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Chapter 5
Back at the house, Souta went briskly through the rest of her work. Kagome gave him coffee and padded after him as he drank it, prowling from canvas to canvas. She could not interpret his expression.
Eventually he said, "Why did you stop painting the human figure?"
"Couldn't afford the models," she said promptly.
He looked round eloquently. "Plenty of mirrors here. You could use yourself."
Kagome tensed. Her hand went to her midriff unconsciously. But all she said was. "Boring."
He accepted that without comment. "A portrait maybe?"
"I can't get on with them."
"Hmm." Souta drank coffee absent-mindedly but his eyes were shrewd. "How do you know?"
Kagome shrugged. "Oh, you spend too much time trying to get a likeness, not enough on the quality of the painting."
"Or is it too intimate?" Souta suggested. "Artist and model." He seesawed his hand in the air. "They get too involved for you?"
He was closer that he thought. Kagome managed a laugh but it sounded strained.
"You're thinking of nineteen-twenties Paris. I wouldn't expect to sleep with my models."
"So what else is new?" muttered Souta. He sighed. "When you told me you'd changed your address, I thought for a moment you'd moved in with a lover."
Kagome looked at him.
"Stupid of me," he agreed dryly. He folded his arms, tucking the coffee mug into his elbow and surveyed her curiously. "What went wrong, Kagome?"
But she laughed at him. She had, had a lot of practice at that over the years. Souta shrugged and drained his coffee.
"You know you own business best." He cast a last professional look over the canvases. "I'll take that and that. Maybe the market scene. And one or two more if you can come up with something interesting. Try dramatic. No flowers or bluebell woods." He punched her shoulder lightly. "You know you can. You've got a month."
He drained his coffee and gave her the mug. Kagome showed him out.
His footsteps echoed briskly on the pavement. The square was deserted. Suddenly Kagome felt very alone.
It was a hot night, with just the faintest breath of wind. Kagome looked up. But the sodium lights of Tokyo obscured the stars. Hot, anxious, alone---and she couldn't even see the stars.
"Typical," she muttered.
She went back into the house and looked at her paintings again. She could see exactly what Souta meant. They were too controlled, too careful.
"Damn," said Kagome in a rush of fury. "Damn, damn, damn."
I don't mean to play sage all the time, she thought. And yet somehow I always seem to. How am I going to change if I don't realize I'm doing it?
She prowled restlessly round the house. Inspiration did not dawn. But on the top floor she found herself standing in front of the large dormer window that led out onto the roof terrace.
"Just what I need," Kagome said aloud. "A good long, uninterrupted look at the stars, after all. That should put it all into perspective."
She unlocked the window and stepped out into the warm night. The sounds of the street were no more than a distant rumble. Up here, above the streetlights, the stars looked clear and surprisingly close in spite of the urban glare. Kagome weaved her way between yucca trees in their terracotta pots and leaned on the balustrade. She looked up, sighing with pleasure.
There must be a party in one of the gardens. Kagome could make out lights among the trees and there was an intermittent lilt of distant voices. A woman laughed. In spite of the warmth of the might, she clutched her arms round herself.
Unbidden, a thought came into her mind. Playing safe could leave you lonely, too. Only when it had become a way of life, how did you stop it? Suddenly she was furious with herself. She banged her fist against the balustrade in frustration.
"Who's there?" It was a voice she knew.
Kagome froze in the darkness. The last thing she wanted was another duel with the man next door. Angrily, she dashed away a tear she should never have allowed herself. She held her breath, hoping he would go away.
A powerful flashlight beam split in the night. There must be a parallel balcony on the millionaire's house. Presumably her enemy was up there watering the plants---just as she ought to be doing in the Shiros' house, now she came to think of it.
The light swung round in her direction.
"Well, well." A drawl came out of the darkness. "What a surprise."
Kagome forced the tears back to source and snapped her spine upright.
"Good evening," she said without enthusiasm.
The beam found her. Behind it the man was only a shadow but he felt like a hostile mob. Kagome was suddenly grateful for the gap between the houses. She blinked and put up a hand to protect her eyes.
"Do you have to shine that thing full in my face?"
He deflected it. But only so swing the beam up and down her body. Under ordinary circumstances she would have cringed. But now Kagome was too furious to be embarrassed.
"Satisfied?" she snarled.
He chuckled and pointed the flashlight away. "Just checking I thought you were a burglar."
"Well, now you know I'm not, perhaps you'll go away."
He took no notice of that, as she might have expected.
Instead he came to the side of his own balcony and leaned on it as if he was prepared to stay there all night.
"Are you alright?"
"Of course." Her voice was muffled.
"Then what are you doing up here?"
"I was looking at the stars," Kagome said with heavy irony. "Before you roped me in for the "rabbit in a headlight" impression, that is."
"Looking at the stars? Alone?"
Kagome winced. "Why not?" she said pugnaciously.
"What happened to the boyfriend?"
For one shocked moment she thought he could read her mind. It felt as if he had just looked into her face and picked up the frequency: an adolescent boy retreating in horrified disgust, a girl locking herself into nice safe solitude, a talent mummified, withering...It was so vivid that Kagome felt naked. She flung up a hand to cover her face.
But not before Sesshoumaru had seen her expression. It shocked him. "What is it?" he demanded.
But Kagome was already recovering. Of course he had not read her mind. No one could do that. It was just that the last few days had been stressful. She had been remembering Hiten. Normally she kept that particular episode well to the bottom of her mind, where it belonged. It was sheer superstition to think this man could dredge it up. I had to be because she loathed him.
She pulled herself together. "It's nothing."
He did something clever to the flashlight and the beam widened and became less intense. Kagome could not see him clearly but she could feel the way he was looking at her. Her pulse started to gallop.
"Nothing at all," she said again, sharply.
To his own intense astonishment, Sesshoumaru found himself wishing she would confide in him. He said in a gentler tone, "I didn't mean to upset you."
"You couldn't upset me," Kagome flashed.
So she was back on the warpath again, Sesshoumaru thought. It was disconcerting to have his brief sympathy thrown back in his face. He had not often felt sympathy for a woman before, and its warmth surprised him. So Kagome's reaction left his half annoyed, half relieved. Still, it licensed him to teach her the lesson he had promised himself.
He said dulcetly, "Are you the sort of woman who prefers to look at the stars alone?"
He saw that made her flinch and was glad.
Kagome said in a hard voice, "I'm the sort of woman who doesn't have to have a man holding her hand every moment of the day, certainly."
For some reason her reply infuriated Sesshoumaru. He did not allow it to show. "I'm sure you don't," he said with spurious admiration.
Kagome saw through it, of course. "Don't you sneer at me," she snapped.
"Oh, I don't." He was drawling again. "I think you're very ingenious."
There was more to that remark than appeared on the surface, she knew. She could not guess what it was. But it did not take much to work out that the man was obscurely angry.
Kagome was no coward. "Why do you say that?" she demanded.
"A night like this? It can't have been easy to get rig of the boyfriend."
Kagome gasped. He took no notice.
"But it's not good letting sentiment get in the way of a good life strategy, is it?" Suddenly, his voice cut like a knife. "You know, I don't know why anyone ever thought men were the dominant sex. Women are so much more---shall we call it focused? "Ruthless" sounds so hard."
Kagome blinked. At first she had suspected that the attack was being directed at her because she was the only woman who happened to be there. She wondered why he was so bitter and who had caused it. But, as the hail of words continued, she forgot her curiosity in sheer rage.
She took a step forward. It brought her out of the friendly shadows but she was beyond noticing. She leaned forward over the parapet until they were nearly nose-to-nose.
"Don't you dare speak to me like that," she said furiously.
His face was so close she could see every one of the lines round his eyes. His expression mocked her.
"Don't tell me. You're different!"
"I don't intend to tell you one single thing," said Kagome, almost spitting in her rage.
"No need," he said sardonically. "It was a real education to listen to you."
Kagome was taken back. "Listen to me?"
"You're an artist looking for a hand-out. Right?" He gave her a harsh laugh. "You think the rich man next door might deliver. Once you've reformed his taste, of course."
Kagome winced. Some of the steam went out of her. She knew Souta should have shut up in the cafe.
"I didn't mean---" she disclaimed.
"Oh, I think you did. And, quite rightly, you decided the boyfriend would get in the way. So you heaved him out."
Kagome shook her head. "You're crazy," she said, her calm restored.
He ignored it. "Mind you, I recommend the direct approach," he said in a kindly tone. "Pop round with a few pictures, that sort of thing. More likely to succeed than feminine wiles, believe me."
Kagome was so indignant she nearly leaped over the gap between the balconies to slap the patronizing expression off his face. A red mist gathered before her eyes. She grasped the parapet to steady herself.
"Listen to me," she hissed. "I am not interested in Souta Kira, your employer or you."
He gave a snort of unconvinced laughter. Kagome glared.
"You know," she said conversationally, "you've got one of the nastiest minds I've ever come across. What's more, you're a horrible gardener. And you're not much better at security wither."
"What?" He sounded quite blank.
Kagome said with great superiority, "If I really had been a burglar, my accomplice would have cleared out the downstairs rooms by now. I could have distracted you so easily. Couldn't I?"
The silence was positively incandescent. He was not going to admit it but they both knew it was true. Kagome began to feel slightly better.
She turned on her heel and stalked back to the dormer window. But she could not resist a parting shot. "I should certainly consider a change of career if I were you. Before the big cheese sacks you."
Sesshoumaru steamed into his office with a face like a thundercloud. Not a good meeting, decided his secretary. She would give him some time to recover his temper before she took in his messages.
He buzzed at her once, though.
"I want you to get me a number, Naoka," Sesshoumaru said. Normally the friendliest of bosses, he sounded curt.
Naoka sighed with sympathy. She had been Sesshoumaru's confidential secretary for ten years and she knew the cause of the present crisis. She had the number of the former Mrs. Takari all ready on her notepad.
"Yes?" she said.
But he astonished her. "There's a man called Souta something. He used to be a tenant as the Elderflower Arts Complex. He teaches at one of the art colleges. I want to talk to him today."
"Very well," said Naoka faintly. It sounded like a time-consuming research project. "Is there anyone else you want to talk to in the meantime?"
"What?" He sounded impatient. "No. That's the priority."
"It may take some time," she warned him.
"Oh, Well, I suppose I could call Ceila," he said without enthusiasm. "I've got to talk to her some time."
"Yes," agreed Naoka, relieved to be back on track.
She put him through. Ceila was not best pleased at the message he had left on her machine.
"Who told you I've had an offer for my Takari share?" she demanded.
Sesshoumaru said crisply, "Your buyer was boasting. It wasn't hard to guess who was the seller."
His reaction annoyed Ceila even more.
"You think you're so clever."
Normally Sesshoumaru would have denied it, made placatory noises, soothed her into a compromise. Today he said without ceremony, "Try checking the rules. They're the same for you as everyone else."
"What?" It was a screech.
Sesshoumaru was unmoved. "Takari is still not a public company, Ceila. If you sell the shares outside the existing shareholder, the buyer will find they are not worth having. He can't vote, he can't earn anything on them and he'll have hell's own job selling them on. He might just sue you. If I don't myself."
There was a stunned silence.
"I don't know what's got into you," said Ceila, displeased.
Sesshoumaru smiled grimly. "Maybe I'm tired of being manipulated."
Ceila breathed hard. Silent fury came down the line. What one earth did I ever see in her? Sesshoumaru thought.
"Think about it," he said.
He put the phone down.
Naoka came in.
"His name is Souta Kira," she said. "He wasn't there but I left a message for him to call me back.
It was clear that this was not what Sesshoumaru wanted. But he was never unreasonable. He shrugged.
"Ok. Anything else?"
Naoka hesitated. "Miss Leiko from the PR firm," she said delicately. "Something about a scratch to her car?"
Quite suddenly, Sesshoumaru began to laugh. "Guilty as charged," he said. "Tell her to have it fixed and bill me. My private account, not Takari's"
Naoka's eyes widened. Sesshoumaru had detached a number of ambitious women with marriage in mind before, but she had never heard that he had trashed their cards. She did not say so. Her whole demeanor said it for her.
"Don't tell me," he said. "You don't know what's got into me. That makes three of us."
His eyes were dancing. Even though she had not the faintest idea what he was talking about, Naoka smiled back. Really, he was the perfect boss, she thought fondly.
She would have been astonished if she had known Kagome Higurashi's view on her perfect boss.
"Honestly, it almost spoils living here," Kagome said irritably.
"And why is that?" demanded Sango, amused. She had come round for an evening of video and cauliflower cheese.
Kagome looked up from the sauce she was stirring.
"Well, every time I go outside, I'm afraid next door's gardener will spring out of nowhere and say something sarcastic."
Sango had no patience with such tremors. "Naraku says sarcastic things all the time. You don't take notice of that."
Kagome's mouth set stubbornly. "Naraku is different."
Sango leaned on the countertop and helped herself to a handful of grated cheese.
"Boy, oh boy, he certainly is," she murmured mischievously.
But she reminded Kagome of another problem.
"Now he wants me to go in at half-term to plan the end of term exhibition."
Sango grimaced. "What a creep." She inspected the sauce professionally. "Make sure the cheese is all melted, then you can pour it over the cauliflower and shove it under the grill," she instructed. "Tell him to boil his head."
"Easier said than done," said Kagome dryly.
She poured the sauce over the dish of cooked cauliflower and scattered grated cheese across the top. Sango watched her broodingly.
"What you need," she announced, "is a Cesar Borgia."
In the act of sliding the dish under the grill, Kagome choked.
"A poisoner?"
"A patron."
Kagome's expression darkened. "No, I don't," she said sharply.
She recalled the man's scorn last night. It had not been deserved but all the same it had got her on the raw.
"All right. All right. Keep your hair on." Sango was mildly surprised. "Pass on Cesar Borgia. What about a new job?"
"What sort of reference do you think Naraku would give me?" Kagome said ruefully. She lodged the dish into place and straightened.
"You've got a point there," Sango admitted.
"The ideal situation," said Kagome, "would be to start selling my work."
She told Sango about Souta's offer.
Sango was interested. "Sounds good."
Kagome sighed. "It would be if I'd got enough good work. Even Souta knows I haven't."
"So what does he advise?"
Kagome's mouth quivered on the edge of a laugh. "More passion," she said, in a carefully neutral tone.
"Good grief," said Sango blankly.
Kagome could not help herself. She burst out laughing.
Sango was still struggling with the concept. "What sort of passion? Does he fancy you or something?"
"No, nothing like that. He just thinks I ought to engage more with my work. He was suggesting portraits," she added, struck, "and oddly one of my neighbors offered to sit for me only this morning."
Sango looked hopeful. "The tasty article next door?"
Kagome just prevented herself from shuddering.
"Not at all. She lives on the other side and keeps cats."
The neighbor in question had planted herself firmly in Kagome's way when Kagome had been on her way to school. She had been a startling sight. She'd been wearing an orange velvet robe with a high collar that rose several inches above her wispy gray hair. Its skirt trailed a couple of yards along the pavement behind her. Underneath she had appeared to be wearing a torn cerise petticoat and satin shoes that didn't match. She'd been carrying a green plastic watering can with an enormous spout. She flourished this in Kagome's direction like a medieval weapon of war and demanded her life history.
Kagome, whose artist's eye had already been fascinated by the neighbor's violent color preferences, was enchanted. She delivered the required account of herself. It had not been well received until she'd admitted to being a painter.
"Hanara," said the neighbor, beaming. "Kikyou Hanara." She held out a wrinkled hand. "Used to do a bit of modeling," she announced. "Wouldn't mind sitting again if I didn't have to go too far." She waved the watering can meaningly. (Ace: sorry, if I made Kikyou like that...I'm just not very fond of her...I don't hate her...I'm just not fond of her...and I wanted her to be in it somewhere...I didn't want her to be fluff's ex-wife...she would be too lucky...sorry again).
Dazed, Kagome shook hands. "Um---really?" she said, feeling helpless.
"Good line to my spine. They always said that. I could wiggle it so every notch showed."
For an electric moment Kagome thought Miss Hanara was going to slip off her robe and demonstrate.
"Form," said Miss Hanara knowledgeably. "All artists need to study form. Human body most complicated form there is." She came down to practicalities. "Can't fit you in this week."
Kagome looked at her watch and realized that she was going to be late. "I'm sure you're very busy," she said, escaping before giggles overcame her. If Souta met Miss Kikyou Hanara, she thought, he would positively demand a portrait for the show.
She described the encounter to an awed Sango.
"Wow." She shook her head. "I thought you were supposed to have moved up market here. But the neighbors are barking."
Kagome bubbled over. Sango joined her. Eventually they both mopped their eyes with pieces of kitchen roll.
"What will you do when she turns up?"
"She can knock on my door," said Kagome dryly. "But she won't get me painting her. I'm barricading myself behind my school work."
"Not hard," agreed Sango. "Did I tell you, I've got the 10 graders' project to finish tonight? I can't be too late."
"Nor me. We can eat in front of the video, if you like."
They spent an enjoyable three hours watching a slick romance. As the credits began to roll, Sango rose and stretched with satisfaction.
"I really love a happy ending," she said.
Kagome picked up their coffee mugs. "So unlike life."
"Don't say that," protested Sango. "We can all hope."
Kagome made a face. "Better not. Then you don't get disappointed."
"You're a cynic," Sango accused her.
Kagome did not deny it. But when her friend had gathered up her things and left, Kagome leaned on the windowsill and let her thought wander in a way she would never have admitted to Sango. Or even, later, to herself.
It was twilight and the scents of a summer night soaked the air: roses, the heady scent of warm wallflowers, and the freshness of growing things. It was a night to dream. A night for love, she thought.
She jumped upright as she realized what she was thinking. A night for love? Love? What was happening to her? When had she ever thought such sappy stuff before?
"Too much romance," Kagome told herself firmly. "Mid-week videos are a snare for the unwary. Still, the lower fifth's History of Art preparation should take care of that."
It took a long time. By the time she'd finished she was hot and festering. A cool shower, she thought. She was turning pleasurably under the stream of water when she became aware of a thunderous knocking on the front door.
She leaped out and seized a towel. The knocking came again, harder.
Halfway down the stairs, she stopped. It had to be the man next door. Only he would sound so imperious. Perhaps the towel was not such a good idea after all.
Kagome back tracked rapidly and pulled a long T-shirt. The knocking had become a rhythmic battery. She rushed downstairs and flung open the door.
But it was not the man. It was a vision in harem pants that looked as if they had been made from old net curtains and an embroidered Indian jacket in shades of jade and peacock blue. She had a vermilion bandanna and six-inch heels.
"There you are," Miss Kikyou said briskly. "I want you to get my cat."
Kagome was taken back. "The cat will come home when it's hungry," she said kindly, but quite finally.
And she retreated. Miss Kikyou inserted her high-heeled pump between the door and its frame. On the point of telling her to remove it, Kagome hesitated. She looked closer. For the first time Kagome realized Miss Kikyou looked old. Her mouth worked and her eyes were scared.
"She's only a kitten," she said. "She ran out and got stuck on the roof."
The words "fire brigade" were on the tip of Kagome's tongue. She was even reaching for the telephone in the hallway. But then she remembered her mother.
It had been raining then. And it had been morning, not a hot dark night like this. And her mother was thirty years younger than Kikyou Hanara. But this was how she had looked.
She had stood in the middle of the road, watching Kagome's father walk away. She'd hardly seemed aware of the tears running down her pale cheeks. Neighbors, brought out of their houses by the altercation, had sidled away, embarrassed by the distraught woman.
Kagome had been embarrassed too. But she'd been sixteen, and sidling away had not been an option. Her mother could not have been left alone. And now nor could Kikyou Hanara.
Sighing, she replaced the phone. She put an awkward hand on Miss Kikyou's thin shoulder.
"Show me," she said.
Miss Kikyou was right. The kitten---it could not be more than ten or eleven weeks old---was well and truly 3tuck on the roof of the hut in the square's garden.
"She ran out when I was putting out the rubish bags. That Man," said Miss Kikyou, recovering her life giving disapproval, "takes his car out of the garage much too fast." She nodded at the millionaire's house. "No consideration at all."
She led the way into the communal garden, ignoring Kagome's sharply indrawn breath as the gravel under her bare feet made her wince. The cries of the little care were now audible. Miss Kiiyou pointed commandingly at a seall shed. Kagome sighed, tried to tie her t-shirt modestly below her thighs and, failing, thanked the Lord for the dark. A t-shirt, however baggy, was not ideal wear for mounteering.
Nor was it easy. In the end Kagome got onto the roof by dint of adventurous use of a water butt. The cat yelled. Miss Kikyou, prowling below, exhorted loudly. The modesty knot in her t-shirt untied itself. In a last desperate lunge, Kagome hooked the squirming kitten and was rewarded by a healthy set of tramlines along the back of her hand.
"Don't hurt her," said Miss Kikyou warningly.
agome curbed the retort that leaped to mind. Instead, she wriggled to the edge of the roof---which cost her a painful splinter---and passed the struggling animal down to its owner. Miss Kikyou took her immediately and tucked her into the bosom of her jacket.
"She's trembling," she scolded.
The animal, Kagome noted with indignation, had immediately snuggled down and appeared to go to sleep. Before she could point this out, however, Miss Kikyou disappeared into the shadows.
Which left Kagome sprawled on an unfamiliar roof, in a garment which just skirted the edge of decency, quite alone.
She was bruised and dizzy. Bleeding from her scratches, too. Muttering, she picked her way back to her own house.
To find the front door shut fast. There was a pregnant pause.
"Oh, I don't believe this," said Kagome. It was a muted scream.
She put both hands on the door and pushed. It did not budge. She retreated, assessing her options.
The front of the h/use was covered in Virginia creeper. Kagome surveyed it without enthusiasm. Even if she could climb it---and in the last few days she had done enough scrambling through branches to last her lifetime---there was no guarantee that she could force her way in through the small landing window.
There was no help for it. She would have to thump on Miss Kikyou's door and demand assistance. Maybe---Kagome brightened at the thought---maybe, Miss Kikyou even held a spare key to the Shiro's house. She padded back to the gate, placing her bare feet uincingly.
And then she was pin.ed to the spot by a glare of advancing headlights. She had to put up a hand to hade her eyes against the dazzle.
"Hell," said Kagome explosively.
She made a rude face at the inconsiderate driver. The car swept into a circle as if it was making straight for her. She jumped aside, outraged.
"Look where you're going," yelled Kagome.
To her consternation, the door to the garage of the millionaire's house was rising in expensive silence. The car slid past her, almost brushing her bare legs. The engine was af insulting whisper.
In the dariness of the car, the driver was no more than a powerful shadow. But Kagome knew who those shoulders belonged to. Her rage boiled over.
She ran into the garage after the car and thumped both fists on its roof. In the act of killing his lights, the driver chot round in his seat.
"What do you think you're doing, you moon?" Kagome shouted.
Crazily, she felt a surge of triumph. Getting locked out was entirely her own fault. But here, at least, uas something she had every right to shout about. It was a relief. She drummed her hand on the roof in luxurious fury.
There was a flare of light as he opened the car door. It was quickly shut off as he slammed it shut and raced round the car to her.
"Stop that at once." His voice had the note of quick fire command. Gardener, or security expert, or whatever he called himself, this was a man who was used to being obeyed. Who expected to be obeyed.
To her own surprise---and considerable chagrin---Kagome obeyed him too. She stopped pounding on the roof and stood glaring at him. He grabbed hold of her wrists, swinging her round to face him, and glared back.
"So it's you. Now, why doesn't that surprise me?"
The thin eyebrows were flying upwards in impatience. Yet, even annoyed, he was devastatingly attractive. And his touch was electric.
Shocked, Kagome stood abruptly still. She swallowed. Her enemy did not let go of her. But his expression softened and shook her gently.
"What was that all about?" he said, nodding at the maltreated car roof.
All of a sudden she was shivering. With a soft click, the garage's automatic door began to lower like a portcullis. It left them it complete darkness. Kagome shivered harder and did not answer.
"Well?" he said, less gently.
She dragged her wrists out of his grasp and retreated until she felt the wall at her back. He was a dark shape, tall and menacing and furious. But nothing like as furious as Kagome. As least, if she worked at it.
"You drove your car straight at me," she shouted.
He seemed taken back.
"What the hell are you talking about?"
She jabbed her head at the closed garage. "Out there."
"You mean when you were dancing around on the pavement in a wet t-shirt?"
Kagome could not see his expression but his voice was suddenly full of unholy amusement.
She yelled, "My t-shirt is not wet."
"Well, I'll take your word for it, of course, but from where I was sitting…"
"It got a bit crumpled. And dirty. And---and---"
"And transparent in my headlights," he said ruthlessly. "In the circumstances I thought I avoided you very efficiently."
She stared at his dark figure with concentrated loathing.
"So, it's my fault again, is it?"
"You certainly seem to attract---er---disaster." Not just amusement now; lazy, sexy appreciation.
Kagome was glad of the blanketing dark. Her cheeks felt as if there were on fire.
"How I hate you," she said with feeling.
Her antagonist gave a short bark of laughter.
"You'll get over it."
He made a move, reaching towards her. Instinctively, Kagome pressed herself into the wall. But he did not touch her again. Instead he switched on the garage light behind her head. Kagome blinked.
"Now," he said, his tone cynical, "are you going to tell me why the wet---er, sorry, crumpled---
t-shirt routine? Or am I supposed to get turned on by guessing?"
She was so angry she could barely speak. "How dare you? Are you out of your mind?"
"Not yet," he mocked. "Thought you seem to be working on it."
"Me? I'm not the one who tried to run you down."
He waved that aside impatiently.
"I didn't expect to find a barefoot escapee from the beach littering the pavement at this time of night. What the hell were you doing out there?"
Glowering, Kagome told him. When she had finished there was a pause. A long pause.
"Don't you dare laugh at me," she cried.
He was clearly entertained and not making much attempt to control it.
"Laugh? Why would I laugh? I applaud your community spirit."
"Much food it's done me," she muttered.
With the door shut, the garage was chilly. Kagome rubbed her bare arms. His eyes narrowed.
"You're cold."
She nodded miserably.
"Then hadn't you better go home and put some clothes on? If you've finished assaulting my car, of course."
Kagome bit her lip. "I can't," she muttered.
"Excuse me?"
"I can't."
His look of disbelief was somehow so insulting that Kagome flared up again.
"The door must have slammed shut behind me," she spat. "I know it was stupid. All right?"
His eyebrows flew up so high they disappeared. "What?"
"Locked," she said between her teeth, "out. As in---I can't get back into my house. No key. See?" She spread out her hands out wide of her hips.
He allowed his eyes to drift over her slim figure. His gaze was lazily appreciative. His lips twitched. "I do indeed," he agreed courteously.
Kagome was too angry to blush. Anyway, she was shivering in earnest now. And the splinter in her palm had started to throb. She sucked it, glowering.
His expression changed. "You're bleeding." He took brisk charge. "You'd better come indoor while we think what to do about it."
He took her arm and opened a door into the house. Kagome was too chilly to argue. But she was not going to be let around like an idiot either. She shook him off and shouldered past him into the comparative warmth of the paneled hallway.
He looked amused. "Do come in."
She sent him a look of dislike over her shoulder.
"He's got to be the meanest millionaire in the world," she said under her breath.
Her antagonist looked startled. He shut the door behind them.
"I'm sorry?"
"Your employer," she explained. "Won't pay for proper help."
There was the briefest pause. Then, "Ah," he said. His mouth twitched but his expression was bland. He came round her and led the way into the kitchen. "You could be right. Know a lot about employing domestic staff, do you?"
Kagome followed. The kitchen was even more spectacular than the Shiros', with what looked like a full-scale dining table in the middle of it. She chuckled suddenly.
"As a matter of fact, I do," she said.
She enjoyed his surprise, even though it was quickly veiled.
"I got myself through art college moonlighting for a domestic agency. I've chamber-maided the best. And the worst. They were the ones who wanted the ritzy lifestyle on the cheap."
He was intrigued. "And what makes you think my---er---employer is one of those?"
Kagome looked all the way down her nose. "I've worked with professional. You aren't one."
His eyes narrowed. Suddenly there was an edge to the smooth voice. "Perceptive of you."
Kagome nodded vigorously. "After a while you can just tell."
She tried to stop shivering. It put her at a disadvantage. And with this man she could not afford to be anything less than totally strong. She could have done with a coffee but she would die before she suggested it. Instead she sidled up to the Aga in what she hoped was a casual manner and propped herself against its blessed warmth.
He surveyed her. "So what would a professional do in my place at this present moment?" The edge was definitely still there.
Kagome's eyes slid away from his. Even if he offered her a coffee she would refuse, she decided.
"I suppose he would help me back over the wall," she said without enthusiasm.
The narrow-eyed look disappeared. He laughed aloud. "Is that wise?" He indicated her bare legs. "At least last time you were wearing shorts."
For a moment Kagome hated him as she had never hated anyone before. She would not accept from his if he begged, she vowed.
"You haven't got a spare set of the Shiros' keys?"
She did not much hope. She was not surprised when he shook his head.
"Do you know anyone in the street who does?"
He shrugged. "Didn't Lasshe Hakuro tell you when she took you on?"
Kagome bit her lip. "Neither of us thought of it."
"Then you'll have to call her now."
He did not have her telephone number but Kagome remembered most of the address and he mined his memory for the rest of it. Directory Enquiries came up with the number. Lasshe, however, was not answering.
"It's a machine," Kagome said, turning a dismayed face towards him.
He took the telephone out of her hand spoke crisply. "This is a message from Kagome Higurashi. She is locked out. So who are the emergency key-holders, please? She will be on this number when you return." And he ended with his own telephone number.
"Oh, that's just great," said Kagome. She was shaken but was not admitting it. "Not I'll have to stay here till she calls back."
He shrugged.
"But she might not be back for ages."
"Then you'll have to make yourself comfortable and dig in for a long wait."
"She might be out all night."
He smiled. There was something about that smile. I made her feel as if she had done something to be ashamed of. For some reason, of course---ash she told herself.
"I can't stay here all night." To her fury, her voice jumped all over the place.
"I don't see why not."
His voice was cool but his eyes were not. Kagome was suddenly and uncomfortably conscious that under the old and threadbare t-shirt she was wearing nothing at all. And that he knew it. She hugged her arms across her chest and lifted her chin defiantly. His smile deepened.
But he said, gravely enough, "There are plenty of spare rooms, if that's what you're worried about."
She denied it. Even to her own ears it did not sound very convincing. He strolled over to her.
"Remember, my dear, it was you who got us into this situation. Not I. All I'm doing is trying to help."
And that, thought Kagome with irony, did not sound convincing at all. She was not going to let it go unchallenged, either.
"Why?" she demanded.
He looked as if he was going to laugh out loud.
"Well, there could be a number of reasons. Perhaps I wanted to make you eat your words."
She stared. "What words?"
He was watching her like a hawk, a ghost of a smile curling the corner of his mouth.
'"I don't want any help from you. Not now. Not ever,"' he quoted softly.
For a moment she did not understand him. Then she remembered. She flushed wildly.
"Oh." Another thing to add to my "why not to stay in this house" list, Kagome thought. I will not be mocked! Kagome then glared.
He relented. "Anyway, isn't that what gentlemen are supposed to do? Take care of the weaker vessel?"
She felt horridly off balance. She did not understand him. The moment she thought she had his measure he disconcerted her again. And all with that sexy challenge that set her on edge and kept her there. She had to fight back. She had to.
"I am not," said Kagome between her teeth, "a weaker vessel."
"Now there we would probably agree," he said cordially, disconcerting her again. For a moment he sounded almost as if he dislike her. "But you see, I still have this terrible handicap."
"Handicap?" she choked.
"Chivalry," he explained. "You cannot imagine what a nuisance it is in this age of combative women."
"I am not—" began Kagome hotly, and fell silent as she realized how untrue her denial would be. Yet it was only this terrible man who made her feel as if she wanted to go war.
She pushed her hair back and glowered.
He smiled. "Think about it. If you were a man I would undoubtedly turn you out into the night and tell you to make you to make your own way back into your house."
He touched her cheek briefly. Kagome froze.
"But who could do that a shivering girl?" His voice was velvet. Poisoned velvet.
She said at random, "Didn't someday murder someone someone once by wrapping them in poisoned velvet?"
This time it was her turn to disconcert him. "I think you must mean Medea," he said after a moment, a laugh in his voice. "She gave her rival poisoned cloak. Material unspecified, from what I what I recall. Why?"
Kagome swallowed. She could not drag her eyes from that handsome, cynical face. "Oh, it seemed relevant for a moment."
Something leaped into his eyes. She had the oddest feeling he was reading her mind. She backed away from him. Suddenly she could not bear this sparring anymore.
"What are you going to do with me?" she demanded breathlessly.
There was a small, charged silence. Then he gave a soft laugh. For all she was pressed up against the Aga, it started Kagome shivering uncontrollably again.
"Oh, I will do what is expected of me. Leap to your defense. Offer you shelter. Protection. The whole thing."
This time his finger lingered on her cheek, traced the taut outline of her jaw, and cupped her tender nape. He was smiling but his eyes smoldered.
Kagome wanted to turn her head away. Failing that, she wanted to shut her eyes, to break that mesmerizing contact. She could not.
"Oh, yes," he said quietly. "Every damned thing."
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