McIver's Mission Read online

  "Do you ladies have time for coffee?" Shaun asked.

  "I wish I did," Marcy told him. "But I've got a pretrial in ten minutes."

  "Arden?" Shaun asked, turning to her. "I wanted to talk to you about something, if you've got a minute."

  No. All she had to do was say that one simple word and she could go back to her office and back to her plan of avoidance. But her brain and her mouth were obviously having some kind of communication problem, because when she opened her mouth to respond, she said, "Sure."

  "I don't think they have Jamaican Blue Mountain," Shaun said as they made their way down the stairs to the café.

  "As long as it has caffeine." She assured herself that she had agreed to this meeting only because he said they needed to discuss something, even though she had no idea what that "something" was.

  They took their coffee—or rather, Arden took her coffee and Shaun took his tea—to a small table on the perimeter of the café where lush, overgrown foliage spilling out of clay pots gave the misplaced illusion of a tropical rainforest.

  "How is the new lawyer working out?" Shaun asked when they were seated.

  Arden wasn't sure if she detected some personal interest in the question or if he was just making conversation. "Fine," she said.

  Shaun's lips curved, and Arden felt her insides melt. At least she knew she wasn't the only woman to react this way. Marcy had practically dissolved at his feet when he'd aimed that smile at her.

  "Good. It will be easier for you to get away for a weekend if you have someone to hold down the fort."

  "I don't have any reason to get away for a weekend," she told him.

  He smiled again. "I'm working on it."

  "Is this part of your elaborate ruse to get me into bed with you?"

  "Sometimes simplicity is best," he said. "And I won't need a ruse. When we make love, it's going to be because you want it as much as I do."

  Despite the arrogance of his words, she couldn't help the heat that flooded through her. She did want him, and God help her if he ever figured that out.

  "Some women might find that kind of arrogant machismo appealing," Arden said. "I don't."

  "We'll see."

  "You said you wanted to talk about something."

  "Not really."

  Arden set her cup down, narrowed her eyes.

  "That was just an excuse to spend some time with you," he admitted.

  "I don't have time for games."

  "You have to learn to make time for the fun things in life."

  "I have fun," she said defensively.

  "That's why you left Carly's birthday party early to go to the office."

  She picked up her coffee and sipped. She had gone into the office, only because she'd needed something to occupy her mind. Work had always succeeded before, but Saturday night, after he'd stood in Nikki's kitchen and matter-of-factly told her he wanted to have sex with her, nothing had banished the echo of those words from her mind. Or the corresponding twinges of excitement and apprehension that coursed through her system.

  "I had work to do," she told him.

  "Speaking of work," he said, "I picked up the wood for your bookshelves. If you're going to be home tonight, I could come around and get started."

  Arden frowned into her mug. "I do appreciate the offer, but I'm not sure this is such a good idea."

  "Why not?"

  "Because."

  "Oh." He nodded in apparent understanding. "I get it."

  "Get what?"

  "You're afraid to be alone with me."

  "Of course not," she denied.

  "You're worried that if we spend time together it might weaken your resolve not to get involved with me."

  "I don't weaken that easily," she said.

  He grinned. "Then why don't you want me to build your shelves?"

  "I just think you must have better things to do with your time."

  "Not at all."

  "Fine." Arden pushed her empty cup aside and stood up. "I should be home by six-thirty. Come over and build the damn shelves if you're that intent on doing so."

  * * *

  Chapter 6

  « ^ »

  Because he was intent on building her shelves, and because it gave him a valid excuse to spend time with her, Shaun was at Arden's apartment promptly at six-thirty that night. Just as she was arriving home from the office.

  Arden frowned at the armful of wood he carried into her apartment. "If you took all the measurements you needed, why can't you just build the shelves at your place and bring them over here when you're done?"

  "Because," he explained as he set the mahogany boards on the living room floor, "then I wouldn't have the pleasure of your company."

  "I don't plan on keeping you company," she said. "I have reading to catch up on."

  "Then I'll just enjoy being in the same room with you."

  "I'll be in my bedroom."

  "I can bring my tools into the bedroom," he suggested hopefully.

  Arden shook her head, but she was smiling. "Forget it, McIver."

  He shrugged. "It was worth a try."

  "Try forgetting I'm here," she said.

  Then she turned and disappeared down the hall to what must have been her bedroom, because he heard the soft click of a door latching shut a few seconds later. Undaunted, he set to work.

  Arden didn't surface again until almost two hours had passed. When she did so, she'd changed into a pair of faded navy leggings and an oversize flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled back. Her hair was down and tousled sexily. Shaun felt the tug of lust deep inside, pushed it aside and pretended to concentrate on sanding the edge of a piece of wood he'd just trimmed. She came out of the kitchen a few minutes later with a cup of yogurt and a spoon in hand.

  He wanted to comment on what he assumed was her dinner, but he didn't. "Is the noise bothering you?" he asked instead.

  "No," she said. "I seem to be able to tune everything else out when I'm working."

  "Too bad not everyone can do the same."

  She seemed confused by his statement, but made no comment as she stirred the yogurt.

  "Did you sort out that problem with your landlord?"

  Her brow furrowed. "What problem?"

  "The noise complaint. Your downstairs neighbor," he reminded her, watching closely for her reaction.

  She popped a spoonful of yogurt in her mouth, then swept her tongue along the fullness of her bottom lip to remove any lingering traces. Shaun nearly groaned aloud, remembering how wonderful her mouth had tasted, wishing it was his tongue stroking those luscious lips. If she was trying to distract him from his topic of inquiry, she was doing a hell of a job.

  "Oh. Yeah. Everything's um, taken care of."

  "That's good. I was a little worried that the sawing and hammering might bother him."

  "It might make more sense for you to make the shelves at home."

  He grinned. "It would."

  Arden sighed. "Well, I've got some, um, research to do. I'm going to head over to the … library for a while."

  "Now?"

  She frowned. "Yes, now. Why?"

  "You shouldn't be going out on your own at this time of night."

  She glanced at her watch. "It's not even nine o'clock."

  "It's dark outside."

  "It was almost dark when I came home," she said.

  Now it was Shaun's turn to frown. "You're going to leave me here?"

  "I didn't realize you were afraid to be left alone."

  "Very funny."

  "Do you have any other objections?"

  "What if I need to leave before you get back?" He really didn't want her going out on her own. He wasn't sure why the idea bothered him so much, why he felt so protective of her.

  "I won't be too long," she said. "But if you need to go before I get back, just leave."

  "I'm not going to leave your apartment unlocked and unattended."

  "It's a secure building, Shaun."

  "That didn't
stop someone from shooting out your windows."

  "The police are convinced that was just a childish prank."

  "It was a real gun," he reminded her. "I won't go out and leave your apartment unlocked."

  Arden sighed and went into the kitchen. "Here," she said, thrusting a key into his hand. "It's a spare."

  He studied the key for a moment, grinned. "I've had women give me keys to their apartments before," he said. "But never with such enthusiasm."

  Arden glared at him. "It's so you can get out, not come in."

  He felt his grin widen as he pocketed the key. "It works both ways."

  She picked up the briefcase she'd dropped at the door. "If you're not here when I get back, thanks for the work you're doing."

  "Anytime," he said.

  * * *

  Arden spent a couple hours at the library. She didn't have anything pressing that required immediate research, but she'd needed an excuse to get out of her apartment. To get away from Shaun. It wasn't just that his presence unnerved her, although it did, it was the way he looked at her—as if he saw so much more than she wanted to reveal.

  She'd nearly blown it when he'd asked about her downstairs neighbor. She'd forgotten about the story she'd concocted to explain that letter. She sighed and pushed her hair away from her face. She didn't know whether to be grateful or annoyed that Shaun's presence made her so easily forget the problem that seemed to be at the forefront of her mind at any other time. So she'd fled, reverting to her plan of avoidance. She wasn't proud of her behavior, but Shaun McIver threatened every aspect of her well-ordered life and she wasn't willing to risk everything for a temporary fling.

  She could only hope that Shaun would be gone by the time she returned to her apartment.

  He wasn't.

  And he came back the following night, and again the night after that.

  Arden let him keep the spare key, preferring to stay late at the office or run errands after work. Anything to avoid spending time with Shaun.

  Thursday night when Arden arrived home, she was greeted by the sharp odor of wood stain. "You're finished?" she asked, trying not to sound too hopeful.

  Shaun grinned at her as he wiped his hands on a rag.

  "For now."

  "Oh?"

  "They'll need a second coat and then a protective sealant," he told her.

  "They look good," she said. And they did. It made her wonder if there was anything Shaun McIver couldn't do well. She severed the thought before it could go any further.

  "I should be able to finish up this weekend, then you'll be able to unpack."

  "You haven't given me the receipts," she reminded him. He'd refused to accept payment for the labor, but Arden had insisted that she'd buy the materials. After all, they were her bookcases.

  "Haven't I?"

  "No."

  Shaun shrugged. "Don't worry about it."

  "I can't let you pay for my shelves."

  "How about a trade?" he suggested.

  She narrowed her eyes. "What kind of trade?"

  "Dinner."

  "Would you like me to order it for you?" she asked dryly.

  He grinned. "I'd like you to share it with me."

  "Oh."

  "Have you already eaten?"

  "No," she admitted.

  "Neither have I."

  "I guess the least I could do is buy you dinner."

  "You could smile and pretend to enjoy it, too."

  She did smile at that. "I'm sorry. I must seem incredibly ungrateful, and I do appreciate all the work you've done. Where did you want to go?"

  "DiMarco's," he said. "We have reservations for eight o'clock."

  "Reservations?"

  He nodded as he piled his paint cans and tools in the corner. "That will give me just enough time to grab a quick shower before we have to go."

  "You planned this," she said accusingly.

  "You can't get a table at DiMarco's without reservations," he said, as if that explained everything.

  "I'm not going to fall in with your plans, McIver."

  He shrugged, suggesting that her agreement or lack thereof didn't matter to him. "I've been living on fast food all week. I'm hungry and I want a decent meal. I thought you might, too."

  Arden sighed. She hated that he was always so reasonable, and she was hungry. "Fine. There are towels in the cupboard in the bathroom. You've got twenty minutes for a shower."

  "I'll be ready in ten," he promised, then he sauntered down the hall to the bathroom.

  Arden shook her head as she watched him go. She didn't understand why he was so intent on spending time with her. Did he think she was going to fall into bed with him just because it was what he wanted?

  Probably, she admitted to herself. She didn't imagine there were many women who were immune to his charms. She knew that she wasn't.

  He was out of the bathroom in the ten minutes he'd promised, his hair damp from the shower. He looked good. Too good.

  "Ready?" he asked.

  She thought he was referring to dinner, but the sparkle in his eyes made her wonder. "What's going on here, McIver?"

  He didn't hedge or pretend not to understand, for which she was grateful. "I think we need to take some time to figure that out."

  She shook her head. "You know we're completely wrong for each other."

  "I used to think so. Now, I'm not so sure."

  He leaned toward her, and her breath caught in her throat. This time she knew he was going to kiss her, but she wasn't any more prepared for it. He touched his mouth to hers once, softly, fleetingly. Then again, lingering this time. She resisted, for about two seconds, then her lips softened, responded.

  She could smell her soap on his skin, but the scent enhanced rather than detracted from his masculinity. His hands were on her hips, as if to hold her in place, but it was his kiss that immobilized her. She couldn't think or move or speak; she could only feel. Her lips parted on a sigh, her tongue met his.

  "You make me wish I'd asked for more than dinner," he said huskily when he'd ended the kiss.

  She took a deep breath, tried to ignore the yearnings of her own body. "I don't want to get involved," she said after a long moment, refusing to meet his eyes. "I can't."

  "Too late."

  "It's not too late." She was vehement, almost desperate.

  "You know it is," he insisted. "That's why you look so panicked every time I touch you." He reached out and cupped her cheek gently in his hand, and she pulled back instinctively. "Why is that? What are you afraid of?"

  "Nothing. I'm not afraid." She glanced away. "I'm just not interested."

  "Liar."

  She sighed. "I'm not good at relationships."

  He smiled. "We'll start with dinner."

  * * *

  Shaun was feeling just a little cocky as the hostess led them to a quieter, more secluded area at the back of the restaurant—as per his request. Despite Arden's assertion that she wasn't going to fall in with his plans, she had, in fact, done just that.

  The table was small, the chairs positioned at right angles rather than across from each other. Tall plants and pots of greenery allowed for a certain amount of privacy; the single rose on the table and the flickering candle inside the hurricane shade provided a hint of romance.

  And that's what this night was about: romance.

  He'd given up trying to figure out what it was about Arden Doherty that he found so intriguing, so compelling. He knew the reasons didn't matter so much as the result. He wanted Arden, and he would do whatever needed to be done to have her.

  Romance, he'd decided logically, was the first step. Yes, Arden was a practical person, an independent career-minded woman. But he had yet to meet a woman who was immune to romance.

  So when Arden sat down, eyeing the flower and candle warily, he wondered if she might be the first. "Don't you think this is overkill?"

  "What do you mean?" Shaun asked innocently.

  "I'm not going to get involved with y
ou, Shaun. Flowers and candlelight aren't going to change my mind."

  "Wine?" he asked, accepting the list the hostess proffered.

  "That might improve your chances from 'when hell freezes over' to 'not in this lifetime'."

  He chuckled, wondering at the perversity of his nature that allowed him to be charmed by a woman so determined to be contrary. "Red or white?"

  Arden shook her head, but she was smiling. "Your choice."

  He scanned the menu, ordered a bottle of pinot noir that he knew to be of a particularly good vintage. The wine came, they ordered dinner, then they chatted casually while they sampled the wine and waited for their pasta. Shaun deliberately kept the conversation light, sensing Arden's tension and hoping to relax her.

  By the time their meals were delivered, she was smiling more easily and had even laughed at a couple of his lame jokes.

  "Does this improve upon the 'not in this lifetime' to 'maybe tomorrow'?" Shaun asked hopefully, offering her the basket of garlic bread.

  Arden shook her head again. He wasn't sure if it was a refusal of the bread or a response to his question.

  "I don't do casual sex, Shaun."

  "Sex should never be casual," he agreed. "It's an activity that should be entered into only after careful thought and deliberation, with serious attention given to the enjoyment of both parties."

  Arden twirled her fork in her pasta. "Careful thought and deliberation?"

  "I've given this careful thought and deliberation," he assured her. "With serious attention to the various ways in which I might ensure your enjoyment."

  "Isn't it true that the average man thinks about sex once every seven seconds?"

  "When I'm with you, it's more like every three or four seconds."

  "And is that your definition of 'careful thought'?" She lifted an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed.

  Shaun grinned. "I could share some of my thoughts with you, Doherty. If you're interested."

  "I'll pass, thanks."

  Shaun chuckled at her dry tone. He was tempted to pursue the conversation—to share some of his more erotic fantasies and gauge her reaction. But he'd vowed to give her some time and space, and he knew that further discussion of his desires would compromise his ability to keep that promise.

  Instead he ordered dessert. Arden insisted she couldn't eat another bite, but Shaun indulged himself by feeding her spoonfuls of the double-fudge brownie sundae, anyway. Her eyes closed and she murmured her throaty pleasure as she savored the first bite, and he couldn't help but wonder whether her sexual appetites would be as easily sated. He definitely wanted to find out. Would she writhe in ecstasy, scream in gratification?