Of course he had. But doing the right thing wasn't normally this physically painful.
* * *
Reva awoke with a crick in her neck and the sun on her face. It didn't take two full seconds for her to realize where she was and whom she slept on.
"Oh, no," she said softly as she sat up. Either her words or her movement woke Dean. He blinked twice and twisted his head to lay sleepy blue eyes on her.
"Oh, no, what?" he asked, his voice gravelly with sleep.
"Oh, no, you're here." She stood quickly, bringing the afghan with her since her pajamas were much too thin to keep the sun that poured through the window from revealing too much. "Oh, no, it's seven-thirty." Oh, no, there's a gun in my kitchen, and did I really ask this man to have sex with me on the couch? "Just a general oh, no," she said.
Dean Sinclair looked too good in the morning. Too much like a man, all long and hard and rough. Solid and warm. Untamed. His usually precise dark hair was ruffled, there was a dark shadow of stubble across his jaw, and his T-shirt was marred by a tiny wet spot. Drool, she realized in horror. Hers.
This was so unfair! He could at least have the decency to look sour and unpleasant on waking.
"You shouldn't be here," Reva said as she turned her back on him and walked toward the hallway.
"I fell asleep."
"You have to go now," Reva said in an even voice. "And take your gun with you." She shuddered as she walked down the hallway.
She listened. The couch squeaked slightly. Footsteps padded across the carpeted floor, then onto the kitchen tile floor. Those footsteps stopped, before the refrigerator, she imagined. That was where he'd said he'd put the gun. Behind the bread box.
Standing before the bedroom door, just a few feet from escape, Reva stopped. After a moment's thought she dropped the afghan and ran down the hallway. She reached Dean as he lifted a hand to open the front door, and grabbed the back of his T-shirt in a death grip. "Stop." When he did, she loosened her grip on his shirt and dropped the hand that had halted him.
"You told me to go," he said, not turning to look at her. Just as well.
"It's too late," she said. "Someone will see you leaving."
Dean shifted something in front of him, turned to face her and kept one hand behind his back. She never saw the gun she knew he carried. Would she panic this morning the way she had last night if he let her see the weapon? Last night the sight had surprised her, she told herself. If she had been prepared, stronger, more determined, she would not have fallen apart.
"What am I supposed to do?" he asked. "Stay here all day?"
Reva stared at the center of Dean's T-shirt. The tiny spot of droll was drying, thank goodness. Had she really slept with her head on his chest? She'd slept so well, had dreamed very nice dreams that were just now fading.
"You could stay here awhile, then sneak out," she said sensibly. "If anyone catches you, you could tell them you were working on the kitchen sink."
"If I was here to work on the sink, why would I be sneaking around?"
"Can't you sneak without it looking like you're sneaking?"
"I don't think so," Dean muttered.
Last night, asking him to sleep with her had seemed like a good idea. Primarily, she now realized, because she hadn't wanted to be alone. It was a poor excuse for taking a step she'd avoided for so long.
But there was something else she could not deny, something beyond a momentary fear of being alone. Dean Sinclair made her remember what it was like to love, to desire, to crave a kiss and more. She should hate him for that, for making her want what she couldn't have. If she slept with him once, there would most certainly be a second time and a third and a fourth, and the next thing you knew he'd be a part of her life and she'd have no choice but to tell him everything.
She didn't want to see the horror in Dean's eyes when she told him everything.
He lowered his head toward hers, just slightly, as if he intended to kiss her. Reva stepped back, and his descent stopped abruptly. "You can't walk out the front door. Mrs. Logan will see for sure. The kitchen door faces the Bodines' backyard, and they always sit out there in the morning drinking their coffee."
"What am I supposed to do?" Dean snapped. "Crawl out a window?"
"Perfect!" A rush of relief made her smile. "The window in Cooper's room is shielded by trees. No one would see you go out that way."
Dean's eyebrows rose. "I was joking."
"Please," Reva said softly.
Again Dean shifted his head toward hers. "Nothing happened last night. Why do you look so guilty?"
"It won't matter what we say. If anyone sees you…"
"What would the neighbors think?"
"Exactly."
Dean kept one hand behind his back. With the other, he cupped her neck and drew her nearer. Gently. Slowly. Reva stopped breathing a half second before he kissed her.
She adored the way he kissed, even though she knew she shouldn't. It was as if she drank him in through her lips, as if he drank her in, as well. Kissing Dean was warm and intimate; it robbed her mind of everything but sensation and forbidden possibilities.
When he'd first brought his mouth to hers, she'd been determined to make sure it was a short, passionless kiss. But it was Dean who broke away, much too late for short or passionless. "Next time I spend the night," he said in a low voice, "I won't sleep on the couch, and we will actually have something to hide come morning."
Reva shook her head. "You can't… We can't… Last night I made a mistake when I suggested… You were right when you said we shouldn't…"
"I said 'not tonight,'" Dean said calmly, ending her ridiculous and embarrassing stammering. "I didn't say never. I want you, Reva, but I want you unafraid. When the time comes, there won't be anything on your mind but me. No fear, no flashbacks." He traced a finger across her neck. "When you shake, it'll be for an entirely different reason than last night's unpleasant shivers. When you ask me to make love to you, it'll be because you want me, not because you don't want to be alone."
"I won't ask you for anything," Reva insisted. "Not ever again."
"Yes, you will," Dean said. He didn't give her a chance to argue, but stepped past her and toward the hallway. "Which room is Cooper's?"
"Second door on the left." She followed as he made his way down the hall into Cooper's bedroom and to the window. He paused there, glanced over his shoulder and grinned. He had a rare but startlingly beautiful smile. It touched her. She could certainly not get involved with a man who smiled like that.
He opened the window, looked around to make sure no one was near and then slipped out gracefully. His eyes met hers briefly, before he dropped to the ground.
The entire time, he'd made sure he kept his body between her and the gun. She never saw it, but she knew it was there.
Thoughtful and gorgeous; a deadly combination.
* * *
Dean took a roundabout way toward his rented room. Ancient trees shielded him. He kept his eyes open for morning walkers and joggers, kids on their way to school and Reva's employees. The only time he was exposed was when he ran across the street.
He concealed the gun, just in case he did run into anyone, by shoving it into his waistband and arranging his shirt to cover it. Not that anyone else would react the way Reva had, but still, it wouldn't do for people to see him running around town with a pistol tucked in his pants.
He let himself into Miss Evelyn's house, moving quietly. All he had to do was make it up the stairs and he'd be home free.
A couple of times he asked himself why he was cooperating in this ridiculous charade. He was thirty-five years old! Too damn old to be sneaking around, especially when he had nothing to hide.
The answer came to quick and too easy. He did this for Reva. She had to live in this town, and after he was gone he didn't want people to talk about her. And in a town like Somerset, they would talk.
He was halfway up the first flight of stairs when a wavering voice called, "Good morn
ing," from the kitchen.
Dean turned on the stairs just as Miss Evelyn stepped into the foyer and tipped her face up. "Goodness gracious, you look a fright. Is the hot water on the fritz again?"
"No, ma'am," Dean said. "I just wanted to run down and grab a cup of coffee before I had my shower. Having a little trouble getting started this morning." He reversed himself and stepped quickly down the staircase. "The coffee smells so good I thought it might give me a boost."
His landlady followed him into the kitchen. "I'm planning to make more sugar cookies this afternoon. I'll set aside a big plateful of them for you."
Dean poured his coffee and racked his brain. They'd already mailed three boxes of cookies to Troy. "I really don't have much of a sweet tooth. Besides—" he turned with the coffee cup in hand and patted his stomach lightly "—I need to watch my weight."
Miss Evelyn nodded. "It was Alan who liked my cookies so much, wasn't it?"
Dean nodded. "Yes, ma'am."
"I thought so." She patted her own nonexistent belly. The woman was thin as a rail. "He carried a bit of a paunch."
"A bit," Dean said, hiding his smile by raising the coffee cup and taking a long sip.
"He's married, isn't he?"
"Yes, he is."
"I thought so. He has a married look about him, a content and settled look. And then there was the wedding ring of course," she added. "Why aren't you married?"
Dean hadn't been prepared for the question. He almost spilled his coffee. "Just never met the right woman, I guess." He gave the standard answer, leaving out a large part of the truth. He'd raised his family when he'd taken on the care of his brothers and his sister, since he was the eldest and their parents had little time for their children. The last thing he needed or wanted was someone else to take care of. A clinging woman, kids, more responsibilities than he already had.
Then there was the job. He loved his work as a deputy U.S. marshal, and he was good at it. But the job meant traveling, odd hours and danger many women could not accept.
"Hogwash." Miss Evelyn pulled out a chair from the kitchen table and sat.
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me. I said hogwash. Sit down." She indicated the chair to her left, and Dean headed that way with his coffee.
"I really need to get…"
"I said sit down. I'm old enough to be your grandmother, and I don't have many years left." She coughed and fluttered a hand over her chest, feigning weakness. "Humor me."
Dean sat.
"You're one of those fellas that thinks too much," Miss Evelyn said succinctly, no more hint of weakness in her voice. "I knew that the first time I saw you. You probably sit around worrying about all the problems you might find around the bend, and while you're creating troubles that haven't had a chance to happen yet, life passes you by."
"I'm not—"
"Don't interrupt. It's rude."
Dean sat back in his chair. "Yes, ma'am."
"Sometimes you just have to reach for the brass ring without worrying that you might slip off the saddle. It's true, you might fall off the merry-go-round and eat a little dust, but if you're smart and resilient, you just hop right back on up there and start reaching for the brass ring again."
His love life as a merry-go-round. Great.
"That's interesting, but—"
"You're interrupting again."
"Sorry. I thought you were finished."
"Nope." The old lady took a sip of her coffee, which looked to be more milk than coffee. "I don't believe I am finished."
"Can I ask a question?"
"Of course, young man."
Dean leaned into the table. "What if when you fall off the merry-go-round, you get more than a mouthful of dust? What if you end up mangled in the mechanism beneath the ride?"
Miss Evelyn grinned wickedly. Like him, she leaned forward. "What if when you finally grab that brass ring and come away with it in your hand, you discover it's not brass, but gold. A priceless treasure. Something worth holding on to for a lifetime?"
Dean stood. "Miss Evelyn, you're a romantic."
"That I am," she said with a sigh.
"And I need to have a shower and get to work." He took his coffee cup with him, escaping the kitchen before his landlady could come up with more sage advice. He ran up the stairs, entered the upstairs parlor and sighed deeply. The morning had been just a little bit too exciting so far.
He grabbed his cell phone and dialed quickly. He had one thing to do before he took that shower.
Clint answered on the second ring. "Dean!" he said. Ah, the joys of caller-ID. "It's a little early for you. Is everything okay?"
"Everything's fine." If you discount the fact that the merry-go-round that's my love life is spinning out of control. "Could you do me a favor?"
* * *
Chapter 8
« ^ »
Reva managed to get to the kitchen before anyone else, barely, and she soon discovered the source of the noise that had called her into the restaurant last night. Bits of broken glass were scattered across the tile floor. She cleaned up the mess quickly.
It didn't look as if anything had been taken, but she was pretty sure a few items were not where she'd seen them last. A vase had been moved aside, an old pitcher was not where it should be. One drawer had been left open an inch or two, but it could have been left that way yesterday.
The cookbooks on the bookshelf just inside the kitchen door were not in the proper order, Reva realized as she passed. Tewanda had probably rearranged the books unintentionally. Maybe Miss Frances was the culprit. She was always looking for new recipes to try at home and had been known to spend her time browsing through the cookbooks.
There really wasn't any reason to tell Tewanda or the sheriff or anyone else what had happened last night. If she reported the break-in, Dean's involvement might come out. That would never do. It was probably just kids, anyway. There were a few from just outside town who had been known to cause a little trouble now and then.
That's all this was—a little trouble.
As son as the ladies arrived and got busy in the kitchen, Reva closeted herself in her office.
Her mind wouldn't stay settled long enough to get any work accomplished. She puttered, organized paperwork that didn't need to be organized. Her mind was most definitely elsewhere.
She had never lacked for troubles. These days Cooper and the restaurant provided more than enough anxiety for any one woman. Reva had managed to completely lock away worries about her own life, especially where men were concerned. She had no time for those complications, no desire to muck up her life when she'd finally found serenity. She'd worked hard to make a new life. She couldn't risk allowing a man to tear down everything she'd built.
This morning it wasn't her son or her business that caused her distress. It wasn't even the fact that she'd told Dean too much last night or that he carried a gun, though those tidbits offered plenty of concern.
No, what she worried about this morning was the way he had so confidently told her she would ask him to sleep with her again.
Dean hadn't used the words sleep with or have sex, as she had last night. He'd said make love. Reva shuddered. She knew it was an expression often used when there was no love involved, but the way Dean had said the words stayed with her, as if she could never shake them off. As if those words meant something grand and promising and new. Love was the last thing she wanted in her life. Talk about anxiety!
Reva leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. No more daydreaming, no more thinking about what she could not have. She had Cooper and she had the restaurant; she did not need to add Dean to the mix. A man would bring more trouble than she could handle at the moment. Yes, it would be nice to let him kiss her again, to experience the weight of his body on hers and feel the evidence of his arousal pressing against her, promising more. Dean said he'd make her shake, and she had no doubt that he could. Easily. Too easily. She shook just thinking about him!
But she d
idn't need him, and a night or two of fun wouldn't be worth all the pain and heartache that were sure to follow. She knew that deep down, with a hard-won conviction. Now all she had to do was convince herself.
* * *
Dean waited until the lunch crowd had dispersed before he tackled the chore of putting new locks on all the restaurant doors. He kept waiting for the sheriff to show up to examine the crime scene. All day he'd watched. Nothing. At first he'd thought Reva might've asked the lawman to stay away until after her customers and employees had left for the day, but three o'clock had come and gone. The last of the customers had departed long ago, and only a couple of employees remained.
He hadn't seen Reva all afternoon. Had she taken to hiding from him again?
When Miss Edna brought him a glass of tea and said absolutely nothing about last night's break-in, Dean put two and two together. He asked if Reva was in, and the old woman directed him to the second-floor office. He drained his glass of tea and left it on the kitchen counter, then made his way through the old house that was becoming so familiar to him. He didn't try to soften his step on the stair. Reva would know he was coming.
The door was closed, so he knocked. After a moment he was answered with a much too soft "Come in."
He stepped into the office and closed the door behind him. "You didn't call the sheriff."
"Well." Reva leaned back in her chair. "Hello to you, to."
"Hello. You didn't call the sheriff."
The composed businesswoman sitting behind the desk didn't look like the frightened woman who'd asked him to have sex with her just a few hours earlier. She was serene, pulled together. Incredibly cool. "I decided there was no need."
"Someone broke into the restaurant," Dean snapped.
"Nothing's missing," she said calmly. "It was probably kids out to make mischief, which is hardly worth the trouble of filing a report with the sheriff."
Dean leaned against the closed door. "I understand Sheriff Andrews is sweet on you."
Aha. That put a chink in her icy armor. She didn't react strongly, but her deep-brown eyes were no longer quite so still. A hint of a blush bloomed on her cheeks. "Where did you hear such a thing?"
ON DEAN'S WATCH Page 9
