Conflict of Interest (The McClouds of Mississippi 2)

The words he finally spoke took her by surprise. “The sex scene turned you on, huh?”

She felt her cheeks warm, an unusual occurrence for her, since she didn’t usually blush easily. Must be because his question had caught her off guard. “I called it a love scene, and I said it was beautifully written. I didn’t…”

He had moved soundlessly toward her as she spoke, and her voice had grown weaker with each step he had taken, until it finally faded completely. She gazed up at him when he stopped directly in front of her. “Gideon…”

“Have I mentioned lately that I think you’re very good at your job?”

From his deep, silky tone, he could have been waxing lyrical about her eyes or her lips. The fact that he had chosen to compliment her competence was much more seductive. She had spent so much of her life trying to prove herself, with so few meaningful validations along the way. This one meant a great deal to her.

Trying to mask her emotions behind a brusquely professional facade, she asked, “Does this mean you agree with my suggestion?”

“It means I’m going to think about it. And that I appreciate everything you’ve done for me this week, even if I haven’t made that clear before.”

Her fingers tightened around the back of the chair. “I think you’ve done as much for me. Frankly, I needed a break from work. It took a sprained ankle and a toddler’s tears to keep me here, but I’ve actually enjoyed the visit.”

He surprised her again. “Then stay a while longer. You have another week of vacation. You know if you go back to New York, you’ll only end up working.”

She cautioned herself not to misinterpret his invitation. “You need help with Isabelle so you can finish your book. I understand. I suppose I could—”

“This has nothing to do with Isabelle,” he refuted a bit roughly. “I can deal with her.”

“Then why?”

“Because I don’t want you to go yet.”

The admission seemed difficult for him to make. She swallowed, wondering what, exactly, he meant by it and how, exactly, she should respond.

He seemed to feel the need for further explanation. “The, uh, the St. Patrick’s Day festival Saturday,” he blurted. “You said it sounds like fun. I’ll take you. You can’t spend a vacation in Mississippi without getting a sample of local flavor.”

“But I thought you disliked that sort of thing. Dylan said—”

The unfortunately timed reference made him scowl. “I don’t give a damn what Smith said. He doesn’t know me half as well as he thinks he does. So what do you say? Will you stay through the weekend?”

It wasn’t very hard for her to come up with an answer, after all. She wasn’t ready to leave just yet. “Yes, I’ll stay. I would love to attend the St. Patrick’s Day festival with you.”

His mouth tilted into a rueful smile. “It’s hardly on a scale with the St. Paddy’s Day festivities in New York or Boston, but it will probably be…interesting.”

“I’m sure it will be,” she agreed, but she wasn’t sure she was talking about the festival.

His gaze holding hers, he reached up to run his fingertips lightly down the side of her cheek, reminding her of the way he had traced her face before. It was a gesture she had mentally replayed many times since, a memory that never failed to make her shiver. Just as she shivered now.

She could see that he was thinking about kissing her. And she was thinking about letting him, professional relationship be damned. His mouth was only an inch away from hers, and she felt herself swaying forward, her lips already tingling in anticipation….

“Miss Corley?” Isabelle’s sleepy voice came from the kitchen doorway, breaking Adrienne and Gideon apart as effectively as a bucketful of cold water. “I had a bad dream.”

Adrienne turned too quickly, sending a spiral of pain from her ankle all the way up to her hip. Clenching her jaw to hold back an expletive, she waited a beat before speaking to the child. “I’m sorry you had a bad dream, Isabelle. Would you like a glass of water before I take you back to bed?”

Gideon was already moving toward the sink. Adrienne wasn’t quite ready to look at him yet, so she concentrated on Isabelle. The little girl wasn’t crying, but her expression was somber again, completely opposite to the contented smile she had worn when she’d fallen asleep.

It didn’t take a child psychologist to conclude that the bad dream was in some way connected to the incident that had upset her at school. Apparently, the movie outing hadn’t worked miracles, after all.

Isabelle drank a few sips of water from the glass Gideon handed her, then handed it back to him. She took Adrienne’s hand, clinging tightly enough to cut off the circulation to her fingers. “I guess I’m ready to go back now,” Isabelle whispered.

“Do you want me to come, too, Isabelle?” Gideon asked as they moved toward the kitchen door.

“No, thank you,” she replied without looking around. “Miss Corley can tuck me in.”

Glancing over her shoulder, Adrienne thought she saw Gideon recoil a bit from the casual rebuff, but she decided he must have been reacting in relief, instead. After all, this was exactly the sort of thing he wanted her there to help him handle, she reminded herself. He didn’t like getting overly involved with messy emotional scenes—in his writing or his real life.