LITMIR.BIZ

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meant he was still Max. The leopard hadn’t changed his spots entirely. He might not be Max Grosvenor, the 100-proof workaholic that he’d been when she’d first walked into his office seven months ago, but there was still a lot of the old Max Grosvenor inside him. And that was good, not bad.

      He just needed balance in his life. By asking her if she had time, at least it showed he was learning how to weigh choices instead of always opting for work.

      “I can spare a part of the day,” Neely decided. “But I need to be back by three.”

      “Deal,” Max had said.

      So she’d met him at the boatyard at nine—and she had been sailing on the Sound with Max while her financing was falling through yesterday afternoon.

      She swallowed and accepted it. “Right.” she said to Frank now, squaring her shoulders. “My fault.”

      Frank patted her on the arm. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “Really. And, um, I just…didn’t know how to tell you about Savas.”

      This last he added quickly, stepping away from her as he did so, as if he were afraid she might do him bodily harm. “Sit down,” he said, pacing the floor of the apartment, but jerking his head at a chair where he expected her to sit. But Neely shook her head and remained standing.

      Frank shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He took a breath, raked a hand through his hair, then turned to face her. “Savas was…a gift from the gods.”

      “Sebastian Savas?” Neely gaped at him. Greek gods bearing gifts, perhaps? Horrible thought. “I don’t think so.”

      “You know what I mean. I was tearing my hair out in my office, telling Danny what had happened, and Savas came by—working late as usual—and Danny, joking, said, hey you want to buy a houseboat. And—” Frank shrugged, still looking dazed “—he did.”

      Neely felt just as dazed as Frank. She’d lain awake half the night denying it to herself, convincing herself it was a bad dream. But it was actually just very bad reality, because when she’d come downstairs she’d still found half a dozen boxes of gear and a computer in the living room this morning.

      “So…what happened?” Frank ventured after Neely stood there in silence, remembering the sinking feeling she’d experienced.

      “Before or after Harm knocked him over the railing into the lake?”

      Frank’s eyes bugged. “You’re joking.”

      “I wouldn’t be capable of making that up.” The memory of it still made her smile, though very little else did. “He handled it with great aplomb,” she added grimly. “Just as you would expect. Swam back to the boat, pulled himself on board, stood there dripping and acted like that sort of thing happened every day of the week.”

      Frank was shaking his head. “And…?” he prompted.

      “And then he went upstairs, took a shower, changed his clothes, ordered a pizza, set up his computer and got to work. He was still working when I went up to bed.”

      “He actually…moved in?” Frank sounded as if he couldn’t quite fathom it. “Without any warning?”

      “He moved in,” Neely said wearily. There were no other words for it.

      “So…what about you?”

      “What about me?”

      “Well, you can’t…I mean surely you’re not…”

      “I have a lease,” Neely reminded him.

      “But you’ll be living with Sebastian Savas!” Frank sounded as if he doubted her sanity.

      “Well, what did you think was going to happen?” she demanded, exasperated by his astonished look, by the sight of his mouth opening and closing like a fish.

      “I thought—” Frank shook his head “—I guess I don’t know what I thought. That maybe he wanted it as an investment?” It was more a hopeful question than a statement of fact.

      “He’d have been far more careful if he were buying it for an investment. This was obviously a spur-of-the-moment decision.”

      “I guess,” Frank scratched his head. “But why?”

      “Maybe he wants to make Max jealous.” Neely grinned.

      Frank gaped.

      “I’m kidding,” Neely said quickly. “But he does think I’m sleeping with the boss. And he definitely doesn’t approve.”

      “Oh, Lord.” Frank laughed at that. “You haven’t told him about Max.”

      “Of course not. He can think what he likes,” Neely said righteously. “He hates me anyway. This is just one more reason.”

      “Hates you?” That surprised Frank. “The Iceman?” As if he couldn’t be bothered to muster up enough emotion to hate anyone.

      “He thinks I design fluff,” Neely qualified. Maybe that wasn’t hate. But it still rankled, his haughty dismissal of her work as “girly stuff.”

      “He just has a different vision.”

      Neely gave him a wry smile. “Oh, yes. A very pointed, vertical vison.”

      “Be kind,” Frank grinned. “You’ll have to be, now that you are living with him.”

      That wiped the smile off her face. “Thanks to you.”

      “I said I was sorry. Besides, I thought he was going to find you another place.”

      Neely’s gaze narrowed. “You discussed it with him? He knew I lived there?”

      “I said I had a tenant.”

      “But not who?”

      “Your name wouldn’t sell property to Mr. Savas.”

      “No joke.”

      “So didn’t he find you a place? I thought he would before he moved in.”

      “Oh yes, he offered me a studio.”

      “Well—”

      “Can you see me and Harm and the kittens and the rabbits and the guinea pig and the fish in a studio? Besides,” she said, “I don’t want anyplace else. I want the houseboat!”

      And, of course, her vehemence made Frank wince. Too bad. It was true.

      She had fallen in love with Frank’s houseboat the minute she’d come to see the room he had for rent. She’d been there six of the seven months she’d lived in Seattle.

      When he’d said he needed to sell it, she’d instantly offered to buy it.

      She loved it and, having moved so much during her youth, she’d never really felt “at home” anywhere. Not the way she had on the houseboat. To be able to buy it and put down “roots”—albeit hydroponic ones—had been a cherished dream.

      “Well, maybe he’ll change his mind,” Frank said hopefully. “You don’t know—maybe he woke up this morning and regretted it. He might be ready to move out. Then he could sell to you,” he added brightly.

      Neely sighed. “And maybe tonight for dinner a roast duck will fly over and fall in my lap.”

      Frank blinked. “What?”

      “It’s a metaphor for incurable optimism, Frank,” she said wearily. “Never mind. Unlike you, I’m not expecting miracles. But I’ll simply have to convince him to sell to me. He’s all about business. I’ll just have to find his price. But I am not leaving.”

      She would leave.

      Sebastian was sure of it.

      He’d told her pointedly

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