Shadows At Sunset - Anne Stuart [27]
Surely she could. Ignoring the wash of relief that spread through her, she met Dean’s eyes, ignoring Coltrane. “We may have room, Dean, but this place is falling to pieces. I don’t think any of the empty rooms are habitable.”
“He’s already moved into the room at the far end of the hallway. The one that looks like it’s underwater.”
“The Sea-moss Room,” Jilly said flatly. “There’s a reason for it looking like that—the roof leaks in three places.”
“It never rains in L.A., Jilly. If it does he can always come down and bunk with me.” Dean cast a lazy glance in Coltrane’s direction.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea. Jackson must pay him enough that he can rent a place on his own….”
“Jackson does pay him enough,” Coltrane said in his deep voice. “But since Dean and I are going to be working closely on several important legal projects this seemed like a reasonable solution.”
“And it’s just as much my house as it is yours, Jilly,” Dean added in a languid voice. “I don’t see why you should get to say who stays here. You’re the one who’s always complaining about money. Coltrane can help. And I expect Rachel-Ann would agree with me. I was telling Coltrane all about her, and he’s completely fascinated.”
Rachel-Ann again. That sense of unease built once more, and Jilly sat very still, considering it. Why did the thought of Rachel-Ann and Coltrane bother her, as much as the thought of Coltrane and Dean? Was she jealous? Was she self-destructive enough to actually be attracted to a man like him? She’d learned to keep her distance from charming sharks like Coltrane—surely she wasn’t going to lose her self-control now. Hadn’t she learned her lesson with Alan?
Except that Coltrane was no Alan Dunbar. He was far more dangerous. “Rachel-Ann doesn’t need to get involved with anyone right now,” she said in a cool voice.
“Don’t you think that’s up to her, darling? And what is it to you?”
Typical of Dean to draw her into such an awkward conversation, while Coltrane watched and listened. She turned to him, a bland, polite expression on her face. “Wouldn’t you be more comfortable in some place a little more…modern?” she asked, grasping at straws.
“I like it here. It has character. And, of course, I plan to contribute financially.”
“I don’t need your money.”
“I thought the roof leaked.”
“I doubt you’re willing to front me that much.”
“You never know. I can be very generous.”
He had such green eyes, such very dangerous green eyes. Those eyes were oddly familiar, and yet she’d never been involved with a green-eyed man before.
And wasn’t now, she reminded herself sharply.
“Besides,” he added, “I told you, I’ve had to turn over some important clients to Dean, and it would be good if I was available if he had questions. I don’t think you’d have a problem with that, would you?”
He knew he’d gotten her, and there was nothing she could do. He’d given her what she wanted—a chance for Dean to win Jackson’s love and approval. Well, perhaps that was going too far—Jackson wasn’t ever going to shower affection and approval on any of his children but Rachel-Ann. Nevertheless, Dean could earn Jackson’s attention and respect, instead of being shuffled aside for a golden protégé like Coltrane.
“I don’t know why you’re being so crabby, Jilly,” Dean added. “It’s not like we haven’t had all sorts of people staying here over the years. The place is huge, even if it’s an eyesore.”
“It’s beautiful!” Jilly protested.
“It ought to be bulldozed and you know it. But then, if it were up to you you’d save every tumbledown shack that had ever been built in the San Fernando Valley. I don’t know where you get your sentimental streak—it certainly isn’t from our father. Maybe you take after Edith, after all.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that.” She rose to the bait. “Our mother was a good woman. You just don’t remember her very well….”
“How could I? She died when I was eight, and before that she was never around. She never could stand up to Jackson, but then, who could? It’s past history, Jilly.”
“Let’s not do this, Dean,” she said wearily.