Tension hung in the air along with the muggy humidity left over from the summer day.
"I guess you'd better come in." Her voice sounded flat.
He gave her keys back on the front doorstep and a rich, sweet aroma filled his nostrils. "What's that smell?"
"Angel's trumpet. There's one on either side of the door. The flowers open at night."
"I wouldn't think those would be hardy up here."
"They're not. We take them inside in the winter."
"Wow." The blooms wrapped them in a blanket of seductive fragrance. He could make out the large white flowers in the moonlight. "The plants are huge. That's a labor of love."
"They're worth it." The conviction in her voice suggested she meant more than the plants.
She turned on the lights and led him down a hallway and into a kitchen. Despite the collection of copper pots hanging on the wall and the racks of spices, the place had an uninhabited, desolate feeling. Empty fruit bowls, the stove and countertops too uncluttered, the wooden table bare.
"Do you live here?"
"No, the commute is too long for the hours I work. I have a small apartment in the city. I come up here on weekends to keep the place going."
He pulled open the fridge, out of hunger more than curiosity. He'd had nothing but a couple of hors d'oeuvres all night. The lit interior contained a box of baking soda, two garlic bulbs and some ketchup. His stomach growled.
Her eyebrow lifted when he looked up. He shrugged and closed the door.
"I'm afraid I wasn't expecting company," she said dryly.
"No sweat."
She moved into another room and snapped on a light. A cozy living room with patterned rugs and sofas. Silver-framed photos lined the fireplace mantel. He peered into one and saw three smiling people in a summer garden: a tall, professorial-looking man in tweeds, a slender, pretty woman blowing bubbles, and a little girl with chubby cheeks and glasses.
He heard Bella's breath catch as he stared into the lost world of what was obviously an idyllic childhood.
"I should take those pictures down. They make me crazy."
"There's nothing wrong with remembering the good times."
"It hurts too much. We were so close. They were my best friends. Now my mom doesn't even seem to want to come home."
"Did she ever have problems before your dad died?"
"She struggled with depression now and then, but nothing she couldn't work through. My dad's death just pulled the rug out from under her. She can't seem to imagine being happy again." She tugged her gaze from the picture and glanced up at him. Her wide gray eyes glittered with tears. "Honestly, I feel the same way a lot of the time."
"But you haven't given up on life."
"No. I guess I'm not the giving up type."
The determination in the set of her jaw gave him a warm flush of relief. "I'm glad to hear it."
Of course that only made her less likely to give up on her ill-fated quest to attack Tarrant Hardcastle.
Her penetrating stare made him lift his chin. "Nice house."
"Yes. It's filled with things my mom and dad collected over a lifetime. They brought these cat figurines back from Egypt. And my mom painted that watercolor on a trip to Tuscany. She used to paint all the time when I was little. That one over there is a picture of the house when it's covered in snow." Bella rubbed her arms. "This is her sanctuary. They bought this house when they were first married and she's never lived anywhere else."
He moved toward her, again bedeviled by a raw urge to take her in his arms. Their intimacy of earlier hummed in his blood.
But she stepped back, raising a wall between them.
He searched his mind for words to set her at ease. "It must be nice to stay in the same place a long time and put down roots. We moved all the time. I don't think we stayed anywhere more than two years."
When her eyelashes glittered with fresh tears he realized he'd said the exact wrong thing. Her roots were about to be ripped right out of the ground.
He shoved a hand through his hair. "Isn't the mortgage paid off by now?"
"I think it was at one point, but when the real estate market went up they borrowed against it for living expenses. The market went down and right now we actually owe more than the house is worth." She gulped a breath. "This is an expensive area, and we always lived just like everyone else; but now I can see they never had anything left over to put away. I guess they must have been in debt almost the whole time, just trying to keep up."
Dominic stayed silent.
"I earn a good salary, but the mortgage, the taxes, the hospital bills, living expenses … I've been borrowing from Peter to pay Paul for a year now."
"And you can't pay Peter or Paul back unless you win the patents back from Tarrant and exploit them yourself."
She nodded.
Except that he'd already foiled her plan and it was time to move forward.
"You found the papers you were searching for." It wasn't a question. Why else would she rush to a hospital after visiting hours?
"I did." Her face looked tight.
"What did they say?" He fought an impulse to step closer, so he could sniff for truth or lies in the scent of her skin.
"I haven't read them." He noticed she still clutched her leather briefcase in her arms. "I didn't want to take them out on the train."
There was something guarded about her expression, something prickly about her posture, that made him not believe her. Had she read them and not liked what they said?
"Let's take a look at them." He spoke softly.
Her eyes widened. "Why should I show them to you?"
"Because I want to help you, not hurt you."
Now that I've betrayed you.
His muscles tightened as recrimination crept through his veins like acid. Bella was combing through his father's files in a desperate attempt to get her mother out of a mental hospital.
Pity squeezed his heart.
In a situation like that, he could see how someone would be desperate enough to try anything.
But that didn't mean it was the right thing to do.
Bella opened a sliding door, letting in the rhythmic hum of the summer night. "I'm going to get something to eat."
"Outside?" Curiosity propelled him after her.
She flicked on an outdoor light. It illuminated a jungle of leaves and vines. He followed her down a brick path, and saw that the jungle was actually a large and very organized garden.
Tomatoes. The vines climbed sturdy lengths of wooden trellis. He could smell the ripe fruits as she plucked them. He reached out and took a plump beefsteak tomato, its flesh cool and reassuring in his palm.
Without a word, she continued down the brick path, crouched and reached among the distinctive huge leaves of a zucchini plant. He heard her snap off the vegetables.
"Here, let me carry some stuff for you." He squatted beside her and held out his hands to take some produce. They continued the routine as she gathered peppers, eggplant and spring onions until his arms were loaded with them. The single outdoor bulb gave barely enough illumination to find the path, but Bella seemed to know the location of each ripe fruit and vegetable.
"Do you maintain this garden all by yourself?" He couldn't keep the wonder out of his voice.
"I have to. It's my mom's pride and joy."
"I'll bet she's proud." He sniffed a fresh, ripe pepper. "I guess she hasn't been hospitalized long if she had time to plant all this in the spring."
"Let's go inside." Bella moved past him with an armful of food. He ignored the stirring in his belly as her hips brushed his thigh.
"How long has she been there?"
She didn't look back at him. "Fifteen months."
"Holy … " He stifled the curse on his lips. "So you planted this whole garden yourself?"
"Come on in before the moths do."
He stepped into the house after her and followed Bella into the kitchen, where he set the food down on the tiled counter.
"Black Krim." He held up the distinctive brownish-skinned heirloom tomato. "And Brandywine." The bulbous shape of his favorite bulged from the pile on the kitchen counter.
"She likes the old-fashioned varieties."
"A woman after my own heart."
Bella tucked a strand of hair behind her ears and put her hands on her hips. "I usually sauté a bunch of this stuff into a ratatouille."
"Sounds sensational."
Now he really couldn't take his eyes off her. Bella Soros was something else. That damn dress still clung to her beautiful feminine curves as she heated olive oil in a pot and chopped garlic into it.