same slick style he'd used all week, he tried to coax her away from the work she'd been trying to do. None of her arguments seemed to make a dent in his determination to treat her like an honored guest instead of an employee. This time she put her foot down.
"Spider, I don't want any ice cream. I want to clean this clock and check its markings. It reminds me a great deal of one my mother had on the mantel in her bedroom. If it is a Meissen, and in good repair, it's very valuable."
He frowned at the porcelain piece, lavishly decorated with flowers and cherubs and surmounted by a Roman god. "I can't imagine why anybody would pay good money for this thing. It looks like something you'd win at a carnival. I think it's been here since we took over the place, but if you want to clean it up. I’ll help. Where do you want it?"
He picked it up in one hand, and Anne squealed at his cavalier treatment of what might be a rare prize. "I ’ ll take it," she said, retrieving the clock and holding it carefully. "Spread that towel on the worktable, please."
When the towel was spread, she placed the piece on the table and began removing years of dust and grime. While she worked. Spider, fingers tucked under his armpits, leaned against a refrigerator and watched.
"You said your mother had a clock like this?"
"Mmmm."
"She have a lot of this kind of stuff?"
"Quite a bit."
"What's a thing like that worth?"
"I'm not sure, but if it is a Meissen, I'd estimate somewhere between three and five thousand dollars."
"Good Lord!"
She laughed. “ They aren't carnival prizes."
"You told me your mother died last summer. Did she leave everything to you?"
"Yes, she did." Hands stilled, eyes narrowed, she looked up. "What is it you're asking? If I have a house full of valuable antiques, why am I penniless and hiding out in a Houston pawnshop?" With a pang she thought of her own gallery, which she'd created on her own.
He gave her one of his slow, sexy grins, but there was a you-caught-me twist to it. "Now, sugar, don't get testy. I know you don't like to talk about your business, but I have a natural curiosity. You ought to know by now that you can trust me."
Looking down at the clock, she resumed her cleaning. Yes, she trusted him. She wasn't ready to tell him everything, but she did owe him at least part of the story.
"I am the sole heir to my mother's estate, including the house and furnishings. But I don't have access to them. Unfortunately, Preston lives there, and he controls everything I have."
"Oh, yeah. Preston." He spat the name i n disgust. "I don't see why you don't get a good lawyer and kick the slimeball out."
"That's easy for you to say, but—" She stopped and forced herself to take a deep breath. "When Vicki gets back, that's exactly what I intend to do."
"Sugar, you don't have to wait for Vicki. Hell, this town is crawling with hotshot lawyers. Why, I ’v e got a friend—"
" I’ll handle this, Spider. In my own way. The subject is closed. Hand me that book on porcelains."
He grinned. "Yes, ma'am."
Spider knocked on the bathroom door. "You about ready, Anne?"
She gave her blond hair, freshly washed and brushed into the style she'd grown to love, a final pat, took a deep breath, and opened the door.
His eyes raked over her once, then went back for seconds. He let out a low wolf whistle.
"Are you sure this looks okay?"
She chewed her lip and fiddled with the long purple-and-red paisley scarf that belted the jumpsuit. Never in her life had she been so worried about her clothing, but then, she'd always worn classic styles of understated cut and neutral color. Why she was so nervous, she couldn't imagine, since Spider was dressed i n his usual boots and jeans with a black T-shirt and his faithful leather jacket.
"Turn around."
She made a slow pivot. She could almost feel his gaze burn through the supple red challis. "Darlin', if you looked any better, they'd have to cart me away in a body bag." He gave her a slow
"Spider, I don't want any ice cream. I want to clean this clock and check its markings. It reminds me a great deal of one my mother had on the mantel in her bedroom. If it is a Meissen, and in good repair, it's very valuable."
He frowned at the porcelain piece, lavishly decorated with flowers and cherubs and surmounted by a Roman god. "I can't imagine why anybody would pay good money for this thing. It looks like something you'd win at a carnival. I think it's been here since we took over the place, but if you want to clean it up. I’ll help. Where do you want it?"
He picked it up in one hand, and Anne squealed at his cavalier treatment of what might be a rare prize. "I ’ ll take it," she said, retrieving the clock and holding it carefully. "Spread that towel on the worktable, please."
When the towel was spread, she placed the piece on the table and began removing years of dust and grime. While she worked. Spider, fingers tucked under his armpits, leaned against a refrigerator and watched.
"You said your mother had a clock like this?"
"Mmmm."
"She have a lot of this kind of stuff?"
"Quite a bit."
"What's a thing like that worth?"
"I'm not sure, but if it is a Meissen, I'd estimate somewhere between three and five thousand dollars."
"Good Lord!"
She laughed. “ They aren't carnival prizes."
"You told me your mother died last summer. Did she leave everything to you?"
"Yes, she did." Hands stilled, eyes narrowed, she looked up. "What is it you're asking? If I have a house full of valuable antiques, why am I penniless and hiding out in a Houston pawnshop?" With a pang she thought of her own gallery, which she'd created on her own.
He gave her one of his slow, sexy grins, but there was a you-caught-me twist to it. "Now, sugar, don't get testy. I know you don't like to talk about your business, but I have a natural curiosity. You ought to know by now that you can trust me."
Looking down at the clock, she resumed her cleaning. Yes, she trusted him. She wasn't ready to tell him everything, but she did owe him at least part of the story.
"I am the sole heir to my mother's estate, including the house and furnishings. But I don't have access to them. Unfortunately, Preston lives there, and he controls everything I have."
"Oh, yeah. Preston." He spat the name i n disgust. "I don't see why you don't get a good lawyer and kick the slimeball out."
"That's easy for you to say, but—" She stopped and forced herself to take a deep breath. "When Vicki gets back, that's exactly what I intend to do."
"Sugar, you don't have to wait for Vicki. Hell, this town is crawling with hotshot lawyers. Why, I ’v e got a friend—"
" I’ll handle this, Spider. In my own way. The subject is closed. Hand me that book on porcelains."
He grinned. "Yes, ma'am."
Spider knocked on the bathroom door. "You about ready, Anne?"
She gave her blond hair, freshly washed and brushed into the style she'd grown to love, a final pat, took a deep breath, and opened the door.
His eyes raked over her once, then went back for seconds. He let out a low wolf whistle.
"Are you sure this looks okay?"
She chewed her lip and fiddled with the long purple-and-red paisley scarf that belted the jumpsuit. Never in her life had she been so worried about her clothing, but then, she'd always worn classic styles of understated cut and neutral color. Why she was so nervous, she couldn't imagine, since Spider was dressed i n his usual boots and jeans with a black T-shirt and his faithful leather jacket.
"Turn around."
She made a slow pivot. She could almost feel his gaze burn through the supple red challis. "Darlin', if you looked any better, they'd have to cart me away in a body bag." He gave her a slow
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