What the Heart Wants (What the Heart Wants, #1)(63)

Kinkaid House, though, had stayed in the family, and Laurel had grown up assuming she would inherit it and fill it with a brood of noisy, happy children, enough to keep the Kinkaid heritage going for generations to come.

When she and Sarah contemplated their future families—they both considered being only children a tragedy of monumental proportions that they’d never impose on their own children—Sarah limited herself to one boy and one girl, while she’d decided on three boys and three girls, enough to fill the third-floor bedrooms.

She caressed the top of the old-fashioned hitching post at the curb and glanced back at the house. Well, she’d inherited it, all right, but now the house would pass into the hands of someone else. If it would ever sell, that is.

Feeling the darkness gathering again, she went back inside. Maybe music would cheer her up. She sat down at the piano and tried to play some Schubert, then crashed the keyboard, stood up, and closed the lid like a coffin. The dissonances were more than she could bear.

A peanut butter sandwich served for lunch, after which she armed herself with a duster, polish, and vacuum cleaner, and climbed up to the third floor again.

Good thing Kel hadn’t rung the doorbell today. She didn’t want him to see her with a dish-towel apron, her hair bound up in a kerchief, toting cleaning supplies around.

The rooms went fast, and, in less than two hours, she’d closed the windows again and hauled the vacuum down to the second floor.

By late afternoon, the whole house was clean, but she herself was filthy. After a quick shower, she gave herself an iced tea break and retreated to the cool den.

Exhaustion felt good—she’d earned it. Leaning back in the overstuffed leather chair, she took a long, slow swallow from her glass, then jerked to attention as the phone beside her rang.

It was Jase.

“I won’t be back till later, hon, but plan on leaving by about six thirty. Okay?”

“Six thirty? I’ll be ready.”

What should she wear? The way she saw it, she could either dress for her funeral or dress to conquer, and she wasn’t planning to die anytime soon.

She sorted through her evening dresses. The pale pink was pretty, but far too subtle, and the black looked more stately than sinful. The fuchsia strapless—yes!

She hauled the dress out of her closet and held it up to herself in front of the mirror. The deep pinky-purple matte satin looked great on her. The Bosque Club would never know what hit it.

*



Jase came through the door at full speed, vaulted up the stairs, burst into her room, and rapped on her bathroom door. “Sorry to be late. I’ll dress in the room across the hall and meet you downstairs.”

He’d finished up on the real estate deal early but then had a devil of a time finding a decent place to get his car washed. He wanted the Caddie to look great, to be worthy of Laurel. In fact, he wanted everything about the evening to be perfect, because he was planning to ask her to marry him. Sure, it was too soon, but it wasn’t as if they’d just met. She’d been his dream girl since he was sixteen, and now that he had a chance with her, he was going to take it.

He removed his suit from its vinyl bag and hung it on the closet rod, then showered and shaved. It was an Armani, his armor, his proof of success. He had a whole wardrobe of them at home, and sometimes he’d slide open the closet door and count them just to be sure they were all still there.

After carefully knotting his deep maroon silk tie, he ran a comb through his wet hair. The cut cost big bucks, but it was worth it. Grabbing his jacket, he went downstairs to wait for Laurel.

Was the ring still in his pocket? He felt for the velvet box. It might be the wrong size, but they could always get that fixed.

Of course, she might reject him. A lot of women preferred to remain single these days, especially after a divorce. Look at Maxie. She’d been married for six years, caught her husband cheating on her, divorced his sorry ass, and never looked back.

He glanced up at the landing again. When the hell would Laurel be ready? He checked his watch, jiggled the ring box, and felt for his mobile, then remembered that he’d decided to leave it at the house this evening.

“Jase?”

He swung around and looked up at her as she came down the stairs step-by-step.

God, she was gorgeous.

It wasn’t just the dress, although that was spectacular—a purplish sort of thing which left her shoulders bare and looked like a waterfall from the waist down to her knees. It wasn’t just the sparkles at her ears and throat. It wasn’t just her face or her hair, which was pinned up in some kind of twist. It was Laurel herself—her grace, the slow curve of her smile, the glow in her eyes.

“You are so beautiful,” he intoned huskily.

He would make this the most wonderful night of her life, and before it was over, she’d have a three-carat diamond ring to match her necklace and earrings. They might not be real, judging by the obvious state of her finances, but the ring was.

And his love was real too.





Chapter Fifteen



Jase escorted Laurel to his car as gallantly, he hoped, as any of her forebears ever walked their ladies to a waiting carriage, although it was hard to live up to dead people. Opening the car door, he watched as she slid across the leather seat in one fluid motion.

She looked up at him through her lashes. Her “thank you” was soft and sweet-voiced.