One Night At A Time

by Christa Conan

  Long seconds of silence dominated the room, sucking out the heat and sapping his thoughts.

  “I think that was something she said to make me feel better,” Arielle said, the tone of her voice not as strong as it had been earlier. He felt, rather than heard, her steps as she retreated to the far side of the kitchen. “But my hot chocolate has never tasted quite as good as hers.”

  Doug turned and moved to stand in front of Arielle. “Don’t tell your mother, but I’m certain yours is better.”

  He reached out, his thumb following his gaze to the corner of her mouth. Her breath, warm and whisper-soft, caressed his skin as he wiped away a spot of froth.

  Memories roughened his tone when he spoke, and his voice dropped lower still with the impact of a simple act that meant more to him than she could know. “I know it’s better, because you are the one who made it for me.”

  Something had happened between them when she communicated her compassion, something strong and sizzling. He’d felt it, and obviously, so had she. He planned to keep his reaction to her under lock and key. That was the only safety device he could think of. And maybe he could dump the entire box of emotions overboard as soon as Destiny set sail...watch them sink to fathomless depths.

  As long as they didn’t take him with them...

  Hot chocolate. How had that gotten to be a euphemism for so much more? He’d seen it coming, just like that locomotive. He’d been smart enough to dodge the first, but not the second. Maybe he could send his reflexes out for a tune-up.

  “You may want to check in with Brian,” she said, her tone slightly shaken. A reaction to his touch? He’d like to think so. “He called while you were outside.”

  Doug cocked a brow.

  “Suggested you give him a call when it was convenient.”

  Convenient—their code word for Privacy needed.

  He gave a curt nod. “You answered the call?”

  “You showed me how.”

  Doug smiled, pleased in spite of himself. She was a woman who wanted to master her own destiny. He admired that, found her tenacity appealing.

  Arielle crossed the kitchen. Apparently looking for something to do, she reached for the wire whip and thrashed it through the simmering cocoa.

  He ached to move behind her, reach out to her and still her frantic motions. But the blinding illumination of danger brought him up short, held him in place.

  The fight-or-flight mechanism triggered, somewhere deep inside. And, like any rational male, he heeded it. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.” Escape. Another word for sanity.

  She nodded without looking up. Before he left, he noticed she’d released the whisk to cradle the hand she’d touched him with.

  The image of her haunted him as he closed the office door behind him and propped his feet up on the desk, leaning back in what he realized was false relaxation. How could he relax, when his gut churned with want and need? Betsy had spoken of marriage, home and hearth...values honored by other men. Not by him. Not anymore.

  Once upon a lifetime, he’d wanted stability, even yearned for it. But he’d since learned that his career and stability could never be one and the same. This time, though, the story he was living would have a different ending, a happy one. Arielle would walk away alive. Doug would simply walk away.

  Brian Yarrow picked up on the first ring. “Took you long enough, boss.”

  Good-natured ribbing wasn’t on his agenda. Usually it didn’t have to be scheduled. Today it did. “Got something for me?”

  “Yeah, department store out here is having a sale on a thing called a sense of humor.”

  “Did you pick up one?”

  “Sure,” Brian said easily.

  “Send it back, it’s defective.”

  “Maybe we can get a quantity discount.” Brian whistled. “Rhone said you had it bad for her.”

  Refusing to take the bait, Doug said nothing.

  Brian laughed. “Guess he was right.”

  “Is that department store running a blue-light special on quitting while you’re ahead?”

  “Gotcha.”

  “Did you call for any reason other than harassment?”

  Instantly the atmosphere of the call changed.

  “Ran a make on that license number Arielle got on the van.”

  Doug sat up straighter in his chair and said, “Go on.”

  “Seems it’s registered to one Samuel Pickins.”

  “Hell.”

  Brian didn’t say anything else. There was no need.

  The repercussion sank into Doug, like a lead weight thrown into the ocean. Pickins. The man was out of jail and had a vendetta. Doug was the bullet’s target. Not Arielle.

  “Watch your step.”

  Doug hung up the phone without responding. The hum of machinery thundered into his thoughts and echoed through his mind.

  “Doug? Is everything okay?”

  He looked at her through blurry eyes.

  She stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the overhead lighting. She was so real and vibrant. So alive.

  She took another step into the room, and he inhaled the freshness of summer-drenched flowers. Another scent... lilacs?

  “What is it?” she whispered, clenching her hands in front of her in a way that betrayed her inner turmoil. “Remember, we said trust was a two-way street.”

  They hadn’t said it. She had. And he was no longer certain he wanted to drive down that block.

  “Whatever it is, I can handle it.”

  Doug dragged his fingers into his hair, tossing a lock across his forehead. How could he possibly tell her? And what, exactly, would he tell her? The truth? Or something slightly less than that?

  Trust hung between them. He’d demanded it from her, he owed her no less. Still, he needed a deep breath before he admitted, “Brian tracked down the owner of the van.”

  “And?” she asked breathlessly.

  “Arielle, I’m sorry.” His hands fisted at his sides in mute testimony to his anger, frustration and, more, his clawing, cloying guilt. “You came to me for protection. Pickins owns that vehicle.”

  From the space separating them, he saw her deep swallow. Confusion painted across her blue eyes, darkening them. He’d have done anything to take it away, to keep her safe and secure in her little world. Instead, she’d boldly entered a realm she had no recognition of.

  And if Doug had ever made a more difficult confession than the one he was about to make, he couldn’t remember the occasion.

  “You weren’t the target yesterday in New York. There hasn’t yet been an attempt on your life.” He paused, then finished, “Arielle, in seeking me out, you may have signed your own death warrant.”

  Chapter 10

  Doug’s words stole Arielle’s breath. In seeking him out, she’d signed her own death warrant?

  Her shoulders shook as thoughts collided. That day in New York, the man hadn’t been shooting at her? He’d been aiming for Doug? And she’d been in the way? More, the man she was terrified of hadn’t found her yet?

  She struggled through the implications. It was impossible, inconceivable. Someone was after Doug, the man she’d hired to save her? The man she’d blindly given her trust to?

  Her knees weakened.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, the words ragged and real.

  Arielle looked at him, into his eyes. Pain laced their depths, and, more, guilt loomed there, stealing from the vibrancy of their green.

  As she warred with her own internal demons, she saw that his lay there, in his eyes, undiluted and exposed. He felt responsible. But it wasn’t his fault. Compassion rising to the surface, she extended her hand, palm up. “You couldn’t have known,” she whispered, her tone as unsteady as his.

  “That doesn’t excuse it.” Doug stood and exhaled. In a couple of steps, he’d crossed to her, capturing her trembling shoulders between his hands. “I meant to protect you.”

  “You did,” she said. With the addition of his strength, her body steadie
d. It amazed her how much more power she felt when he stood near. “You did protect me. You got me out of harm’s way.”

  “You should never have been there.”

  “We didn’t know that at the time. Quit blaming yourself.”

  He flinched.

  “You can’t take care of everything and everyone, Doug. It’s not possible.”

  They hadn’t stood this close for a long time. She hadn’t been in his arms since she kissed him. Arielle tried not to think about how right it had felt to have him hold her, how wonderful, how safe. The scent of cool evening clung to him, mixing with the spice of aftershave and the potency of masculinity.

  Instinct urged her to run, yet something else, something she was hesitant to explore, held her in place. She reached up, tracing a finger down his cheek, feeling the sensual drag of his afternoon shadow.

  Yet it was his eyes that held her completely captivated. They were haunted and guilt-ridden. But it seemed deeper than that, as if this burden had brought something buried and unhealed to the surface. “You’re only human.”

  “Yeah,” he admitted, the admission sounding like a failing.

  To Doug, she realized, humanness was a failing.

  “I came to you,” she said softly. “And you tried to send me away. It’s not your fault. If it’s anyone’s, it’s mine. I should have listened, should have—”

  “No.” He shook his head.

  Her hand stilled on his skin, but then she followed her heart and curved her palm around his squared chin. “If I can’t play what-ifs, neither can you,” she said. “You did your job. There was danger, you got us out of there.”

  “You’re not safe.”

  Her pulse began to pound. Surely, after all this, he couldn’t be thinking of sending her away. “Would I be safer without you?”

  “You would.”

  “There’s still someone out there looking for me.”

  “I haven’t forgotten. Not for a second.”

  “If you send me with Brian, then he can’t work on finding Pickins for you.” She hadn’t moved her hand, and for a moment, it was as if time had ground to a shuddering halt.

  “Are you always so logical?”

  The idea of being left alone, even with Brian, to fight the demon chasing her terrified her more than anything. “I try to be,” she admitted.

  “I’m not leaving you, Arielle.”

  He leveled his gaze on hers, and she felt the stirrings of response somewhere deep inside. She didn’t want to want him this way, didn’t want to need him.

  She’d always prided herself on strength and independence. But Doug brought out a different side to her, brought out her weakness and vulnerability... made her feel incredibly feminine. No other man had had this dizzying effect on her. She found she liked it. She also hated it.

  She needed Doug. It was that simple, and that complicated.

  “You’re stuck with me,” he said.

  She released her breath in slow, relieved measures. “I’m glad.”

  “I can be harder to get rid of than a hangover.”

  “I’ve never been one much for drinking.” She offered a smile that he didn’t return.

  With reluctance, she dropped her hand, but her skin tingled as if they were still touching. “I’m not sorry we’re here together,” she confessed, wondering just where that statement had come from and how it had snuck past her carefully constructed defenses. She’d sworn never to let another man in, but with Doug, she feared it might already be too late.

  “Aren’t you, Arielle?”

  She sucked in a shallow breath of air. “I trust you, Doug.”

  He swallowed, and she saw the way his Adam’s apple moved. “Don’t—”

  “Shh...” she said, moving to place her finger across his lips. “I have no regrets.”

  Slowly, as if aware of the tightness of the grip with which he held her, Doug uncurled his fingers, one by one. “I’ll take care of you,” he swore.

  “I know.”

  Tension sizzled in the atmosphere, as if so much more needed to be said. But her tummy had tightened, a female response firing through her and igniting a fire that she knew Doug’s presence would surely fan.

  Self-preservation kicked in. She needed to retreat to safety and hide there. She licked her lips, hoping her voice wouldn’t betray her. Whenever things got hectic at. school, when testing and grading became too much, she concentrated on mundane matters. Maybe it would help with Doug. Heaven knew, something needed to. “Betsy left a stew on the stove,” she said.

  “I’ll be there in a few minutes.” Doug dragged a lock of hair back into place.

  She watched his movements, and wanted nothing more than to dislodge that lock of hair again, to regain the intimacy that alternately attracted and frightened her. “You have more work?”

  “I need to update Rhone.”

  She nodded. With great reluctance, she blinked, severing the connection that flared and flamed between them. Her heart hadn’t found a rhythmic tempo, and her throat still felt dry.

  At the doorway, though, the sound of his voice halted her.

  “This morning, while I was in the shower, you went outside for a walk.”

  She turned to face him. “How did you know?”

  “I was watching.”

  A shiver slithered down her spine.

  “Next time you need to step outside, let me know first.”

  “I stayed in the backyard.”

  “Where you go, I go. This is not open for negotiation.”

  Her back teeth met each other. “Does this mean I have no freedom?”

  “Arielle,” he said, a stroke of warning in the word. “You’re my responsibility.”

  “But—”

  “I’m not asking.”

  His brows were drawn together, a study in seriousness. He meant what he said, and she knew it. She’d seen guilt paint a picture on his face. He blamed himself for the attempt on her life, and now he’d be doubly vigilant She wondered whether she could take it.

  Arielle reminded herself that she’d practically begged him to take her case. She had no right to dictate how he did that. Still, that didn’t mean his attitude didn’t chafe. “I understand,” she said.

  He gave her a curt nod of dismissal. She recognized the authoritative gesture. The school’s principal used it after performance appraisals.

  Outside the room, she rested her shoulders against a log wall and expelled a shaky sigh. Within a few seconds, she heard the drone of his voice, resonating with strength and power—the two things she needed, the two characteristics that irritated her the most.

  His words had bothered her more than she cared to acknowledge. She wanted everything to be over, didn’t want to consider the consequences of another threat. She’d been so certain that going to Doug was the answer to her problems. But her determination might be the one thing that made them worse.

  It didn’t truly matter, though. They were in this together now. There was no one she’d have trusted more with her life. And that was exactly what this had come down to—her life. Maybe his, too.

  How did he do it? How did a man live with constant threat and danger? The terror sometimes held her paralyzed. Doug lived with it every day of the week.

  He worried that he’d placed her in jeopardy, yet hadn’t given a second thought to the risk to his own life. She knew so little about him. Her heart wanted to know more, no matter what her mind said.

  Hearing the sudden absence of sound, she took another breath and pushed away from the wall. She wouldn’t fall apart, couldn’t.

  In the kitchen, she carried the pan to the table and served the stew, adding extra to Doug’s bowl. She sliced the bread they’d bought in town and waited for him.

  He walked into the kitchen without her hearing his approach. It was the movement of his chair in her side vision that drew her attention to his presence. Unlike the rambunctious adolescents she was accustomed to, the man moved with stealth, nearly able to sneak up
on her. A useful trait, she mused, in his line of work, although nevertheless disconcerting.

  For a fraction of a second, before he hid it, she saw past Doug’s tough outer shell and into the realm of vulnerability. She saw frustration and guilt, and maybe a mixture of annoyance, along with a definite gleam of defiance. It was there in his eyes, but obviously, when he realized someone might see it, he schooled it away.

  “How do you do that?” she asked.

  He took a seat and picked up a spoon. “Smells good,” he said.

  “How do you manage to hide your feelings so well?” she persisted.

  “Do I?”

  “You do.” She sat across from him. “Like right now. The chandelier could crash and you wouldn’t blink.”

  He leaned toward her, as if letting her in on a great secret. “Cribbage.” he said. “You’ve got to know when to force your opponent to take a risk, got to know when to take one yourself.”

  “Cribbage?”

  “A poker face,” he supplied. “I won earlier, didn’t I?”

  “Only because I’m a beginner.” He was a master of deception. She realized she was learning about Doug in tiny fractions, uncovering aspects of his personality only when he wasn’t conscious of giving them away.

  “But you won’t be a beginner soon. And I’ll still be winning.”

  “Is everything a game to you?”

  He put down his spoon. “Sweetheart, nothing is a game. Everything in life is a gamble.”

  He’d shared more about himself in that one statement than he had in the past couple of days. Earlier, she’d decided she wanted to get close, wanted to uncover the things locked away in his soul. Now she was no longer sure she wanted to.

  She shivered at the coldness in his eyes, a layer of ice covering green... a contradiction to the lightness of his words. She reached for her cup, only to discover that the coffee was cold, as well.

  They’d been drinking hot chocolate earlier, hot chocolate that he’d never had before. In her school, she often saw students, boys and girls, struggling to see how and where they fit in, kids wondering whether anyone cared, whether anyone would be at home when the dismissal bell rang. Kids like...