Divorced, Desperate And Dating

by Christie Craig

  Divorced, Desperate

  and Dating

  CHRISTIE CRAIG

  LOVE SPELL NEW YORK CITY

  To Jake, my canine office companion and muse, who gave

  me the best years of his life.

  I miss you, buddy.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Busted

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Acknowledgments

  Praise

  Other Love Spell books by Christie Craig

  Copyright

  BUSTED

  “It was one kiss,” he said.

  Oh, yes. One kiss by a cop Sue couldn’t forget.

  “We have to stop avoiding each other. Let’s go back inside and prove to each other, and to Chase and Lacy, we’re adults.”

  She looked him in the eyes—blue eyes, long lashes. “Sorry, I’ll have to be an adult another day. But if you start practicing now, you might succeed in a couple of years.”

  “Don’t be silly.” The wind blew again and the bow on her dress flew up to her Wonderbra cleavage. He jerked his fingers out of his pockets and tucked his hands beneath the opposite armpits like a child who’d been told not to touch.

  “I’m not being silly. I’m meeting someone.”

  “You aren’t meeting anyone. You’re lying so you don’t have to be in the same room with me.” He rubbed his arm. “I happen to know that you don’t date. You belong to that Divorced, Desperate and Delicious club that you, Lacy and Kathy started. Of course, Lacy jumped ship.”

  Sue gritted her teeth. Did everyone in town know she hadn’t had sex in two years? “Well, throw me a landline, matey, because you can drop the desperate for me, too. I’m now divorced, delicious and dating.”

  CHAPTER ONE

  The worst part about murdering someone was planning exactly how to do it. Not that this was Sue Finley’s first. She’d whacked at least ten people, but it never got any easier.

  She bounced the toe of her strappy sandal against the kitchen island, the portable phone trapped between her shoulder and ear as she waited for the Poison Control Hotline. “How much poinsettia leaf would it take to kill someone?” she asked as soon as someone answered.

  “Can ya hold?” the woman on the other end asked in a twangy voice, her Texas drawl as thick as the state’s humidity.

  “Sure.” Sue reached for a magazine on the counter. The cover promised to make her a better lover and reduce the size of her thighs in ten minutes. Instead, she fanned damp air across equally damp skin with the glossy pages.

  The heck with poinsettia; July in the South could kill. She heard the telltale humming of her central air just as her cell phone started chiming. Sue tossed away the magazine, rummaged beneath several loose tampons in her purse to find the phone, and pressed it against her other ear. “Hello?”

  “Hey, it’s me again,” Melissa Covey, her agent, said. “I’m in the middle of downtown Houston. Am I taking—Oh, I’m getting another call. Hang on.”

  “Sure.” Sue glanced at one silent phone and then the other. With a phone to each ear, she paced and watched Hitchcock, her gray tabby, leap up on the table. The cat dipped his paw into Sue’s coffee mug, testing the brew’s temperature before lapping up his daily dose of caffeine. She really should start pouring him his own cup, but whenever the feline’s green eyes gazed up at her with such adoration and unconditional love, Sue forgot about cat germs.

  “Hey, baby.” She bumped foreheads with her pet.

  “Did ya say poinsettia?” the woman from Poison Control asked.

  “Yes, poinsettia.” Sue pulled away from the cat. “I’m a writer, and—”

  “Can you hold again?”

  “No problem.” Sue bit down on her lip. On hold. The story of her life.

  But no more. Her gaze caught on the black lace teddy stretched out on the butcher block countertop beside the Victoria’s Secret bag. She only hoped sex was like riding a bicycle and one didn’t forget how to do it. Then again, the last time she’d gotten on a bike she’d hit the right-hand brake instead of the left and nose-dived over the handlebars. Oh, Jiminy Cricket, she hoped sex wasn’t like biking. Or at least she hoped it came with pedal brakes.

  Doubts about the weekend started to fizz. She tried to visualize her and Paul doing the deed, but then she recalled last night’s kiss. The kiss that had left her feeling…nothing. She’d even put her heart and soul into that kiss, hoping it would have the same earthshaking effect on her as The-Boyfriend-Who-Never-Was Jason Dodd’s kiss had four months ago.

  The earth hadn’t moved. Not even a wiggle. Not with Paul.

  For the hundredth time, she wondered if Jason had felt the earth shake that April night, too. Probably not. He’d never bothered calling her, even after he’d asked for her number. Not that it mattered now; she was so over him. Memories of how he’d tasted, of how hard his body had felt…Oh, brother. Well, she was almost over him.

  With one phone pinned between her shoulder and ear, she skimmed her fingers over the slip of sexy fabric and tried not to hyperventilate at the thought of feeling nothing next weekend. She totally sucked at faking orgasms. Her oohs and aahs never came out in the right pitch. Or at the right time.

  Something at her entranceway window caught her attention—something tan and about the size of a horse. Her breath caught. Goliath, the English Mastiff. Her mother’s drooling canine companion and one-dog destruction team had come to call. Unfortunately, the dog seldom traveled alone. Where Goliath went, so did Sue’s mother.

  Thoughts of her mother collided with previous thoughts of orgasms and sent Sue’s brain into a Monday-morning blitz. Hit with a case of fight or flight, and always being more flighty than fighty, Sue grabbed the scrap of black lace and ducked behind the island.

  Hitchcock, who was still nursing a grudge against Goliath for sticking a nose where it didn’t belong, abandoned his coffee and darted under the living room sofa.

  “You can’t hide from me, Susie,” her mother called out, shutting the front door. “And make your cat behave this time.”

  Sue dropped her new nightie on the floor, stood, then gave the sexy garment a toe-nudge into the corner. “My cat isn’t the problem. You need to have that dog castrated. And I wasn’t hiding. I was…counting dust bunnies.”

  “Counting dust bunnies?” her mom repeated.

  The portable phone slipped down Sue’s shoulder and she snagged it. “Sorry, I’m on hold…both phones. Kind of busy. But I love you.” The last sentence came out with a touch of caring. Sue gave a wave with he
r pinky.

  Her mother, juggling an orange purse, an armful of mail, and a gold-wrapped package, didn’t leave. Sue’s gaze shot to the package. Great. Her mother came bearing gifts. Now she would really feel guilty for trying to avoid her.

  “Who’s on the phones?”

  “Poison Control.” Sue tilted her head to the right. “And my agent.” She leaned her head to the left and noticed her mother’s low-cut tangerine-colored pantsuit. Lately her mother had seemed extra cheery, and her wardrobe…Fruit colors—apple red, lime green. And every time Sue saw her, the necklines got lower. It wasn’t really indecent yet, but after a few more visits she’d be down to nipple exposure.

  Sighing, Sue accepted that her feelings might stem from jealousy. Peggy Finley, at fifty-one years of age, had cleavage that Sue’s size B’s could only attain with a Wonderbra.

  “What?” her mom asked. “Your agent get you a bad deal and you’re planning on poisoning her?”

  “No. My agent is in town and on her way here now. She phoned for directions.”

  “And Poison Control? Oh.” Her mom’s wide smile faded. “You didn’t eat the casserole your grandmother sent over, did you?” Goliath sniffed at the gold package.

  Sue studied her mother’s suggestive neckline and decided to buy another Wonderbra.

  “You didn’t eat that casserole, did you?” her mom repeated.

  “No. Since Grandpa had to have his stomach pumped, I flush everything. As for Poison Control, I’m trying to figure out how much poinsettia leaf it would take to kill a one hundred and fifty pound cross-dresser.” Sue bounced her toe against the island. Then she paused before her mother told her to stop fidgeting. Sue knew she fidgeted, but her brain worked best when she moved.

  Her mother’s perfectly plucked eyebrows shot upward. “Taking out your ex, huh?”

  “It’s for my book.” But her mother wasn’t too far off target.

  The panicked voice came back on the line. “This isn’t good. How much poinsettia leaf was ingested?”

  “It hasn’t been ingested,” Sue answered. “I just need to know how much it would take to kill a medium-size man. I usually talk to Lisa. She always answers my—”

  “You want to kill someone?” the voice squeaked through the line.

  “Only on paper. I’m a”—the line went dead—“mystery writer. Great.”

  Her mother pitched the mail on the island and positioned the gold box on the counter. “This was on your doorstep.” She scooted the stack of bills and the box closer.

  Sue glanced at the Godiva Chocolatier sticker on the package. “Paul?” She got a funny feeling between her legs. Unfortunately, it wasn’t a delayed reaction to Paul’s kisses. It was Goliath’s nose where it didn’t belong.

  Dropping the portable phone, she thrust the dog from her crotch. “You should train him not to do that.”

  “It’s just his way of saying hello.” Her mother set her purse on the island.

  “I knew a guy in college who said that, and I trained him not to do it.”

  “Always the good girl.” Her mom’s gaze dropped to the floor, and the mama’s-proud-of-you smile faded. “I don’t like this Paul creature.” Her mother scooped up the teddy.

  “He’s not a creature, and there’s nothing wrong with him.” Cell phone still held to her ear, Sue nudged the dog’s nose from between her legs again.

  “What happened to that cop you were so crazy about? Jason, wasn’t it?”

  Great. Now her mother was tossing Jason Dodd’s name at her, too. It wasn’t bad enough that she kept thinking about him and his kisses—or kiss, since, technically, that was really all there had been: one kiss. Not that it really mattered, anyway. She needed to stop thinking about Dodd altogether and start thinking about Paul. Paul, who had lots of great traits, even if kissing wasn’t one of them.

  “It didn’t work out.” She bounced her toe against the cabinet. “Paul’s smart, clean-cut, and sweet.” She declined to mention that he was also dull, but four adjectives leaned toward purple prose. “You only met him that time we passed him on the road. You two never said more than three words to each other.”

  “Sweetie, I ’d be the first one to tell you that you need to get on with your life. But I don’t trust men who drive around wearing shower caps. And don’t fidget, dear.”

  “It wasn’t a shower cap.” Sue forced herself to stand still. “He’s a doctor, and he’d just come out of surgery and forgot to take off his surgical cap when—”

  “Doctor?” Her mother’s expression soured.

  “Most mothers would be thrilled their daughter was dating a physician.”

  “Most mothers don’t have my experience. Doctors think all women are hypochondriacs. And they’re cheaters, blaming it on the fact that they have to look at naked bodies all day.”

  You are a hypochondriac.“Paul’s a podiatrist. I don’t think he’s getting turned on by women’s bunions.” Then it occurred to Sue that Paul did spend an awful lot of time checking out her feet. Oh, great. Leave it to her mom to plant more insecurity. It wasn’t as if Sue didn’t already have a boatload of them. Boobs, thighs, turning men into wanna be women.

  “He might. He has shifty eyes.” Her mother dropped the nightie. “I don’t want squinty-eyed grandchildren with foot fetishes.”

  “I’m not having his babies. I’m just…” Going cycling with him on a bike with pedal brakes. Her doubts resurfaced.

  “You’re sleeping with him?” Her mother’s eyes narrowed.

  “No. Not yet. I mean, I’m going to Mexico with him this weekend.” At twenty-seven she should be able to tell her mother this, shouldn’t she? So why was she getting that look? The same look she got when her mother found the gigantic hickey on her neck when she was fourteen.

  “If he’s good in bed, you’ll marry him. You’re that desperate.”

  Sue punched off her cell phone. It wouldn’t do for Melissa to hear her mother talking about how sexually deprived she was. Already Melissa complained about the lack of sexual content in her books.

  “I’m not desperate.” Desperate and horny were two completely separate emotions that involved two completely different parts of a woman’s anatomy.“And as much as I would love to visit with you, I need to straighten my office before Melissa gets here.”

  “Melissa?” Her mom pushed Goliath’s nose away from the gift-wrapped box, and Sue saw drool ooze from the creature’s mouth.

  “Melissa. My agent. Can I help you get Goliath back in the car?” She tossed her mom some paper towels.

  “You’re not offering me chocolate?” Her mother eyed the box before giving the dog and his drool the one-two swipe.

  “Paul’s scum but you’ll eat his candy.” Sue reached for the gold-wrapped package.

  “It’s Godiva.” Her mom gave the dog a scratch behind his ears.

  Sue understood. Even from scum, Godiva was…Godiva. Not that Paul was scum. And he’d noticed other parts of her body besides her feet, hadn’t he? Either way, Sue was getting a new Wonderbra. After two years, her old one had lost its wonder.

  “Have a truffle. Then go.” Sue pulled at the box. The ribbon floated to the floor. The top came off, followed by the white tissue, and…

  Sue’s breath caught.

  She froze.

  It wasn’t Godiva.

  It wasn’t even cheap chocolate.

  Sue found her breath and the ability to move simultaneously. The package flew up. Air whooshed into her lungs, and the rat, with the word die written in red across its dead, hairy chest, went sailing up into the air.

  Unfortunately, what went up must come down. The deceased rodent landed smack-dab in the middle of her mother’s tangerine fabric-covered boobs. Her mother jumped, the C-cups boomeranging the rat across the room. Goliath, slobber now dripping from his jaws, lumbered after it, but Hitchcock dashed out from the sofa and beat him to the punch.

  “I’m calling the police.” Her mother grabbed Sue’s cell phone. “That foot-fetish fien
d sent you a rat! I hope you have wine.”

  With one hand over her heart, Sue watched Hitchcock rise up on his hind legs, his claws swatting left and right, his feline teeth buried deep into the dead rodent’s head.

  Thoughts swirled in Sue’s own head, but of one thing she was certain: Unconditional love or not, tomorrow that cat was definitely getting his own coffee cup.

  Her mom’s voice vibrated through Sue’s consciousness. “Someone just threatened to kill my daughter.”

  Right then, a bell rang. Sue’s gaze darted toward the entryway.

  “Oh, Hades!” Her mom pulled Sue against her. “That could be the killer now!”

  Jason Dodd, a narcotics detective for the Houston Police Department, gazed at the leggy blonde strutting across the street in heels. Her tight red skirt jiggled back and forth with each step. He waited for the zing of plea sure.

  Anticipated it. Wanted it.

  But…no zing.

  “You could always arrest her for jaywalking and get her number.” His partner, Chase Kelly, tapped the steering wheel to the sound of a Dido CD, waiting for the light to change.

  “She’s not my type,” Jason said, annoyed at his lack of interest. His lack of zing. Lately, no one fit the bill. For the last four months, he’d spent his weekends either held up in his apartment or helping his foster mom, Maggie, do odd jobs around the inn. He’d never gone this length of time without sex. Not voluntarily anyway.

  Even Maggie had noticed. “I’m sixty-five years old and I’ve never known a man who’d willingly come over to unstop a toilet on a Friday night. Why aren’t you with a lady friend?”

  His partner’s hand-tapping jerked Jason back into the present.

  “Something bothering you?” Chase asked. “You don’t mind pet-sitting, do you?”

  “I don’t mind.” Jason scrunched back against the seat. “But I thought Sue usually watched the menagerie.”

  “She’s going on some trip.” The light changed, and Chase started driving.

  Jason stared out the window. “Probably another book signing.”