hand. “Thanks.”
“It’s the least I can do. Can you get yourself to bed?”
He braced a hand on the doorjamb. “Let’s get this straight, Conroy. I don’t want to sleep with you.”
“Well, that certainly puts me in my place.”
“You got complication all over you, baby. Those big, brown eyes and that tough little body. I just want to be alone.”
“I guess that kills any hope I’ve been harboring that I’ll bear your children. But don’t worry, I’ll get over it.” She steered him toward the couch, shoved him down, then propped up his feet.
“I don’t want you,” he told her as she pried off his boots. “I don’t want anyone.”
“Okay.” She looked around for a blanket, and settled on a couple of towels he’d hung over his bench press. “Here you go, nice and cozy.” She tucked them neatly around him. He looked awfully cute, she thought, all drunk and surly and heavy-eyed. Going with impulse, she leaned over and kissed the end of his nose.
“Go to sleep, Skimmerhorn. You’re going to feel like hell tomorrow.”
“Go away,” he muttered, closed his eyes and tuned out.
CHAPTER
SIX
S he was right. He felt terrible. The last thing Jed wanted was someone pounding on his door while he was trying to drown himself in the shower. Cursing, he twisted off the taps, wrapped a towel around his waist and dripped his way to the door. He yanked it open.
“What the hell do you want?”
“Good morning, Skimmerhorn.” Dora breezed in with a wicker basket over her arm. “I see you’re your usual bright and cheerful self.”
She was wearing some sort of short-skirted outfit in vivid blues and gold that made his eyes throb. “Get lost.”
“My, we are feeling nasty this morning.” Unoffended, she unpacked the basket. Inside was a red plaid thermos, a mason jar filled with some sort of vile-looking orange liquid and a snowy-white napkin folded around two flakycroissants. “Since my father instigated this little affair, I thought I should see to your welfare this morning. We’ll need a glass, a cup and saucer, a plate.” When he didn’t move, she tilted her head. “Fine, I’ll get them. Why don’t you go put some clothes on? You made it clear that you’re not interested in me on a physical level, and the sight of your damp, half-naked body might send me into an unbridled sexual frenzy.”
A muscle in his jaw twitched as he ground his teeth. “Cute, Conroy. Real cute.” But he turned and strode off into the bedroom. When he came back wearing gray sweats torn at the knee, she’d set a neat breakfast on his picnic table.
“Had any aspirin yet?”
“I was working on it.”
“These first, then.” She offered him three pills. “Take them with this. Just gulp it down.”
He scowled at the sickly orange liquid she’d poured into a tumbler. “What the hell is it?”
“Salvation. Trust me.”
Because he doubted he could feel much worse, he swallowed the pills with two big gulps of Dora’s remedy. “Christ. It tastes like embalming fluid.”
“Oh, I imagine it’s the same principle. Still, I can guarantee the results. Dad swears by it, and believe me, he’s the expert. Try the coffee—it won’t do much for the hangover, but you’ll be fully awake to enjoy it.”
Because his eyes were threatening to fall out, he pressed the heels of his hands against them. “What was in that flask?”
“Quentin Conroy’s secret weapon. He has a still in the basement where he experiments like a mad scientist. Dad likes to drink.”
“Now there’s news.”
“I know I should disapprove, but it’s hard to. He doesn’t hurt anyone. I’m not even sure he hurts himself.” She broke off a corner of one of the croissants and nibbled.“He doesn’t get surly or arrogant or nasty with it. He’d never consider getting behind the wheel of a car—or operating heavy machinery.” She shrugged. “Some men hunt or collect stamps. Dad drinks. Feeling better?”
“I’ll
“It’s the least I can do. Can you get yourself to bed?”
He braced a hand on the doorjamb. “Let’s get this straight, Conroy. I don’t want to sleep with you.”
“Well, that certainly puts me in my place.”
“You got complication all over you, baby. Those big, brown eyes and that tough little body. I just want to be alone.”
“I guess that kills any hope I’ve been harboring that I’ll bear your children. But don’t worry, I’ll get over it.” She steered him toward the couch, shoved him down, then propped up his feet.
“I don’t want you,” he told her as she pried off his boots. “I don’t want anyone.”
“Okay.” She looked around for a blanket, and settled on a couple of towels he’d hung over his bench press. “Here you go, nice and cozy.” She tucked them neatly around him. He looked awfully cute, she thought, all drunk and surly and heavy-eyed. Going with impulse, she leaned over and kissed the end of his nose.
“Go to sleep, Skimmerhorn. You’re going to feel like hell tomorrow.”
“Go away,” he muttered, closed his eyes and tuned out.
CHAPTER
SIX
S he was right. He felt terrible. The last thing Jed wanted was someone pounding on his door while he was trying to drown himself in the shower. Cursing, he twisted off the taps, wrapped a towel around his waist and dripped his way to the door. He yanked it open.
“What the hell do you want?”
“Good morning, Skimmerhorn.” Dora breezed in with a wicker basket over her arm. “I see you’re your usual bright and cheerful self.”
She was wearing some sort of short-skirted outfit in vivid blues and gold that made his eyes throb. “Get lost.”
“My, we are feeling nasty this morning.” Unoffended, she unpacked the basket. Inside was a red plaid thermos, a mason jar filled with some sort of vile-looking orange liquid and a snowy-white napkin folded around two flakycroissants. “Since my father instigated this little affair, I thought I should see to your welfare this morning. We’ll need a glass, a cup and saucer, a plate.” When he didn’t move, she tilted her head. “Fine, I’ll get them. Why don’t you go put some clothes on? You made it clear that you’re not interested in me on a physical level, and the sight of your damp, half-naked body might send me into an unbridled sexual frenzy.”
A muscle in his jaw twitched as he ground his teeth. “Cute, Conroy. Real cute.” But he turned and strode off into the bedroom. When he came back wearing gray sweats torn at the knee, she’d set a neat breakfast on his picnic table.
“Had any aspirin yet?”
“I was working on it.”
“These first, then.” She offered him three pills. “Take them with this. Just gulp it down.”
He scowled at the sickly orange liquid she’d poured into a tumbler. “What the hell is it?”
“Salvation. Trust me.”
Because he doubted he could feel much worse, he swallowed the pills with two big gulps of Dora’s remedy. “Christ. It tastes like embalming fluid.”
“Oh, I imagine it’s the same principle. Still, I can guarantee the results. Dad swears by it, and believe me, he’s the expert. Try the coffee—it won’t do much for the hangover, but you’ll be fully awake to enjoy it.”
Because his eyes were threatening to fall out, he pressed the heels of his hands against them. “What was in that flask?”
“Quentin Conroy’s secret weapon. He has a still in the basement where he experiments like a mad scientist. Dad likes to drink.”
“Now there’s news.”
“I know I should disapprove, but it’s hard to. He doesn’t hurt anyone. I’m not even sure he hurts himself.” She broke off a corner of one of the croissants and nibbled.“He doesn’t get surly or arrogant or nasty with it. He’d never consider getting behind the wheel of a car—or operating heavy machinery.” She shrugged. “Some men hunt or collect stamps. Dad drinks. Feeling better?”
“I’ll
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