Considering Kate. Nora Roberts

you could fly forever. Look like you can.

      End it with flair, with joy, in a fast rush of fouetté turns. Then set! Snap like a statue, one arm up, one back.

      “I guess I’m supposed to throw roses, but I don’t have any on me.”

      Her breath was already coming fast, and she nearly lost it completely as the statement shoved her out of dance mode. She pressed a hand to her speeding heart, and panting lightly, stared at Brody.

      He stood just inside the door, hands in his pockets and a toolbox at his feet.

      “You can owe me,” she managed to say. “I like red ones. God, you scared the life out of me.”

      “Sorry. Your door wasn’t locked, and you didn’t hear me knock.” Or wouldn’t have, he decided, if he’d thought to knock.

      But when he’d seen her through the window, he hadn’t thought at all. He’d just walked in, dazzled. A woman who looked like that, who moved like that, was bound to dazzle a man. He imagined she knew it.

      “It’s all right.” She turned and walked over to turn down the music. “I was initiating the place. Though the dance looks better with the costumes and lights. So.” She pushed at her tumbled hair, willing her speeding heart to settle. “What can I do for you, Mr. O’Connell?”

      He walked toward her, stopping to pick up her hair band. “You lost this during a spin.”

      “Thanks.” She tucked it into her pocket.

      He wished she’d pulled her hair back into it. He didn’t care for his reaction to the way she looked just now, flushed and tousled and…available. “I get the feeling you weren’t expecting me.”

      “No, but I don’t mind the unexpected.” Especially, she thought, when it comes with fabulous green eyes and a sexy little scowl.

      “Your mother asked me to come by, take a look at the place.”

      “Ah. You’re another housewarming present.”

      “I beg your pardon?”

      “Nothing.” She angled her head. Dancers, she mused, knew as much about body language as a psychiatrist. His was stiff, just a little defensive. And he was certainly careful to keep a good, safe distance between them. “Do I make you nervous, O’Connell, or just annoy you?”

      “I don’t know you well enough to be nervous or annoyed.”

      “Want to?”

      His belly muscles quivered. “Look, Ms. Kimball—”

      “All right, don’t get huffy.” She waved him off. A pity, she thought. She preferred being direct, and he, obviously, didn’t. “I find you attractive, and I got the impression you were interested, initially. My mistake.”

      “You make a habit of coming on to strange men in your mother’s toy store?”

      She blinked, a quick flicker of temper and hurt. Then she shrugged. “Oh, well. Ouch.”

      “Sorry.” Disgusted with himself, he held up both hands. “Way out of line. Maybe you do annoy me after all. Not your fault. I’m out of practice when it comes to…aggressive women. Let’s just say I’m not in the market for any entanglements right now.”

      “This is a blow—I’d already picked the band for the wedding, but I expect I’ll recover.”

      His lips curved. “Oh, well. Ouch.”

      He had a great smile when he used it, Kate thought. It was a damn shame he was so stingy with it where she was concerned. “Now that we have all that out of the way. What do you think?” She spread her arms to encompass the room.

      Since here he was on solid ground, Brody relaxed. “It’s a great old place. Lots of atmosphere and potential. Solid foundation. Built to last.”

      The little prickle of annoyance that still chilled her skin faded away. Warmth radiated. “That’s it. Now I love you.”

      It was his turn to blink. He’d already taken a defensive step in retreat when Kate laughed. “Boy, you are out of practice. I’m not going to throw myself into your arms, Brody—though it’s tempting. It’s just that you’re the first person who’s agreed with me on this. Everyone else thinks I’m crazy to sink so much time and money into this building.”

      He couldn’t remember having a woman make him feel like an idiot so often in such a short space of time. He shoved his hands into his pockets again. “It’s a good investment—if you do it right and you’re in for the long haul.”

      “Oh, I’m in. Why don’t you tell me how you’d do it right?”

      “First thing I’d do is have the heating system looked at. It’s freezing in here.”

      She grinned at him. “We may just get along after all. The furnace is in the basement. Want to take a look?”

      She came down with him—which he didn’t expect. She didn’t bolt when they came across a startled mouse—or the old shedded skin of a snake that had likely dined on the rodent’s relatives. And that he had expected.

      In his experience, women—well, intensely female women types—generally made a quick retreat when they came across anything that slithered or skittered. But Kate just wrinkled her nose and took a little notebook out of her jacket pocket to jot something down.

      The light was poor, the air thick and stale, and the ancient furnace that squatted on the original dirt floor, a lost cause.

      He gave her that bad news, then explained her options, the pros and cons of electric heat pumps, gas, oil. BTU’s, efficiency, initial cost outlay and probable monthly expenses.

      He imagined he’d do just as well speaking in Greek and offered to send brochures and information to her father.

      “My father’s a composer and a college professor,” she said with cool politeness. “Do you assume he’d understand all of this better than I would because we have different chromosomes?”

      Brody considered for a moment. “Yeah.”

      “You assume incorrectly. You can send me your information, but at this point I’m more inclined to the steam heat. It seems simpler and more efficient as the pipes and radiators are already in place. I want to keep as much of the building’s character as possible, while making it more livable and attractive. Also, I’ll have secondary heat sources, if and when I need them, when the chimneys are checked—repaired if necessary.”

      He didn’t much care for the icy tone, even if he did agree with the content. “You’re the boss.”

      “There, you’re absolutely correct.”

      “You have cobwebs in your hair. Boss.”

      “So do you. I’ll need this basement area cleaned, and however authentic the dirt floor might be, I’ll want cement poured. And an exterminator. Better lighting. As it is, it’s virtually wasted space. It can be put to use for storage.”

      “Fine.” He took a notepad and pencil out of his breast pocket and began scribbling notes.

      She walked to the stairs, jiggling the banister as she started up. “The stairs don’t have to be pretty, but they have to be safe.”

      “You’ll get safe. All the work will be up to code. I don’t work any other way.”

      “Good to know. Now, let me show you what I want on the main level.”

      She knew what she wanted. Maybe a little too precisely for his taste. Still, he had to give her points for not intending to simply gut the building, but to make use of its eccentricities and charm.

      He couldn’t see a ballet school, but she apparently could. Right down to the bench she envisioned built in under the front windows, and the canned ceiling lights.

      She