Finding Isadora(52)

I spun away from the guitar and noted the big slab of wood—a door?—set across a couple of two-drawer metal filing cabinets. On it rested a laptop computer, pad of paper, and pen. One plain wooden chair sat in front of the computer.

His apartment was the opposite of Diane and Frank’s designer decorated home in West Van. It could have belonged to a first-year college student—an impoverished one—except for a few interesting paintings and a carved, painted chest.

“I’ll get out of these dirty clothes,” Gabriel said.

“Good,” I murmured, not really hearing his words, still staring at his shabby furnishings.

A shower began to run and belatedly I realized what he’d said. I imagined him stripping off his clothes, standing under the spray of water. The thought of Gabriel naked was enough to take my breath away. I gulped, and sought some activity to distract me. Remembering my menagerie at home, I phoned Mr. Schultz and he said he’d pop in and take care of the feeding and watering, as well as Pogo’s walk. That used up all of about ten seconds.

I could clean Gabriel’s car. It would get me away from the sound of the shower and the images it evoked. Besides, it would be horrible for him to have to face that blood in the passenger seat tomorrow.

Going in search of cleaning supplies, I was surprised to find his kitchen was an actual room, not the typical tiny walk-through. Gabriel’s building must have been built back in the days when space was considered normal, rather than a luxury.

And, for all that it was minimal, his apartment was spotlessly clean. Under the sink I found a neat arrangement of cleaners and cloths. I would never have imagined Gabriel shopping for lemon-scented cleaner, nor sponging stains from the ancient sand-colored carpet. Quickly I spritzed soap into a plastic pail and ran warm water until I had a mass of pristine suds. I tossed in a sponge, picked up rubber gloves, collected the keys Gabriel had tossed on a rickety table by the door, and headed down to the street.

I had cleaned up blood and worse so many times I barely thought about it. When the job was done, I went back to the apartment.

As I walked inside, Gabriel strode toward me from the living room. “I thought you’d gone.”

My breath caught. Freshly showered, in jeans and an unbuttoned blue cotton shirt, he looked fantastic. Wet hair lay in curly tangles around his strong-boned face and he smelled of lime and soap and man. Oh yes, I knew the thing Janice had spoken of yesterday.

I waved the bucket and forced words out of a dry mouth. “I went down to clean your car.”

He stared at me as if processing that bit of information, then gripped my shoulders. “Oh, Isadora. You didn’t have to do that.”

His hands burned through my shirt and his bare chest, brown and muscular, was little more than a foot from my nose. I gripped the handle of the pail in both hands so tightly my short nails bit into my palms. If that bucket hadn’t been between us… I had the bizarre thought we’d be in each other’s arms. But of course that wasn’t true. I’d never betray Richard that way. Nor, I hoped, would Gabriel. Even if, as I was coming to believe, the physical attraction was mutual.

I cleared my throat, aiming for breezy as I said, “No problem.”

He dropped his hands and stepped aside. “Thank you.”

He began to button his shirt and I looked away, down, and saw well-shaped bare feet. Was everything about the man’s body perfectly sized and shaped?

Enough. I scurried for the kitchen and started to rinse out the pail. “You have a good collection of cleaning supplies,” I called.

He came up behind me. “That’s my housekeeper, Sun-Hi. She comes in on Mondays.”

“How sensible for someone as busy as you to have a housekeeper.”

He shrugged. “The place would be a pigsty if it was left to me. Anyhow, Sun-Hi needs the work. She’s from Korea, came here for what she thought was a real job, ended up as a sex trade worker. The money was better than she was used to, but then she got hooked on drugs, got beaten up a couple too many times. She did rehab and now she’s trying to make a living as a housekeeper.”

“Good for her.” I wondered if she’d been a client of his.

“Yeah.” He opened the fridge door then glanced at me. “Like a beer or a glass of wine?”

By now his shirt was buttoned most of the way up, but he’d left the tails hanging loose. Long legs, casual clothes, bare feet, and damp, tousled hair. He looked no older than Richard. And infinitely more sexy.

He seemed to be back in control now. I should go. I opened my mouth to say so, but the words that came out were, “Wine, please.” Stupid. Really stupid. And yet I couldn’t resist this opportunity to spend time with him.

“You drink red.” It was a statement, not a question. I remembered we’d been drinking red with Grace.

“I drink any color. I’m not picky.”

He closed the fridge and opened a cupboard, taking out a bottle and two glasses—the kind I would use for milk. Red wine splashed and gurgled into them and he handed me one. “Hope you like this. Come sit down.”

He headed into the living room with his own glass and the wine bottle, and I followed. He sank into a ripped-leather armchair, but I headed over to take a closer look at the carved chest, recognizing it as a First Nations blanket box. Leaning down to smell, I verified it was cedar. “This is lovely.”