“I’m suggesting the man you’re blackmailing was descended from thieves and murderers.”
“Does that scare you?” Zach didn’t scare Kaitlin anymore.
Well, not much. She was still intimidated by his angry glare. And she was definitely unsettled by the sexual awareness that bloomed to life whenever he strode by. It was becoming a regular part of her workday: email, coffee, drafting, Zach. Then boom, buzz, all she could think about was kissing him.
“Hell, no,” Lindsay assured her. “I’m just sayin’ you should watch out for his sword.”
Kaitlin waggled her finger at Lindsay in admonishment. “That’s a terrible joke.”
Lindsay peered closer. “Are you blushing?”
“No,” Kaitlin answered with a shake of her head, switching her attention to the steel gray barge plodding up the river.
“I didn’t mean it the way it sounded.”
“Sure you did.”
Lindsay leaned forward to get a better view of Kaitlin’s face. “You are blushing. What did I miss?”
“Nothing. I’ve barely seen him in three days.”
Okay, so she’d seen him from afar, more than a few times. And he looked good from that distance—no frowns, no scowls. Her reaction to him was becoming almost comically predictable. Her pulse rate would jump. Her skin would heat up. And she’d lose her train of thought.
“Are you falling for him?” asked Lindsay.
Kaitlin started to speak, but then stopped, unwilling to lie to Lindsay. “I’m admiring his features from afar,” she admitted. “Along with half of the city.”
Zach was an undeniably attractive man. So she found him good-looking? Big deal. So she occasionally found him charming? Another big deal.
He had breeding and education, and plenty of practice at dating and small talk. If she forgot about the fact that he’d tried to ruin her life, she could almost pretend he was a decent guy.
“He does make a hot pirate,” Lindsay concurred with a saucy grin.
“Hot” definitely described the way he’d looked that night at his penthouse, his tie off, sleeves rolled up, a day’s growth of beard shadowing his chin. He’d looked every inch the rakish pirate of his ancestors. And it had been more than sexy.
Lindsay was watching her closely. “Promise me you’ll keep your head in the game.”
Kaitlin tucked her loose hair firmly behind her ears, taking a quick check of her diamond stud earring. “My head is completely in the game,” she assured Lindsay.
There wouldn’t be a repeat of Vegas. Kaitlin had slipped up that night. She’d let down her guard, and Zach had turned on her within the week.
Apparently satisfied, Lindsay eased forward to peer over the edge. Taxis, buses and delivery trucks cruised past. Three city workers in hard hats set barriers up around an open manhole, while a police cruiser, lights flashing blue and red, pulled halfway up on the wide sidewalk.
“So, have you started unpacking yet?” asked Lindsay.
“Nope.” Kaitlin watched two uniformed cops stride into a deli. She was more than happy to leave the topic of Zach behind. “I’m going to take advantage of having everything out of the way. Clean the carpets and paint the walls.”
“Nesting?” asked Lindsay.
“Yes, I am.” When she gave herself time to think about staying put in New York City, Kaitlin felt a surge of relief lighten her shoulders. She’d curled up in her window seat yesterday evening with a cup of cocoa, simply staring for an hour at the bustle of the neighborhood.
“You deserve a great place to call home,” said Lindsay, warmth and caring evident in her tone.
Kaitlin smiled her agreement. “I may even buy that new rocker.” She’d been admiring a big, overstuffed gliding rocker in the window of a local furniture store for a few months now. Something about it said home.
“You?” Lindsay teased. “A frivolous expenditure?”
Kaitlin nodded with conviction. With no means of support other than her part-time job, she’d been forced to be frugal during her college years. The habit was hard to break. But she was gainfully employed now, and she had good prospects. And she was determined to make herself a real home.
“First the rocker,” she explained to Lindsay. “And then the Prestige espresso machine.”
“I love hearing you talk like that.” Lindsay laughed.
“It feels pretty good,” Kaitlin admitted, then her voice caught on her age-old sensation of loneliness. “I can make it a real home.”
Lindsay linked her arm and nudged up against her. “You’ve already made it a real home.”
It didn’t feel like a real home to Kaitlin. Then again, how would she know? Over her childhood years, most of her placements had been in group facilities instead of with families. The workers were mostly kind, but they came and went in shifts, and they often moved on to other jobs, replaced by new people, who were also nice, but also employees, not a family.