From the Heart

Turning, he started out, deciding that the new stock interested him very much.
    Fifteen minutes later Slade parked in the small graveled lot beside Jessica’s shop. It was a small, framed building, fronted with several narrow windows. The shades were up. Through the glass, he could see her tugging on a large and obviously heavy piece of furniture. Cursing women in general, he walked to the front door and pulled it open.
    At the jingle of bells she spun around. That anyone would be by the shop at that hour surprised her—that Slade stood inside the door frowning at her surprised Jessica more. “Well . . .” The physical exertion had winded her so that she struggled to even her breathing. “I didn’t expect to see you here.” She didn’t add that she wasn’t particularly pleased either.
    She’d stripped off her jacket and pushed up the sleeves of her cashmere sweater. Beneath it, small high breasts rose and fell agitatedly. Slade remembered their softness against theback of his hand very clearly. He forgot he’d come to make peace with her.
    “Don’t you have more sense than to push this stuff around yourself?” he demanded. With a quick oath, he pulled off his jacket and tossed it over a chair. Jessica stiffened her back as well as her tone.
    “Well, good morning to you too.”
    Her annoyance rolled off of him. After crossing to her, Slade leaned against the large piece she’d been struggling with. “Where do you want it?” he asked shortly. “And I hope to God you’re not one of those women who changes her mind a half dozen times.”
    He watched her eyes narrow and darken as they had that night in the parlor. Oddly, he found her only more attractive when she was agitated. If it hadn’t been for that, the way her chin jutted out might have amused him. “I don’t believe anyone asked for your assistance.” For the first time he was treated to the ice in her tone. “I’m capable of arranging my stock myself.”
    “Don’t be any more stupid than necessary,” he shot back. “You’re just going to hurt yourself. Now where do you want this thing?”
    “This thing, ” she began heatedly, “is a nineteenth-century French secretaire.”
    He gave it a negligent glance. “Yeah, so? Where do you want me to put it?”
    “I’ll tell you where you can put it—”
    His laughter cut her off. It was very male and full of fun. It wasn’t a sound she had expected from him. With an effort, she swallowed a chuckle of her own as she stepped back from him. The last thing she wanted was to find anything appealing about James Sladerman. “Over there,” she said coolly, pointing. Turning away, Jessica picked up a washstand to carry it in the opposite direction. When the sounds of wood sliding over wood had stopped, she turned back to him.
    “Thank you.” The gratitude was short and cold. “Now, what can I do for you?”
    He treated himself to a lengthy look at her. She stood very straight, her hands folded loosely, her eyes still dangerous. Two mother-of-pearl combs swept her hair back from herface. He allowed his gaze to sweep down briefly. She was very slender, with a hand-spanable waist and barely any hips. The trim flannel skirt hid most of her legs, but Slade could appreciate what was visible from the knees down. Her feet were very small. One of them tapped the floor impatiently.
    “I’ve thought about that from time to time,” he commented as his eyes roamed back to hers. “But I came by to see what I could do for you. Ryce was worried that you might do just what you were trying to do a few minutes ago.”
    “You’ve seen David?” Her cool impatience evaporated. Swiftly, Jessica crossed the room to take Slade’s arm. “Was he up? How is he?”
    Suddenly he wanted to touch her—her hair, her face. She’d be soft. He felt an almost desperate need for something soft and yielding. Her eyes were on his, wide with concern. “He was up,” he said briefly. “And not as well as he wanted to be.”
    “He shouldn’t have been out of bed.”
    “No, probably not.” Did her hair carry that scent? he wondered. That autumn-woods fragrance that was driving him mad? “He wanted to come in this morning.”
    “Come in?” Jessica pounced on the two words. “I gave specific orders for him to stay home. Why can’t he do as he’s told?”
    Slade’s eyes were suddenly keen on her face. “Does everyone do what you tell them?”
    “He’s my employee,” she retorted, dropping her hand from