“Sweeney?” Richard waved his hand in front of her face, and she snapped back to the present, flushing as she realized she had been staring at him while she pondered the state of her ovaries.
“Sorry,” she muttered. “What did you say?”
The corners of his mouth curled a little, as if he was suppressing a smile. “I asked if you wanted a lift home. It’s starting to rain.”
So it was. It hadn’t been just the smoked glass of the doors making the day look dreary; the bright sunshine was gone and the sky had turned cloudy while she was in the gallery. She looked up as raindrops began to spatter on the sidewalk.
Instantly she hugged the portfolio closer to her, as if she could protect it with her body. There was no decision to it, not when the choice was between keeping her drawings dry or letting the rain ruin them. “Thanks, I would. Where’s your car?” she asked, looking around.
“Right here.” He raised his hand, and a dark gray Mercedes rolled forward to stop at the curb in front of him. That struck her as a lot handier than standing on the curb waving frantically at passing cabs, as she knew hundreds of people had started doing as soon as the first raindrop fell.
He put his hand on her back as he leaned forward to open the car door. The contact was so unexpected, and so unexpectedly pleasurable, that she almost stumbled. Recovering, she juggled the portfolio out of the way as she bent down to slide into the car, continuing across the buttery leather seats to give him room to get in. Her insides were doing the rumba: heart pounding, lungs heaving, stomach clenching. It was the most amazing thing she’d ever felt. Too bad it undoubtedly meant she was losing her mind.
Richard folded his tall body into the seat beside her. “We’re giving Sweeney a lift home, Edward,” he said to his driver.
“Very good, sir.” The accent was faintly British, the word choice even more so. “What is Miss Sweeney’s address?”
Richard gave it, and Sweeney stared at him in surprise for a moment before remembering that he owned the building where she lived. She was surprised he had remembered, but probably stock-market geniuses had to be able to remember the tiniest detail. Forcing herself to relax, she settled back into the ultracomfortable embrace of dead cows’ hides. She stroked the seat, delighted in the smooth, soft texture of the leather, and the delicious smell. Nothing rivaled good-quality leather in its richness, its utter luxury.
Then temptation got the better of her, and she glanced at Richard, to find him watching her and smiling slightly. Funny, she had never associated him with smiles; he was too controlled, even remote, but this smile looked as natural as if he’d had a lot of practice. She felt a moment of kinship, and her lips curved upward, too. “I guess your tolerance for bullshit is as low as mine,” she said, her smile widening into a grin, and he laughed. It was an honest-to-God, throw-your-head-back laugh, and damn it, even that made her insides start jumping around again.
“I thought you were going to run right through the glass, you were in such a hurry to get out of there.”
“I don’t know who is worse, the senator or his wife. They both gave me the creeps.”
“That was pretty obvious, to everyone but them. Kai was trying to make himself invisible, but at the same time he didn’t want to leave in case he missed some fireworks.” Richard’s tone turned neutral when he mentioned Kai, and Sweeney wondered if he knew about Candra’s affair with her assistant. That could certainly be the reason for the divorce; Richard didn’t look like a man who would tolerate infidelity or try to “work through it” with marriage counseling sessions.
The first warning sprinkles of rain abruptly turned into a downpour, sending pedestrians scurrying for doorways or taxis; umbrellas bloomed like mushrooms. Sweeney loved the sound of rain anyway, but today it was particularly evocative, making her heart pound the way it did whenever she heard cello music or taps. A delicious chill suddenly prickled her skin, and she hugged herself.
“Edward, turn on the heat, please. Sweeney is cold.”
“Of course, sir.”
“I’m not really cold,” Sweeney denied, without knowing why. Her constant coldness was somehow embarrassing, a weakness she didn’t want to acknowledge. “Listening to the rain gave me goose bumps.”
“You were shivering. Do you want to put my coat around you?”
There it was again, shaking her insides as if the San Andreas Fault ran right through her. He had been watching her closely enough to notice a small shiver. She didn’t know which was more disturbing, that realization or the flood of warmth she felt at the thought of being draped in his coat, his body heat being transferred to her, his scent surrounding her. The warmth was welcome, but the reason behind it wasn’t. At least her fascination with the commercial had ended when the ad was over. This strange awareness would end, surely, as soon as she got out of the car and away from Richard, but until then she had to guard against doing something stupid, like throwing herself into his arms. Wouldn’t that raise Edward’s eyebrows! It would probably raise her own, because if anything was out of character for her, throwing herself at a man ranked at the top of the list.
“Sweeney?” Richard prompted, waving his hand in front of her again. He was smiling again, too. She wished he would stop doing both. One was annoying, and the other was downright disturbing.
“What?”
“Do you want my coat?” He was already shrugging out of it.
“Oh—no, thank you. I’m sorry, my thoughts wandered.”