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His lip curled. “You’re going to be your normal pigheaded self, aren’t you?”
“I don’t know how to be anyone else.” She grabbed a stack of clean laundry and stuffed it in the dresser. “Go away. I didn’t invite you up here, and I don’t feel like sparring with you.”
“That’s a first.” He folded himself into the overstuffed pink ruffled boudoir chair. He should have looked silly, but the chair only made him look more masculine. “Here’s the thing, Blue. I’m not saying you’re selfish, but I do think you could consider somebody other than yourself once in a while.” He extended his legs and crossed his ankles. “Like Riley, for example. She hasn’t had a decent meal since you left.”
“Hire a cook.” Blue knelt down to pick up her sketches from the carpet.
“You know I can’t do that while Mad Jack is around. He decided he wants to build that damned porch himself. So far, the workmen haven’t recognized him, but that’s only because he keeps to himself, and nobody expects to see a rock star standing on a ladder with a hammer in his hand.” Long, denim-clad legs stretched in front of her. “But hiring household help is asking for trouble.”
She snatched a drawing pencil from under his heel. “Jack’s leaving soon, and so is Riley. Your problem’s disappearing.”
“I’m not so sure about that.” He drew his leg in. “I don’t ask for favors easily, but we could use a little help.”
She picked up the last of her drawings and stood. “I already have a job.”
“And it’s making you miserable.” He rose from the powder puff chair.
As she gazed up at him, the small bedroom seemed to grow even smaller. There was one sure way to get him out of here. “How much will you pay me?”
She waited for him to start pulling hundred-dollar bills from his pockets, so she could kick him out. Instead, he rubbed his thumb over a bandage on his wrist. “Nothing. I’m asking you to do this as a favor. A home-cooked dinner on Sunday.”
Just like that, he’d yanked away her moral high ground.
“I know it’s a lot to ask,” he said, “but all of us would really appreciate it. If you give me a list, I can pick up whatever you need.”
She’d been certain he’d offer her money, which would have given her a perfect excuse to throw his Sunday dinner back in his face, but he’d outmaneuvered her, and now she’d feel churlish if she refused. She dropped her sketches on the bed and thought about how much she missed the farm. She wanted to talk to Riley. She wanted to see how the new furniture looked and check up on Puffy and embarrass herself in front of Jack. She wanted to be part of it all again. Her old weakness—trying to belong where she didn’t. “Is everybody going to be there?”
His mouth tightened. “You want another chance to act like an idiot in front of Mad Jack, don’t you?”
“I’m more mature now.”
“Sure you are.” He picked up her sketches from the bed. “Yeah, they’ll all be there. Tell me what you need.”
As long as she stayed with the group, she could go. Just this once. She mentally reviewed the contents of the pantry and gave him a short list, which he didn’t bother to write down. He held up her final sketch. “This is great, but I thought you were painting her dog.”
“Nita decided she has to be in the portrait, too.” Nita cared more about keeping Blue around as her indentured servant than she cared about the painting. “Are you ready to go home yet?”
His gaze wandered to the bed. “Definitely not.”
She set her hand on her hip. “I’m supposed to take off my clothes just because you got bored and decided to hop over my balcony railing tonight? I don’t think so.”
His eyebrows drew together. “It really bothers you, doesn’t it, that I stayed away.” He jabbed his finger in the general direction of her face. “You’re not the only one who’s allowed to be pissed off.”
“I didn’t do anything to you! I needed a job, and don’t tell me I had one with you because I didn’t.”
“I was counting on you, and you turned your back on me. Obviously, you didn’t care how I felt.”
He looked honestly angry, but she didn’t believe him. “You’re overprivileged, overindulged, and perfectly capable of holding your own with all of them. What really bothers you is not getting your way.” She marched to the balcony door so she could throw him out, but as she pushed the handle, she imagined his body sprawled on the ground with his legs twisted underneath him, and she backed away.
“What really bothers me,” he said from behind her, “is believing you were someone I could count on.”
She set her jaw against a twinge of guilt and headed across the room. “You’re going out the front door. Don’t make any noise, or I’ll never hear the end of it.”
He shot her a hard look, stepped in front of her, and opened the door himself. She followed him out into the pink-carpeted hallway, past an excruciatingly ugly painting of a Venetian canal, and down the steps, so she could lock the door behind him. Just past the landing, he stopped cold and turned. She was on a higher step, and their eyes met. In the light from the dusty crystal chandelier, his face was both familiar and mysterious. She pretended she understood him, but how could she? He lived in the stars, and she was good, solid earth.
She stood without moving as he lifted his arms and channeled his fingers into her hair. The loose rubber band that had been barely holding up her ponytail gave way as he tunneled under it.
His kiss was harsh and thrilling. She forgot everything she knew about herself and slipped her arms around his neck. Tilting her head, she opened her mouth. He cupped her bottom and squeezed. She pressed closer, and her hips rubbed against him.
