her explanation.

      He opened his briefcase and took out his laptop and the file he’d started on his brother. The file wasn’t as complete as he wanted it to be, but he figured he could get more information from Renee and the other wives to help fill in the gaps.

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