The Perfect Neighbor by Nora Roberts Page B

wrist, yanked her around and crumpled the bill into her palm. “Now …” Then watched in astonishment as she ripped a hundred dollars into confetti.
    “There, problem solved.”
    “That,” he said on what he hoped was a calming breath, “was amazingly stupid.”
    “Stupid? Well, why break pattern? You can go now,” she said.
    Her voice was so suddenly regal, so completely princess to peon, he nearly blinked. “Very good, very effective,” he murmured. “The lady-of-the-manor tone was so utterly unexpected.”
    Her next suggestion, delivered in the same haughty tone, was also utterly unexpected, to the point, and made him blink.
    “That works, too,” he acknowledged. “And I don’t think you meant that in a romantic sense.”
    She simply turned, stalked around the counter and began to put away her groceries. If insults and swearing didn’t work, perhaps ignoring him would.
    It might have if he hadn’t seen her fingers tremble as she pushed a box into the cupboard. And seeing it, he felt everything inside him fade but the guilt.
    “Cybil, I’m sorry.” He watched her hand hesitate, then grab a soup can and shove it away. “It took on a life of its own, and I didn’t do anything to stop it. I should have.”
    “You didn’t have to lie to me. I’d have left you alone.”
    “I didn’t lie—or didn’t start out to. But I let you assume something other than the truth. I want my privacy. I need it.”
    “You’ve got it. I’m not the one who just bullied his way into someone’s apartment.”
    “No, you’re not.” He stuck his hands in his pockets, dragged them out again and laid them on the counter. “I hurt you, and I didn’t have to. I’m sorry for it.”
    She closed her eyes as she felt the gate she’d sworn to keep locked on her heart creak open. “Why did you?”
    “Because I thought it would keep you on your own side of the hall. Because you were a little too appealing for comfort. And because part of me got a kick out of you wanting to help me find work.”
    He saw her shoulders draw up at that and winced. “I didn’t mean it that way. Cybil, how could I not be amused when you offered me a hundred dollars to have dinner with you? A hundred dollars so you could spare an old woman’s feelings and get some out-of-work sax player a hot meal. It was … sweet. That’s not a word that comes easy to me.”
    “It’s humiliating,” she muttered, and grabbed the second bag and began shoving produce into the fridge.
    “Don’t let it be.” He took a chance and walked around the counter so they both stood in the kitchen. “It only backfired because the timing was off, and that’s my fault. If I’d told you who I was over dinner, as I should have, you’d have laughed about it. Instead, I made you cry, and I can’t stand knowing that.”
    She stood where she was, staring into the refrigerator. She hadn’t expected him to care, for it to matter to him. But it did. She simply couldn’t hold out against a caring heart.
    Drawing a deep breath, she told herself they would start fresh. Try for casual friends. “Want a beer?”
    Every knot in his shoulders loosened. “Oh, yeah.”
    “Figured.” She reached in for a bottle, disposed of the top, reached for a glass. “I haven’t heard you talk so much at one time since I met you.” When she turned, offering the beer, her eyes were smiling. “You must be dry.”
    “Thanks.”
    Her dimple fluttered. “But I’m out of cookies.”
    “You could always make some more.”
    “Maybe.” She turned away to deal with the groceries. “But I was thinking about baking a pie.” Tossing a look over her shoulder, she lifted a brow. “We never did have that pie.”
    “No, we didn’t.”
    Too appealing for comfort, he thought again. She was wearing an oversize cotton shirt, plain white. Leggings the color of summer skies, those silly shoes.
    Since she’d been marketing, he doubted that the just-under-the-smoldering-point perfume had been