No Ordinary Man

by Suzanne Brockman

  “Try.”

  He shook his head, as if he couldn’t find any words at all to help explain.

  “Is it me?” she asked barely audibly, fighting the tears that welled in her eyes.

  Rob looked up at her, his gaze suddenly sharp, focused. “God, no.” He started to reach across the table for her hand, but stopped himself. “No, it’s me. I can’t…I can’t give you want you want, Jess.”

  “How do you know what I want?”

  He smiled then, a tight, sardonic twisting of his lips. “I don’t, not really. But I do know whatever it is you do want, it couldn’t possibly be me.”

  Jess felt anger, sharp and knifelike, sliding in among all the hurt. “And you’re just going to make that decision for me?”

  He faced her glare steadily. “Yes.”

  She lifted her chin. “I don’t think so—”

  “The decision’s already been made,” he said, almost gently. “What happened last night isn’t going to happen again.”

  There was such certainty in his voice. He sounded so definite, so sure of himself. Jess felt her own conviction falter as the hurt again began crowding her anger out. But as she looked up into his eyes she saw something else. She could see a flash of that unmistakable heat. Unless she was absolutely mistaken, unless she’d totally misinterpreted what that fire in his eyes meant, he was sitting here, about to give her a classic “I think we should just be friends” speech despite the fact that he still wanted her.

  “I just think…”

  Here it came.

  “…we’d be better off in the long run…”

  He had to look away. He couldn’t meet her eyes.

  “…if we stayed friends.”

  Jackpot. But somehow she didn’t feel very triumphant.

  Jess didn’t say anything. She just sat there, letting his words hang in the air between them. She waited until he glanced up at her before she spoke. “Is that really what you want?”

  “Yes.”

  Jess stood up. She had to get inside the house before he saw her cry. “You want to be friends,” she repeated. She laughed, a soft burst of air that had nothing to do with humor. “You mean like the way you’ve been avoiding me for the past few days?” She laughed again. “That was very friendly, Rob. And that was after only one kiss. After what we did last night, I’ll be lucky if you send me a postcard from Kathmandu.”

  “I won’t avoid you anymore, I swear.”

  Jess crossed her arms, holding herself tightly. “Maybe it would be better if you just moved out.”

  “Jess, I won’t avoid you.”

  “Maybe you should,” she said, and went into the house.

  IT WAS HELL after it was over, after the need had faded. He felt sickened, remorseful, disgusting.

  He recognized then that what he did was wrong. At those moments, he wanted desperately to be caught, to be stopped. But never enough to turn himself in.

  More than once, his thoughts had turned to suicide. He had the knife—he could easily end this torment.

  Oblivion would be so sweet, so peaceful. It would end this relentless nausea. It would stop the terrible dreams, the awful nightmares. Faces of women, eyes pleading, begging, accusing. Screams of terror, the salty taste of the warm spray of blood…

  But then it would start again and the nausea and sickness would vanish along with any knowledge of right or wrong.

  And the faces in his dreams became his trusted companions, his harem, his private fan club.

  His nightmares ended—but for the woman who next caught his eye, the nightmare was only beginning.

  WHAT WAS HIS NAME…?

  Pete.

  The bartender from the Pelican Club.

  The first time Jess saw him, he was driving past her house. She had just brought Kelsey home from Doris’s day-care, and they were walking to the mailbox at the end of the drive to get the mail.

  He was driving a dark blue sedan, and he seemed to slow slightly as he approached her little pink stucco house.

  He was wearing sunglasses, so she might’ve been mistaken, but she could’ve sworn it was Pete.

  But he didn’t wave, and he turned his head as he went past, so Jess wasn’t absolutely sure.

  But then she saw him again, at the convenience store on the corner.

  She was pulling in, to fill her tank with gas, and she saw him getting into that same dark blue sedan.

  It was definitely Pete from the Pelican Club. He was wearing a dark T-shirt and jeans, and he looked as if he still hadn’t shaved or combed his hair.

  But this time, he looked up and she waved.

  And when she got out of her car to pump the gas, he climbed back out of his car, and approached her.

  “Hey,” he said. “Jess Baxter. I thought it was you.”

  He was not a bad-looking guy. In fact, she might even call him handsome, if she went for the lean, angular-featured, stern-faced type. His T-shirt hugged his upper body, and his well-worn jeans clung to his thighs.

  “Your name’s Pete, right?” Jess said, selecting the least expensive gasoline from the pump and inserting the nozzle into her car’s tank. The pumping gas made a quiet whirring sound.

  “Yeah,” he said. His pale gray eyes seemed to take in every detail—her aging car, her khaki shorts, the worn leather of her sandals, her faded cotton T-shirt, the way her hair curled damply against her face in the heat. “Do you live around here?”

  There was surprise in his voice, as if he hadn’t expected to run into her in this part of town. But as Jess glanced up, she knew with an uncanny certainty that Pete was the man she’d seen driving past just this afternoon. He was lying. He knew exactly where she lived.

  “Yes,” she said. “Do you?” Maybe he lived in her neighborhood, in the row of cheap apartments at the end of the street. Maybe that’s why he was driving past. Maybe…

  He shook his head. “No, I’ve got a bartending gig at a club up in Bradenton. I just got off the highway to get some gas.”

  Another lie.

  “What a coincidence,” she said.

  “Yeah, small world.” He glanced inside of her car, his sharp eyes taking in Kelsey and her collection of toy cars scattered across the back seat and the picnic basket and beach blanket up in the front. “Are you performing in any of the local clubs in the next few weeks?”

  Jess carefully stopped the gas pump at five dollars and put the gas cap back on. She closed the little access door with a snap and turned back to Pete.

  “Two weeks from Monday,” she said, “I’ll be at the Rose Café out on Bee Ridge Road.”

  Pete nodded. “I enjoyed your music.”

  “Thanks,” Jess said, uncertain of what to do. No way was she leaving Kelsey alone in the car while she went inside to pay. Not with this man out here. But Pete started back toward his car just as the gas station attendant came out of the office.

  “Maybe I’ll see you around,” he said with a wave.

  “Maybe,” Jess echoed. She handed the attendant a ten and watched as he peeled a five from his wad of bills and handed her the change. When she looked up, Pete and his dark blue car were both gone.

  Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being watched. Or followed.

  Jess climbed into the car and turned back to look at Kelsey. “Maybe we shouldn’t go to the beach for our picnic,” she said.

  Kelsey was not happy. “But you promised—”

  “I know I did,” Jess said, “and I’m sorry, but—”

  “I already have on my bathing suit,” Kelsey interrupted. “And you do, too.”

  Jess shook her head. She hated to admit it, but she was spooked. The beach would be nearly empty at this time of day. The thought of picnicking on a deserted beach was not a pleasant one.

  Damn this serial killer, she thought suddenly. She’d never been afraid to be alone on the beach before. It wasn’t fair that she should be scared now. And it wasn’t fair that a near-stranger’s casual interest should make her so
paranoid that her daughter’s evening would be ruined.

  Pete wasn’t the serial killer. It was crazy to think so. He was just a regular, normal guy. He probably got her address from the manager of the Pelican Club. He’d come out here to check her out, see where she lived. She’d caught him in her neighborhood, and he’d naturally told a white lie, covering his tracks. Ten-to-one odds were that he’d call and ask her out—probably that very evening. Still, despite her reasoning, Jess was spooked.

  “Let’s go back home,” she compromised, “and call Doris. Maybe she and John will want to come on a picnic.” Doris’s husband was six feet tall and built like a refrigerator.

  Kelsey nodded. “Did that man scare you?” she asked. “The man with the funny eyes?”

  Jess glanced in the rearview mirror. Sometimes her daughter could be amazingly perceptive. “Yeah,” she admitted. “He made me nervous, Kel.”

  “Me, too,” Kelsey said. “Hey, look! Rob’s home!”

  Jess pulled into the driveway and sure enough, he was getting out of his car. Damn, this was bad timing.

  “Let’s ask Rob to come to the beach with us,” Kelsey suggested, her brown eyes lighting with pleasure. “Can we, Mom? Please?”

  Jess had been successfully avoiding Rob for the past several days, taking Kelsey out to dinner, to movies, shopping…anything in order to not be home when Rob returned from work. She hadn’t even seen him some days. The hurt should have been lessening, but she felt a surge of fresh pain just at the sight of him.

  “No, I don’t think so, Kelsey,” Jess started to say, but the little girl was already out of the car and running toward Rob.

  Damn.

  Jess followed more slowly, watching Kelsey dance around Rob with excitement.

  “I don’t know, I’ve got a lot of work to do tonight,” she heard Rob say to her daughter.

  He looked up, over Kelsey’s head, and met Jess’s eyes.

  Nothing had changed.

  That powerful bolt of attraction was still there. Maybe it was even more intense now—now that they knew what was possible between them, now that they’d made love.

  And Rob felt it, too. Jess knew that he did. For one brief instant, he didn’t hide the odd mix of emotions that crossed his face. She could see desire and loneliness, longing and a wistful despair. Then all of his defenses slammed into place, and all she could see was exhaustion.

  But that small glimpse had been enough to rekindle a tiny flame of hope in her heart.

  Maybe, just maybe, Rob was hurting, too. Maybe he missed her, longed for her, ached for her kisses, the way she ached for his.

  And just maybe, if Jess was careful enough and patient enough, she could break through the wall of excuses he had erected between them. Maybe she could confront his reasons for keeping them apart. And maybe she could prove him wrong.

  “Please come with us,” Jess said quietly.

  She could see the surprise on his face. After the last time they’d talked, the last time they’d even seen each other, an invitation to the beach was the last thing he’d expected from her.

  He nervously ran his hand up and through his hair. Glancing from Jess to Kelsey and back, he cleared his throat. “Um…I don’t think so…”

  Maybe she could prove him wrong? Maybe the real truth was that she was a masochist and liked being rejected.

  Still, she didn’t back down. “Come on,” she insisted. “It’s just a friendly picnic.”

  Jess saw another flash of pain in his eyes, and he turned away again. “I’m sorry,” he began. “But—”

  She stopped him with her words. “You said you wouldn’t avoid me,” she reminded him. “Here’s your big chance to prove you were telling the truth.”

  Rob turned and looked at her, his face expressionless. Then he nodded. “Let me get my bathing suit.”

  Chapter Eight

  Rob sat in the sand at the edge of the water and watched the sun set.

  Kelsey was playing in the shallow water, and every so often she ran to show him a particularly beautiful shell or pebble, then scampered farther up onto the beach where Jess was sitting on the blanket.

  The early evening was still and quiet. Sounds of the gentle surf and calling seabirds were soothing, calming. He should have been able to relax. He should have started to feel the tensions of the week drain from him.

  But Jess was sitting behind him, not quite twenty feet away. She was up on the beach blanket, wearing an indigo blue bathing suit. It was a bikini, and the sight of the clingy fabric barely covering her perfect, slender body would have raised the blood pressure of an indifferent man.

  And Rob was hardly indifferent.

  Coming out here like this was a mistake.

  All evening long, he’d had to fight the urge to touch her, to put his arm around her, to brush her hair back, to cup the smoothness of her face, to touch the softness of her lips with his own.

  She’d been right the first time, he realized. He was going to have to move out.

  But not yet.

  Not tonight. Tomorrow morning he was leaving for Orlando. He’d be gone for two weeks. A little time, a little space, a little distance. It could do wonders for any problem, no matter how large. At least he hoped so, because this particular problem was galactic.

  The sand crunched to his left, and Rob looked up to see Jess standing behind him. She smiled and sat down next to him, careful to keep enough distance between them.

  “It’s almost time to go,” she said quietly.

  Rob nodded, squinting across the water at the red-orange globe of the sun as it began to sink beneath the horizon. He couldn’t look at her. Not while she was wearing that bathing suit. He waited for her to stand up and pull on her T-shirt and shorts. Then he’d stand up, too, and get back into her funky little car and pretend that sitting inches away from her on the ride home wasn’t killing him.

  But Jess didn’t move. She didn’t start packing up the blanket and picnic basket. “So,” she said instead. “Now we’re friends. This is nice.”

  He risked a glance at her. She didn’t believe that this was nice, or even that they were friends, any more than he did. This was as hard for her as it was for him—and for him, it was torture.

  “You and Bug come to the beach often, don’t you?” Rob asked. His question sounded stiff and stilted, like bad small talk at an awkward party.

  But Jess answered honestly. “I love it here,” she said simply. “Being on a beach watching the sun set is the next best thing to heaven.”

  He nodded. Yeah. “I love it, too.” It seemed to be a simple statement—just a few short words—and Rob wondered if Jess knew how difficult it had been for him to make that admission. He never talked about anything he truly cared about. It was one of his rules. He never willingly gave up any personal information. And he never broke his rules—at least not before he’d met Jess Baxter.

  Rob felt her watching him, felt her gaze traveling from his hair—which the wind and humidity had turned into a nest of dark curls—all the way down to his feet, stopping midway to examine the tattoos on his left arm. Here came the questions. Even for Jess, the world’s least nosy person, his tattoos were too mysterious. He would’ve had them removed—if he wasn’t so damn afraid of his medical records being traced.

  “What made you decide to get a tattoo?” Jess asked just as he’d known she would, then corrected herself, “Two tattoos.”

  Rob wrapped his arms around his knees, still gazing at the sun. It looked as if it were being swallowed by the water. The sky was filled with gorgeous shades of pink and orange and red and yellow. “I was young,” he said vaguely. “And probably drunk at the time.”

  “I’ve never even seen you drink,” Jess said.

  God, he’d already said too much. “That’s because I don’t drink anymore.”

  He glanced at her again. Her dark eyes weren’t judgmental or damning or even pitying. They were compassionate and warm.

  His eyes slid lower, to her mouth, t
o those lips that he’d kissed so desperately just a few days ago. She smiled sweetly, sadly. The impact of what he was giving up hit him again, harder than it ever had before.

  “I do want to be friends with you,” Jess said softly. “If you can’t give me your love, at least allow me to be your friend.”

  Rob couldn’t respond. What could he possibly say?

  “Talk to me,” she urged him. “I want to know who you are.”

  He couldn’t even look at her. “I’m not even sure of that myself,” he said, his voice low.

  “Tell me something…tell me just one thing about…about your childhood,” Jess said. “Tell me something…about your mother.”

  Rob sat silently for a long time. His mother. What could he possibly say? Maybe the truth. Could it really hurt to give this woman the smallest crumb of the truth? “I loved my mother more than anyone else in the world,” he said. The word mother felt odd in his mouth. It had been so long since he’d talked about her to anyone. He picked up some sand and watched it trickle through his fingers before he glanced back at Jess. “She died when I was about Kelsey’s age.”

  “I’m sorry,” Jess whispered, and Rob knew that she truly was.

  “You know, you remind me of her,” he said, the words coming more easily now. “I don’t mean so much the way you look, although she had hair about the same color as yours, and she wore it short, too. But…I’m talking about the way you love Kelsey. The way you talk to her as if she’s a real person.”

  “But, she is,” Jess said, somewhat surprised.

  Rob had to smile. “See, that’s what’s so great about you,” he said. “It doesn’t even occur to you that some people might treat their kids like glorified house pets. My father was from the ‘children should be seen, not heard’ school. Except of course, when he was drunk. Then it was any child seen or heard was in danger of being—” He broke off, shaking his head. God, what was he telling her? “But you only wanted to know one thing.”

  Jess knew. He could see it in her eyes. She knew from conversations they’d had before that his father had hurt him. Too many times to count.