McIver's Mission by Brenda Harlen Page A

her face. She didn't know
whether to be grateful or annoyed that Shaun's presence made her so easily
forget the problem that seemed to be at the forefront of her mind at any other
time. So she'd fled, reverting to her plan of avoidance. She wasn't proud of
her behavior, but Shaun McIver threatened every aspect of her well-ordered life
and she wasn't willing to risk everything for a temporary fling.
    She could only hope that Shaun would be gone by the
time she returned to her apartment.
    He wasn't.
    And he came back the following night, and again the
night after that.
    Arden let him keep the spare key, preferring to stay
late at the office or run errands after work. Anything to avoid spending time
with Shaun.
    Thursday night when Arden arrived home, she was
greeted by the sharp odor of wood stain. "You're finished?" she
asked, trying not to sound too hopeful.
    Shaun grinned at her as he wiped his hands on a rag.
    "For now."
    "Oh?"
    "They'll need a second coat and then a protective
sealant," he told her.
    "They look good," she said. And they did. It
made her wonder if there was anything Shaun McIver couldn't do well. She
severed the thought before it could go any further.
    "I should be able to finish up this weekend, then
you'll be able to unpack."
    "You haven't given me the receipts," she
reminded him. He'd refused to accept payment for the labor, but Arden had
insisted that she'd buy the materials. After all, they were her bookcases.
    "Haven't I?"
    "No."
    Shaun shrugged. "Don't worry about it."
    "I can't let you pay for my shelves."
    "How about a trade?" he suggested.
    She narrowed her eyes. "What kind of trade?"
    "Dinner."
    "Would you like me to order it for you?" she
asked dryly.
    He grinned. "I'd like you to share it with
me."
    "Oh."
    "Have you already eaten?"
    "No," she admitted.
    "Neither have I."
    "I guess the least I could do is buy you
dinner."
    "You could smile and pretend to enjoy it,
too."
    She did smile at that. "I'm sorry. I must seem
incredibly ungrateful, and I do appreciate all the work you've done. Where did
you want to go?"
    " DiMarco's ," he
said. "We have reservations for eight o'clock."
    "Reservations?"
    He nodded as he piled his paint cans and tools in the
corner. "That will give me just enough time to grab a quick shower before
we have to go."
    "You planned this," she said accusingly.
    "You can't get a table at DiMarco's without reservations," he said, as if that explained everything.
    "I'm not going to fall in with your plans,
McIver."
    He shrugged, suggesting that her agreement or lack
thereof didn't matter to him. "I've been living on fast food all week. I'm
hungry and I want a decent meal. I thought you might, too."
    Arden sighed. She hated that he was always so
reasonable, and she was hungry. "Fine. There are towels in the cupboard in
the bathroom. You've got twenty minutes for a shower."
    "I'll be ready in ten," he promised, then he
sauntered down the hall to the bathroom.
    Arden shook her head as she watched him go. She didn't
understand why he was so intent on spending time with her. Did he think she was
going to fall into bed with him just because it was what he wanted?
    Probably, she admitted to herself. She didn't imagine
there were many women who were immune to his charms. She knew that she wasn't.
    He was out of the bathroom in the ten minutes he'd
promised, his hair damp from the shower. He looked good. Too good.
    "Ready?" he asked.
    She thought he was referring to dinner, but the
sparkle in his eyes made her wonder. "What's going on here, McIver?"
    He didn't hedge or pretend not to understand, for
which she was grateful. "I think we need to take some time to figure that
out."
    She shook her head. "You know we're completely
wrong for each other."
    "I used to think so. Now, I'm not so sure."
    He leaned toward her, and her breath caught in her
throat. This time she knew he was going to kiss her, but she wasn't any more
prepared for it. He touched his mouth to hers once, softly, fleetingly.