Nobody But You

by Julie Kenner

  “You’re an enigma, David Anderson,” she said, taking the cup.

  “Yeah, I know. It’s part of my charm.”

  Her cheeks flushed. “Yes, I guess it is.” She cleared her throat, then used her free hand to hug the pillow. “Anyway, your parents sound great. Nice that they cared so much to sacrifice like that so you could have a normal childhood.”

  “I suppose. Although I always thought that traipsing around Europe would’ve been pretty cool.”

  She glanced toward the map. “Looks like you still do.”

  He couldn’t deny it, so he just nodded.

  “Not me. I had enough of living out of a suitcase when I was growing up. The only way I want to travel now is on very short trips in very nice hotels with twenty-four-hour room service.”

  “No cheap bed and breakfasts in funky little European towns?”

  “Nope.” Her eyes lingered for a moment on his map and then she blinked, flashing a too-bright smile. “At any rate, if your parents are anything like your aunt, I’m sure they’re wonderful. Millie’s a hoot.”

  He exhaled, more relieved than he would have expected to realize she thought his parents were cool and liked his aunt. He shrugged off the feeling. After all, what wasn’t to like? Other than her meddling and overall quirkiness, that is.

  “And she certainly adores you,” Jacey added.

  “Well, I adore her,” David admitted. “She’s the reason I’m here.”

  “In this apartment?”

  “In California.” He pointed toward the map. “You could say I keep track of Millie’s finances for her,” he said. “But when I’m sure everything’s taken care of, I’m going to take my backpack, buy a roundtrip ticket with an open-ended return, and catch the first flight to Paris.”

  “Paris,” she repeated, a note of melancholy in her voice. “I would like to see the Louvre.”

  “Every artist should,” he said. She opened her mouth, but he cut her off. “Even artists in twelve-step programs.” Grinning, he glanced down at her pad.

  She aimed a sheepish smile in his direction. “I can’t help it. I sketch. It’s a habit. I do it when I’m alone, or distracted.” She met his eyes. “Or nervous.”

  “Do I make you nervous?”

  “No. Of course not. Why would you?” Her words were casual and he almost believed her, except she started nibbling on that thumb.

  He stifled the urge to pull her up from the couch and hold her close. “Are you sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure. Why on earth would I be nervous?”

  “No reason at all. Unless you can read my mind.”

  Her throat moved as she swallowed. “Why? What are you thinking?”

  “About you.” He moved closer, knowing it was foolish, but also knowing that sometimes you just had to go with your gut. “About us.” He reached down and grabbed her arm, pulling her to her feet. “About Chinese food.”

  Her little gasp tied itself up with his heart and twisted. What the hell was he doing? This was a woman who wanted home and hearth, not a guy like him. He didn’t want to lead her on; didn’t want to pretend to be something he wasn’t. But he wanted her, and right then, that desire was driving him.

  She licked her lips, her eyes never leaving his face. “Yes,” she whispered, and his body hardened as her unspoken promises caressed him.

  “Yes, what?”

  Her breath was shaky and she gripped that legal pad for dear life. “Yes, I’m nervous,” she said. Her tongue darted out to lick her lips. “Should I be?”

  David swallowed. To hell with it. He tugged her toward him, driven by an overpowering need to touch her. The pad tumbled to the floor as her chest pressed against his, her breasts firm yet soft. “You damn sure should.”

  “Really?” she whispered. “Why—”

  But he didn’t let her finish, cutting off her words with his mouth.

  Her feminine taste was like ambrosia, and he drank deep, urging her closer. He’d been craving her since that too-short appetizer on the floor of the store and now he didn’t intend to stop until he’d had his fill of her.

  Thank God, she didn’t try to pull away. Instead she eagerly met his lips and his body reacted to her enthusiasm as he knew it would—every cell, every atom, humming and spinning, charged to near radioactivity from the electricity thrumming between them.

  The base of her neck fit into the palm of his hand and he held her there. He could stay like that forever, tasting her mouth, his tongue warring with hers, his cock getting rock hard at the thought of trailing kisses down the rest of her body.

  He wrapped his other arm around her waist, gently guiding her closer, his mouth still closed over hers as he pressed his thigh between her legs. The long material of her skirt was in the way and he wished she’d just pull the damn dress off.

  She squirmed slightly, her tongue dancing with his, and the motion was his undoing. He let go of her neck and reached down, the skirt bunching as he pulled it up and slipped his hand under the material. She trembled in his arms as he trailed his fingers up the tender skin of her inner thigh.

  Reaching the prize, he cupped her sex, a wash of male pride consuming him when he realized her panties were already damp. He traced his fingertip along the edge of the material, then slipped under, finding her wet, silky folds.

  She wriggled against him, her soft noises arousing him. Her mouth closed over his lower lip, nipping and pulling, as he cupped her sweet flesh. She sighed, a soft mournful sound, and then she leaned back. Her hands clutched his shoulders as she broke their kiss, his body yelling all sorts of curses as she pushed away.

  She shifted, then, closing her legs to him and taking a step back, the finality of her actions ringing clear. Damn.

  Her lips were parted and swollen, the skin around her mouth pink. He rubbed his face, wishing he’d shaved and at the same time glad he hadn’t. She looked like she’d been made love to—long and hard. Hell, if she looked like that now, imagine what she’d look like after a few hours between the sheets.

  Tousled, he imagined. And glistening with a sheen of sweat. A silk sheet pulled up under her chin, a hint of modesty after a long night of passion.

  “You were right,” she said, not quite meeting his eyes. “I should be nervous.”

  A lump grew in the pit of his stomach as she got up and walked across the room to stand behind his desk. Her fingers grazed over his map and then she turned back to him, her smile just a little too bright as she headed for the kitchen.

  “Jacey?”

  She looked at him from over the pass-through bar as she rinsed out her coffee cup. “I hope you get your trip, David. Or trips. You deserve it.” She grabbed a paper towel from the dispenser on the counter and started wiping down the countertop. “Backpacking through Europe. Should be a good time.”

  Well, hell. What was he supposed to say to that? Her message was clear enough. That wasn’t what she wanted. Which meant he wasn’t what she wanted. Story of his life.

  “I’ll make it eventually,” he said, referring to the trip. And he would. Somehow, he would.

  Of course, since Jacey no longer needed his services, his income potential for the month had just bottomed out. Jacey and his paycheck, both down the drain. Apropos, he supposed, considering the rest of his savings was going to a plumber later that week.

  Jacey was back in the living room, slipping the strap of her purse over her arm. “I guess we should probably go.” She cocked her head, her curls framing her face. “Thank you for everything.”

  “No problem. It’s not every day I get to find a not-dead dead guy.” He squinted, an idea poking at his mind. “I don’t suppose you’re still interested in finding the guy, are you?”

  She made a face like she’d just swallowed something unpleasant. “Uh, no. Isn’t that what I’ve been saying?”

  “You paid me to find an ex-boyfriend. I only assumed you wanted to find him for that reason.” He shrugged. “For all I know, he owes you money.”

  �
�I’m not interested in finding him anymore,” she said, her voice more forceful this time.

  He held up his hands. “Just asking. You don’t have to hit me over the head.” He frowned. Hit him over the—

  “David? What is it?”

  “The Dumpster, and then your car,” he said, feeling like an idiot for not seeing it before. “How do we know it’s not Al looking for you?”

  “That’s silly,” she said. “Lucy’s radio was stolen just like thousands of other radios in Los Angeles. And you said yourself the guy at the Dumpster was probably a crackhead.”

  He’d said that all right. And he’d believed it at the time. So why the queer feeling in the pit of his stomach?

  She crossed her arms over her chest and cocked her head. “Oh, come on.” Disbelief echoed in her tone. “You’ve been reading too many of these novels,” she added, bending over to pick up a handful of paperbacks and stack them neatly on the corner of his desk.

  She was probably right. Either that or his subconscious was manufacturing reasons to stick close to her.

  “Maybe so,” he conceded, opening the door for her. “Just my conspiratorial nature.”

  “I’m safe,” she said. “And besides,” she added, as they headed down the stairs. “How could he possibly be after me? He doesn’t even know my name. Remember?”

  He did remember. But for some reason, that fact didn’t dissolve the knot in his stomach.

  “So what’s the story with this Jacey Wilder chick?” Reggie asked. He had the snot-nosed little lawyer handcuffed to the passenger door of his Buick LeSabre. For a while, Al had kept tugging at the cuffs, but then Reggie had made it perfectly clear that mucking up the upholstery or the metal handle wouldn’t be in Al’s best interest.

  He’d been quiet as a mouse ever since, supporting Reggie’s personal theory that the guy had no balls. Of course, running out on Joey required some cojones, so maybe there was more to Al than met the eye.

  Al whimpered.

  Or maybe not.“The bitch?” Reggie prompted.

  “She’s got the diamonds,” Al said. “Not me. You’ve got to believe me. She must’ve found them in the car.” His words spilled out, one on top of the other. “Tell Joey I don’t have them. I’d give them to him if I did. I swear. So help me God.”

  Reggie’s hands tightened around the steering wheel. He wasn’t about to tell Joey nothing. Not yet. He’d already made the mistake of telling Joey what went down by that Dumpster and all he’d gotten for his trouble was a dressing down and a warning to do better next time—or else.

  Reggie didn’t like the sound of that. So he’d play this his way. And the first thing he was gonna do was search the bitch’s apartment.

  He pulled the car onto the shoulder and shifted into park, then reached across Al and opened the door. Al half tumbled out, his arm still attached to the door and a string of curses rolling off his lips.

  “You gotta go?” Reggie asked.

  “What?”

  “Do you gotta take a piss? If you do, you better go now.” Because he intended to wait outside Jacey Wilder’s apartment for however long it took. And when he had the chance, Reggie was going to do a little investigating of his own.

  Chapter 8

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t be more help, son.” The Colonel took a puff of his Cuban and exhaled, the greenish-gray smoke swirling around his head. “Naturally, I’m broken up about this.”

  Naturally. His daughter disappeared and he sat in his conservatory smoking cigars and reading the financial pages. My heart went out to the man. I could see he was pretty broke up.

  He looked up at me, the polite façade cracking. “Is there something else you need?”

  “Just answers,” I said.

  “I’ve given you all the answers I have,” he said. “My daughters lead their own lives. They pretend I don’t know and I pretend to look the other way.” He shook the paper, the pages rattling. “If that’s everything…”

  It wasn’t, but I could take a hint, so I didn’t put up too much of a fuss when the penguin showed me to the door, with a polite, “Thank you so much for coming.” Funny man.

  I met Mallory coming up the walk. I smiled at her. She didn’t smile back. “Long time no see, sweetheart,” I said.

  “What are you doing here?” Her eyes flashed and she still didn’t smile.

  “I’m doing my job, babe.”

  “You seem to forget who’s paying your bills, Mr. Monroe. I thought you understood I wanted to keep my father out of it.”

  “My mistake. I thought you’d be more concerned with finding your sister than with making sure the two of you kept up the innocent schoolgirl routine for Daddy.”

  She pulled herself up to her full height, which was taller than me in those killer shoes. Without taking her eyes off me, she took a long drag on her cigarette, then exhaled.

  And then, just as pretty as you please, she smiled. “Mr. Monroe,” she said. “You’re fired.”

  David’s fingers paused over the Selectric’s keys, the staccato clacking not as soothing as he’d hoped. Jacey may not have fired him, but the end result was the same. She didn’t want to find Al. She didn’t want David. Bada-bing, bada-boom, end of story.

  “Writer’s block, dear?” Millie had shown up on his doorstep promptly at nine, decked out in a Chanel suit, rubber-soled orthopedic shoes, and toting a brown leather briefcase. David had no idea what was in the briefcase and he was afraid to ask.

  “Just thinking,” he said.

  From the couch, Finn made a low noise in his throat. “About what?” he asked, glancing at David from over the comic pages of yesterday’s Sunday paper. “Or rather, about who?”

  David ignored him. Finn had followed Millie up, complaining of the dank smell in the still-soggy living room. David didn’t think the smell really bothered Finn. More likely, his friend wanted to watch David squirm with Millie underfoot.

  Whatever the reason, David had a full house. So much for getting any writing done. Not that he could concentrate on his novel anyway. A certain female was on his mind. Her, and the nagging sensation that something was very, very off.

  “This box is empty,” Millie said, poking her head up from one of the U-Haul boxes under the window.

  “I haven’t gotten around to breaking it down,” he said, pulling his thoughts from Jacey. “I started putting some of this stuff away yesterday.”

  “Really?” Millie said.

  “Any particular reason?” Finn asked, his voice suggesting that he had David’s number.

  “I’m just trying to get organized,” David said, glaring in Finn’s general direction. He said a silent thank-you that Millie hadn’t jumped all over that, then headed into the kitchen to warm up his coffee. “That’s not a crime, is it?”

  “Not a crime,” Finn said. “Just—”

  “What?” David growled.

  “Interesting,” Finn finished. He shook the paper and disappeared behind it, but not before David caught his amused expression. Yeah, well, so what? The place was a sty. It was about time he put a few things away.

  “Here,” he said to Millie, pausing in front of the hall closet. He reached inside and pulled down a box filled with magazine clippings. “Story ideas. You want to help? Start organizing those.”

  She whipped off a little salute, then headed to the couch with the box. Finn accommodated her by moving to one side, shoving the rest of the newspaper onto the floor.

  David stifled a grimace. So much for his efforts to clear a path.

  “Do you want them organized by topic, author, date, or other?” Millie asked. She’d pulled out her reading glasses and now she peered at him over the rims. “Or we could database them. I took a class in online banking last month and got a free database seminar thrown in. I could get on your computer and—”

  “Manila folders are fine,” David said. The last time Millie took a Learning Annex computer class, she’d added passwords to all his files, then promptly forgot each password.
He’d spent four hours on the phone with Finn, getting the machine back in working order. “And organize them however you want.”

  Another little salute and then she hauled the briefcase into her lap, sprang the latch, and pulled out a copy of Lethal Weapon 3.“Background noise,” she said. “Rene Russo kicks butt.”

  “Good for her,” David said. He popped in the video she passed him, handed her the remote, then settled back down in front of the Selectric. Too bad Jacey didn’t have some of Rene Russo’s moves. He tried to imagine her whipping her leg up and catching her mugger’s jaw with her heel. Nope. Even with his imagination, all he saw was her falling on her ass, the cretin beating the shit out of her, and him arriving too late to save the day.

  Shit.

  “What?” Finn asked.

  David grimaced, realizing he must have cursed aloud. “Just Jacey,” he admitted. He glanced at Millie, expecting a comment on his current state of matrimony, but none was forthcoming. To his surprise, he was actually a little disappointed. Had she decided Jacey wasn’t right for him? Or, worse, that he wasn’t good enough for her?

  “What about her?” Finn asked.

  David shook his head. “Nothing specific,” he said, but he got up and headed for the computer anyway.

  “I’ll bite,” Finn said. “What’s on your mind?”

  “It’s probably stupid,” David admitted. He clicked the mouse and waited for his web browser to pop up. “I just have a bad feeling.”

  Finn nodded. “The Promenade and the radio,” he said. He tossed aside the rest of the paper and moved to stand behind David. “You don’t seriously think they’re related?”

  “I don’t know what to think. All I know is I’ve got a knot in my stomach.”

  “That’s loneliness,” Millie said. “You and Jacey should be together. With Al dead, there’s nothing keeping you apart.”

  “He’s not dead, Millie,” David said, absurdly pleased that he was still up to par in Millie’s book. “Remember?”

  She waved a hand. “Might as well be. He’s not in your league.”

  Since David completely agreed, he didn’t argue the point. “There’s nothing there, Millie,” he said instead. “I’m not Jacey’s type.”