One Touch of Moondust Read Online Free Page B

neighborhood you can’t go out in even in daytime.”
    â€œIt’s not that bad,” she said, getting out and slamming the door. She opened the back door, began removing things from the back seat and piled them up on the sidewalk. Still shaking his head, the taxi driver began getting the suitcases out of the trunk.
    â€œYou stay here,” he said. “I’ll take them inside. What floor?”
    â€œFour.”
    He rolled his eyes.
    â€œI’ll help,” she volunteered.
    â€œIf you help, who’ll watch? Stay.”
    Just then Paul emerged from the building. His jeans were just as faded and just as snug as the ones he’d had on when they’d met, but he had buttoned his shirt either in honor of her arrival or in concession to the near-freezing temperature. He smiled at her, a slow, breathtaking smile that made her wish for a minutethat he was her lover and that they were embarking on a mad, passionate affair.
    Without saying a word, he took the full load of luggage from the taxi driver. Mort looked him over carefully, then nodded. He turned to Gabrielle. “Maybe it’ll be okay.”
    â€œWhat was all that about?” Paul asked when the taxi finally had pulled away and they’d hauled everything up to the fourth floor landing.
    â€œHe doesn’t think I should be moving into this neighborhood.”
    Paul opened his mouth. She spoke first. “I don’t care to have this discussion with you, too.”
    â€œFine.” He nudged the door open with his foot and stood aside for her to enter. She found…chaos. At least she hoped that’s what it was. Surely it couldn’t be his idea of furnishings.
    A sofa that sagged dangerously in the middle had been shoved against one wall. Two chairs in a similar state of disrepair were situated haphazardly in the middle of the room. None of the pieces matched. An orange crate had been placed in the midst of this unlikelyarrangement. A mayonnaise jar filled with marigolds had been plunked in the middle of it. As a gesture of welcome, it was a nice touch. As decor, it was frightening. She was terrified to look in the other rooms. Squaring her shoulders resolutely, she walked down the hall.
    Each bedroom had a twin-size bed with a mattress that dipped in a way that set off desperate warning signals in her back. There was a scarred four-drawer dresser in each room. Each had a jar of marigolds on top. At least he was consistent, she thought with a sigh.
    She dropped her suitcases in the room with the least offensive bedspread—pink chenille with a minimum of tufts missing. She would have to use the tiny dressers in both rooms and both closets for her clothes. She might not have her mother’s acquisitive nature, but she did own more than two dresses. Maybe Paul could at least keep his clothes downstairs while he worked on the apartment.
    When everything had been dragged inside, she turned to Paul. “If you’ll just give me my keys now, I’ll start settling in and you can goon doing whatever you were doing before I arrived.”
    He dropped the keys in her hand, picked up more of her bags and hauled them down the hall.
    â€œThanks, really, but I can manage the rest of this,” she protested.
    â€œNo problem. Until we get these things out of the way, we’ll just be stumbling over them.”
    â€œDon’t you have work to do downstairs?”
    â€œNot today. I took the day off so I could welcome you properly.”
    Gabrielle was just picking up a box of dishes when the seductive undertone to his words registered. She dropped them. The crash of Limoges didn’t even faze her. “Welcome me?”
    â€œYeah,” he called over his shoulder. “I’m glad you like the pink room. I figured you would. I’d already put my stuff in the other room.”
    â€œWhy would you want to welcome me?” she said, regarding him suspiciously. “We have an arrangement.