pleasure the way her chiseled cheekbones reddened. Score one for the blue-collar worker.
"I need the help." She gestured toward some huge white boxes stacked ceiling-high in the corner of the store. "The fur coats have to be put in storage in the back."
"What do you have back there, a big closet or something?"
She pushed her pale hair off her face with impatient, stabbing motions and sighed theatrically. "An air-conditioned store room."
He glanced at the stacks of boxes. "Must be a pretty big room to fit all of them inside."
"And there are more where those came from," she said. "Look, if you don't think you're up to it, Donohue, I'll ask the teenage boy down the block to help me. I hear he lifts weights."
Now that stung. The quickest way to a man's ego was through his masculinity. He swung one of the boxes up onto his shoulder. "Which way?" he said, his voice more a growl than anything human.
She pointed toward a long hallway at the rear of the store. "Straight through. Last door on the right." Her eyes lingered on his bare arms. "It's freezing in the storeroom. Maybe you should put on a sweater."
"Worry about yourself," he said heading toward the storeroom. He doubted if anything could be colder than her attitude.
The phrase bull in a china shop leaped out at Caroline as she watched Charlie Donohue make his way down the spun-sugar pink hallway toward the storage room cum fur vault. She closed and locked the front door and hung up the embroidered CLOSED sign. Not that there was any crime to speak of in Princeton, but when you had an inventory like hers, it paid to be careful. If only she'd thought to lock the door before Donohue showed up....
"I'm going to kill you, Samantha," she said aloud, reaching for the telephone. She dialed Sam's number, waited, then slammed the receiver back into its cradle. Busy. Sam was probably on the telephone with Scotty, crowing about sending Donohue in Murphy's place. Of all the outrageous, idiotic stunts! She hoped Sam was enjoying her victory because Caroline intended to prove that victory Pyrrhic the first chance she got.
"This wasn't my idea," she said when Donohue came back into the front room and hefted another stack of boxed fur coats.
He cast a perfunctory glance over one brawny shoulder. "Who said it was?"
She straightened her own shoulders. "It needed to be said."
The perfunctory glance turned curious. "Why?"
"That should be obvious."
"The only obvious thing in this room is the fact that we both want to get this over with as fast as possible."
Caroline wasn't used to being dismissed quite so nonchalantly and she bristled. "Look, why don't we just call it a day? I'll phone Sam and--"
"Forget it," he broke in. "I gave her my word."
"You don't have to look as if you promised to walk naked through a hailstorm."
"If you're giving me a choice, I'll take the hailstorm."
She bit her lip. What on earth was the matter with her, wanting to smile when she'd been insulted? "I'm sure Murphy wouldn't mind helping me out tomorrow."
He stacked a third box in his arms. "Sam's nine months pregnant. Why don't we humor her? When her hormones are running normally again, she'll forget all about this matchmaking stuff."
"That's disgusting."
His thick dark brows lifted. "Hormones?"
"Your attitude. That has to be the most sexist remark I've heard in years."
"Fact of life, Bradley. You're ruled by hormones from the day you're born until the day you die. Especially when you're pregnant."
"Right. And I suppose you're an expert in pregnancy."
"Doesn't take an M.D. to see what's what."
"Ridiculous! We're ruled by our intellect. Our sense of reason. Our--"
He was still laughing as he disappeared back down the hallway once again. Caroline barely restrained herself from tossing an antique vase at his head. The fact that she had been guilty of a similar notion about Sam's pregnancy earlier that afternoon didn't absolve him of his guilt. Of all the idiotic, outdated notions, his statement
"I need the help." She gestured toward some huge white boxes stacked ceiling-high in the corner of the store. "The fur coats have to be put in storage in the back."
"What do you have back there, a big closet or something?"
She pushed her pale hair off her face with impatient, stabbing motions and sighed theatrically. "An air-conditioned store room."
He glanced at the stacks of boxes. "Must be a pretty big room to fit all of them inside."
"And there are more where those came from," she said. "Look, if you don't think you're up to it, Donohue, I'll ask the teenage boy down the block to help me. I hear he lifts weights."
Now that stung. The quickest way to a man's ego was through his masculinity. He swung one of the boxes up onto his shoulder. "Which way?" he said, his voice more a growl than anything human.
She pointed toward a long hallway at the rear of the store. "Straight through. Last door on the right." Her eyes lingered on his bare arms. "It's freezing in the storeroom. Maybe you should put on a sweater."
"Worry about yourself," he said heading toward the storeroom. He doubted if anything could be colder than her attitude.
The phrase bull in a china shop leaped out at Caroline as she watched Charlie Donohue make his way down the spun-sugar pink hallway toward the storage room cum fur vault. She closed and locked the front door and hung up the embroidered CLOSED sign. Not that there was any crime to speak of in Princeton, but when you had an inventory like hers, it paid to be careful. If only she'd thought to lock the door before Donohue showed up....
"I'm going to kill you, Samantha," she said aloud, reaching for the telephone. She dialed Sam's number, waited, then slammed the receiver back into its cradle. Busy. Sam was probably on the telephone with Scotty, crowing about sending Donohue in Murphy's place. Of all the outrageous, idiotic stunts! She hoped Sam was enjoying her victory because Caroline intended to prove that victory Pyrrhic the first chance she got.
"This wasn't my idea," she said when Donohue came back into the front room and hefted another stack of boxed fur coats.
He cast a perfunctory glance over one brawny shoulder. "Who said it was?"
She straightened her own shoulders. "It needed to be said."
The perfunctory glance turned curious. "Why?"
"That should be obvious."
"The only obvious thing in this room is the fact that we both want to get this over with as fast as possible."
Caroline wasn't used to being dismissed quite so nonchalantly and she bristled. "Look, why don't we just call it a day? I'll phone Sam and--"
"Forget it," he broke in. "I gave her my word."
"You don't have to look as if you promised to walk naked through a hailstorm."
"If you're giving me a choice, I'll take the hailstorm."
She bit her lip. What on earth was the matter with her, wanting to smile when she'd been insulted? "I'm sure Murphy wouldn't mind helping me out tomorrow."
He stacked a third box in his arms. "Sam's nine months pregnant. Why don't we humor her? When her hormones are running normally again, she'll forget all about this matchmaking stuff."
"That's disgusting."
His thick dark brows lifted. "Hormones?"
"Your attitude. That has to be the most sexist remark I've heard in years."
"Fact of life, Bradley. You're ruled by hormones from the day you're born until the day you die. Especially when you're pregnant."
"Right. And I suppose you're an expert in pregnancy."
"Doesn't take an M.D. to see what's what."
"Ridiculous! We're ruled by our intellect. Our sense of reason. Our--"
He was still laughing as he disappeared back down the hallway once again. Caroline barely restrained herself from tossing an antique vase at his head. The fact that she had been guilty of a similar notion about Sam's pregnancy earlier that afternoon didn't absolve him of his guilt. Of all the idiotic, outdated notions, his statement
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