Beauty In His Bedroom. Ashley Summers

navy suit and low-heeled pumps, motioned him to sit. Impassively he obeyed. He accepted a cup of coffee, but ignored breakfast. He’d rather look at her than eat, an unsettling discovery. He swallowed a big gulp of coffee, burning his tongue grievously. He swore, but kept it under his breath.

      “Help yourself, I’ve already eaten,” she said with another wave of her slim, elegant hand. Absently she smoothed her hair. “Mr. Whitfield, I’m sorry if I’ve caused you distress. I did notify you about a house sitter,” she went on in a rush of words, “but I admit I might have jumped the gun a little—”

      “Jumped the gun a little?” he echoed, raising an eyebrow.

      “All right, I did notify you, but I didn’t wait for your response. So you do have cause to be irate. In fact, you have cause to lodge a complaint with Lamar himself,” she added.

      With just enough irony in her smile to make that much too harsh a punishment, he thought. “But you hope I won’t.”

      “Yes, of course. I value my job.”

      “But not enough to keep from risking it. Why? What prodded you into doing this?”

      Her gaze dropped. “That’s not important. I don’t want to play on your sympathy. Not to that extent, anyway. But I can promise that I’ll be out of here by tonight, with no harm done that I can see. I really have taken good care of your home during this time—”

      “During what time? How long have you been here?”

      Regina stuck a bagel in the toaster. “A little over a month. I moved in the last week of August.”

      “And you didn’t tell anyone at the office?”

      “No. Oh, I told Lamar I was appointing myself your house sitter, but he assumed—and I let him assume—that you’d agreed to the arrangement. I hoped, of course, that you would do so before he discovered that I’d acted prematurely,” she said stiffly. Refilling their coffee cups, she picked up hers and cautiously sipped. “Again, I’m sorry.”

      “Why? Because you got caught?”

      “No,” she replied indignantly. “Well, yes. But also because you were upset by it. I apologize, and I will get out at once. It won’t take any time, I only have my clothes and my garden—”

      “Your garden?” His eyebrows shot up again. “You can move a garden?”

      “Well, if it’s in big pots, you can. Just some herbs I use often, and a few pepper and tomato plants I’ve coaxed through the summer heat. Not an easy job, believe me!” she said with a sudden smile. It faded, and the room inexplicably darkened.

      “I suppose not.” The bagel popped up. He took half, then reached for the cream cheese. “What caused you to sneak in here in the first place? There must have been some good reason to risk your job.”

      “There was. And I didn’t sneak,” Regina added with another snap of indignance. Passing him the strawberry preserves, she continued quietly, “Obviously I needed a place to stay. And here was yours, just wasting away.”

      “And?” he prompted. “What happened to your home? Assuming you had one.”

      “Of course I had one!” Regina modified her tone again. “My home burnt to the ground, Mr. Whitfield. I lost everything I owned.” She shrugged. “End of story.”

      “I see.” Clint spread preserves on his bagel. “Is that why you lit into me about ‘abandoning’ my house?”

      “I suppose that played a part in it.” She sighed. “A big part. I’m sorry about that, too. It was uncalled for,” she admitted. “But your house did seem unloved. How long did you live here before you flew off to answer the call of the wild?”

      Amused by her droll tone, Clint replied, “I moved in right after it was finished, stayed two months, then left for Kenya.”

      “Why?” she asked, driven by an unruly need to know. “A love affair gone bad—or something like that?” she ended lamely. Meeting his opaque blue gaze, she flushed. Oh, Gina! Shut up, for godsakes!

      “No, nothing like that. I’m a widower, Miss Flynn.”

      “Oh!” Regina’s hand flew to her mouth. “Mr. Whitfield, I’m sorry—”

      “Nothing to be sorry about,” Clint said brusquely. “Since we’re getting into personal stuff, didn’t you have insurance on your house?”

      “Yes, enough to pay off the second mortgage. The contents weren’t insured, however. Living here gave me a month’s breathing space and I thank you for that. Anyway, I’ll be gone by this evening.”

      “No. You don’t have to leave.”

      Startled green eyes stared at him. “I don’t? But you—last night you were so angry at finding me here, I thought…” A smile suddenly wreathed her puzzled features. “Well, never mind what I thought. Do you really mean it? You’re not mad about…well, you know.”

      Clint shook his head, bemused by the effect she was having on him. Something on the order of a deer mesmerized by headlights, he thought, daring another glance into her dark-lashed eyes. Maybe that’s why I’m being such a sweetheart, he mocked his undisciplined responses. But she had a point. The service was free and no damage had been done that he could see. He didn’t give a damn about the house anyway. Why should he care if she stayed in it? Besides, he had a hunch the agency would take a different view if they learned she’d supplanted a client’s wishes. He had no desire to get anyone fired. Especially not someone who’d lost everything in a fire.

      “Yeah, I mean it,” he said gruffly. “I’m putting the house on the market and I figure your being here will help sell it faster than if it’s vacant,” he added, resorting to hard-nosed practicality. “So you can stay on…provided you cooperate with the Realtor in showing it, of course.”

      “Yes, of course.” She nibbled her lip. “I’ll have to think about it some.”

      “My presence won’t be a bother, if that’s what’s bugging you,” he said dryly. “I’m leaving town today to visit friends, then I’ll be in and out on business.”

      “I see,” Regina said, cool and crisp, even though curiosity was eating her alive. What kind of business? Where was he going? More important, when was he coming back? And would he be coming back here?

      Clint watched her closely, intrigued by the expressions flitting across her vivid face. Catching his regard, she blushed. “Okay, I’ll try it, but I don’t know,” she ended dubiously. “But I do thank you. You’ve been very kind.” She stood up and extended her hand. “Well, today is Friday, a workday for some of us. Goodbye, Mr. Whitfield. Nice meeting you.”

      “Yeah.” Clint gave a quick, hard laugh. “Same here, Miss Flynn. See you around.”

      Regina nodded, picked up her briefcase and hurried out to her car. Questions about Clint divided her attention as she drove to the office. How long had he been widowed? Although the subject had aroused no overt emotion, she’d sensed something beneath that hard mask, a sadness that went beyond grief.

      Was he still mired in the bitterness of his loss? If so, his wife must have been the love of his life, Regina thought wistfully. “None of which is your business, Gina,” she chided. But her heart still yearned for answers.

      Five days passed without any sign of a Realtor. Puzzled, Regina questioned that, too. Clint had seemed impatient to get it over with, close this part of his life. At least that’s how she’d read him.

      He really doesn’t care about this house, she concluded, hurrying in from work Wednesday evening. He hadn’t even walked through it before he left. “Sad, really sad,” she murmured.

      Hearing the phone ring, she ran down the hall to the den and grabbed the receiver. It was Katie, wanting to talk. Regina relaxed and enjoyed the half-hour chat with her sister. Katie