Future Perfect by Suzanne Brockmann Page B

me.”
    Intrigued, Webster followed her out of the room and down the hall. “Curiouser and curiouser,” he murmured as she led the way up the stairs to the third floor.
    He watched silently as she took a key from a long chain that she wore around her neck and unlocked the deadbolt to her apartment. Her long skirt swept after her as she went through the doorway. Webster stood outside, not sure if he should follow.
    After a moment she came back to the door. “What are you waiting for?” she asked.
    “An invitation, I think,” he said, “You told me so absolutely that your apartment was off limits my feet refuse to step over the threshold.”
    Juliana made a face at him. “That was back when you were a jerk,” she said. “But all right, I’ll humor you. Won’t you come in, Mr. Donovan?”
    “Thank you, Miss Anderson,” he said, stepping intothe room. “You know,
I
haven’t changed. It’s your perception of me that’s been altered.”
    “What are you saying? That you’re still a jerk?”
    “Nice place,” he said in admiration, looking around the spacious room. “You’ve made yourself your own little Greenwich Village loft here, way the hell out in the middle of nowhere. It’s so modern I’m shocked.”
    “I thought you weren’t easily shocked,” Juliana said with a smile.
    “I’m not.” Webster crossed the room to get a better look at her exercise gear. “Oh, wow, look what you’ve got! Your own private health club. Could I—? Sorry.” He shook his head, as if amazed at his audacity.
    “Use my equipment sometime?” Juliana asked, finishing the sentence for him, with a smile. “Why don’t I dangle that over your head as additional incentive for helping me out tonight and tomorrow?”
    “Absolutely. Good incentive. I love what you’ve done with the skylights,” Webster said, his eyes following the line of the ceiling. “How many houseplants do you have? Is it four or five hundred?”
    “Not that many.” Juliana laughed.
    “Aren’t you afraid you’ll hyperventilate from all the extra oxygen these monsters give off?”
    “Watch what you call them. They’re listening!”
    “Oh my God,” Webster said, drawn to another part of the room. “You hypocrite! Your brochure clearly boasts that there are no TVs in your bed and breakfast, but that’s got to be the biggest television I’ve ever seen in my life! I’m crushed! All this time, I pictured you sitting around doing needlepoint in the evening, when really you were up here watching
South Park
.”
    “Webster, what do I have to do to get your attention?” Juliana said.
    “You’ve probably got a microwave somewhere around here, too, don’t you?”
    “Webster, get over here and take your clothes off!”
    She could see the shock in his blue eyes clear across the room. “Okay,” he said. “That got my attention.”
    “I have something I want you to try on,” she said calmly, opening her closet door and disappearing inside. When she came back out, he was standing by the end of her platform bed. He turned to look at her.
    The clothes Juliana held were covered with a thin plastic from the dry cleaners. She pulled it up to reveal a gentleman’s black Victorian evening coat, complete with tails, a vest, a black pair of trousers, and a frilled white shirt.
    Webster laughed. “Where did you get that?”
    “I have a costume chest.” She smiled. “I remembered there was a suit that no one could ever wear because it was much too big. I almost threw it out last year. Lucky for you, I didn’t. I sent it out to have it cleaned a few days ago.”
    “Lucky for me,” he echoed. He sat down on her bed, pulling off his boots.
    “You can change in the bathroom if you want,” she said, but he had already stepped out of his jeans. “Or not,” she added weakly.
    It hadn’t even been a week since she’d taken care of him, since she’d seen him with less on than the red shorts he was wearing now. But he’d been barely mobile, hardly