Conflict of Interest (The McClouds of Mississippi 2)

Both Adrienne and Gideon looked at the child in surprise.

“Caitlin says Brad Pitt is cute. Nate pretends to get mad, and Caitlin says he’s jealous. Are you jealous, Gideon?”

“Eat your green stuff,” he muttered.

She giggled and took another big bite.

Gideon wasn’t jealous, of course, Adrienne assured herself. It was just that he disliked Dylan and wasn’t pleased that she had befriended him.

And then his eyes met hers over Isabelle’s head, and she was shaken by the hard glint in them. She knew a look of sheer masculine possessiveness when she saw one.

Maybe Isabelle hadn’t been so far off, after all.

Adrienne was not at all surprised when Gideon retreated to his office again after they returned from the festival. It was a pattern she had learned to predict—any time he felt himself getting too close to someone, he retreated into his sanctuary and made-up worlds.

She spent the evening playing board games and watching television with Isabelle. Surprisingly enough, she had a lovely evening. She hadn’t spent much time around children, but Isabelle was a delight. She could certainly understand why so many people had grown to love the little girl.

When it was time for Isabelle to turn in, she wrapped her arms tightly around Adrienne’s waist. “I had fun today.”

Hugging the freshly bathed, sweet-smelling child, Adrienne rested her cheek against Isabelle’s soft curls. She could hear that previously unnoticed biological clock ticking again. Would she ever hold a child of her own? She was twenty-eight years old and not even involved with anyone. Motherhood seemed rather unlikely at the moment.

Holding Isabelle’s hand, she tapped on Gideon’s office door, then pushed it open. “Isabelle wants to say goodnight.”

He looked around from the computer. “Is it bedtime already?”

Isabelle padded toward his chair. “Past bedtime. Adrienne let me stay up to watch a funny movie on the Disney channel.”

“Oh. Well, good night, then. Sleep well.”

Since he was still seated, Isabelle was able to reach up to wrap her arms around his neck. “Thank you for taking me to the festival and buying me cotton candy and letting me ride the merry-go-round. I had fun.”

He patted her back. He didn’t look as awkward about it as he had only a few days earlier. “I’m glad you had a good time.”

She planted a smacking kiss on his cheek. “G’night, Gideon. I love you.”

Gideon cleared his throat even as Adrienne felt a lump form in her own. “Yeah,” he said. “Me, too. Now run along to bed.”

As she tucked Isabelle into bed, Adrienne wondered when Gideon had last said the words I love you to anyone. Had he hidden his tender feelings so deeply that he would never be able to find them again?

Gideon shut down his computer at midnight—not because he was tired, but because the words simply weren’t coming to him. He told himself to stay in the office for the rest of the night, but he found himself prowling the hallways, anyway—just to check that everything was secured.

The outside doors were all locked, the lights all turned off. The automatic coffeemaker was set for the usual time; he wanted coffee immediately available when he stumbled into the kitchen at dawn. Isabelle was sound asleep in her bed. He tucked the covers around her and pulled the door partially closed behind him as he left.

It was only then that he noticed his own bedroom door was standing open.

He remembered telling Adrienne that leaving the door open could be interpreted as an invitation. Surely she had just forgotten to close it. Maybe she had gotten a bit too warm in there.

He was getting pretty damned hot himself.

She stepped out of the shadows of the bedroom, pausing to lean against the doorjamb with her arms crossed under her breasts. Which, by the way, were displayed quite nicely by the deeply scooped neckline of her black nightgown.

He’d thought once that she wore a bit too much black, since that seemed to be a staple of her wardrobe. Now he realized just how flattering the color was with her creamy skin and glossy auburn hair, both of which were softly illuminated by the nightlight he kept in the hallway to facilitate his habit of pacing the house during the nighttime hours.

“You, uh, couldn’t sleep?” he asked, and his voice had a ragged edge to it.

Her own voice was low, probably to keep from disturbing Isabelle. The result was very intimate. “No. You, neither?”

He felt himself drawn toward her, as if by a magnetic force. He planted his bare feet firmly on the carpet to resist. “No.”