Blame It On Paris

CHAPTER EIGHT

THE GLOOMY SKIES were just starting to clear when Kelly walked out of church on Sunday. Maybe some sunshine would lift her mood, she thought, but parking in front of her new apartment, she had to shake her head.

This was so «of how she'd planned to live at her age.

Unfortunately, beggars couldn't be choosers, and right now, she was sure as Sam Hill in the near-beggar class.

She tiptoed in the door, wary of waking her new roommate. Skip was a Notre Dame graduate student, an absolutely wonderful nerd who'd offered to float her the first month's rent until she got her life back together. Hopefully she wouldn't have to stay much longer than a couple months, but she'd left Jason's with little more than her clothes and a few personal things. Her life was requiring a total start-over.

In the meantime, she discovered that the new apartment hadn't changed since before she left. Even though the clock claimed noon, Skip was still asleep. The place was decorated like typical college digs-early-computer. Crates. Formica slabs for desks. Three computers, blinking lights at all times. Cords, thousands of them, writhing like dusty snakes.

The place was unappealing, but Kelly figured it didn't matter, she'd go into work this afternoon. No one would be there on a weekend, so she could get ahead, catch up on some projects. Her office might only be a cubicle, but at least it was hers, with her colors and some light and some privacy.

And she'd leave her cell phone here, so no one could track her down for a few hours. God knew, her phone had been hot since she'd split up with Jason. Via the grapevine, she'd learned that Jason had disappeared to somewhere unknown. That was her fault, too, like everything else.

Jason's mother, and his whole extended family-which was considerable since he was mixed Irish and Polish-had called to lament her behavior, the change in plans, to pray she would '"see reason." Even Father Donovan had gotten into the scolding act this morning before church, hustling over to offer her advice, thanks to her mother's tattling.

Three weeks ago, Kelly thought morosely, she'd taken her '"darling" status for granted. Now she was under S for "shit list" in everyone's book. Her popularity was on par with a python's.

At least her new roommate was pretty tolerant of the incessant calls. In fact, the little squirt had a protective streak. Skip was about five-three, with wiry hair, no whiskers and little glasses that kept sliding down because he didn't have much of a nose. He ambled out of his bedroom in his boxer shorts, which made Kelly want to sigh. Skip just didn't have a strong sense of boundaries.

"G'morning," he said groggily.

"Morning. I just made fresh coffee. I'm headed into the office for a few hours."

"Kkk." he mumbled, which was likely his version of language for "okay." Skip didn't usually try to speak until he'd had three cups of caffeine.

She changed clothes, filled her travel mug and headed back out. The watery morning was fast disappearing, and suddenly there was a winsome, sassy-fresh smell in the air that reminded her of…well, it reminded her of Paris, but then everything reminded her of Will and Paris, and that made her heart feel like one huge aching bruise. She shut herself up in the car, put on some dark alternative music, and zoomed downtown.

For once, she had her choice of parking spots. She was relieved that there was no one to see her scrabby jeans and old tee. She'd scooped her hair back in a clip and rubbed on lip gloss only because her lips were dry; certainly there was no reason to fret her appearance.

The offices for Find Anyone. Inc. were on the fourth floor of one of South Bend's old buildings, which meant the elevator creaked and the air-conditioning worked sporadically. When Kelly searched her bag for her office key, she thought the creaks and gloomy corners would suit her mood, but inside, instead of silence, she heard the sound of laughter. The front desks were all empty, and there was no reason why Brenna or Myrna or Sam would be anywhere around.

The voice turned out to be Samantha, talking into the phone, and moments later, her boss showed up in the doorway of Kelly's cubicle. Sam. as always, looked ready for a party in Vegas. Her jeans had rhinestones down the sides, her hair was bleached within an inch of its life and her mascara was troweled on in more layers than an archaeological dig.

Kelly had never met a more brilliant human being, so she figured Samantha's look was about some kind of unresolved rebellion. The staff were hard-core number-lovers-alias the geeks of the universe-a tag that had never bothered Kelly. But Samantha's blatantly flashy style seemed to shout that no one should assume she was a dull-accountant type.

Samantha tapped a high-heeled boot from the doorway. "I just want to say one thing," she began.

"Yeah?"

"Please, please, don't solve this life mess you're in. If I can do anything to make it worse for you, let me know."

"Thanks so much." Kelly said wryly.

"This has been like a dream. My best employee, putting in spare hours on Saturday. Sunday, after-work hours, never complaining, just happy to be here, pouring on the coals." Samantha sighed lustily. "I'm so happy you're miserable, I can't tell you." She added, "If I could call your mother, roil things up even more for you-"

"That's okay. Thanks for the offer, but no."

"Shoot," Samantha said with feigned disappointment in her voice, and then disappeared before Kelly could even laugh.

Well, there was plenty of work, primarily because she'd taken on a double workload since coming home from Paris. It was the only thing keeping her sane. Her office was smaller than a closet, but the window looked out over the river. She'd put a bright print on the wall, an artistic splash of purples and blues. A dish of shiny purple stones sat next to her computer, and she had a foot-warming alpaca rug under the desk, because she always kicked off her shoes and worked in bare feet. Across from the desk was a monster-size picture of a cat, a ragamuffin, peeking over the side of a table.

That was her, Kelly had always figured. The kind of person who peeked out before she risked showing herself. Curious, nosy, but ever worried about unknown dangers out there. The field of forensic accounting was such a natural for her, because she loved diving into other people's business-both the people whose identities were stolen, and the people who'd choose to steal someone else's name and identity.

In the past two weeks, the issue was naturally especially ironic for her, because her own identity might as well have been stolen.

She sure as hell didn't have one of her own, anyway.

She scrabbled through the files on her desk, booted up the computer, got a good, messy, confusing monitor full of open screens going…and then the office phone rang.

"Find Anyone," she answered impatiently, and immediately recognized her mother's voice.

"Good grief, I've been trying to track you down all over the place. I need you to come over," her mother said. "Right now. As quickly as you can get here."

They hadn't had a civil conversation since Kelly had come from Paris, and her mother had refused to say anything about Kelly's father, yet she barreled straight into the mess Kelly was making with her life every time she called. From Kelly's viewpoint, her mom had temporarily turned into an incessant pain in the keester.

All of that would matter again, but not now. not if her mom actually needed her. Kelly's pulse went into immediate take-charge protective mode. "What's wrong? Are you ill? An accident? What happened?"

She was already shoving her feet back into shoes, scrounging around for her bag and keys.

"I'm not ill. No accident. But you need to get here as soon as you possibly can."

"I'll be there. Eleven minutes." It wasn't as if she didn't know how long it took to get to her mom's place from the office. Football weekends in the fall were different; then the drive could take hours. Of course, football weekends, she wouldn't have been at the office-she'd have part of the throngs at Notre Dame.

Now she passed the familiar golden dome of ND, and thought of nothing but Paris. Passed the familiar billboard for Maguire Industries, and thought of nothing but Will.

That, of course, wouldn't do. She put her foot to the pedal, and headed for the treelined street where her mom lived. She braked in front of the house, and then paused for a few seconds. Long enough to reapply her lipstick, whip off the clip in her hair and run a brush through it.

Vanity wasn't the issue. But her mother could tell at ten paces, blindfolded, if Kelly was tired or stressed. And if her mom was upset, Kelly wasn't about to add to it.

She grabbed her bag. charged out of the car and up the front-porch steps. The brick bungalow was snugged between two larger brick homes, but her mom had snazzed up the place with artsy landscaping and cool window treatments and carriage lights. Kelly was just reaching for the door when her mother answered it.

On a weekend. Kelly was rarely out of jeans. Her mother, by contrast, looked ready to host a dinner party, wearing so-called casual black slacks and a black-and-white this-old-thing cute sweater.

Expecting trouble. Kelly startled at the shrewd look in her mom's eyes.

"There's a crisis?" Kelly asked.

"Oh. yeah, there's a crisis. Finally I get it. Kelly Nicole."

Kelly heard the use of her double name, and smelled major trouble. "Get what?"

"What it's all about. What everything's all about. This whole mess you've got yourself into. There's a visitor in the kitchen."

"What is this? Are you speaking in code for some reason? Who's here? What are you talking about-"

"Just go into the kitchen." her mother said, in her marching voice.

Still frowning at her mother. Kelly tossed her bag and then moved.

She'd had a stepdad for about six years-George Matthews-and still saw him now and then. He'd been a good guy, the kind of stepfather a teenage girl dreamed of-willing to forget curfews, okay teenage sleepovers and endless noise, always up for a talk without ever preaching or fretting rules. When George split, Char had redone the entire house in peach and cream, as if to announce loudly, in her most feminine voice, that she was done with marriage.

Kelly loved the house. It was like walking into a peach parfait. Past the peach tufty couches and peach velvet draperies, the cream bookcases and alabaster tables, was the turn into the kitchen. And nothing could look more incongruous than the leather-jacketed blond, with the linebacker shoulders and whiskered chin, hunched on one of her mother's fluffy peach cushioned kitchen chairs, staring outside at her mother's peonies.

She whispered. "Will?"

Apparently her voice didn't initially register, because he didn't look around. And then suddenly, as if sensing her presence, he turned his head.

There it was. Just like that. Paris. The whole fantasy that couldn't be real…that sharp, strong glint in his eyes. That you're-mine glint. The kind of glint no independent woman could possibly find acceptable, yet Kelly melted like ice cream in the tropics. No man had ever looked at her the way Will did. No man had ever invoked the heat between her thighs, the yearning in her pulse, the way he did. No man ever made her feel as if they were two people alone on their own planet, didn't need anyone else but each other. No man had made her feel…

Magic.

"I'm dreaming you, right?" she murmured.

"If so, we're having the same dream." His slow grin notched up the sizzle another ten degrees.

"But how can you possibly be here?"

"I didn't know how else to find you, Kel. The cellphone number you gave me was for the phone you lost in Paris. I tracked down your address. You didn't seem to be there anymore. I knocked next door, but the neighbor didn't know where you were living, and probably wouldn't have told me if he did know. So the only other lead I could follow was your mom, because you'd mentioned-"

"Will. I didn't mean how you found me literally. I meant…I thought you were never going to leave Paris. And now you're here."

She moved toward him at the same instant he moved toward her. Lightning couldn't have stopped their surge toward each other. Nothing could have stopped her from flying into his arms.

Except for her mother.

Char stepped between them as effectively as a slap. "Well now," she said briskly, "how about if I brew a fresh pot of coffee and we all sit down and have a little chat together?"

TALK ABOUT WALKING into a hornet's nest. Will couldn't remember a trickier, touchier situation- and in his family, there'd been a hundred.

It had only been an hour ago that he'd knocked on Kelly's mother's door. When the woman opened it, he'd had a strong, positive first impression. It was easy to see where Kelly got her natural good looks. Her mother didn't look old enough to have a fully adult daughter.

A single glimpse was enough to give a guy estrogen overload, but that was okay. He had three sisters. He knew how to handle females.

But five seconds later, the meeting had started skating downhill. She'd looked at him, and before he'd even introduced himself, her eyes narrowed and her back stiffened.

"You're the one, aren't you?"

"Pardon me?" he'd said.

"You have to be the reason. I knew it! I knew something had happened in Paris! So it was you."

Nothing like shooting a guy before he'd even had a trial. That initial warm, welcoming, very pretty smile turned colder than a witch's tit in a brass bra, as his grandfather used to say. Char had pulled him inside the house, all right, but only because she didn't want him to leave. She'd tracked down Kelly on speed dial, figuratively and literally.

Once Kelly had been located, she got here fast, but not fast enough to save him from a grilling.

He hadn't actually given anything away. It helped to be blood kin to his own relentlessly manipulative family-he knew all those tricks. The thing was, he was wary of telling Char anything until he knew for certain what Kelly had told her mother about him. about them, about Paris.

He didn't have to say much to realize that Kelly was in one heap of a mess.

He forgot all that when she showed up. He forgot everything. Even her mother, who wasn't an easy person to forget. But it was all suddenly there… The thick brown hair swishing around her cheeks. Her eyes, not just brown, but that brown with life and sensuality. The silky, soft mouth.

The way she looked at him. As if he really mattered. Him. Not just a guy or any guy. She looked at him as if he tipped her world in a different direction.

Maybe that reaction was silly and unrealistic and nothing a grown man should be believing, but that wasn't the point. The point was that she looked at him that way.

Rational or irrational, her gaze sent his masculine ego soaring into the stratosphere. Made him feel bigger than he was. Better than he was.

"Mom." Kelly said vaguely, looking at him, not her mother. "We're leaving."

"The coffee'll be done in two shakes," Char said.

"And thanks so much for making it. I'll call you later." She grabbed his hand in a way that made him want to grin.

Kelly was no Viking. But she was getting him out of there like a legendary Valkyrie of old. He wasn't afraid of her mom and coped just fine with the grilling, other than worrying that he could slip and somehow make Kelly's situation worse than it already was. But Kelly apparently thought he'd been enduring a real battering and was whisking him away.

She didn't speak until she got him outside on her mother's front porch with the door firmly closed.

"I don't exactly know how we're going to work the logistics of this, but I have a car. And obviously you had to get here by car, too," she began.

"Yeah."

"So I don't care which one we take, but we've got to move fast. I'm dying to know why you're here. What's happened with you. But Mom will drag us back inside if we're still here two seconds from now."

"Easy enough. We'll take both cars, so neither's left here. What's the address where you're living?"

A frown set in as he followed her. Maybe he hadn't been back to South Bend in a few years, but he still knew the area. Initially he was positive he must have misunderstood the address she gave him.

He hadn't.

The house she walked up to had a saggy roof, an unkempt community yard and trash whipping around the window.

She seemed to guess what he was thinking from his expression. "I only moved here temporarily. Very, very temporarily, I hope."

"Like that's an explanation? What's going on?"

"Oh, no. You don't get to ask questions until I do. You're the one who showed up out of the blue." She motioned. "Come on in, meet my roommate. Skip."

"Skip?" He bristled up when he heard a guy's name.

She unlocked the door and pushed it open. Faster than a laser. Will's gaze snapped to the guy on the couch. A boy, yeah. Sitting in his shorts in front of a computer, hair unbrushed. feet bare. The general living room looked like a fallout zone-glasses and papers and silverware and shoes heaped all over the place.

"Skip, this is Will. Will, Skip."

"Hey," Skip said, and swung around to wave a hand.

Will got it. The bright eyes, the falling glasses, the three whiskers on his chin. The kid really was just a boy. But that still didn't explain why Kelly was living in such a dump, or why her mother had treated him like a hostile witness to an unknown crime.

Kelly detoured into the kitchen, emerged with two mugs of coffee and cocked her head for him to follow her down the hall.

The room where she led him revealed more information. It was shaped like an el. Boxes were tidily piled to the ceiling along one wall, all marked to identify the contents. The two tall windows were so clean the sun glared through. Her bed, a lumpy daybed. was too small but it was mounded with pillows and a deep red comforter that matched the rug on the floor.

The sitting area was just as beaten up as the rest of the house, but she had a couch, a chair; her computer equipment nested on a minidesk. A fake Tiffany lamp offered some soft light. And three unopened cans of paint stood at the door, receipt still taped on a lid.

In a glance, Will took it in, easily concluded she'd done a good job of making the ghastly place livable, at least for the short term. More than that, he saw the scarf. It was draped over the top of the bureau mirror. The blue-and-white silk scarf he'd gotten her that last day in Paris.

And on the scratched bureau top was a minitray, with the perfume.

When she saw him glancing there, she plunked down on the edge of the couch.

"Okay, I can tell you're not too impressed with my fancy digs. What can I say? This is what happens when you take off in the middle of the night with the clothes on your back and have to start over." She made a humorous motion. "Don't be feeling sorry for me. I'm not suffering. Nothing's long-term catastrophic. I'd just bought a lot for the other apartment, and I didn't take any of it with me, so I'm just having a wee little temporary financial problem. I'm solvent. It's a no-sweat. It's just…I need to have some time to build up again."

"Why?" Not that he'd been waiting to pounce with that question, but he suddenly had too much energy to sit down. Jet lag had turned his brain to mush, but finally the obvious answer filtered through. "You left the fiancé, didn't you? That's why you're here. That's why your mom-"

She shook her head swiftly, wouldn't give him a chance to finish. "I'm not coming through with more story until you spill yours. The last I knew, you weren't coming home again. Especially not home to South Bend."

"Yeah, well, it's your fault I did."

"My fault?"

He loved the look on her face. Of course, growing up with sisters, he knew how to get a rise out of a female, but Kelly bit so easily.

At least for him. "I got a call from my father. My mom's sixtieth birthday is coming up. Family wants to do a big shindig, wants me to be part of it. It was his latest excuse to get me to come home."

"And?"

"And…you annoyed the hell out of me. Making out like I was hiding in Paris. Making out like I didn't have the character to solve my differences with him…instead of believing me, that there is no way in hell to solve our differences with each other."

"And?"

"And so I'm going to solve the damned problem, come hell or high water. I'll try one more confrontation. One more hash-out with the old man. It won't work. I figure the odds are somewhere around five million to one. But being part of my mom's sixtieth-birthday celebration is a good thing."

Hell. She gave him a look of such sympathy that he wanted to kick something. He'd wanted her to think it was no big deal, just something he was doing, not a life-altering problem. It had bugged him that she'd criticized him. as if he had total power over a solution, as if it didn't take two to make a mess. Damn, she'd made him feel like a weakling and a coward, both of which had hit big-time.

But now her look of compassion bugged him, too. Go figure.

"I know you won't believe this," she said gently, "but I really do know how you feel."

"About my dad?" She couldn't possibly. And somehow he couldn't sit still, had to move, stretch his legs, prowl around. He touched the Tiffany lamp, the edge of a sweater, checked out the window views.

"No, not about your dad. But… your life is just as much of a train wreck as mine is. Nothing's right. Nothing's easy right now." She sighed. "Everybody's mad at me. I swear I can't seem to do anything right, and I'm afraid it's going to be a big blue moon before I can see any light at the end of this particular tunnel."

He said slowly, carefully. "It was rough on you. Breaking up with him. You want to tell me about it?"

"Maybe. Not now. But I do want to tell you that he's a nice guy. Will, so don't be thinking otherwise. The screwup and breakup is on me, not him." She added quickly, hoping to change the subject. "How long will you stay?"

"Here, this minute? Or here, in South Bend?"

"Both."

He was willing to answer her, but his head was still back on the ex-fiancé. He couldn't help feeling high as a kite that she'd split up with the guy. But he also felt terrible because their making love in Paris had been the catalyst for all the difficult life changes she'd been making. Maybe he wasn't responsible for her being stuck living in this college-type dump, but it felt like his fault.

"Will?"

Yeah. She wanted him to answer the question. "Well, this is what's playing out so far. My parents know I'm home, but I haven't seen them yet. First, I had to get off the plane, see you, sleep off some jet leg and get my own place to stay so there can't be any argument about my staying with my folks. I've got three sisters. I know I told you that before. The oldest is Martha. We've always fought like cats and dogs, but she's got a studio apartment above her garage, so that's where I shoved my suitcase."

'That doesn't totally answer my question, handsome."

"Yeah, well. I don't know how long I'm staying. I can do some work for Yves while I'm here."

"Will."

"What?"

"Answer the question."

"God, you're a pain. I forgot how much. And how nosy." His teasing made her chuckle, but he couldn't seem to keep his mind on humor. All he could think about was her. How she looked under her jeans, under a bulky sweater. Under his hands.

He also couldn't stop being acutely aware that he hadn't kissed her yet. Or touched her. She had a hint of wariness in her eyes, which he could understand. His coming back created even more complications in her life, and right now. Kel had no way of knowing whether they were going to end up together.

Hell, neither did he.

He cleared his throat. "The truth is. Kel. I can't give you an absolute about how long I'll be staying. One way or another, I'm determined to come to some kind of terms with my father. I'm staying for however long it takes to do that right."

He wanted to add. More than anything else, I'm staying for you. He hadn't slept since she'd left Paris. He hadn't been able to stop thinking about her. stop remembering their time together.

But being with her now, those words weren't so easy to say even if they were part of the real truth. Because now he realized she'd come home and torn her whole life apart. The jerk wasn't right for her. Will didn't have to meet the fiancé to know he wasn't worth Kelly's little finger. This Jason guy hadn't been there for her when she'd been in trouble in Paris, hadn't been the one she'd called, hadn't been the one she'd asked for money until the paperwork all went through. She was well rid of him.

That's what Will told himself. What he'd believed before seducing her. What he still believed.

But there was a blot on his conscience. Just maybe, if he hadn't entered her life. Kelly wouldn't be in this mess right now.

"Good grief," Kelly said suddenly, and started to laugh.

"What?" he demanded.

"I don't know… It's just that your life sounds as complicated and awful as mine is right now. And I don't mean that's laughable! But it keeps striking me as ironic that we're in such a similar boat. And…well…this is just so not like Paris."

"You said it." He swiped a hand over his face. "Paris was…a dream."

"A fantasy," she murmured. "A few moments in time when the rest of the world seemed to disappear, and there was just the two of us."

"It was good," he said.

"Beyond good."

"But we both knew it wasn't real."

She nodded vigorously. "Absolutely. Neither of us had any crazy expectations."

"We both knew it couldn't last. That it was just a dream."

"Totally," she agreed.

And then he jumped her.

He hadn't intended to. He hadn't known he was going to do it ahead of time, even seconds ahead of time.

It just seemed as if he couldn't survive another second without touching her. Being with her. Getting lost in her.

Her mouth melted under his. heated for his. Her arms roped around his waist, pressing closer to him, a soft, helpless sound vibrating in her throat at his touch.

How was he supposed to resist that?

"Will," she murmured. "Close the door."

He'd forgotten, that fast, that she had a roommate. That they were in this crazy rented room of hers. That there were other people in the universe.

He booted the door closed.

"Will," she murmured. "Don't let me go."

He hadn't forgotten, even for a millisecond, how those sexy orders from her did him in. "I won't."

"I mean it. Don't let me go. Even for a second. Or you're in big trouble."

More orders. Could it get any better than this?

But of course it could. Pulling the sweater over her head. Drawing the bra straps down her arms. Getting to bare skin, soft skin, real skin. Not a lot of swell over the bra cups, but more than enough to incite him to madness. It was his favorite part of her. that soft swell.

Or maybe her throat was his favorite part.

Or her navel. Once he had her pants shucked down-at least as far as her ankles, where she could shake the rest off-he remembered all those other body parts. Upper thighs. The thatch of springy hair-on the red side. redder than her head hair, anyway, which made him remember that that was a favorite part of her, too.

Aw, hell. He was in love with all of it. All of her.

Laughing, she bounced on the bed. encouraging him to dive in after her. Her low, throaty chuckle enticed him to more acrobatic feats. She practically forced him to kiss her deeper, harder, longer. Her long, slim legs scissored around his waist, her thigh muscles stronger than he would have believed, but hey. when she was in the mood, she wanted him inside her now. Now and deep.

The way he was raised, a gentleman took care of a lady. He did his best.

In fact, he did his zealously devoted, conscientious, meticulous. Boy Scout best to give her all the trouble she was asking for and more.

Aeons later, when he finally peeled off of her-dragging her on top of him. because he hadn't forgotten his orders to not allow any separation between them-he seemed to be panting like a worn-out hound…and smiling so hard he couldn't even wipe it off.

She felt…impossibly good.

He never wanted to let her go.