Holding the Dream Page 0,34

to use up my practicality at work. Life is different."

When he smiled at her, the creases in his face deepened. She liked the look of them, caught herself wondering how it would feel to trace her finger along those charming dents. Surprised at herself, she blew out a breath. Steady, girl.

"Then maybe you should look at something else, to like, compare."

"No, this is it." It intrigued him to see that he was making her uncomfortable, and that the discomfort was sexual. Deliberately, he put his hands over hers so that they held the box together. "Why don't I dawdle over the wrapping paper?"

That, she decided, was definitely a come-on. She'd have to think about whether or not she liked it later. "Okay, that'll work." She sent Margo a beaming smile as they crossed paths, then set the music box carefully on the counter.

Margo closed the door behind her now-satisfied customer and aimed an automatically flirtatious smile at Byron. "Hello, Byron. It's wonderful to see you."

"Margo." He caught her hand, brought it to his lips. The gesture was as automatic as her smile. "You look incredible, as always."

She laughed. "We just don't get enough men in here, particularly handsome, gallant ones. Have you found something you like?"

"Kate saved my life with a Mother's Day gift."

"Did she?" As Kate studiously boxed Byron's selection, Margo leaned over the counter, caught Kate by her red-and-blue-striped tie, and tugged viciously. "I'm going to kill you later. Excuse me, Byron. I have customers."

Kate kept her hot eyes on Margo's retreating back. "See, I told you. She wants me dead."

"One definition of family is a constant state of adjustment."

Kate lifted a brow. "From Webster's?"

"From De Witt's. Let's try the paper with the little violets. Margo's a remarkable woman."

"I've never known a man who didn't think so. No, that's wrong," she said as she measured wrapping paper. "Laura's ex-husband couldn't stand her. Of course, that was because she's the housekeeper's daughter, and he's a puss-faced snob. And I think it was because he wanted her. Men do. And it irritated him."

Intrigued by the brisk way she worked, the almost mathematical manner in which she aligned the box and folded corners on the gift wrap, he leaned on the counter. Her hands were really quite lovely, he noted. Narrow, competent, unadorned.

"How did he feel about you?"

"Oh, he hated me, too, but that didn't have anything to do with sexual fantasy. I'm the poor relation who has the nerve to say what she thinks." When her stomach jittered, she glanced up and frowned. "I don't know why I told you all that."

"Could be repressed conversation urges. You don't talk to people for long periods, then you get caught in a conversation and forget you don't like to talk to people. I told you, it can be a pleasant hobby."

"I don't like to talk to people," she muttered. "Most people. You want purple ribbon or white?"

"Purple. You interest me, Kate."

Wary, she looked up again. "I don't think that's necessary."

"Just an observation. I assumed you were cold, prim, rude, annoying, and self-involved. I'm not ordinarily that far wrong with people."

She jerked the ribbon into a knot, snipped off the ends. "You're not this time, either. Except for the prim."

"No, the rude and annoying probably stick, but I've been reevaluating the rest."

She chose a large, elaborate bow. "I don't want an evaluation."

"I didn't ask. It's another hobby of mine. Gift card?"

Frowning again, she found the one to match the paper and slapped it on the counter in front of him. "We can overnight it."

"I'm counting on it." He handed her his credit card, then took out a pen to write on the card. "Oh, by the way, I made an offer on the house you recommended. Like the music box, it's exactly what I was looking for."

"Good for you." After a brief search, she found the shipping form, set it down beside the box. She suppressed the urge to ask him about it, the house, what had appealed to him, the terms. Damn conversation.

"If you'll fill in the name and address where you want it shipped, we'll have FedEx pick it up in the morning. She'll get it with twenty-four hours to spare and save you a whining phone call."

His head lifted. "My mother doesn't whine."

"I was referring to you." Her smug smile faltered when two more customers came in.

"Isn't that handy?" Byron dashed off his mother's name and address. "We're all done, just in time for you to help some new customers."

"Listen,