Hidden Riches

up.” And she wouldn’t have parted with it for diamonds. “Besides, you owe me sweatpants, too.”
    “Mine wouldn’t fit you.” He pulled them on, then stood looking at her as she sat on the edge of the bed. Reaching down, he twined a lock of her hair around his finger. “We could start a fire, and spend the rest of the morning in bed watching game shows.”
    She tilted her head. “That sounds incredibly tempting, Skimmerhorn. Why do you suppose I have this odd feeling that you’re trying to keep me out of the way?”
    “Out of whose way?”
    “Yours.”
    “How can you be out of my way when I’m planning on spending as much time as possible on top of you?”
    “You and Brent are working on something and you don’twant me to know what it is.” It was disappointing, and enormously frustrating, that he showed no reaction at all to her accusation. “That’s all right.” She shrugged it off and smoothed a hand over the rumpled spread. “I’ll find out anyway.”
    “How?”
    She smiled. “When I’m on top of you, I’ll vamp it out of you.”
    “Vamp?” But he fought back a laugh as he worked a flattened cigarette out of his pack. “You can’t expect me to concentrate on Bob Barker or Vanna White after a statement like that.”
    “Bob Barker?” She laughed, so thoroughly delighted with him she gave in to the need to leap up and into his arms. “Bob Barker? God, Skimmerhorn, I love you.”
    She started to lean back and kiss him senseless when she felt him stiffen. Very slowly, very quietly, her heart sank to her knees.
    “Whoops.” She fought for a light tone as she untangled herself from him. “Wasn’t supposed to let that one out, was I? Sorry.” Because the hurt was still swelling, she turned away, avoiding his eyes. “Chalk it up to the heat of the moment, or whatever works for you.”
    He wasn’t sure he could get his tongue around a word, but finally managed her name. “Dora—”
    “No, really.” Oh God, oh God, she thought, panicked. She was going to cry if she didn’t do something quickly. “It was just a slip of the tongue, nothing to get worried about.”
    Forcing a smile, she turned back. It was as bad as she’d feared. His face was set, his eyes absolutely blank.
    “Listen, Skimmerhorn, the ‘L’ word comes real easy to me. My family boots it around like a football—you know us theatrical types.”
    She lifted her hand again, running it through her hair in that restless and lovely feminine gesture he’d grown so fond of.
    “So look.” Her voice was bright again, excessively cheerful. “Why don’t you start that fire? I’ll make us something appropriate to snack on while watching game shows.”
    She took a step forward, stopped. He hadn’t moved, but had blocked her retreat through simple will.
    “You meant it, didn’t you?” He said it quietly, and the eyes that had fastened on her face made it impossible for her to hedge.
    “Yes, I meant it.” The defense came automatically. He watched as her shoulders straightened, her chin firmed. “They’re my feelings, Jed, and I know how to deal with them. I’m not asking you to match them, or even to accept them if that’s difficult for you.” The first licks of temper glinted in her eyes. “And since it obviously bothers you so much to hear them, I’ll be careful not to mention them again. Ever. All right?”
    No, it was far from all right. He couldn’t pinpoint the moment when things had changed between them any more than he could pinpoint his own feelings. But he could do something to stabilize what was becoming a dangerous situation.
    “Get dressed,” he told her. “I’ve got something I want to show you.”

CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE
    T he weather, at least, was promising. The sun beat hard against the T-Bird’s windshield, giving Dora an excuse to slip on tinted glasses. However thin the defense, she felt better shielded.
    As Jed drove north on Germantown Avenue under a vividly blue sky, she passed the time watching the pedestrian traffic. The temperature had risen to nearly fifty, allowing people to walk with a more cheerful step. They drove through the center of the city, far from the rivers with their frisky breezes, toward Chestnut Hill.
    Not such a long way from South Street mile for mile, just vast distances of ambience and income.
    He hadn’t spoken since they’d started the drive. She didn’t ask where they were going. She was almost sure she knew. His reasons for making the trip would