The distinctive click of the hammer being pulled back on a gun sounded through the darkness. Then a shot rang through the night.
William dove at where Lucy and the cat sat on the ground, knocking them backward with a thud.
“Who’s there?” Dixie shouted.
He glanced behind where the gunshot had come from, ready to grab Lucy and run.
Dixie held the rifle in question.
“It’s us. William and Lucy,” he shouted back, still covering Lucy with his body, the cat wedged against her side.
The hissing, pissed-off cat apparently didn’t appreciate being squished against Lucy’s armpit since the pissed-off hissing continued with new vigor. He glanced to Lucy. The whites of her round eyes were huge in the darkness.
Her pulse tap-danced under his hand that rested against her side.
“Are you okay?” He moved his hand away.
“You should get up now,” Lucy whispered.
“Right.” He disentangled himself and helped Lucy stand. She held the cat by the scruff of the neck tight against her chest.
“It’s the middle of the night.” Dixie’s tone was firm. “What the devil are you doin’ out here?”
“Cat hunting.” William gestured with his head to Lucy and Mitzy.
“Well, I’ll be a monkey’s unc—” Dixie started.
“Mom?” Jeff hollered from across the road.
“Oh, good, the gang’s all here.” William dropped his hands to his waist.
“She’s over here, Jeff,” Lucy said, her voice sharp.
Jeff trudged around the corner in a pair of plaid pajamas. His eyes grew wide when he saw his mother pointing the rifle at William. His gaze followed the barrel of the gun, landing on William’s crotch. Jeff coughed into his hand and glanced away. William adjusted his hands to cover the bulge. Jeff whispered something in Dixie’s ear before he patted her on the shoulder and moved her gun into his hand.
“Everything okay?” Jeff asked.
“Depends on your definition of okay.” William jerked his chin at Lucy. “Your mom shot at us. We caught a cat.”
“Warnin’ shot,” Dixie chimed in. “If I’da meant to hit ’em, I woulda.”
“Mom, we’ve discussed this. No warning shots.” Jeff glanced up to the starless sky. “No shots at all.”
“Protectin’ the place is my job. Is that Mitzy?” Dixie asked. “Thought she up ’n died, too.”
Lucy held the cat tight against her.
Mitzy rewarded her with a crazy cat smile.
“Can I keep her?” Lucy asked Dixie.
William said “no” at the same time Dixie said “yes.”
Dixie scowled. “I s’pose you ken keep the cat.”
Jeff rested a hand on his mother’s shoulder. “Let’s get you home, Mom.”
“Where’s your clothes?” Dixie jerked her chin at William before she shot an accusing glance at Lucy.
At least the present conversation had killed the punch of lust he experienced earlier. “I was sleeping.”
Dixie pointed at his crotch. “Syphilis is a reality. You’d best remember that.”
Jeff coughed again. William rolled his eyes to heaven.
The awkward moment lingered until Dixie harrumphed, turned on her heel, and marched back into the darkness. Jeff followed.
The mangy fur ball purred louder as William walked Lucy silently to the porch.
Her cheeks burned red in the porch light as she opened the door. “Need something?”
“Enjoy your cat.” He reached to pet Mitzy, but she nipped at his outstretched fingers. He jerked his hand back.
Lucy held her hand on the doorknob. “I will.”
“Good night, then.” He stepped backward and cleared his throat.
The door closed only inches from his nose, and the lock clicked into place.
He trudged into his own apartment, climbed into bed, and tunneled his face into a pillow. When he closed his eyes, visions of Lucy in that ridiculous shirt swam in the darkness. He was hyperaware of her presence just next door.
Yeah, he definitely knew she existed. Certain areas of his body reminded him constantly. But on paper, Lucy Campbell didn’t show up anywhere. William dug up stories better than most of his colleagues, and he still couldn’t find anything on her.
He needed to convince his body what his head already knew. The insane desire he experienced around Lucy was a simple case of lust.
He grumbled to himself, rolled over, and willed sleep to find him.
Chapter Six
Ten minutes late for her first assignment meeting. Great.
“Thanks,” Lucy said to Parker when he held the door to the conference room for her.
The pit of self-doubt she carried with her weighed heavier as she entered the small, crowded space. The conference room had a long rectangular table with mismatched black leather chairs haphazardly placed around it, one door, and no windows. Confidence. She needed a bucket load.
Unfortunately, demanding she be confident never seemed to work.
Staff talked over each other, bantering about their plans for the weekend. Some sat at the table, a few were perched on the table, and a couple leaned against the wall. William had claimed one of the leather chairs. He tossed a worn baseball into the air, caught it, and threw it again. He intercepted her gaze and flashed his dimples. He was literally everywhere. Their shared porch, the coin-operated laundry room at the apartment building, the newsroom, and the coffee shop…everywhere.
Hello, McDimples. Tingles that had no place at work tickled along each lusty nerve in her body.
Bridgett, the afternoon producer, laughed at something he said.
Everyone quieted when Parker spoke. “Lucy is taking over as assignment editor. She’ll still produce, but she’ll also head up the weekly assignment meetings for the immediate future. Listen to her. Do what she says.” He lifted his chin to Lucy. “Good luck.”
Without anything further, he left.
Right.
So what if being the assignment editor wasn’t her dream? She could use her position to be sure she could report a few of her own stories. Make the reel that would be her ticket to reporting full-time.
She snatched a white board marker and fiddled with the cap. “Shows need content. Let’s get through this quickly”—Lucy bit at her bottom lip and waved a hand toward the room—“and you can go back to work. I realize I haven’t been here long.” Lucy scrawled the words Story Ideas across the white board. “But let’s be honest. Things are messy in the newsroom. We can do better.”
A general rumble of dissent rolled through the room.
Lucy ignored it. “We’ve had multiple reporters show up for the same story three times in the past week. The Rivers Edge newspaper has scooped us on four interviews. We need better coordination. If we work as a team, we can report some real news.”
The room went silent.
Lucy met the daggers directed at her, head on. “Just because we get a press release on the Humane Society’s lack of donations doesn’t mean we need to turn the story into a three-part series urging our viewers to open their checkbooks.”
“What you’re saying is you advocate the extermination of kittens?” Anderson mumbled.
Lucy opened her mouth to respond.
“Knock it off, Anderson.” Bridgett glared his way.
Lucy gave her a smile of solidarity.
“I happen to know Lucy adores cats.” A sliver of irritation cut through William’s quiet words.
Lucy swallowed an inappropriate remark about him accosting Mitsy with a laundry basket. He was so not one to talk.
“Why didn’t anyone ask why donations are down? Anyone know the rate of euthanasia? How does it compare nationally? It’s not our job to raise funds for kittens. Our job is to share actual news. The Edge ran a story about domestic violence rates in Confluence and how they’re at a five-year high. Where were you?” she asked instead.
No one spoke. Apparently, they had no idea
where they’d been.
Lucy wasn’t giving up. She addressed the room at large. “What story ideas are everyone working on?”
The group fidgeted with their pens and notepads, but no one looked at her. Finally, she caught Anderson’s gaze. “C’mon, you have to be working on something?”
“Trying to convince you to have dinner with me. Not going well so far.” Anderson’s thousand-watt smile likely had women throwing their panties at him regularly. It didn’t work on Lucy. She preferred her panties on, thankyouverymuch.
“Work related, Anderson.” Lucy leaned forward on the table. “Not—”
“I’m considering an investigation into Twin Lakes Resorts.” William sliced through her reply. “They’re based in Denver, but the chain includes three hotels within hours of Confluence. They do these big honeymoon retreats. It’s wedding season, and we’ve been getting complaints about couples on their honeymoon being up-charged for things they didn’t order, pre-paid rooms being unavailable, and personal items going missing.”
“Great story.” Lucy scrawled Honeymoons From Hell at the top of the whiteboard.
Bridgett turned to William. “You’ll need to go undercover? Pretend you’re on your honeymoon? I like it.”
He shrugged. “Something like that. I’m working on the details.”
“That’s why we’re here. To help you work out specifics.” Lucy underlined the words on the white board. Twice, for good measure.
Within minutes, the team was throwing ideas back and forth. Lucy shook out the cramp forming in her hand from keeping up. This was good. Exactly what they needed in the newsroom.
“When William goes undercover, he’ll need a wife.” Bridgett was all business.
“Who wants to be William’s wife?” Lucy asked offhand.
William mouthed, “Stop it” at her.
“It can’t be a reporter anyone will recognize,” Bridgett pointed out. “Someone behind the scenes makes the most sense.”
“Lucy,” William interjected. “You’re behind the scenes. Looks like you’re the one.”
Nope. That was a bad idea.
No. No way Lucy would spend days and nights alone with the man she was avoiding—the man always in search of his next conquest.
“Actually”—Lucy capped her marker—“I think you should take Bridgett. I don’t mind covering her shifts.”
The lines around William’s mouth hardened. The look shouldn’t have been sexy, but it was.
Bridgett grinned. “This is so fun. I’ll get a dress and a ring—just like the real thing without all the messy paperwork when it’s over.”
By the time the meeting finished, everyone had solid assignments. Lucy rubbed her wrist and organized the markers she had used to color code the board. She turned to leave. William had stayed behind and was leaning against the closed door.
“Don’t do that again.” He shoved his hands in his pockets.
“Excuse me?”
“I pick my own wives.”
The way he made that declaration made her heart thump quick in her chest. Pick me. Pick me.
She mentally instructed her heart to shut up.
“Ah.” She moved to put the table between them. “Thought I was helping.”
“I don’t need your help. Especially if it involves sending me away for a honeymoon with someone else.” His sarcasm hung heavy between them.
“I’m sure you’ll have a lovely time.” She looked down to her notepad and collected her things.
“Lucy.”
She glanced up.
The space between them practically disintegrated with the way he held her stare. She couldn’t look away. Could hardly catch her breath.
“We’re not done.” He turned on his heel and disappeared down the hallway.
His words hung in the air like a promise.
…
Lucy’s phone rang at six o’clock the next Saturday. It wasn’t her morning to be at the station, and absolutely everything else could wait until she woke up. She reached over to her rickety nightstand and clicked off the ringer.
At six thirty, she couldn’t ignore the pounding at her front door. It continued as she threw her feet over the side of the bed and made her way through the cramped living room. She tossed back the orange curtain on her front door. William stood there on the porch, his gaze directed down. His right hand lay relaxed on the top of the doorjamb, and the tight tee he wore showed the ripples of muscle on his biceps.
“Mrrrrrrrrrow.” Mitzy sauntered into the room.
“No. Kidding,” Lucy replied, under her breath.
When he glanced up and caught her gaze, little spikes of desire pulsed in her veins. She dropped the polyester curtain.
Mrrrow indeed.
The scruff on his face announced he hadn’t shaved in days. Lucy was apparently into shaggy men, as of right that moment.
Way too early for this.
More pounding. “Saw you. Know you’re in there, Lucy.”
She drew the curtain back again.
He pointed to the handle and mouthed, “Open.”
She shook her head and planted her hand on her hip.
He rattled the door handle.
Fine.
Safety chain in place, she opened the door a crack. When he pressed to enter, the chain caught.
“Lucy, I need to talk to you,” he said through the thin opening.
“It’s too early for conversation.” She ran a hand over her obnoxious morning hair.
“I need your help.”
“You said I’m not supposed to help you.” She tried to close the door, but he stopped it before the latch caught.
“Bridgett’s in the hospital.”
A knot formed in Lucy’s belly. She released the safety chain and opened the door. “What happened?”
“We’re supposed to leave for Twin Lakes today, but she ate something with peaches, and apparently she’s allergic. I just came from the hospital. She’s all puffed up.”
Peaches? That sounded awful. “Will she be okay?”
“They say she’ll be fine, but she needs monitoring. You have to be my wife.”
The knot in her belly tightened, and she stepped backward into the living room. “It is way too early to discuss marriage.”
He followed her inside. His gaze traveled over her, and the edges of his lips ticked up. “Please, Lucy. I need a favor. And you look like you need caffeine. Where do you keep the coffee?”
She crossed her arms across her chest. “At Starbucks.”
He tossed her an annoyed look and brushed past her to the kitchen.
Ugh. “Fine. To the coffee. Not the marriage.” She followed him into her kitchen where he snagged the tin of blonde roast off the counter.
“Coffee liners?” he asked.
“Use your sock,” she replied sweetly. She didn’t do controlling. Not with men. Not in life.
He dug through her cupboards. “You always this grumpy in the morning?”
She grumbled under her breath.
“I’ll tell you what. You go do whatever you do to wake up.” He turned and stepped toward her to trace his fingers intimately along her arms, leaving a trail of goose bumps behind.
Unable to move, she stared at his warm hands against her bare flesh.
He leaned into her, all sexy stubble and man. “I’ll make coffee.” His gaze rested on her mouth, which at some point had parted against her will. She promptly shut it.
“Then we can talk about our trip to Twin Lakes.” He gave a squeeze and released her.
Full-bodied with an extra shot of persistence was apparently on her menu this morning. “I have to work, I’ve got a cat, and there are three thousand other reasons I’m not going with you.”
“Let’s talk after you resurrect Happy Lucy. Shower, meditate, whatever you usually do…then coffee.” He returned to rummaging through her cupboards.
She stared at him, scruffy, delicious, and in her kitchen. The universe had a messed up sense of hum
or.
“You getting that shower going or are you waiting for me to take one with you?” he asked without turning around.
She scowled at his ridiculously attractive back for a beat. It wasn’t fair that even his back was sexy. Her gaze traveled lower to his shorts. Over his ass. His legs. His calves.
He cleared his throat. She glanced up quickly to meet his…dimples.
“I’ll come, too, then?” His lips formed the husky words, mesmerizing her.
He took a step forward, the tin of coffee still in his grip.
She froze, certain the look on her face must’ve mirrored an early-morning deer meeting the headlights of a Ferrari. Like, if she was gonna get hit by a car, might as well be a good one.
Oh boy, was she about to get run over.
She licked at her lips.
His gaze fell to them, mouth parted, eyes flared.
Next, please.
She noped right out of there. Turned and bolted for the bathroom, ensuring the lock on the door clicked behind her.
Head in her hands, she slumped against the thin wood panel on the wall beside the cracked tub.
She was officially hiding from William in her bathroom. Not because he recommended she shower. Nope, she needed to wake up. Her hair needed shampoo. And she had lusty irritation to rinse down the drain.
By the time the hot water ran out, the aroma of coffee, eggs, and bacon filled the kitchen.
Lucy emerged from the bathroom with wet hair and a fresh outlook, but forgiveness for the early wake-up would cost a lot more than breakfast.
William waited at the table, newspaper in hand with his ankle propped across his knee. He’d set two plates of food and mugs of coffee for them.
“Aw, you waited for me,” she said without humor. “You shouldn’t have.”
“Cream or sugar?” He held up her Wonder Woman coffee mug without moving his gaze from the paper.
“Lots of both.” She dropped into the chair across from him and meticulously lined up the silverware he’d set. She placed her napkin delicately on her lap. The scene was too domestic, with a side of comfort she refused to acknowledge.
She sipped from her mug. It turned out William made a decent cup of coffee.
“So…” He unceremoniously folded the newspaper. “Will you marry me?”
The Honeymoon Trap Page 5
