McIver's Mission. Brenda Harlen
it did. When it had to. Because there were times when she was the last hope for the abused women and children who came to her for help.
Shaun turned automatically in the direction of Arden’s apartment building. She’d forgotten that he knew where she lived, that he’d been drafted by Nikki to help Arden move several months earlier.
“You don’t have to walk me home,” she protested.
“What would Nikki say if I didn’t see you safely to your door?”
Arden shrugged but didn’t bother to respond as they headed down the street. They walked in companionable silence, listening to the muted sounds of the evening. Fairweather was hardly a booming metropolis at the best of times, and by eight o’clock on a Friday evening, this part of the downtown core was pretty much asleep. A few streets over, people would be filtering in to the bars and dance clubs, but here everything was quiet. Her apartment, just a few blocks ahead, would be quieter still.
“I really should have gone back to the office,” Arden said, wondering if she should do so now.
“It’s Friday night,” Shaun reminded her. “If it’s that important, it will be there tomorrow.”
She nodded. He was right, but she couldn’t help thinking that work might help keep her mind occupied, help her push the events of the day aside—at least for a while. Shaun’s company had provided a reprieve, as he’d promised, but she knew that the haunting memories would come back as soon as he was gone.
She turned up the walk to the front door of her building, his arm dropping from her shoulders as she reached in her pocket for the key. “I can find my way from here.”
“Is that a not-so-polite way of saying good-night?”
“I thought it was polite,” she said.
He smiled, and her heart stuttered. She told herself the reaction was a result of her exhaustion and not indicative of any attraction. She almost believed it.
“It would be more polite to invite me inside for a cup of tea,” he said.
“I don’t have any tea.”
“Coffee, then.”
She didn’t really want to be alone, but she didn’t understand why he wanted to spend any more time with her. “Fine. Would you like to come up for a cup of coffee?”
His smile widened; her pulse accelerated. “That would be great.”
The old, converted home that housed her apartment didn’t have the luxury of elevators, so she led the way through the small lobby to the stairs. On the second-floor landing, they passed Greta Dempsey, one of Arden’s neighbors, with Rocky, Greta’s toy poodle. The flamboyant Greta was dressed for an evening in front of the television in a fuchsia satin robe with lime-green slippers on her feet and curlers in her hair. Rocky had fuchsia bows on both of his ears. After exchanging greetings, Mrs. Dempsey looked Shaun up and down, then grinned at Arden and indicated her approval with a thumbs-up.
Wishing Mrs. Dempsey a good evening, Arden hurried up the last flight of stairs to her third-floor apartment, grateful that the dim lighting in the hallway wouldn’t reveal the flush that infused her cheeks.
She unlocked the door of her apartment and stepped inside, her hand halting in mid-air by the light switch as her gaze landed on the envelope on the hardwood floor.
And the knot in her belly that had only started to loosen, tightened again.
Chapter 2
Shaun hadn’t missed the sudden hitch in Arden’s breathing as she fumbled for the lights. Concerned, he stepped into the apartment and closed the door behind him. Her eyes were wide and focused on the floor. Following her gaze, he bent to pick up the envelope. There was no postage, no address, no return address. Nothing but her name printed in red ink. Nothing at all to explain the prickling sensation at the back of his neck or his sudden and instinctive desire to protect her.
“Do you always get mail delivered to your door?” he asked casually, offering her the envelope.
Arden blinked, then took the letter from him. “Not—” she cleared her throat “—not usually.”
She walked into the kitchen, tossed the piece of mail onto the counter as if it was of no importance. But he’d seen the fear in her eyes, the erratic throbbing of the pulse at the base of her jaw as she’d taken the envelope from his hand. It was as if she already knew what was in the letter.
“Aren’t you going to open it?” he asked.
Arden tried to smile, but her lips trembled rather than curved. “It’s probably just from…my landlord. There’s a…a new tenant in the building. Downstairs. He’s been complaining…about noise.” She shifted her gaze, cleared her throat. “He—the landlord—has been delivering warning notices…to keep the new guy happy.”
Shaun knew she was lying, and he couldn’t help being concerned. Arden didn’t rattle easily. She was self-assured, strong, independent. And right now she was terrified.
He bit back a sigh, wondering what the hell was going on in her life, wishing he could just walk away, and knowing he wouldn’t. He reached out and gently laid a hand on her shoulder, surprised when she jumped as if he’d pulled a gun on her. He dropped his hand. “Are you okay?”
“Sure. Fine.” She stepped away from him. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“The letter—from your landlord.” He caught a flicker in the depths of her dark eyes. “He isn’t harassing you about this noise complaint, is he?”
“No.” She shook her head. “Gary’s a good guy.”
He wanted to press, but she had already taken the carafe from the coffeemaker and crossed to the sink to fill it with water. Instead he leaned back against the counter and watched her, and he almost forgot the multitude of unanswered questions niggling at the back of his mind.
She was a pleasure to watch: tall and slender, with subtle curves in all the right places. She emptied the water into the reservoir, then replaced the carafe, and he felt his mouth go dry as she reached for the buttons that ran down the front of her jacket. She was wearing a blouse underneath, but still, watching her unfasten those buttons, slide her arms out of the sleeves, seemed so…intimate. She tossed the jacket over the back of a chair and turned to the refrigerator.
Shaun swallowed and tried not to notice the way the silky fabric of her blouse molded to the curve of her breasts. Then she opened the fridge and bent at the knees, her black skirt stretching enticingly over the smooth curve of her shapely buttocks as she reached for the tin of coffee.
He tore his gaze away.
What was wrong with him? This was Arden. She was practically family.
She was also a woman. An incredibly attractive woman. Although he’d never been blind to her attributes, the attraction had never before hit him in the same way. It had been a while since he’d felt more than the most basic stirring of desire, and this sudden and fierce attraction concerned him.
Why had he even suggested coming up to her apartment? Why couldn’t he have taken her less-than-subtle hint that she wanted to be alone?
Because it was Friday night and he didn’t want to be alone.
He also didn’t want to be hanging out at a smoky bar with the usual crowd, trying to seem duly enthralled with Sarah Jones, a court clerk he’d dated a few times last year. He was tired of the bar scene, weary of the dating game. Which was why he’d practically leaped at the opportunity to have dinner with Arden. He felt comfortable with her. And because he wasn’t trying to get her into his bed, he didn’t have to impress her. He didn’t have to pretend.
But if he really wasn’t interested in Arden, why was he finding it so difficult to tear his eyes from her? Why was he unable to stop imagining the subtle curves hidden beneath her tidy little suit?