The Ivy House - By Drea Stein Page 0,53

he could stop it, and then he wondered what madness had him so happy to see her, a woman who’d not too long ago called him an arrogant son-of-a-bitch. Perhaps it was the way the sun caught the highlights in her hair or the way her cheekbones cut across her sculpted her face or the happiness that danced in her eyes.

He knew it well. “What are you after?” He slipped up behind her and put a hand on her elbow. She jumped in surprise, turned to him, and felt a tingle of anticipation at the changing expressions on her face. Surprise, delight and then the well-schooled look of indifference.

“What do you mean?” She tried to move back, but he was enjoying the feel of her, the way her body was pulled taut, full of tension, but not necessarily directed at him. No, her attention was elsewhere. He hazarded a look over his shoulder to see which table she was focused on.

“Don’t look,” she hissed, her blue eyes going dark, as she grabbed to spin him around in the opposite direction. He felt his skin go afire at her touch and an answering reaction between his legs. If the woman had any idea how much she turned him on, Chase thought, she wouldn’t be grabbing him like that in public.

“Ahh, I knew it. So what are you after?” Chase looked over his shoulder again and watched sheer panic light up her eyes.

“Stop, you’ll give it away.” Her voice had dropped to an urgent whisper.

“I will, if you tell me what you’re after,” Chase said, pulling her closer to him, laying her arm on top of his.

“Owl salt-and-pepper shakers.”

“Owls?” Chase was confused, but was enjoying the sensation of having her close to him. She was so intent on her prize that she seemed not to have noticed how close they were, the way she was letting him lean into her so that he could see the clear blue of her eyes, count the freckles on the bridge of her nose, and take in those full, wide lips, lips that he desperately wanted to kiss again.

Her eyes widened and she stiffened. “Oh, no, you don’t.” Her breath had become slightly ragged and she was leaning away from him.

“Don’t what?” Chase feigned innocence.

“I know what you’re trying to do.”

“And just what am I trying to do?” Chase countered.

“You’re trying to mesmerize me with your big hulking presence.” Her eyes flitted around. “Damn,” she said.

“What is it?” Chase asked with amusement.

“That old biddy is looking at my salt-and-pepper shakers.”

“Your salt-and-pepper shakers? The owls?” Chase said.

“Yes, the owls. They’re ceramic and in prime condition.”

“And let me guess: they’re only a dollar each and you’re worried someone else is going to steal the deal of a century.”

“They’re five dollars apiece,” she answered loftily.

“Oh, my,” Chase said with mock horror.

Phoebe made a face. “You just don’t get it.”

“I’m willing to be enlightened.”

“Owls are going to be big next season. Those are perfect. The perfect inspiration pieces,” she said.

Chase did hazard a glance over his shoulder now, and saw the pair of owls, only a few inches tall, gaudily painted in tangerine, brown, and that peculiar avocado green from the seventies. There was an older woman, gray-haired, dressed in tan polyester pants, a white cotton blouse, and a visor, poking around the other items on the table, but he could tell it was just for show. Like Phoebe, she wanted the owls.

“I think I can take care of this.” He spun on his heel and sauntered over to the table, ignoring Phoebe’s cry of protest.

Chase smiled at the redheaded woman who was behind the table. He asked about an old beer sign, effectively blocking out the gray-haired woman who started to hover anxiously.

He examined the sign, made a big show of it, and then made his offer. The redheaded woman pretended not to be interested, so Chase took off his sunglasses, flashed a smile, and sealed the deal. He half-expected the lady in the visor to cry foul, but she just sniffed and wandered off.

Chase promised to come back for the sign and took his other package, walked over to Phoebe and handed her a bag with two objects wrapped up like miniature mummies in tissue paper.

“What’s this?” she said, suspiciously.

“You can thank me later,” Chase said, laying his arm across her shoulder.

Phoebe brought the bag up, poked around, and said, “You didn’t.”

“I did.”

“How did you do it? I mean, what did you do? Pay full price for them?”