Cutting Loose

Her blond friend studied her for a moment. Then she gave a clipped nod. “Oh, all right. But you know I’ll get it out of you sooner or later. I don’t know why you don’t just save us all some trouble and tell me now.”

“I’ve never minded a little trouble.”

“In what universe, pray tell?”

She merely gave the other woman her best inscrutable smile.

“Fine.” Poppy heaved a disgruntled sigh. “Be that way. I didn’t come here to see you, anyway. Ava told me Dev has some great photos from the Washington State archives. Have you seen him today?”

Jane’s heart kicked hard, then commenced to gallop in her chest. Luckily, Poppy was busy glancing around as if she expected her question to make him magically appear and didn’t notice her expression. Good thing, because Jane was pretty sure it would render the question about who she was lusting over obsolete.

She managed to compose her features in the moment it took Poppy to turn her attention back to her. “No, I haven’t. Considering all the clomping around I’ve heard from up in the sunroom this afternoon, though, I’m gonna take a wild stab and guess he’s upstairs.”

Poppy studied her a moment. “Tell me you’re not still holding on to that ridiculous grudge because he knocked back a few too many tequilas last week.”

“Hey, I’ll have you know I’m being incredibly open-minded. Of course, it doesn’t hurt that he was sober when I saw him yesterday. Or that those footsteps I mentioned sounded fairly steady.” Or the fact she’d already decided she’d been a bit precipitous passing judgment.

“Dammit, Jane! You have got to stop this judgmental shit, because I swear if you louse this up for us-”

“Oh, get a grip, I haven’t done anything to upset your precious arrangement with Kavanagh Construction. As a matter of fact, I was the epitome of professionalism with him yesterday-and if you don’t believe me, just ask Ava.” Who luckily hadn’t been around during her afternoon conversation with Devlin. “Not that I can swear she was actually paying attention, mind you. She was pretty jazzed about those photos.”

The mention of which diverted Poppy’s attention. “Av said you saw them, too?”

“I did, and they’re every bit as great as she’s undoubtedly told you.”

“Hot damn. I’m gonna go find Devlin and see for myself.” She started toward the doorway.

“I’ll catch you later, then,” Jane said to her friend’s retreating back. “I’m going to call it a day and head home.” Where she intended to put Devlin out of her mind once and for all and buckle down to finish her report.

Poppy paused to look back over her shoulder. “Hang around for another fifteen minutes. We can go grab some dinner.”

She hesitated for a second, not sure she wanted to go another round defending her right to keep a few thoughts to herself. But visualizing her almost empty refrigerator and even sparser cupboards, she nodded. “Sounds like a plan to me.”

“Okay, then, I’ll be back in a few.” She raised her brows. “Unless you wanna come up with me?”

Jane managed not to screech, “Are you out of your freakin’ mind?” Her face even felt halfway composed when she said coolly, “No, you go ahead. We’ll probably get to eat a lot sooner if only one of us is drooling over the pics. And this will give me a chance to get a little more done on my report.”

“Okay, then. I won’t be long.”

“Hey, take your time.” She didn’t mind waiting. As long as she didn’t have to endure any face-to-face time with The Incredible Radiating Pheromone Man, she was perfectly happy to have Poppy take just as long as her little heart desired.

S HORTLY AFTER NOON the following day, Jane left the staff room at the Seattle Metropolitan Museum. She was slightly dazed, yet at the same time completely wired. Her meeting with Marjorie earlier this morning had gone well. She’d expected no less, since she had prepared for it last night with her usual overachiever obsessiveness, working from the time she got home from dinner until a case of scorched-earth eyeballs had forced her to close down her Mac shortly after midnight. Being in her own tidy little Belltown condo had helped her finally shove Mr. Too-hot-for-his-britches Kavanagh out of her mind, which in turn had allowed her to polish up her report until it shone and pore over her notes until she had all the major points in her presentation memorized.

Someone a little more laid-back might have skimped on their report, given that the only condition of Miss Agnes’s jewelry and couture-clothing-for-the-ages bequest to the Met was that Jane be the one to catalog the two collections. After all, it wasn’t as if Marjorie could yank the job out from under her and pass it along to someone with more seniority. Well, she could, of course. She was the director; she could do whatever she pleased. But she couldn’t do so and have the museum keep the collections.

The notion was moot, anyhow. Jane wasn’t laid-back. Preparation was her middle name and she simply could not, in all good conscience, give her superior a half-assed report.

The opportunity that Miss Agnes, bless her heart, had provided her wasn’t something Jane took for granted. This was going to make her instantly more visible in the art community. Everyone was going to be taking a closer look at her now, and if she handled this assignment right it would catapult her career beyond anything she might have imagined for this stage of it. She’d have a real shot at Paul Rompaul’s position as full-fledged curator when he retired next October. With all her heart she appreciated the boost this bequest had given her and she intended to repay Agnes’s faith in her abilities by doing the very best job she could.

So yes, she had been prepared, and therefore the success of her meeting with the director had not come as a major surprise.

What had knocked her socks off was the sheet cake bearing Congratulations, Jane in ruby-colored frosting that had been in the staff room at lunch today. Even more shocking had been the special announcement that Marjorie had given the staff. She’d freely credited Jane with bringing two valuable Wolcott collections to the Seattle Metropolitan Museum. The genuine enthusiasm that the director displayed as she’d shared Jane’s newly revised schedule for the next couple of months in order to get them ready for the January exhibit had blown her away.

The last thing she’d been prepared for was public kudos. In fact, she’d half expected the change in her status to fly under the radar for as long as the powers that be could manage it, given the way it had been forced upon them.

Want these prestigious collections? Then be prepared to take the junior curator along with it was the general theme of Agnes’s bequest.

Along with Marjorie’s acknowledgment, however, had come her expectations for this exhibit. She’d talked about how much the museum was counting on it to generate needed revenue during the traditionally slow postholiday period in which they’d slated the show. So now Jane was feeling downright twitchy and even more anxious than she’d already been. She had to find the couture clothing, pronto, and get a move on.

“Jane, Jane! Wait up!” a voice commanded from behind her.

She hesitated. Today’s events had both rattled and exhilarated her, making her so jittery that simply standing still was very nearly impossible. Still, she forced herself to do exactly that as she waited for her colleague Gordon Ives to catch up.

Gritting her teeth at the delay, she forced a smile for Gordon that probably wouldn’t fool a toddler. Hell, she doubtless looked like a toddler doing the I-gotta-go dance in front of a closed bathroom door. How embarrassing was that?

Well, too bad. She was fighting the urge to move, move, move as hard as she could. Smiling brilliantly at the same time was simply beyond her.

She tried all the same for a more genuine smile as Gordon walked up to her. Memories of Marjorie’s graciousness helped her produce one.

“I’ve said it before, girl, but I’ll say it again.” Gordon greeted her with a big white-veneered smile of his own. “Congratulations! What a huge job you have ahead of you.”

“No kidding. The past couple days I’ve been finding out exactly how immense it’s going to be.” Which contributed to both her edginess and her elation. “I’m a little concerned about the deadline the director’s put me on. I’m going to have to be really focused to get everything done in that time frame.”

“Focus is your claim to fame.” He waved her worries aside like so many pesky flies. “Obviously Marjorie has no doubt that you can do the job and do it both well and on time. But if there’s anything I can do-”

She made a noncommittal noise, because the truth be told, if she needed help she’d probably enlist Poppy. Her friend might not be as knowledgeable as Gordon, but they worked well together. Not to mention that with the holidays approaching, Poppy could probably use a little extra cash to round out what she made with her mishmash of jobs.

Besides, as much as she hated to admit it, there was something about Gordon that she didn’t quite trust. There was no good reason for it-he’d never done anything to her. It was probably nothing more than his wanna-be-your-best-friend occasional toadying combined with his predilection for narcissistic metrosexual grooming. Because, really, who could take a guy seriously who spent more on manicures and moisturizers in six weeks than she did in a year? She couldn’t help it; she preferred men who had a firm grasp on their identity-and were perhaps just the slightest bit rough around the edges.

Like a certain construction foreman…

Whoops. Didn’t want to go there. “Thank you for the good wishes. And if I decide I need help I’ll definitely keep you in mind.” She started edging away.

“Are you on your way over to the Wolcott mansion now?” he asked, taking a step forward for her every step back.

“Yes.” She quit trying to be subtle about it and simply started walking down the corridor. The nerves zinging in her arms and legs immediately quieted, but she had to smooth out a frown drawing her eyebrows together when Gordon fell into step beside her. She picked up her pace slightly.

He matched his stride to hers. “If you want, I could stop by after work sometime and give you a hand.”

She was a bit startled by the suggestion, but said carefully, “Thank you, Gordon, I appreciate the offer. But I’m still in the sorting phase and kind of want to-” Damn. How did she say this without sounding like little Miss Greedy-guts?

“Stamp your brand all over it before you let anyone else touch it?”

“Yes! Exactly.” She looked at him in a new light. And felt a little guilty for her heretofore less-than-flattering opinion of him. Guy grooming products and facials be damned, he obviously had more depth to him than she’d given him credit for. “I will definitely keep your offer in mind, though. Right now there’s just so much stuff in the mansion that I haven’t even found the Met’s collections yet.”

“Huh. I’d say poor baby, but the truth is, I’m pea-green with envy.” He gave her a crooked smile. “And green is so not my color.”

She laughed. “Not exactly a big candidate for sympathy, am I? Man, I still can’t believe that I get to be in charge of all this, myself. Speaking of which-” she accelerated her pace to a full-out stride “-if I want to start whittling away at my workload I’d better get to it.”

“All right then.” He slowed down as she sped up. “Good luck. And don’t forget I’m available if you ever need any help.”

“I will.” She waved a hand, but didn’t slow down as she hit the door to the stairs. “Thanks.” Feeling kind of warm and fuzzy toward him at the moment, she truly meant it.

By the time she’d pushed through the main museum doors into the blustery fall afternoon a few minutes later, however, her mind was already on other matters. Anticipation began bubbling through her veins.

She could hardly wait to get to work.

CHAPTER FOUR

Holy crap, the Kavanagh family sounds huge . I can’t wrap my mind around what it must be like to grow up with a mess of brothers and sisters. Bet it was nice, though.

“D AMN ,” D EV MUTTERED as he opened the kitchen door to the Wolcott mansion two evenings later and stepped inside to punch the code into the alarm system. “I see mistake written all over this in big red letters.” Not for the first time he noted the system’s advanced age, but shrugged it aside. Its obsolescence was the Estrogen Posse’s problem. Right now, he had one of his own.

“Oh, quit your bitching,” his problem, in the form of his sister Hannah, ordered. Entering the kitchen hard on his heels, she snapped the back of his head with her fingers.

“Ow! Shit.”

“If you’d bothered to stay around for longer than a week at a pop during any of your less-than-frequent visits, you’d know I check out every work site at least once during the project.”

Rubbing the spot she’d smacked, he glared at her. “You’re just as full of crap as ever, I see. Try to get your facts straight. I come home a minimum of once a year, which is a lot more often than you come to see me. And except for last year when I had to get back to crew a boat to Morocco I always stick around for longer than a week.” Before heading back home happy to have seen his family, but feeling vaguely disconnected from them, as well.

“Haven’t spent a helluva lot of that time at the work sites, though, have you?” Then she ignored him to look around the kitchen. “Man, I’ve lost count of the number of times this mansion was discussed around the dinner table. It’s kind of like suddenly coming face-to-face with Elvis.”

“Except this legend actually has the potential to be brought back to life.”

She inspected the worn early-twentieth-century black-and-white harlequin tiles on the floor and the seventies-era avocado appliances. “It’s definitely going to need work to revive it, though.” She headed for the doorway leading into the rest of the house.

“Hey, wait a minute.” He charged after her, only to discover her disappearing into the dining room across the hall. She was already thumbing notes into her BlackBerry as he entered the room behind her.

“Whoever put that scalloping around the windows ought to be shot,” she said. “This place has beautiful old bones and they’ve dressed it up in tacky froufrous.”

“The entire house is full of crap like that,” he agreed.

“May I help you?” inquired a voice behind them, in a tone that suggested they better have a damn good reason for being here.

Swallowing a curse, Dev slowly turned, already knowing who he’d see.

Sure enough, Jane stood in the doorway, clad in a pair of black leggings beneath a short, high-necked, black-and-brown tunic. That in turn was layered beneath a skinny black sweater with its sleeves shoved up and its tails looped into a loose knot beneath her round little A cups.

Dark, concealing clothing seemed to be her signature-except on her feet again. This time she wore a pair of yellow velvet slippers sporting extravagant puffs of marabou. They were incongruously cheerful-the frown furrowing her slender brows looked more at home than they did.

“Oh. It’s you,” she said without enthusiasm when she recognized him. “I heard voices and…”

Cutting herself off, she shook her head. “Never mind.” She glanced at Hannah, who hadn’t stepped foot outside the door a day in her life since she turned thirteen without her makeup and clothing set on stun, then looked back at him again. Her frown, which had started to lessen, settled firmly back in place. “For heaven’s sake. Are you bringing your girlfriends here now?”

“Hell, yeah.” Pissed that she always jumped to the worst possible conclusion when it came to him, he crossed the space separating them and didn’t stop until they stood toe-to-toe. Without her usual high heels she wasn’t nearly as tall as he’d believed her to be.

The observation had squat to do with the topic at hand, however, and he shoved it aside. “Han here is hot for old houses, so I’m just giving her a quick tour of the first floor to warm her up before we go upstairs to pull the shades down and rip off a piece. You got a problem with that, Legs?”

“In my house, on my dollar?” Eyes glowing bluer than natural-gas-fed flames, she held her ground, not the least bit intimidated by his proximity. “Yes. I guess you could say I have a problem. And that’s aside from your date’s poor taste in men.”

Hannah laughed. “She’s got you there, boyo.” Stepping forward, she thrust her hand out at Jane, forcing him to back up. “I’m Hannah. Dev’s sister.”

“Meet Jane Kaplinski, Han,” he said sardonically. “Resident conclusion jumper.”

“Oh.” Hot color flowed beneath Jane’s fine-grained skin. “Oh, crap. My apologies.”

He noticed her request for forgiveness was directed solely at Hannah, whom Jane checked out thoroughly as they shook hands.

“You don’t look anything alike,” she said. As if that was a defensible excuse.

“I know,” Hannah said cheerfully, tossing back her dark wavy hair. “Finn and Bren and Maureen and I take after Da’s side of the family. David and Dev take after Mom’s, except David got light brown hair. Kate’s a blend. She has Dev’s coloring but looks more like…well, no one, really. Da says the postman, but he’s just pulling our legs.”

“We think,” he added.

Jane, as usual, missed the humor entirely. She stared at Hannah unblinkingly. “You have six siblings?”

“She can count,” he marveled.

Hannah jabbed her elbow into his ribs. “Yep. What can I say? We’re both Irish and Catholic. That’s pretty well synonymous with big family.”

“I’m an only child,” Jane replied. “And my two best friends are, as well, so I can’t even imagine growing up with that many brothers and sisters. Wow.” She glanced back and forth between the two of them. “That must have been…”

When she hesitated as if at a loss for words, Hannah supplied, “Kinda loud, kinda crazy.”

“Completely lacking in privacy,” he contributed. “Not to mention intrusive as hell.” He hadn’t dropped out of the UDub and set sail for Europe at the tender age of nineteen for nothing.

“Oh, no.” Jane shook her head. “I was going to say nice. It must have been really comforting-you know?-to have all that built-in support.”

He snorted. “Boy, you are an only child if you believe that.” He for one had been tired of all the noise and drama of big-family life, where everyone and his brother knew his business. He’d just wanted to go somewhere where he would be judged strictly on his own merits and not compared for once in his life to his brothers or to his family as a whole.

“Shut up, Dev.” Hannah narrowed her eyes at him. “You might wanna note you’re the only one who ran away from home. The rest of us actually do find family support comforting.”

“Ran away, Han? You might want to dial down the melodrama a notch.” He hadn’t run; he’d judiciously removed himself from a situation that had a bad habit of making him feel constantly at odds with his family.

Hannah made a derisive you-are-so-full-of-it-I’m-amazed-your-eyes-aren’t-brown noise in her throat.

Refusing to get into this with her again, he shrugged and leveled his attention on Jane. Hell, she’d brought the subject up in the first place and was probably just jerking their chain with that whole must be nice bullshit-no doubt just to piss him off.

Except…

She appeared totally sincere. In fact she looked all sort of soft and wistful-eyed, as if they lived some sort of perfect existence. And he didn’t like it one damn bit.

The funny tug it caused deep down in his gut bugged the hell out of him.

“What are you looking at?” she demanded.

Her irritated tone chopped the funny feeling in two and, with a mental Thank you, sweetheart, he shot her his best Son of Satan grin. “You, short stuff. I was just thinking you look like a little girl with her nose pressed up against the candy-store window.”

“I look nothing of the sort!” She took an incensed step toward him, her chin shooting up into what he was starting to consider her default mode. As usual, the sudden movement caused a hank of shiny hair to slide free of her bun and slither down her throat.

And another of those odd feelings hit him, this time making his palms itch.

His innate common sense blown to hell, he took a Mother-May-I-worthy giant step closer, bringing them once more mere inches from each other. Whipping a hand out, he liberated the two combs still holding together the remainder of her crooked topknot.

“Hey!” She made a grab for them as her hair tumbled free. “Give those back!”

Dev tossed the combs into the largest of a group of leather bowls sitting on a nearby sideboard, then grasped her forearm to prevent her from going after them when she started to muscle her way past him. Why, he couldn’t say, considering he already regretted the impulse that had caused him to muss her up. The dark waterfall of hair slinking over one eye and draping her shoulders gave her an entirely different look.

One he had a feeling he’d be better off not seeing.

“Why the hell do you even bother putting your hair up?” he demanded. “It’s not like it ever stays there-every damn time I’ve seen it, it’s been half-down.”

“What are you, a closet hairdresser?” She tugged against his light grasp. “Let go of me.”

His fingers tightened. “Make m-”

“O-kay,” Hannah said. “I think it’s time you and I took off, Dev. Jane, it was nice meeting you. Love your yellow slippers, by the way. They’re très sexy.”

Jane blinked as if she’d forgotten Hannah was even there, then glanced down at her feet. “Oh, no, they’re just-” Chopping off her protest, she cleared her throat. “That is, thank you. They’re more comfortable than my heels for all the backing and forthing I do here.”

“Not to mention gorgeous. Well, listen, I hope to see you again. I’d also like to come back another time to inspect the property. I try to do that with every Kavanagh job in order to get an idea of the scope of the work for scheduling, and also to add the female perspective. Most of my brothers,” she said, shooting him a look, “seem to appreciate that. Next time, however, I’ll make an appointment for a time when I won’t be inconveniencing you.”

Which is exactly what I tried to tell you to do in the first place. Dev turned Jane loose, wondering what the hell had just happened. Jesus. He didn’t go around grabbing women. And had he really said make me? He rubbed his palm down the outer seam of his jeans, trying to erase the sensation of her soft skin imprinted on it. “Maybe during one of the mornings,” he muttered. “She’s not around then.”

Jane didn’t so much as glance in his direction. “ You’re welcome anytime,” she told his sister. “Just don’t bring him with you.”

“Listen, lady-” He took a hot step forward, self-recrimination suddenly nothing but a mushroom cloud on the horizon. Don’t bring him, his ass. He worked here.

Hannah wrapped both hands around his left biceps and tugged him toward the door. “See you around, Jane.”

A damp gust of wind slapped him in the face as his sister hauled him through the kitchen door into the blustery evening. He pulled free of her grasp, looking at her warily. “I’m good. I’m not going to pop her or anything.”

“You hitting her never even entered my mind.” Stabbing the remote keyless entry button to unlock her car, Hannah stalked around its hood. “Man, I have seen some crazy excuses for foreplay in my life, but you two take the cake.”

He froze in the midst of reaching for the passenger door handle to stare at her across the roof. “What?”

“Oh, that’s good. You oughtta be an actor.” She shook her head at him. “Please. I almost called 911. If there’d been any more heat pumping off the two of you the house would have burned to the ground.”

A short, sharp laugh escaped him. “And you’re supposed to be the smart one in the family.”

“No, that would be Kate.”

Ignoring her reply, he yanked the door open and climbed in, then glared at his sister across the console when she followed suit. “Don’t confuse heat with irritation, sis. Jane Kaplinski is a cranky little crow who hasn’t hesitated to think the worst of me from the instant we first clapped eyes on each other.” Well, not from the very first instant, he admitted to himself, recalling the look in her eyes when their gazes had originally connected.