She shook her head, newly determined, and turned back to cross the threadbare gray carpeting to her chair and her conversation. It was something to do with money, promotion, status or all of the above.

But there was that streak of rat, and if he was at her door being charming it was because he wanted something. If Nick hadn't had such a large streak of calculating rat running through him, he would have been just what she needed at the moment, instead of the last thing she needed. 'I don't,' Tess said firmly to the door, but her face was uncertain as she ran her fingers through her short red curls. Is that fair? I think we should talk about this.' I keep calling but you won't call me back. Actually it's been a month, a week and two days, but who's counting? All right, I'm counting. 'Aw, come on, Tess,' Nick called through the door. 'Right.' She slammed the door in his face and shot home both dead bolts. She rolled her eyes at him, all her suspicions confirmed. Tess looked down at her sagging, bleach-splotched sweatshirt and faded blue sweatpants, the hems shrunk to midcalf on her long legs. She stared at him warily, fighting down the ridiculous jolt of relief and happiness and lust that welled up in her just because he was back. When Tess Newhart threw open her apartment door, Nick Jamieson was standing there-tall, dark, successful and suspiciously happy to see her, his pleasantly blunt face a nice human contrast to his perfectly tailored suit.

Strange bedpersons by jennifer crusie