Predicting Rain?

“Absolutely, and remember that,” Eve said, then the line went dead.

He slowly hung up, and tried to figure out where to start. Zane was gone, Matt hadn’t shown up yet. Rita. He could ask her about nannies or baby-sitters. She seemed to be indispensable to both Matt and Zane. Maybe she could find someone to step in and be with Victoria, and possibly get something set up in the loft for the little girl. If he had to, he’d move to another place, as long as he could be hooked up to the office wherever he went.

He turned to go and find Rita, but stopped in his tracks, stunned to see Rain standing in the open door of Zane’s office, watching him. It was as if the thought of the loft had conjured her up, making her materialize not more then ten feet away from him. But he could see her breathing, could almost catch a hint of that flowery essence that clung to her. She was very real.

Rain. With her hair sleekly pulled back form her finely boned face, exposing how large her eyes were, he could see a faint suggestion of freckles dusting her small nose. She was in tailored dark slacks, an almost prim white top and—he looked down—no bare feet. White dress sandals. Even without her tie-dyed T-shirt and loose hair, she didn’t look as if she belonged here at all.

Rain faced Jack Ford from the doorway to Zane Holden’s office, and knew that his shock at seeing her had been as great as her shock seeing him moments ago. She’d expected Lindsey Holden, a woman who had almost attained sainthood in the eyes of the people she’d just talked to. Even the personnel man had almost waxed poetic about how much the woman had done for the day-care center.

But it wasn’t Lindsey she was facing now. It was the man she’d heard on the phone moments earlier, his back to her, speaking in a low voice. She’d watched the way his shoulders tested the fine fabric of his silky shirt when he took a breath, then said, “Love you.” They must have been said to his fiancée, but they were said with something of a throwaway. As if they weren’t nearly as important to him as they should be.

Now he was looking right at her. Actually, he was looking her over. From her head to her feet, then back to her face, and she couldn’t begin to read his thoughts. She hated it when a person was so closed that you had to guess at what they were thinking and feeling.