Love, Come to Me(65)

As she walked past the first few rooms on the ground floor, she saw men working industriously, tearing old brocade off the walls, replacing chipped tiles, taking measurements, climbing ladders, wielding hammers. There was no sign of Heath, and uncertainly she paused in a doorway long enough to catch the attention of one of the workers.

“Miss?” he questioned, tearing off his hat hastily as she approached him.

“Mrs. Rayne,” she corrected with a smile. “I’m looking for my husband. Would you happen to know where he is?”

“Yes, Mrs. Rayne.” Respectfully he indicated the steps leading up to the second floor. Upstairs, the sound of heavy scraping came from one of the rooms. Lucy went to investigate, standing just inside the door and smiling as she caught sight of her husband. Unnoticed by either of them, she watched as Heath and a stocky workman lifted a heavy, bulky chest of drawers and carried it away from the corner. The powerful muscles of Heath’s shoulders and back flexed underneath the thin white shirt, while fawn trousers molded to his taut bu**ocks and thighs. Sometimes Lucy’s heart skipped a beat when she realized how handsome he was. As she looked at him, she was aware of a certain sense of feminine appreciation, perhaps even smugness. He could be infuriating at times, but there were some things about him that she wouldn’t change for anything. And of all the women who had undoubtedly wanted him in the past—and those who would want him in the future—she was the only one with any rightful claim to him.

Breathing deeply from exertion, the men set the stocky article of furniture down in the center of the room and regarded it with disgust. “I can see why it was left behind,” Heath remarked, rolling up a sleeve that had fallen down his forearm.

“Too heavy?” the other man asked.

“Too ugly.”

“We’ll need a few more pairs of hands if we’re going to carry it down the stairs, through the front hall and down to the street.”

“It might be easier to carry it to the window and drop it,” Heath replied, causing the other man to chuckle.

“Not on that sidewalk, you won’t,” Lucy said with a smile, and Heath turned around, his turquoise eyes sweeping over her in a fraction of a second. There was a sudden silence, and then the air was almost crackling with awareness.

“You’re here already.”

“I’m a little early.”

Heath tore his gaze away from her and glanced at the man nearby. “Mr. Flannigan . . . my wife, Mrs. Rayne.”

After exchanging a friendly nod with Lucy, Flannigan cleared his throat self-consciously. “I . . . ah . . . should check on the boys downstairs.” As he left the room, Lucy walked over to Heath hesitantly, wondering why he was staring at her so intently.

“All the men in the house—,” she started to say.

“They’ll be gone after tomorrow. There are some repairs and alterations that had to be done.”

“From what I’ve seen so far, the house is lovely.”

“We don’t have much yet as far as furniture goes, except for a bed, some tables, a few chairs and this . . .” He tore his hungry gaze away from her and looked ruefully at the chest of drawers. “This—”

“Monstrosity?”

“That’s putting it kindly.”

“Eyesore?” she offered, taking a step closer to him.

“Better.”

Would it be inappropriate to kiss him before he made a move towards her? She decided it wouldn’t be. Impulsively she put her hands on his chest, stood on her toes and pressed her lips against his clean-shaven cheek. “How has everything gone for the last two days? Have you been dreadfully busy?” she asked. His arms went automatically around her waist. It was the first time she had ever approached him without having been coerced. As Heath stared into her upturned face, the memory of his own words interfered with his enjoyment of the small ritual.

You’re going to play the part of Mrs. Rayne for me as well as for everyone else . . .

Heath regretted those words more than anything else he had ever said. He knew she remembered them just as well as he did. But as he looked into her soft hazel eyes, he saw nothing but sweet guilelessness. He would have liked to allow himself to believe in it. What game was she playing? Apparently the one he had demanded of her.

You’ll act the part of Mrs. Rayne for me . . .

Frowning, he bent his head and sought her lips hungrily, searching the depths of her mouth with his tongue until he was absolutely certain that her response was genuine. A magic sweetness stirred between them, more intoxicating than wine, and Heath’s tension eased as he felt Lucy relax in his arms. Her face was flushed and her eyes were dazed as their lips separated. “My . . . my father is downstairs . . . ,” she said, “with the dishes, and the boxes, and . . . the wagon—”

“He can wait five more minutes.”

“But—”

“He’s not going anywhere.” Heath ducked his head under the brim of her hat and found her mouth again. Sliding her hands around his waist and over his back, Lucy molded every inch of her body to his, returning his passion measure for measure until Heath pulled away with a groan. “It’s so good to hold you,” he muttered, framing her face with his hands and stealing light kisses from her lips. “Dammit. It’s going to be a while before we’ll have any privacy. After getting rid of your father and everyone else around here, there’s dinner—”