Kitty found herself smiling in spite of herself. “You are that,” she murmured, though his grin said clearly that he’d heard her.
Bart didn’t respond but instead made a couple of quick turns then pulled into an alley between the back yards of houses.
“Where are we?” she asked, feeling the first hint of alarm.
“Home,” he said, pulling in behind a two-story structure.
It was an old Victorian house in a neighborhood full of them. Like its neighbors, it was clearly a part of the movement to preserve and renovate these old beauties.
“You didn’t say anything about taking me to your place,” she said, nervous in spite of her resolve.
“I said I was takin’ you to dinner,” he said, getting out of the car.
“But…!”
He closed his door with a firm hand then came around the hood of the car to open her door for her.
“Dinner usually means a restaurant,” she said, making no move to get out.
He sighed. “But tonight is all about tellin’ you the truth, darlin’, and I can’t do that at a restaurant any more than I could at your office.
“Don’t worry,” he added. “I haven’t poisoned anyone, yet.”
Kitty hesitated another moment then took his offered hand and stepped out of the car. Looking around, she noticed the house across the alley was three stories, and she recognized the black SUV and the white van.
“Your nephews?” she asked, gesturing across the way.
“Mel was living in the top floor apartment when we met her. We were able to buy the house from the owner right before she and Matt were married. Then Addy came along, and this place came up for sale. It was a mess, but John and I moved over here when Luke and Candace married. Then John found Meg, so we spent all our time on the upstairs apartment. My space was only finished about a month ago.”
The whole time he was talking, he was gently herding Kitty into the apartment, and by the time he finished with the explanation, she was standing inside the back door, staring around at the kitchen, stunned by what he had done.
“I have to say, it’s not what I’d expected, but this is incredible,” she said, moving around the room, touching various surfaces.
The kitchen and dining area beyond were traditional in design, though the open floor plan and high-end finishes took it a step beyond. Closer inspection showed it leaned more toward the simplicity of mid-century modern in the furnishings, but blurry water-color paintings of mountains and forests harkened back to the past. The lighting was mostly hidden, the furnishings comfortable-looking. The small round table under a simple hanging lamp was set for two, complete with wine glasses and candles ready to light. Bart crossed the room to touch a switch, and a cheerful gas fire began to burn brightly in the fireplace.
“Confident, weren’t you?” she said, gesturing toward the set table.
Bart grinned. “I figured you wouldn’t be able to resist.”
After tapping a button on the microwave oven, he opened the big oven and brought out a pan of bubbling lasagna.
“Italian?” she asked. “You continually surprise me, Bartholomew.”
“Don’t worry. I put it together, but it’s Mel’s red sauce.”
“Ah.”
He placed the glass pan in a woven tray, carried it to the table, then returned to the refrigerator and brought out what looked like a spinach salad, which he proceeded to toss with vinegar and oil dressing.
“The bread’s in the microwave,” he said.
When the oven dinged, she opened the door to find a loaf of sliced Italian bread in a basket. Pulling it out, she smelled the garlic in the butter.
“Wine?” he asked.
“I might as well,” she said.
Bart grinned and poured red for them both before reaching into a drawer for a lighter and lighting the candles. Setting the lighter aside, he flicked off the kitchen lights.
“I guess that’s everything,” she said.
“Not quite.”
Before she could move past him to the table, he took hold of her arms, backed her against the kitchen counter, and reached up to pull her hair free of the chignon. She heard the pins hit the countertop and hardwood floor as he combed his long fingers through the heavy waves, and she was shocked to feel the ripple of desire run through her from her scalp to her toes. When he was through, he held one thick lock to the light.
“It’s not really red, and it’s not really brown, is it?” He smiled. “Chestnut, maybe.”
Kitty had to swallow, before she could speak. “It mostly depends upon what color I’m wearing—and the lighting,” she said.
“And you often dress in black, don’t you?”
“It’s professional,” she said tightly. “If you’re through playing with my hair, now, I’m hungry.”
Bart grinned. “Right.”
He surprised her once more when he pulled her chair out for her. Then he was serving her lasagna, and passing her the salad. Nothing more was said as they began to eat what turned out to be a delicious meal.