“Right at this moment, I think I’d need some hard proof.”
Right at this moment, the hard proof he had made him look like a fool. She unhooked her seatbelt, and he silently groaned. He couldn’t move his legs, let alone walk.
“I’m sorry.” Stalling, praying she didn’t jump out of the car, he slunk to the level of a snake and went for her soft spot. “Remember, I suffered a severe brain injury last night.”
Her mouth twisted. “Stop that...before I hurt you.”
“Promises, promises.” He was already hurting—hurting bad. He’d never suffered like this in adolescence. This must be what hell was like.
Her laugh sounded like an angel’s solo. Idiot that he was, heart galloping, Pierce leaned across the ten inches separating them and traced the line of her jaw—from under her ear to the tip of her chin. The smoky gray of her eyes changed to black—like the sky before a storm. She lifted her mouth to his.
She pulled away too soon, tugging her coat collar higher. “That was a mistake.”
“Huh-uh.”
“Let’s agree to disagree.” She cracked the door.
“I don’t want to agree to disagree.” Another minute and he’d be crying for his mommy. “I already agreed to disagree. Now, I want to kiss you again.”
She shook her head. “Been here, done this. Dèjá vu.”
“Dèjá vu. You said that last night. On the golf course.” He had no idea how his brain derailed so fast.
“I did?” She swung her feet onto the pavement, turned in her seat and gave him two raised eyebrows.
Way to go, Pierce. Keep her hanging on your every word. He said, “Exhaust fumes? They make my head hurt. That’s why I changed subjects so fast.”
Her mouth twitched, and she shook her head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Me either. I just want to kiss you again.”
An expression he took as regret darkened her eyes. She slid out the door, wiggled her fingers at him and called over her shoulder, “Work calls.”
****
Quinn’s legs wobbled like a toddler’s. Pierce trotted behind her. On her heels. He’d catch up with her in five, six seconds at the most. He was right about the fumes. They made her head hurt too. She glanced at the security monitors, and her cheeks burned. Just what she needed. Joe watching her and Pierce steam up the car windows.
“Going to a fire?” Pierce fell into step beside her.
“As a matter of fact, I have about four to put out. I need to call Rex. I should’ve called him from the car.”
“If you had, we’d have missed that Hallmark moment.”
“Don’t go there. Monitors or not, I could still kill you. Plead insanity.”
Pierce’s laugh bounced off the cement walls. “Better find a better defense. No one will ever buy you’ve gone ’round the bend.”
If you only knew. Stiff, nervous he’d pick up on her raging feelings, she kept her distance as he punched the UP button on the elevator.
The door snicked open. Pierce stood back. She entered first. He smacked LOBBY and she made a noise.
“This will take thirty seconds,” he said. “I have questions for Joe about yesterday.”
“Oh, goody!” She felt like smacking him. “Since I don’t have any questions, I’ll go—”
“Thirty seconds.” The door opened and Pierce depressed the STOP button.
Hot blood rushed up Quinn’s neck to her face, but she resisted the urge to slap his hand away. He wanted to forget a nut vandalizing his house, she wanted to forget a nut jumping at her in the garage.
A smile jiggled Joe’s wrinkles. He came from around his desk, hobbling a little and greeted them. Heat from the lobby rolled into the elevator. After the cool air in the garage, the building felt too hot to Quinn.
Probably can’t be too warm for Joe’s arthritis. She ignored Pierce and spoke to the older man.
He massaged his gnarled fingers, barely waiting until she finished asking about his new treatment before he said, “That was quite a scare you had yesterday, Miz Alexander.”
“I’m fine, Joe.” She avoided eye contact with Pierce and noted the other five elevators remained at the top floor.
Joe edged a little closer and lowered his voice. “The police came by a little while ago—one-thirty to be exact—but I couldn’t tell them anything more.”
Quinn resisted the urge to push Pierce’s index finger off the STOP button. She said brightly, “Not much to tell, is there?”
“Not much,” Joe agreed. To Pierce, he said, “Steve Cutter and Tony Franklin are right on top of it. Tony took the tape.”
The whole garage scene flashed in Quinn’s mind, and her heart hammered in her ears. She stepped around Pierce and chirped, “Why don’t I take the stairs? I need the exercise.”
“Here’s another elevator,” Joe said.
Pierce caught her arm. “Thanks, Joe. Catch you later.”
The doors slid shut. Quinn stumbled backwards, fell against Pierce and wished time-travel was a fact of twenty-first century life.
Smoke was seeping out of his ears, but his face resembled a block of ice. When he spoke, she couldn’t see his lips move. “Wanna bet Joe’s as confused as I am?”
Invisible pulleys carried them upward, but her stomach dropped. “Nothing happened. You already know that.” Damned if she intended to explain.
“I know we should’ve discussed your mugging incident earlier.” Pierce turned the little key on the panel, and the elevator glided to a stop. The doors didn’t open.
“You’re being melodramatic.” She leaned back against the mahogany wall and pulled out her cell phone.
“Wrong. I’m being pissed.”
The icicles in his voice froze her ESP. A fraction of a second too late, she saw his hand shoot out. Her phone disappeared into the inside pocket of his suit jacket.
“You can’t make me talk.”
“Nooo?” His drawl sent shivers slaloming down her back.
“Stop acting like your knuckles drag the ground.”
“My knuckles do drag the ground. What the hell went down with you yesterday?”
Her nostrils flared. Dammit, he knew she hated ultimatums. Worse, she hated men throwing their weight around. “I don’t need your protection for your freaking information.”
“Uh-huh. You know tai-chi, right? Yet you got mugged in my building.” He touched the bruise under her eye so gently she barely felt it.
“I didn’t get mugged.” Her cheeks felt like a snow grader had scraped to the bone.
“You should get a refund on your facelift then.” He tucked a chunk of hair behind her ear. “Can we stop acting like idiots for half a second?”
Her throat closed, and she blinked quickly. It’d been so long since she’d loved and trusted him, she’d forgotten how wonderful tenderness felt.
“If anything happened to you...” His deep, throaty voice cracked.
Her own throat ached with repressed tears. Swallowing brought no relief.
“We may never have a future together, Quinn, but we have a past I’ll always treasure.”
“I know.” She kicked herself for being so weak but told him anyway about the craziness in the garage. She finished by saying, “I honestly think it was a fluke. At one point, I thought the guy was more surprised at seeing me than I was at seeing him.”
“I’d probably agree if I didn’t have a goose egg from our walk on the golf course.”
When Quinn didn’t answer, couldn’t answer because she couldn’t explain the snowball attack, Pierce turned the key, and the elevator hummed. “But fluke or joke or attempted mugging, I’m sure as hell not letting what happened go without finding out why.”
Chapter 9
Head down, Quinn whirled into her office and started putting out fires.
Both afternoon appointments had cancelled. No surprise in the toughest job market since the 1930s. Lousy weather beat out a depressing meeting to develop a job-search strategy.
The
wonderful, efficient Sami offered to work with the caterer on last-minute details for the Thanksgiving Bash. She left Quinn dialing Triple A, massaging her pounding head and silently fuming.
What planet did Rex inhabit—ignoring her voice mail? Don’t tell her he and Michael were talking. About what, for so long?
Triple A’s canned music scraped her nerves, but it quickly provided the kind of mindless background noise accompanying her own private movie. Luce went into labor naturally, alleviating the need for Michael to change his mind about inducing birth. Rex was chauffeuring them to the hospital—which explained why he hadn’t called.
He couldn’t call and drive safely.
Her pulse raced and she allowed herself hope. Michael’s fine. She doodled fine on the blank piece of paper in front of her, underlining each letter and adding four fat exclamation points. He’s just tired. Tired and stressed, but fine...
He knew you’d find Rex a job. She gnawed her bottom lip. Good ole Michael. She folded the paper into a crude airplane and pitched it into the air. Gravity jerked it down to the floor. Someday, someday soon, she had to set her baby brother straight. Tell him—except for this one time with Rex—she only worked miracles on Wednesdays and Thursdays.
Sami stuck her head in the office. Janelle had the caterer’s checklist in front of her. Leah was busy updating their computer files. Sami volunteered to sit on hold with Triple A.
“Thank you, thank you,” Quinn mouthed, handed over her insurance card, then made the follow-up call she’d avoided making since her return from Pierce’s.
Unlike at Triple A and the caterer’s, a warm body answered at First Plaza Bank. Yes, her cashier’s check was ready. She should bring a picture-ID with her.
Before four. “We’re closing early because of the weather.”
Surrpise, surprise. Snow now fell from leaden skies in fat, wet clumps, gusting like little tornadoes on the ground. Traffic once again stood at a standstill on Southwest Trafficway. Quinn grimaced. Snow covering tiled roofs, fountains, and streets made The Plaza as ethereal as a fairy tale, but Janelle drove an ancient, unreliable Beetle without snow tires. Leah lived north of the river, and Sami had two school kids dismissed early. If the three left right now, they might arrive home for Thanksgiving.
Humming Over the River, Quinn went into the outer office. The quiet chatter stopped. She said, “An announcement, ladies.”
Leah blew an invisible trumpet.
Quinn bowed and grinned. “Thanksgiving begins today. See everyone Monday.”
After the cheering died, Sami said, “We’re on hold with the caterer and Triple A.”
“Hang up. The caterer swears she’ll be here on Thursday at three—even if she has to hire sled dogs. If Triple A doesn’t fix my battery, I can haul out my cross country skis.”
“Whoa. Start a trend.” Janelle squealed. “Cross country skis with a little black dress.”
Five minutes later, the three other women left together, repeating their thanks and wishing each other Happy Thanksgiving. When they entered the elevator, Quinn locked the door. One more call to Rex before she hiked down to First Plaza...as close as she was likely to get today to playing hooky.
Her call to Rex switched immediately to voice mail. Damn. She exhaled through her mouth, left another message, locked her desk and headed for the coat closet. When her land line rang, she hesitated, let the phone ring two more times and lost the debate about answering.
“Do you know what’s wrong with me?”
The teasing in Pierce’s tone sent heat surging into Quinn as she buttoned her coat. “You mean,” she said, voice breathy, nerves jittery, “besides being stubborn, cocky, and mouthy?”
“Dumb. You forgot dumb,” he said in a tone inviting her to play.
“I’ll give you dumb. What else?”
“The same thing that’s wrong with you.”
He has to be laughing, she thought and imagined the skin around his eyes crinkle.
“Funny, I didn’t think we had that much in common.”
“You won’t deny we’re both incorrigible workaholics.”
A statement, but Quinn fanned her face before replying. “Nooooo. I won’t deny it. So?”
“So, here’s your second chance. Let’s play hooky. I just sent my whole staff home—”
“Me too.” She laughed as if they’d shared a huge secret. “Small minds run in the same creeks, I guess.”
It wasn’t that funny, but they both laughed like maniacs. No, fools, she thought. Fools for forgetting the divide between them.
“Well, let’s go. I’ll be down in three minutes.”
He hung up before she could tell him she had to go to the bank. Damn, another contest of wills. But she was not caving on this point.
Coming through the door two minutes and fifty seconds later, he grinned, his black eyes flashing. “And to think I thought you’d change your mind.”
“No play until after I run an errand.” If he didn’t like it, he could play hooky by himself.
“No problem.” He bussed her cheek. “I’ve never seen you so eager.”
“How many changes of clothes do you keep in your office?” She hoped the question deflected questions about her errand.
“You’re eager. I’m prepared.” He wore old cowboy boots, a red crew-neck sweater, and a flannel-lined jean jacket. He gripped the seams of his jeans midway between hip and knee and turned slowly like a model.
She pushed him into the elevator, following at a distance.
“See?” He nudged her toward a corner. “Can’t keep your hands off me.”
“Only because you don’t wear a baseball cap backwards or jeans low enough to display a piece of anatomy better covered.”
Without warning, he dropped a long, sweet kiss on her lips. Her head felt heavier than a bowling ball as she turned her face away. What was wrong with her—making that crack about his ass?
Suddenly all business, she said, “Remind me to get my garage door opener from the car.”
“At your service.”
“You’re drooling.” She poked him in the ribs. He leaped at her, pinning her against the wall and giving her a quick pinch on the butt as she squirmed away, giggling.
“Keep your distance.” A clump of hair fell onto her forehead. Pierce took a step toward her. She waved him away. “I’m serious. Stop hitting on me.”
“Your hair looks...disheveled. Sexy, but disheveled.”
Hormones, she thought and tugged at her hair. Her estrogen overload, his testosterone fumes. Hers she could get under control.
Patting her hair, she said, “You should put mirrors in these elevators.”
“In the ceiling?” He wiggled his eyebrows and stroked an imaginary moustache.
“In your dreams.”
The temperature in the elevator hovered around five hundred degrees Centigrade. Heat rose off Pierce in waves and rolled over her like fresh lava. Damn, damn, damn. She must’ve had some kind of mental breakdown to get in an elevator with him.
They stopped two floors below her office. Before the doors opened, she managed to push him away and snag her hair back in a knot. She went to the opposite corner, refusing to look at him. Her face felt as if she’d had dermabrasion with a floor sander.
A young, twentysomething brunette with lots of long black curls, heavy eye makeup and fat crimson lips got on, nodded to Quinn and looked at Pierce with a wide, open smile, asking him what he thought of the weather and if he had a long drive home.
Quinn covered her mouth and stared at the ceiling. Her ears felt ready to explode from swallowing the laughter bubbling in her throat. When Pierce followed her off at the garage level, the brunette looked so disappointed she rode back up to another level.
“Good thing I was in there with you.” Quinn smirked. “You never know who may get excited just being in the same space with you.”
“You exaggerate. Besides, I only have eyes for you.” He hummed a few bars of the old torch song.
; She laughed. “Ahh, ever the platinum-tongued devil, aren’t you? That babe’s attention wandered a little lower than your eyes.”
“Careful. You’ll turn my head.” Unless she was mistaken, he did have the decency to appear flushed. “I’m sure she noticed I did, in fact, only have eyes for you.”
“The quarters were a little too close for her to notice me.”
“Right. You’re so petite, it’s real easy to overlook you.”
Flushing, she stopped at her car. “Enough with the pick-up lines. Remember, our outing starts after my errand.”
“Why wouldn’t I remember?” He looked at her like a puppy who couldn’t get paper training right. “Just don’t tell me you want to go by Rex’s place.”
“I want to go to First Plaza. Your check’s ready.”
“Forget it.” He waved his hands in front of his belt buckle like a baseball umpire.
Her whole body stiffened. “We’ve danced this dance before. I’m not asking you to take me. I’d planned on walking.”
“You’ll freeze. You’re limping like a stunned goose.”
“Toodle.” She wiggled her fingers, pivoted around, hoping her ankle was reliable, and started for the the lobby, knowing without a doubt he’d follow.
“Toodle?” He leaped in front of her and walked backwards as easily as if he had eyes in the back of his head. “Do you have to have your Goddamn way on every single issue?”
“Why not?” She lengthened her stride.
He stumbled once.
“See how women feel dancing backwards? You just need a pair of three-inch heels.”
“I’ll pass on the heels.” He now matched her lead, step for step. “I don’t want your money.”
“Catch me after I go to the bank. Maybe then I can pretend I’m interested.”
“Huh-uh. Let’s talk. Now.” Without warning, he jumped in front of her and she ran right into his chest.
Her heart jitterbugged, but she walked around him, head high.
Still walking backwards, he stayed in front of her. Behind him, a man got off the elevator, watched them with naked curiosity, then dodged through the cars parked to their left.
“I don’t get it,” Pierce said. “I don’t need the money.”
Unraveled Page 11
