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He met her stare unflinchingly. “Because I was mad at you, and I was being a mean-spirited shit.” He rose from his chair and stepped closer, sending prickles of awareness throughout her body. “I’m sorry.”
Mick had never been a liar—as someone who reveled in his badness, why would he ever need to be? Caro knew he was telling the truth now.
“I was going to tell you earlier—before you thoroughly trounced me at cards—that I’ve arranged for you to have Sophie’s house. It’s vacant. And I’ll give you back all your rent money.”
She shook her head. “I can’t. I can’t live in Sophie’s house.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Caroline, is a clean, vacant, pretty little house worse than living here with someone you despise?”
She thought about it. He looked slightly insulted that it took her so long to answer, probably because he’d been angling for a protestation that she didn’t despise him. He wasn’t getting one.
“I can’t live in Sophie’s house, Mick, because of my allergies.”
He quirked up one brow.
“Cats. Remember?”
“What about them?”
“I’m allergic.”
“The house has been thoroughly cleaned.”
“You don’t get it,” she replied, breathing an exasperated sigh as she dropped to the sofa and waited for him to sit opposite her. After he did, she continued. “I have major allergies. Those few minutes I spent in her house nearly made me break out in hives. No matter how much it’s cleaned, unless the place has been HEPA-vacuumed and recarpeted, I can’t spend more than a half hour in there or I’ll end up in the hospital.”
He looked stymied. “Have you always been allergic to cats?”
She nodded, crossing her arms. “Don’t you remember Coolie? My hairless? I had pictures of him all over my dorm room.”
Mick frowned. “I always thought he was a rat.”
She picked up a pillow and threw it at him.
“So, Sophie’s place is out.” He looked sheepish. “Damn, I really am sorry.”
Caro recognized the look. Mick was a notorious prankster, a joke-player, but whenever one of his harmless pranks turned out to be a little less than harmless, he’d always been the first to apologize and try to make things right.
She didn’t let him off the hook that easily. “You should be.”
Mick leaned forward and dropped his elbows onto his jean-clad knees. Caro followed his every movement with her eyes, wondering why eight years hadn’t been enough to make Mick Winchester look old and unattractive. She didn’t know that eighty years could.
He might still be a ruthless prankster, but he had definitely changed physically. Seeing him naked that morning a few weeks ago had proved that. Seeing him now, in his threadbare, stone-washed jeans and tight cotton T-shirt reminded her again.
As a young college guy, he’d been a long, lean stud. Now he was thicker, filled out, bulkier and harder, with the kind of solid, muscular arms that said he did more than work in an office all day. His face had matured, too, losing its cute boyishness and gaining a heart-stopping, lean, strong-jawed male maturity that a lot of guys in Hollywood would envy. But that grin, and that twinkle in his vivid green eyes was the same.
She drew in a shuddery sigh, forcing herself to pull her attention off his body and back on his rotten practical joke. “I guess I’d better get out of here.”
He instantly stood. “Where are you going?”
“I plan to go stay at the motel on the interstate for the night, even if I do have to pay by the hour.”
“You can’t.”
For a second, she thought Mick was being protective. Then he added, “The county fair is in town this week and that place is sold out.”
So much for tender and considerate. She scowled. “This is your fault.”
He nodded. “I know. I guess you’re going to have to live with Day-Glo green. I think that’s the only rental one of your Hollywood buddies didn’t snatch up, so that’s your only choice. I’ll call the owner right now.” He gave her another apologetic look. “And I’ll pick up the rent.”
