Chapter 2
?^?
His announcement hit her like a blow in the stomach and robbed her of logical thought. She stood stupefied for several seconds before she slumped against the door frame. She expelled her breath, having held it since opening the door and catching sight of this magnificent man who was Peter Manning's brother.
When she didn't reply or show any inclination toward inviting him in, he said mockingly, "I'm not in the habit of ravishing young wo- men, Miss Adams. And though I've been in Africa for the better part of two years, I'm still civilized."
His eyes were twinkling with mirth, and Katherine automatically resented his humor. He was going to destroy the world she had so painstakingly built for herself and Allison, and he had the gall to stand there and smile!
"May I come in?" he asked politely, and begrudgingly Katherine moved aside and allowed him to come through the door. She closed it behind him, then changed her mind and opened it again. He caught her move and smiled even deeper. The dimples on either side of his mouth were his only resemblance to Peter. His teeth showed incredibly white in his dark face.
"Still afraid I'm here to do you bodily harm?" he asked teasingly. Then he assumed a serious face and said softly, "Seeing you in that outfit, I'll admit the prospect is damned tempting, but I would never take advantage of a lady with paint on her face."
Katherine glanced down at her atrocious clothes and gasped as she noted how closely the damp cloth was clinging to her breasts. While she was bathing Allison, as was usually the case, she had become drenched. She had forgotten until now that her shirt had been soaked by the time she put the baby down for her nap.
Oh, God! she mentally groaned. She risked looking up at Jason Manning, but he was bending down from his tremendous height to pick up a wet cloth she had used to wipe away the dripping acrylic paint. Fascinated, like one hypnotized, she watched him approach her and reach out to grasp her chin in his fingers.
He tilted her head back so he could see what he was doing as he applied the cloth to the spot of paint on her nose. He went about his job absorbedly, unemotionally, but Katherine was finding it difficult to breathe. His whole presence was overwhelming, suffocating. The fingers on her jaw were strong, but gentle. His skin was very dark. Tans like that weren't acquired by short periods of exposure to the sun while lying coated with thick applications of suntan lotion.
The lines that fanned from the corners of his eyes like fine webs were another indication that he spent most of his time out of doors. Oil? Wasn't that what Mary had said? She couldn't remember. She couldn't remember anything. Her brain had been swept clean when he came toward her and clasped her chin in his hand.
His eyes were surrounded by thick, short, black lashes and framed by raven black brows that arched and tapered as if painted on. Katherine was on eye level with his chest and by raising her eyes only slightly, she could see his strong column of throat. In the deep V of his open sport shirt collar, she saw curling black hair that undoubtedly covered his broad chest. God! What was she thinking?
Angry with herself for allowing him such familiarity, she pushed his hand away and stepped backward.
"What do you want, Mr. Manning?"
He shrugged and dropped the cloth back onto the newspapers spread under his feet. "A Coke would be nice." He smiled beguilingly.
"That isn't what I meant and you know it," she snapped. She was furious in her desperation. His friendly manner was only a ploy to reduce her suspicions and relax her guard. Well, she had resisted the advances of one Manning. Shivering in disgust, she remembered Peter's behavior toward her. I'll resist this Manning too. "What are you doing here?" she inquired coldly.
He sighed and crossed the room to sit on the sofa, the cushions of which she had so proudly recovered herself.
"I think my reason for being here would be obvious to you, Katherine." The sound of her name coming from his mouth made her heart lurch. Were they on a first-name basis already? Another of his disarming tricks, no doubt.
He studied her a moment as he leaned negligently back against the cushions of the couch. "I came to get my brother's baby."
She had known his purpose, but having him verbalize it struck terror in her heart. The pain in her chest was almost more than she could bear. She wasn't going to crumple in front of him. She couldn't!
Her face paled considerably, and, slowly shaking her head, she choked out, "No."
When he saw her distress, he stood and took a few steps toward her. She backed away from him, and when he read the aversion on her face, he stopped. Raking his fingers through hair that would forever be somewhat unruly, he muttered a curse under his breath.
He pulled his bottom lip through his teeth several times and stared at her through squinted eyes. He stood with his hands on his hips, and the commanding stance made Katherine feel even more vulnerable in her shabby clothes and bare feet. She shifted uncomfortably from one foot to another, but met his stare with as much calm as she could muster.
Finally he spoke. "Look. I know this isn't going to be easy on anyone. So could we at least try to make it as painless as possible? I really would like a Coke if you have one. A cup of coffee? Let's discuss our mutual problem like rational grown- ups. Okay?"
"I have no problem, Mr. Manning."
"Jace."
"What?" she asked, momentarily distracted by his interruption.
"Call me Jace."
"Oh. Well, as I was saying, I have no problem. I love my sister's baby as if she were my own. On her deathbed Mary commissioned me to take care of her, to rear her, to prevent her from ever coming under the influence of any Manning. I have rocked her, bathed her, fed her—"
"You fed her?" His eyes went to her breasts, and Katherine flushed hotly in embarrassment and anger. And why were her nipples pressing so tautly against her shirt? Ever since Jace had touched her, she had been self-consciously aware of them being unrestrained under the chambray. A bra had seemed an unnecessary garment when she dressed that morning. This man was threatening in ways other than taking Allison away from her, and she was incapable of dealing with any of them.
Jace was still looking at her with that annoying, amused grin, and she lashed out at him. "Don't be obtuse, Mr. Manning. You know that at the hospital babies are put on a formula if the mother can't or doesn't want to ... to..."
"Breast feed?" he asked softly, intimately. Katherine looked out the window, then at her bare feet – anywhere to escape those penetrating eyes. She swallowed the lump in her throat before she mumbled "Yes." She hurried past him on her way to the kitchen.
The business of getting him a drink would cover her acute embarrassment. "I'll get you a drink." She went through the kitchen door practically at a run and braced herself against the counter as if she had reached a haven of repose. Breathing heavily, she put both hands to her pounding temples and asked herself in a critical whisper, "What is the matter with me?" This person ... this man – and, God, what a magnificent man! – had totally disconcerted her. She was trembling. There was a tickling sensation in her thighs. She had attributed it to the strings on the legs of her cutoffs, but now admitted it was coming from within. She pressed the palms of her hands flat against her nipples, willing them to return to their relaxed state.
"Can I help?"
Katherine jumped as she heard the voice so close behind her. "W-what? Oh, no. What did you want? A Coke?"
"Yeah, that'd be nice." He hitched a thumb over his shoulder. "What do you call that color on the walls of the living room?"
She was nervously unscrewing the cap on a bottle of Coke she had found in the refrigerator. How long had it been there? What if it was flat? "The color? Oh, it's called terra cotta." She rattled the glass as she set it on the counter and reached for the ice in the freezer. The ice tray stuck and she almost broke a fingernail trying to pry it out.
"It's pretty. How'd you ever think of it? Isn't it a bit unusual?"
She laughed in spite of herself. "You should have seen my landlady's face when I asked permission to paint the room and showed her the sample. She thought I was crazy, but then finally agreed to it. You see, my sister Mary—" she broke off remembering suddenly who he was and why he was here.
He sensed her reticence and gently urged, "Yes? Your sister Mary..."
Katherine turned away from him and poured the Coke down the side of the ice-filled glass. "Mary was an artist. Sometimes for fun we'd plan rooms and imagine them in outlandish colors. One night she planned a room with orange walls, and surprisingly, we liked it. I've wanted to do a room like that ever since."
She extended the glass of Coke to him and he nodded his thanks. He moved aside and let her go before him back into the living room.
"Who's going to carry the firewood up the stairs?" he asked completely out of context.
His perception and keen observations were uncanny and disturbing. "Happy, my landlady, asked me the same thing. But I like fireplaces and hated seeing this one going to waste. A former tenant had bricked it in. I had it reopened. I guess I'll have to bring up the firewood one log at a time."
She stepped around the newspapers and the naked-looking chest of drawers. She had pulled out all the drawers for easier painting and stripped them of their hardware. He would think she was terribly messy. But why should his opinion of her matter?
"Please excuse this mess. I needed to do this on my day off, and I have to do it indoors so I'll be close to the baby." She could have bitten her tongue. Why did she make that reference to Allison? Somehow she hoped he would forget his objective and just go away. Did she want him to go away? Yes! she averred silently, but was not quite convinced.
He drained the Coke and put the glass on the coffee table after carefully taking a coaster out of its rack. Didn't he ever make a mistake, do anything wrong?
From the basket on the coffee table he picked up an orange spiked with whole cloves and sniffed it appreciatively. Replacing it, he reached for a bright green Granny Smith apple and gave it the same clinical analysis.
Katherine watched him warily as he crossed the room and stood in front of the large windows looking out over the tree- shaded yard. The white shutters had been pushed aside to allow Katherine a vista of the green expanse she loved.
Palms out, his hands slid into the back pockets of his jeans, and Katherine noticed that he could barely squeeze them between the layers of fabric which stretched so tightly across his slim hips.
The muscles of his shoulders and back stirred the cloth of his plaid cotton shirt. The cuffs had casually been rolled up to just under his elbows. She had never given such avid attention to a man before. But then had she ever seen legs so long and lean and—
"Nice trees," he observed. No comment was required, so she didn't offer one. Long moments of silence passed before he turned to her and asked softly, "Can I see the baby now?"
"She's sleeping," Katherine tried.
He didn't buy it. "I promise not to wake her."
She wanted to refuse him, but it would be useless. If he wanted to see the baby, she couldn't physically stop him. She sighed resignedly and indicated the room where Allison was taking her nap, completely unaware of the friction her existence generated between these two people.
Jace's large body seemed to fill the room as he bent over the crib and pulled back the light blanket.
Allison was in her usual sleeping position. She lay on her stomach, her head turned to one side, her knees drawn up under her tummy, her bottom stuck up in the air.
Katherine carefully watched Jace's reaction as he studied the baby whose gentle, rapid breath was the only sound in the close room. He reached out with one large brown hand and stroked the rosy cheek with his index finger.
"Hello, Allison," he whispered.
Katherine, who had been awed by the contrast of his hand against Allison's small head, turned quickly to look at him. "How did you know her name?" she asked. She had been mindful not to mention it to him thinking that the less of an individual the baby seemed to him, the less he would want her.