Out of Bounds by Kris Pearson

bought on Friday. At nine, she
was waiting by Anton’s car, complete with fragrant bouquet.
    His front door opened, and she turned. The
half naked, paint-spattered, shorts clad man she’d almost become
used to had disappeared. In his place stood a corporate raider, an
investment banker, the CEO of some multinational company…
    The black suit had to be Italian. If Anton
hadn’t been to Italy for a personal fitting, his tailor had done a
superb job of producing trousers that hugged his lean hips and
long, long legs... a jacket that highlighted his strong chest and
shoulders and then curved in to showcase his narrow waist.
    Jetta’s lips parted in an unplanned gasp. Her
eyes roved over the snowy cotton shirt, the polished shoes, then
all the way back up to his blue silk tie and matching eyes.
    He looked fearsomely tall and utterly in
charge. Lean, mean, and full of authority.
    He inclined his head in her direction before
turning to pull the door closed.
    “Morning.”
    “Morning,” she echoed—in a voice less
confident than she’d hoped for.
    “You’re a woman of many disguises. The dusty
kid in the old hat, the party girl in the leather pants, and now
the sophisticated city woman. Impressive.”
    “You too.” She smiled in acknowledgement of
his description, overwhelmed by his transformation, and stuck for
appropriate words to compliment him in return.
    He opened the car door for her and held out a
hand for the flowers. Jetta lowered herself in, hoping his dazzling
eyes weren’t watching her as closely as they seemed to be.
    “A nice day to send your Gran off.”
    She shifted her gaze fractionally—from his
vivid blue eyes to a sky that seemed pale by comparison.
    “Yes,” she agreed, feeling ridiculously
tongue tied by this new and intimidating man. She reached for the
bouquet.
    The immaculate old Porsche growled out onto
the road, past the flowerbeds of Ballentine Park and their deep
green backdrop of camellia bushes. In minutes, they’d reached the
business district. Anton turned into Brandon Street, and slid the
car into the last visible space.
    “Good start, anyway. I’ll see if they’re
open.”
    “I’m coming with you,” she insisted,
scrambling out of the low car and laying her bouquet on the
seat.
    “You really don’t trust me, do you?” he asked
across the roof of the car. “This is every bit as big a hassle for
me as it is for you.”
    He led her along the sidewalk and opened an
old-fashioned glass door for her. The foyer they entered had an
intricately tiled floor and marbled walls; Jetta gazed around with
appreciation.
    “These tessellated tiles must be at least
eighty years old,” she said. “Much more my sort of thing than your
modern boxes. How nice that it’s not been torn down to build
something taller.”
    “Fourth floor,” Anton said, not reacting to
her comment, and indicating the elevator. They rode up in silence,
only to find that while the other fourth floor tenant’s rooms
blazed with lights, Winters and Watersons’ were in darkness.
    Jetta stared in dismay at the sheet of
letterhead paper taped inside the glass. Another week to wait.
Another week before she could find out where she really stood.
Anton was determined to move in tonight, and she couldn’t prevent
him.
    “So much for that idea,” he said. “At least
you know where the place is now.”
    She nodded numbly. “Next Monday then. Damn.
Have you got any of their paperwork you can show me? I should have
thought of that.”
    “You’ll no doubt accuse me of forging it
all.”
    She compressed her lips. “Probably,” she
agreed. The corners of her mouth tugged as she tried not to smile.
“And now I’m far too early for the funeral.”
    Anton pushed the elevator button again.
    “I want to spend a few minutes at the
office,” he said as they descended. “Come up and check out my view,
and then I’ll drop you to the chapel.”
    “You’ve time?” She hadn’t looked forward to
clutching her big