by Joanne Rock
He shrugged as if to suggest that was a matter of opinion.
“Then what made you want it?” Tabitha could think of a hundred reasons she’d love a house like this—if she didn’t need to work in the city. There were too many rooms for just one person. Maybe Warren wanted to bring friends here one day. Or did he dream of a future with a family to fill this big old place?
The idea touched her. Made her curious to know more about this man who seemed to keep to himself.
“No bad memories associated with the Catskills.”
The hurt he didn’t reveal communicated itself to her in a gut-clenching moment of empathy. She reached out to touch him but he slipped away to flip on light switches as he walked through a long hallway, subtly putting his back to her. Clearly, he didn’t want to expound on the bad memories. It had to be tough for him to share the house with her, let alone his private thoughts about the place.
Willing to let the matter pass for now since she didn’t relish talking about her own history—something she knew she’d have to do eventually—Tabitha wondered how long they could keep things light when their relationship was rolling out of control. Forcing herself to simply put one foot in front of the other, she admired the white walls with white wainscoting brightened by each silver mini candelabra that he lit.
Everything was simple and clean, different from his richly colored city apartment that his neighbors had helped him with. And while his apartment was pretty, this appealed to her even more. Which was funny since she’d hated every inch of her very white house that she’d shared with Manny. But here, even though a white cotton curtain fluttered on the window at the end of the hall, the floors were rich dark hardwood covered in bright braid rugs.
She had the feeling she could be herself here, that she could make a mess and it would still be okay. Not that she would, of course. But it was nice to know she had the option and that she wouldn’t be accused of committing some horrible crime if she spilled her wine.
“Do you come up here often?” She looked out the window at the end of the hall as he turned into another room.
She couldn’t see far in the darkened yard below, but Warren had turned on enough outdoor lights to illuminate a hill tumbling down toward a rock wall at the end of the property. She couldn’t see the Hudson River on the other side of that wall, but he’d pointed it out to her when they drove in.
“A month in the summer and most weekends. I like the air up here for sleeping.”
She followed the sound of his voice into the last room on this wing and discovered he had put her overnight bag on a painted wooden rocker just inside the door. Creamy cabbage roses covered the blue walls in a paper pattern that looked as if it could have been from the thirties even though the finish seemed fresh and crisp. A stoneware pitcher sat atop a high bureau underneath a map of the mountain region.
“How can you stay in the city knowing you could be here?”
“Married to the job.” He shrugged as he stepped around her toward the door. “You want this room? It seemed like the most chick-friendly.”
So they weren’t sharing a room even after they’d slept together before. Clearly he needed to put some distance between them even though he’d claimed to still want her. Maybe this closeness freaked him out more than he cared to admit.
“Chick-friendly?” She pretended that his close pass to her body hadn’t just seriously revved her engines even as his need for space hurt.
This time with Warren was going to be complicated.
“Flowers on the wall. Big bathroom.” He pointed to one of the doors off the bedroom where she spotted a claw foot tub. “I’ll be right next door. The rooms aren’t directly connected, but they share a sleep porch.”
She followed his gesture to another door on the outside wall.
“Do you ever sleep out there?” She walked toward the door, curious about anything that involved Warren and a bed.
“Not in March, but all the time in the summer.”
She could tell he followed her by the way his voice came closer. Something about being isolated with Warren in a bedroom with no one for miles around stirred deep longings.
When she paused at the door, he reached around her, his scent and his warmth wrapping around her. With her back to him, she closed her eyes for a moment, drinking in the feel of standing so near.
The door stuck and he pulled the glass knob harder. She stepped back as it swung open suddenly, forcing her back into Warren’s chest. A pleasant accident.
Nerve endings tingled while he steadied her, but he simply righted her and then gestured her through the open door.
“Go on out. I’ll show you what it’s like.”
She hoped that wasn’t all he showed her.
Taking a step out onto the covered porch Tabitha squinted into the dark. The lights from streetlamps on either side of the driveway illuminated much of the lawn, but since the porch was on the side of the house, most of the area remained in shadow. Plank walls about waist high anchored screens to the ceiling. A few tree branches brushed up against the screens and she could imagine when the leaves were out it would be like sleeping inside a tree house. Two empty bed frames had been pushed to the middle of the room that had a painted wooden floor.
“Are you cold?” He moved around her—in a hurry to put space between them again—and opened another door along the back wall of the sleep porch. “My bedroom is over here if—”
He trailed off as he pushed open that door and Tabitha couldn’t stifle the urge to fill in the blank.
“Just in case I need anything in the middle of the night.” She smiled at the thought of all the things she might want from this man while she lay in her bed. “I am awfully fond of a back rub when I can’t sleep.”
He stopped his forward momentum, as if he couldn’t very well ignore her or the heat simmering between them any longer. Good. She didn’t care to be ignored.
“As enticing as that sounds, it might have to wait since I need to secure the house, touch base with the local police to let them know your situation and then question you about everything you know regarding your ex-husband’s business.”
The magic of being isolated in a charming mountain retreat evaporated like a soap bubble on a hot summer day. The attraction she felt to the man in front of her remained, but the sense of daring that she might indulge it vanished into thin air.
“Of course.” She hoped her voice didn’t ring with the panic she felt at the idea of digging through her past. “Why don’t I go brew some coffee and turn on the interrogation lights for you? I’ll meet you in the kitchen after I’ve had a chance to change.”
She closed the door to his room and retraced her steps through the sleep porch that seemed darkly ominous without him beside her. She’d just have to shut down her feelings tonight to get through this—something this last year on her own had taught her to do all too well.
* * *
“CAN I GET YOU anything else?”
Three hours later, Warren switched off the espresso maker Tabitha had found in his kitchen while he’d been checking all the doors and windows around the house. He’d be wide awake until 2:00 a.m. after the pure caffeine they’d consumed over a conversation about Manny’s business world.
How would he ever fill the night hours when a gorgeous woman slept next door to him? A gorgeous woman who’d made it clear she wouldn’t mind a repeat performance of the night before.
“Actually, no thank you.” She sat sprawled in the banquette on the far end of the kitchen where they’d been talking.
All he’d managed to discover was that everyone in Manny’s life had been on one side or the other of a camera, but most of the guy’s friends were producers and directors. Warren had a list of eight people he’d check out first, starting with the guy’s new live-in—Evelyn.
“You sure? I bought a dazzling array of Pop-Tarts.” He’d stopped at the store on the way into town but she hadn’t given him many clues on what she liked.
Wh
ich—now that he thought about it—was reflective of Tabitha in a lot of ways. She didn’t give up much about herself and the conversation at his kitchen table had been halting to say the least.
“No thanks. I have to be careful with junk food—not that I don’t love Pop-Tarts.” She tipped her head back on the black leather seat cushion.
“Your job is rough like that, I’ll bet.” He cleaned out the coffee carafe and put their mugs in the dishwasher, feeling her eyes on him.
Sitting across the table from her for so long had been both tantalizing and torturous since he didn’t want to open an expectation of emotional closeness he couldn’t handle. And he knew damn well Tabitha was the kind of woman who would expect some kind of stronger connection with sex. Hell, she deserved that much.
“It’s not my job so much as me. I’m a recovering bulimic and food can wind up a substitute for a lot of things if I’m not happy.”
Drying his hands on a towel, he studied her slender form and pinup curves, her creamy skin and healthy hair, unable to picture her as ever having an eating disorder.
“You’re not unhappy now, are you?” As soon as he asked, he realized how inane it sounded. “Sorry. I suppose you would be sort of unhappy with a stalker on your case and a cop who wants to take you hostage to keep you safe.”
He slid into the seat across from her again, the wrought-iron chandelier over their heads casting a dim glow over the thick wooden table where she played with a blue beaded bracelet she’d removed from her wrist.
“I’m not unhappy, actually. Scared? Yes. But I’m getting along pretty well with my demons for right now. No need to exercise compulsively or starve myself. Being with you sort of levels things out of me, if that makes sense. I like how being around you—being at this house—makes me feel relaxed. Not uptight.” She paused in spinning the bracelet to worry each bead between her fingers.
“You talked to a doctor about this, right?” He didn’t know much about it, but he knew those kinds of disorders could take a huge toll on physical health.
“Many times.” She put down the bracelet again and sighed. “I was diagnosed as a teenager when I took to binge eating. When my mother saw me putting on weight, she couldn’t race me to the doctor fast enough, but she wasn’t too happy with the diagnosis, suggesting I might be trying to take control of some part of my life in an ultra controlling household.”
Warren whistled softly between his teeth.
“I can see where that might not go over well.”
“I’m sure you can imagine it got worse after that. I was out of the house by the time I was seventeen and on my own for a few years before I met Manny. Food helped me deal with emotional situations.”
“You met Manny in film school, right?”
“Yes. He seemed great at first. We shared a lot of interests in film. It wasn’t until a few years later that I realized I’d married my mother. Whoops.” She thunked the flat of her palm against her forehead. “Hell of a realization. And my first clue was that I started bingeing again. In a couple of months I was back on the merry-go-round of exercise and dieting. I hit a fast downward spiral because I felt like crap about myself.”
“How does your work factor in? Does it make it tougher to eat well?” He remembered seeing some of the extravagant spreads the studios laid out for employees on location sets during his years as a beat cop and he knew they spared no expense.
“It’s probably been good for me since the intense focus on the physical forces me to be kinder to myself. And it helps that I can put me first now instead of my ex-husband, who was a big personality and needed to be the center of everything. This year has been all about finding balance on a lot of levels.”
He had to admire that about her. He’d never forgotten his six-month lockup that had put him in close contact with society’s most severely unbalanced people. Tabitha had battled hard for the self-awareness that kept her strong.
She jammed her beads back on her hand while he shoved aside his notes. Any questions he had for her now were based in a more personal interest.
“So did you ever iron things out with your mom?” He reached over the table to take her hand in his, running his thumb along the smooth knuckles dotted with light freckles.
“Not really. We talk about once a month when we’re on speaking terms, which hasn’t been often since my divorce. She’s a stock analyst with a very driven Type A personality. She never married my father since he wasn’t in her career plans and he seemed just as glad to take the first boat back to Ireland after an extended trip to the States. He started writing me letters when I moved out of my mom’s house but he’s never expressed any great interest in meeting me.” She shrugged as though her father’s lazy-ass parenting hadn’t hurt her one way or another.
Outside the wind kicked up, banging a loose shutter against the side of the house somewhere upstairs. He’d forgotten all the flaws of the house when he’d decided to bring her here, thinking only about the benefits of distance from the city.
“His loss.” Warren couldn’t imagine what kind of idiot would turn his back on his daughter, especially a woman like this one who’d fought so hard for the sense of self-worth everyone around her seemed determined to trash.
“That’s what I like to think.” She straightened in her seat, the leather cushion squeaking softly as she shifted. “But I should get some sleep or at least leave you in peace if we’re finished with the questions about Manny.”
Only then did Warren realize he still held her hand. Releasing her took an effort even though he knew it would be wisest to let her go.
“I’ll walk you up.” He stood, knowing it would present an even bigger challenge to leave her at her door tonight when every male impulse he possessed called out to him to show her exactly how incredible she was, even if her ex and her controlling mama were too stupid to see it.
“Do you think that’s a good idea?” She raked a hand through her flame-red hair and unsettled the halfhearted knot she’d tied it in at the back of her head. “I mean, I’m not one bit tired after the espresso and I have to confess I’m more interested in jumping you than going to bed. I just thought it might make it easier to part company before we got too comfortable down here since my mind has already been wandering in the…ah…intimate direction.”
Oh, hell.
The big country kitchen couldn’t have seemed smaller in that moment, the small chandelier overhead casting a seductive glow over Tabitha’s pale skin. The tailored white shirt she wore seemed anything but conservative since the last button was fastened a half inch above her cleavage and the space gapped enticingly over one creamy mound.
Besides, she wanted him.
“I don’t know if walking you upstairs is a good idea or not since, frankly, I just forgot my own name.” His mouth watered as his gaze slid to her soft lips and he remembered their taste with painful clarity.
“I’m pretty sure you’re trying to stay away from me,” she reminded him, her wide eyes revealing a vulnerability he hadn’t meant to put there.
“Then it must be for your own good since I’m damn certain it’s not what I want. I’m still game to keep things as easy as we can make them.” He wondered if science had ever proven that the logic portion of the human brain ceased to function when exposed to high temperatures.
He figured his gray matter would provide the proof right this second.
“You don’t think that keeping things simple is a losing cause?” She placed a hand on his chest and the gesture seemed to torch his insides.
The walls were closing in on him along with memories of how good they’d been together the night before.
“I never lose.” His hands found their way to Tabitha’s shoulders, where he imagined he might hold her off, but the feel of her had him massaging her through the cotton instead.
“Excellent. I’ve got the personal guarantee of a city cop. New York’s finest.” She licked her lips with slow deliberation and he found his gaze fastened to her glistening
mouth. “As long as you’re game, I’ve got a few…oh, let’s call them sensual wishes I’ve been hoping you’d take under consideration.”
Indulge Tabitha’s desires?
Yes. Right. Made total sense.
He’d figure out a way to keep things simple tomorrow. For right now, he planned to give this woman everything in the world she wanted. Everything she deserved, at least for a night.
“Okay, Tabitha.” He worked the knot out of her hair and watched the mass of red waves spill over her shoulders. “Why don’t you tell me your first wish?”
CHAPTER 11
TABITHA STOOD utterly still in Warren’s kitchen and savored the feel of dark desire wound up with a deep joy foreign to her until she’d met him. Looking at him pleased her. Fascinated her. His angular face lacked any kind of particular beauty and yet she found she couldn’t look away.
She wanted him with a need that left her breathless, and yet the wanting was almost as delicious as knowing she’d have him. Soon. That state of delayed fulfillment stirred a hot tension inside her, a pleasurable ache tempered only by the knowledge that he might regret this tomorrow.
And even though she wanted to know why, to understand what held him back, she couldn’t silence the selfish urge to accept what he could give her without questioning it any further.
“I wish you’d kiss me like you couldn’t get enough of me,” she confided finally, almost dizzy with the anticipation of this powerful, compelling man doing her bidding for the night.
A heady prospect.
“You’re way too easy to please.” His hands crept over her collarbone to slide under her shirt. “You know I would have undressed you with my teeth or licked whipped cream off your breasts or tied you to my bedposts if you asked me to, right?”
Her eyes flew open wide to see his face, to gauge if he was kidding.
