Predicting Rain?. Mary Anne Wilson

fogging her brain. He was here, in a place leased by LynTech. He more than likely worked for Holden. He was a suit. A half-naked suit at the moment, but a suit, unless he was just loft sitting or something. Maybe a relative in from out of town? “I wouldn’t know,” she murmured.

      He eyed her night shirt and bare feet. “Take my word for it, he’s not your type.”

      She felt that touch of heat in her cheeks again at the tone in his voice. Condescension, or maybe sarcasm? She wasn’t sure, but she knew that she didn’t like it. “Tell your boss his cat is back,” she said.

      “My boss?” he asked.

      The moment he said the words, she knew she’d been wrong. This man wasn’t a flunky. He was a boss, a filthy rich boss staying in a very plain loft. She remembered exactly where she’d seen him before. A glossy magazine. She’d been in one of the offices at the hospital waiting for yet another interview with Dr. Shay, and she’d picked it up to pass the time. It had been one of those “people on the go” columns, the type that either started rumors or confirmed them.

      This man had earned a full half-page column including a color picture. He’d been in a tux, his arm around the shoulders of a tall, beautiful woman with perfect bone structure and a cap of ebony hair. The paragraph was about Jackson Ford, and Eve something-or-other. Definitely a suit, a very rich, powerful suit. It had been announcing the engagement of Jackson Ford, head of European operations for LynTech. Something about them making their home in London.

      “You’re Jackson Ford, aren’t you?” she blurted out.

      She’d definitely shocked him.

      “How in the hell—?”

      “Saw your picture in a magazine a bit back. You were getting engaged and partying in England, I think.”

      “You got me,” he said. “So, you are…?”

      Out of here, she thought, but said, “I didn’t know you were here, that anyone was here. Sorry about all of this.”

      “I didn’t expect to wake up at two in the morning and find a half dressed hippie in the kitchen.”

      “Hippie?”

      He flicked his gaze over her. “Hippie.”

      “Whatever,” she said, and knew it was time to get out of the loft and away from this guy. She’d faced snobbery before, but it hadn’t rankled her as much as the snobbery he was showing at that moment.

      “Now that we’ve labeled each other, I’m leaving,” she said, and moved to go past him.

      But it wasn’t going to be that easy, not when he caught her by the upper arm and stopped her. His fingers hovered this side of real pain, but held her firmly, stopping her escape completely. “Hold on there,” he said. “You aren’t leaving yet.”

      Chapter Two

      Rain fought every instinct to try to free herself of his hold, and stood very still. “What, do you want me to thank you for not braining me with that lamp? Or do you want me to do a spirit dance around you while you try to correct your very-out-of-whack Karma?”

      He almost smiled, and she had a flashing knowledge that he was a man who didn’t smile easily. “Neither,” he said and let her go. “I just wanted to know who you are.”

      She stayed where she was, not moving at all and definitely not rubbing her arm where he’d gripped her. “I’m an idiot who thought I was rescuing a cat. I even gave him some dolphin free tuna to eat, and he turned his nose up at it. Then you came after me with that lamp.”

      “I never threatened you with the lamp or anything else, and as far as my karma goes, it’s just fine.”

      “Rainbow!”

      She heard George calling from somewhere beyond the entry door and his voice cut through the loft with a boom even from that distance. “I’m in here, George!” she called back, not taking her eyes off the man in front of her. “I’ll be right there.”

      “Okay,” he called back and she heard their loft door close with a soft clang.

      “Rainbow?” Jack asked, the way so many people had said her given name over the years.

      “Rain is fine,” she muttered. “George just likes to use the full version.”

      “George?”

      “Your neighbor. The guy Zane gave the key to in case Joey showed up?”

      “Joey?”

      “The cat.”

      “You were talking to the cat earlier?” he asked.

      “Sure. I was trying to coax him off the wall to start with, then tried to get him to eat very expensive tuna.”

      Jack kept watching her, a tiny woman who talked fast, moved with real ease and whom he’d felt against him on the floor. He took a breath, but wished he hadn’t. She carried the scent of…something…sweet and soft…but elusive. And she lived next door. And all he knew about anyone else on this floor was what Zane had said.

      “There’s a middle-aged hippie next door to the loft, George Armstrong. He’s a good man, but he’s beyond eccentric and if you let him, he’ll give you hours of lectures about corporate greed. He paints, I think, and comes and goes on whims, apparently. He never got past the ‘do your own thing’ or ‘if it feels good, do it,’ era,” she said.

      “You said you live next door?”

      “I moved in a few weeks ago. George is my—”

      “I know all about George,” he said before she could go into their relationship. He understood all too well from what Zane had told him. But it bothered him that she was involved with the man.

      She frowned, then cocked her head to one side and her hair moved in a soft veil. “Oh, sure, of course, you know.”

      “What does that mean?”

      “Just more labeling. Since George doesn’t conform to what you think he should, you’re sure that he’s some irresponsible hippie living like some flower child.” She bit her lip. “Gad, you’re a snob.”

      A snob? “Now I’m a stuffed suit and a snob?”

      She shook her head, then went past him into the main living area that was deep in shadows except for the light slicing in from the hallway. He followed her, watching her silhouetted against the light coming in the door. She was at the entrance before she stopped and turned back to him. In that fleeting moment, the light behind her softly exposed her slender figure. “Sorry for the intrusion. I’ll let that Zane person know the cat’s back.”

      “Don’t bother. I’ll take care of it,” he said.

      “Oh, sure, the responsible one,” she muttered.

      She was going back to that middle-aged hippie and he felt vaguely sick. “I’ll take care of it,” he repeated.

      “Of course, and, oh, by the way, my name’s Rainbow Swan, for the record. Good night, Jackson Ford.”

      With that, she left, quietly closing the door behind her. Before he could do more than absorb the fact that she’d obviously had the last word, the door opened again and this time he could see through the thin cotton of her T-shirt. “I’ve got the key,” she said. “Tell Zane that he can come get it any time he wants to. But until then we’ll guard it with our lives so that you’ll be safe from any and all undesirables who might be in the area.” And she closed the door after her.

      Jack crossed to the door, opened it and heard another door shut firmly. Rain was gone. And she’d had a double last word. He hated that. He closed his door, threw the bolt lock on it, then saw the cat. The animal was walking silently along the shelf on the top of the partial wall. He got to the bedroom