by Dara Girard
“I don’t usually have visitors,” he said stupidly. He wished his mind would function so he would have something clever to say like 'Get out' or 'Stay the hell away from me.' Unfortunately, a part of him wanted her there despite the fact that she was dangerous to him. He never thought an elf could be dangerous, but she was. There was something too fay, too mercurial about her. Something he couldn’t grasp. He didn’t like things he couldn’t understand, especially women. Especially this woman who could hold his interest even when he didn’t want her to. Of course there was the other part of him that just wanted to strip her naked and have sex with her. That made her dangerous, too.
“I know you don’t usually have visitors. You need a change.” She grabbed a phone book. “What are you in the mood for?”
Clay watched as her skirt inched up her legs as she sat on the couch. She had nice legs even though they were short.
“Clay?”
He glanced up. “What?”
“What are you in the mood for?”
She needed to ask? He shoved his hands in his pockets. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“Why not? We had fun at the wedding.”
He turned away, dragging a hand down his face. He was still trying to recover from the wedding and not kissing her. If he wasn’t careful, tonight he would succeed.
“I want to make it up to you, all right?”
He rubbed his fist against his palm. Tell her to leave. Tell her to leave. He looked at her. Then again, if his imp was up for a night of mischief, so was he. “Fine, then you’ll pay.”
Chapter Seven
Jackie shook her head. “No. We’ll split.”
He folded his arms.
“You’re a big guy,” she protested, measuring him from head to toe. “I’m sure you eat a lot more than me.”
“Probably.”
“Actually, I’ve seen you eat. You’ll likely order two meals.”
He walked to the door. “Wow, look at that! It’s still open. You can just walk out and disappear.”
She sighed, resigned. “Okay, I’ll pay.”
He closed the door. “I want Italian.”
“Chinese.”
“I’m sorry. Didn’t you ask me what I was in the mood for?”
“That was before I was paying.”
“I want Italian.”
“But you’re having Chinese,” she said firmly.
“Do I need to clarify what the phrase ‘make it up to you’ means?”
“I’m paying for dinner.”
He rested a hand on his chest. “I’m offering you both my company and my place. The least you can do is pay for a meal I want to eat.”
Jackie shook her head.
“Funny how this door keeps swinging open.”
She kissed her teeth, annoyed. “Fine, you’ll get Italian.”
“Actually, I think I want Mexican.”
“Clay!”
He laughed. “Italian’s fine.” He handed her a menu.
Jackie placed the order then picked up her drink. Clay took it from her.
“Hey!”
“This is my beer,” he explained. “Yours is the one with the lipstick.”
She grabbed her drink and took a sip. “So tell me about your day.”
He sat, sinking into the couch. “No.”
She shrugged. “Then. I’ll tell you about my day.” She tucked her feet underneath her. “Last week I found out that our generous funder had died and his family had stopped all future donations. Well, obviously this is a perfect time to panic, but I refused. Patty, our secretary, came up with a ridiculous way to make money. . . Are you listening to me?” she asked when Clay flipped to another channel.
He grunted. “Sure, every word.”
She doubted it, but continued anyway. “So I think of contacting previous contributors and encouraging them to donate again. I made an appointment with Payton Winstead. Well, today I discovered he and our former president, Latisha, had a far cozier relationship than I expected. When he touched my leg--”
Clay stopped with the beer to his lips. “He did what?”
“Touched my leg. Although touched sounds pretty tame. More like groped and I—”
“What was his name again?”
“Payton Winstead.
He rested his head back and groaned. “Why am I not surprised?”
“About what?”
He turned to her. “That it was you.”
“Me? What about me?”
“You gave him our name.” When she looked blank, he said, “Did you somehow mention Hodder Investigations when you were with him?”
“I had to,” she said without apology. “He was getting a little out of hand. I told him I worked undercover for you and that he was being taped.”
“You’re an excellent actress. He called and threatened us.”
She grimaced. “Oh, no.”
“Fortunately my partner is admirably unscrupulous and, well . . . let’s just say you gave me and my partner a nice bonus today.”
“Then you should pay for dinner.”
“You weren’t doing me any favors. You could have had us screwed. At least we don’t have to worry about any tape popping up.” He grinned despite himself. “Very clever, by the way.”
“Thank you.” She folded her arms, pleased.
His smile faded. “What’s this?”
She glanced at her arm, lifting her sleeve higher to see the bruise. “I told you he got out of hand.”
His voice hardened. “He grabbed you?”
“No, he groped me. Weren’t you listening?”
Clay sat forward. “You got this from him groping you?”
She shook her head. “This isn’t from the groping. He got upset with what I did.”
“What did you do?”
“I grabbed his balls.”
Clay nodded. “If I’d been there, he wouldn’t have them. So what happened next?”
“He wouldn’t let me leave and...You’re getting upset.”
“I’m not upset,” he said in a quiet tone. His voice belied his eyes where shadows gathered, turning his eyes almost black and so cold she shivered.
“It’s no big deal.”
“What happened next?”
Jackie looked away, unable to meet his eyes. “He wouldn’t let me leave so I made up the story about being undercover.”
Clay grabbed a pad and pen. “What’s his address?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Fine.” He tossed the pad down and twirled the pen. “I can find out myself.”
“Oh, leave him alone. He didn’t have much to grab.” She wanted to make light of the situation, to show she was in control. She didn’t need his protection, though a part of her was comforted by it. His presence made the memory less threatening. “I’m all right now.”
“Hmm.” Clay returned his attention to the TV. Jackie resisted the urge to lean against him He was the kind of man that invited that response. You felt you could trust him. She stood up, suddenly restless, and walked around on the hardwood floor. She glanced at the green patterned rug that barely matched the green couch, walked up to the framed poster of a Cezanne landscape. On close inspection she realized it was a puzzle, as was the Gauguin on the other wall. She caught sight of an unfinished puzzle in the corner.
She turned to him. “You’re a puzzle fanatic.”
“I’m not a fanatic.”
“Why frame them?”
“I like the picture and since I can’t afford the real thing, this is my alternative.”
She raised a brow. “What’s the picture in your bedroom?”
“Attack of the 50 Foot Woman.”
“Really?”
He grinned. “I enjoyed putting that together.”
“I’m sure you did.”
“I flip it over to a van Gogh when I have company.”
“You’re a sly one. I should be nervous.”
He sent her a glance that made her entire body tingle. �
�Yes, you should be.”
She walked to a shelf and saw a green stuffed animal. She picked it up. “Is this supposed to be a dead parrot?”
“It’s not dead, it’s just resting.”
She frowned, confused. “What?”
“I guess you’re not a Python fan.”
“This is a parrot.”
“No, I—” He caught her grin and knew she was teasing. “Cute.”
“I know.” She curtsied. “Thank you.”
Someone knocked on the door. Clay crossed his legs at the ankles, settling farther into the couch. “When you pay, don’t forget the tip.”
Jackie shot him a glare. “You’re obnoxious.”
He clicked his tongue. “Name-calling isn’t nice, little girl.”
She playfully hit him. He grabbed her wrist. She stiffened, fear leaping into her eyes. He let go. “It’s okay,” he said gently. “I was just teasing you.”
“Sorry.” She laughed without humor. “I guess I’m still jittery.” The person knocked again. “Just a minute,” she called. She grabbed her handbag, then answered.
Clay watched her pay the deliveryman, wondering what he would do to make Winstead pay. Some men just had to learn to keep their hands to themselves.
“Let’s sit down to eat,” Jackie said, closing the door with her hip.
He glanced around him. “I am sitting.”
“At the table.”
He turned to her. “Why?”
“Because I want to talk and I hate talking to the side of a man’s head while he watches TV.”
“Set the table and call me when you’re ready.”
“Are you being overtly annoying or just performing for my pleasure?”
“If this gives you pleasure, I can be a lot worse.”
“I can imagine,” she muttered as she searched through his kitchen for the dishes. After setting the table, she said, “Dinner is ready.”
He sat and noticed she’d given him the ineffective plastic knife and fork while she had steel ones. He just smiled and got his own utensils.
“Why did you become an investigator?” she asked, digging into her chicken penne pasta.
“I sort of fell into it.”
“How?”
“It’s a long and dull story.”
“That’s okay, I—”
“Are you satisfied with your work?” he interrupted, not wanting to discuss his past.
“What do you mean?”
“Do you think you do any good?”
She thought for a moment. “Depends on the day. Depends on the person. Some people make progress, which makes you feel hopeful; others keep failing and make you wonder if it’s worth it. But I’m not in the business to give up on them even when they give up on themselves.” She rested her chin in her hand “Why? Are you not satisfied with yours?”
Not always, but did it matter? A job was a job. Gabby was dead. So were a lot of other women and many more would follow every day. Like the senator’s niece who still hadn’t been found, despite her parents’ pleas and the police search. Some bastard had killed her and didn’t care. Life was a lot easier for those who didn’t care. He frowned down at his linguini. “It’s fine.”
“This is my philosophy,” Jackie said. “Do a job well, that’s the only thing you can control.” She frowned. “I really hate it when you smile like that.”
“I can’t help it if I find you amusing.”
“I was being serious.”
“I know. That’s what’s amusing. Your optimistic view of life.”
“There is nothing wrong with optimism.”
“If you can afford it.”
“The last time I checked, it was free.”
“For you.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Life somehow works for you. I know you have been touched by tragedy and I would never disregard the level of your suffering, but somehow you were born with a light inside you that is so strong nothing could diminish it. Whereas I--” Clay felt as though he’d always lived in darkness. Like a moth he was drawn to her light, drawn to the promise of warmth, but he wondered if maybe her light would be too bright and he’d burn his wings. Or perhaps his darkness was too fierce for her and would destroy her light. He looked at his food. “Thanks for dinner.”
To his relief she let the topic drop. “You’re welcome.”
Once they’d finished eating, she stood and cleared the dishes.
“Thanks for washing up,” he said
Jackie placed the dishes in the sink next to the other dishes soaking there. “I wasn’t planning on washing them.”
Clay pointed. “There’s an apron somewhere in the cupboard. Wouldn’t want you to get your blouse wet.”
“You can’t force me to wash.”
“Sure I can.”
“I’ll break all your dishes.”
Clay rested back and folded his arms. “And pay for each one with your sweet little behind.”
“You’d probably like that.”
“Yeah, and so would you. How many times have you tempted a man to throw you over his knee?”
“Turn around and I’ll show you.”
He did, expecting a crude gesture. Instead she sprayed him with the hose.
She laughed. “Just one.”
Clay stood, soaking wet. “You will regret that,” he said, his voice soft with mock threat. He came toward her.
Jackie waved the hose. Her eyes dipped to the wet T-shirt that clung to his muscled chest. It was evident he was a man of brute strength, but she wasn’t afraid. She was never afraid with him. “Just try and touch me.”
He grinned. “You’re going to need a bigger hose if you think that will stop me.” He wrestled the hose away and trapped her against the sink, his arms on either side of her. Their eyes met. First in play, it soon turned into an almost tangible desire that threatened to explode between them.
He lifted her onto the counter. “I’m going to regret this.”
“What are you doing?” she asked, breathless.
“I’m going to kiss you.” He raised a mocking brow. “Scared?”
She grabbed his collar and pulled him close. “Try and make me.”
Chapter Eight
He nearly succeeded. The mere touch of his lips sent shock waves of a sensation so foreign yet so thrilling she could feel her whole body respond. She’d been kissed tenderly, sweetly, hungrily, but never like this. Never with such possession. Never with such command. His tongue explored the inner walls of her mouth, stirring a heat within her. Jackie pulled off his shirt, arching into him, and braced herself as he pulled her close, knowing how staggering his casual pats could be. She didn’t have to worry. The tenderness with which he held her was nearly her undoing.
Clay stepped back, his voice hoarse. “I want you.”
She wrapped her legs around him, drawing him close. “I got that impression.”
“I’m too old--”
She placed a finger against his mouth. “You’re certainly not old enough to be my father unless you were doing very naughty things in elementary school.”
“I was big for my age.”
Jackie brushed her mouth against his, indulging in the succulent taste of his lips. “I bet you were.”
His hand slipped to the curve of her neck. “I might as well enjoy this.”
“Yes.”
“Unfortunately, I picture Drake trying to hang me by the balls and I’d be forced to kill him. A very messy end.”
She draped her arms on his shoulder. “Drake’s not here.”
“I know.”
She leaned close and whispered, “And he doesn’t have to know.” She kissed him again.
Clay smiled against her mouth. “Are you trying to get me into trouble, Mischief?”
“Trouble can be fun.”
“Hmm. Especially when you’re causing it.” He deepened the kiss. It soon became more reckless, more thrilling, more dangerous.
Jackie pulled away wit
h wide eyes.
“Am I scaring you?” he asked.
“Yes.”
He looked mildly embarrassed. “I’m sorry.”
“No.” She held his face in her hands. “It’s wonderful. Keep going.”
He kissed behind her ear. “It can’t work between us.” His lips moved to the curve of her neck. When the rough hairs of his five o’clock shadow brushed against her skin, her toes curled. “You’re not my kind of woman.”
She tilted her head to the side, inviting further exploration. “You’re not my kind of man.”
“Hmm.”
“Ever heard that variety is the spice of life?”
“Don’t worry. They vary. They’re just not like you.”
Jackie rested a hand on his chest, wishing he’d stop talking and kiss her again. “And I’ve never been with a guy like you.”
He stopped her hand from descending. “Probably for a reason.”
“Why?”
“We don’t match.”
“I think we match pretty well.”
He tweaked her nose. “Yes, Mischief, you would.” He glanced down at his wet clothes. “I think I need to put something on.”
“Good.”
Jackie jumped down from the counter after he had left. He was right. They were wrong for each other. All wrong. But she didn’t care. She’d been going out with guys who were right for her and she’d never felt like this. It was time to break a few rules.
Clay returned to the kitchen. His mouth dropped. Jackie turned. Her mouth fell open.
“What are you doing?” he demanded as she stood at the sink wearing just her bra and panties.
“I thought you said you were going to put something on.”
“Yes, my clothes.”
“Oh.” She folded her arms, heat burning her cheeks. “I suppose I misunderstood you.” She cleared her throat and gestured to the sink. “I’m washing the dishes.”
“I can see that.”
“Sure, and a lot more,” she mumbled.
“Red suits you.”
“Thank you.” She lifted her chin, gathering courage. “So, do I put something on or do you take something off?”
Clay leaned against the fridge and let his eyes travel the length of her with slow, masculine pleasure. His voice deepened into huskiness. “Naked would have been better.”
