Beauty In His Bedroom. Ashley Summers
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rang again. “Yes, Katie, what did you forget?” she asked indulgently.
Silence.
“Hello?” Her voice sharpened. “Who is this?”
“Clint Whitfield.”
Regina’s heart fluttered. “Mr. Whitfield! I’m sorry, I… How are you?” Idiotic, Gina! “Did you want something?” she asked, making it worse.
“Yes, I want to know why you told Lamar about this…situation between us. I wasn’t going to mention it,” he said roughly. “I called the agency a few minutes ago about something else, and much to my surprise, your boss got on the line and apologized all over the place.”
“Yes, well, I—I confessed what I’d done.”
“Why would you do a dumb thing like that?”
“Because it was the right thing to do.” She sighed. “Also because I wanted to tell him myself before he found out from someone else. Being found out by you was bad enough. He wasn’t too happy about it, either, raked me over the coals pretty good. But I figure I deserved it. And, too, I have a job review next week with potential for a promotion, so I’m glad to get this behind me.” Silence. “Are you back in town?”
“Back in town.”
“Oh. Are you still selling the house? I mean, I haven’t heard from any Realtors yet.”
“That’s because I haven’t gotten around to any yet. I’ve been busy, Ms. Flynn,” he replied irritably. “I’m just passing through town, so it’ll be a few days before it gets done. This Lamar seemed more a personal friend than a boss.”
The abrupt change of subject threw Regina. “Yes, he’s a friend. But also very much a boss,” she responded coolly. “Look, if you want to spend the night here—I mean, this is your house, so if you’d rather not go to a hotel…” She let it hang.
“Thank you, but a hotel’s fine. Well, they’re calling my flight,” Clint said.
He was relieved to find an excuse to end this disturbing contact. Pocketing his cell phone, he grabbed his bag and strode to the gate. Why had he made that remark about this Lamar person? Who cared if he was boss or friend?
Sinking into the roomy, first-class seat, Clint closed his eyes. He was on his way to Los Angeles for a fund-raiser. Big White Hunter pulls ’em in, he thought sardonically; he’d never harmed anything in his life. The scar didn’t hurt his image, either. Well, he was using his looks and imaginary reputation for a good cause, garnering money for the preservation of animals, which he liked a damn sight more than people.
Regina Flynn. Green eyes, a lush, full mouth, saucy little nose. He accepted a magazine, determined to put her image from his mind. Odd how persistent it was. Giving up, he stared out the window, wondering if he should just call a Realtor, save a trip back there again. That would probably be a smart move, given his annoying interest in his new tenant.
Clint relaxed, relieved by his decision. He’d call first thing in the morning, ask the agency to recommend a reliable Realtor. Maybe even ask good ole Lamar himself, he thought with biting humor.
Sunday afternoon Clint Whitfield came home again. He’d had a grueling weekend and was looking forward to some rest and relaxation. “So why am I back here?” he muttered, ringing the doorbell. Irritably he stopped his questing mind. It was his house.
“Yes? Who is it?” came a sweet voice through the intercom.
“Clint Whitfield.” Hearing her surprised little “Oh!” touched something in him. “May I come in?” he asked testily.
“Yes, of course. I’m out by the pool. Come on in,” she answered so breathlessly, he smiled.
Unlocking the door, he strode through the house and out to the raised deck, where he stopped to grab a breath. She was all legs. Bare, shapely legs. She wore some sort of garment that fell to midpoint on her thighs. He wondered if she wore anything beneath. His chest tightened. He made his way down the steps more slowly than intended.
“Hello!” she called, waving one slender arm.
“Hello,” he replied, pausing on the last step. He didn’t think she wore a bra, either, and that played hell with his libido. His throat felt inordinately dry. Clearing it, he continued, “Isn’t the water cold this late in the year?”
She laughed. “A little. But it’s ninety degrees today, so that helps keep me warm. Come on down, I’m having a little picnic, and there’s enough for two.” Turning, she walked to a small, wrought-iron dining set.
He followed behind her, looking for some line or strap against her back that might indicate a bra. Damn, Whitfield! You’d think you’d never seen a seminude woman before! Annoyed at himself, he sat down opposite her and accepted a beer. She’d placed a tray of fruit, cheese and crackers on the glass-topped table. Wondering why he was so ravenous when he was with her, he filled a paper plate.
“I just got in a few minutes ago,” she was saying. “Katie was here for the weekend, but I had to take her back early, because her very best friend in all the world is having a birthday party. You can’t miss an important occasion like that!” she declared, laughing.
Her face glowed, a breeze played in her loose hair, and those eyes were luminous emeralds. Clint felt something entirely unwelcome stir in his chest. It was a shifting sort of feeling, like a tiny earthquake opening up to expose something soft and vulnerable to the glare of sunlight.
“No, I guess you can’t.” He swigged the icy beer. “What kind of school does she attend? A boarding school?”
“No. Well, yes, I guess you could call it that. She lives there full-time. Katie’s mentally handicapped, Mr. Whitfield—”
“Clint.”
Regina swallowed. “Clint. We were lucky to be accepted by this school,” she continued.
“Why is that?”
Delighted by his seemingly real interest, Regina described the school, a huge, sprawling complex boasting living quarters, fully staffed greenhouses, ceramic studios and a shop that showcased student handicrafts. “Leaving Katie was a wrench—I’ve always been so protective of her, and I miss her, her impish laughter and ever-ready hugs….”
Clint, watching her closely, noted the sparkle of tears on her lashes. “How does Katie feel about it?”
“Happy. She loves the staff and considers them simply an extension of family. Since we don’t have much family left…” Regina shook her head. “Our parents died when she was quite young, so there’s just Katie and me.”
Clint frowned. “And you were how old when you assumed full responsibility for a handicapped child?”
“Twenty-two. Thank goodness I already had my BA in business. Her school is supported by private donations, plus steep tuition fees paid by parents. But I have a good job, so we’re managing just fine.”
Rising, Clint walked to the edge of the outsize pool, where a waterfall rushed down artfully placed stones. Magnificent boulders created nooks for lacy ferns and scarlet impatiens. “Why don’t you have someone sharing the load? Like a husband.”
“I haven’t found men all that eager to share the load,” she answered wryly. “Almost got one to the altar once, but he developed cold feet at the last minute.”
Suddenly aware of how personal they were getting, Regina sat down and opened a cola, sipped it, glanced at him from beneath lowered lashes. His thick, dark hair curled at his nape, ruining his stony image, she thought with secret amusement.
“That’s a rotten deal you’ve been handed, caring for a handicapped child alone,” he mused. “Must have been tough.”
“Oh, no, you misunderstood me. My darling Katie is the sweetest, most lovable person I’ve ever met. Caring for her has