He tilted his head. “And here I was hoping it was me.”
He said it with just the right amount of self-deprecation to keep from coming off as a line. It would be easier if he’d intended it as one, because she had plenty of experience fending off creeps.
But he didn’t appear to be a creep, she thought as he continued to hold her gaze. In fact, he seemed very un… creep-like.
“Here we are,” said a voice from behind her, and Jillian whirled, bumping into Brian.
“Ah, shit,” he said, wincing as red wine soaked into the pale gray fabric of Jillian’s dress. “I’m sorry, Jillian. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“It’s as much my fault as yours,” she said, suffering a brief but intense period of mourning for one of her favorite dresses. “I don’t guess you have any vinegar on hand, do you?”
When Brian looked blank, Jillian just shook her head. “Never mind.”
“Let me go find a towel or something,” Brian said, handing the beer to Jesse. “Be right back.”
When a wad of white cloth appeared in her field of vision, Jillian looked up. She blinked, trying to process the fact that Jesse was now shirtless.
“Take this,” he said, when she didn’t make an immediate move to accept it. “You need to blot it or whatever right away, right?”
“What?” She shook her head again to clear it. “Yes, but… really, you should keep your shirt.” Please, so she could keep some brain cells.
“I have this one,” he told her, lifting a long sleeved plaid from the back of a chair. “I took it off because I got too warm inside. And I have probably a hundred Tshirts. So really. Take it.”
Frowning a little, Jillian accepted the shirt and set her empty wine glass on the table next to his full beer. “Thank you.”
“No problem. I, uh, have four brothers, so somebody was always spilling something growing up. My mom was real big on blotting.”
She smiled. “I’ll bet.” Jillian did her best to absorb the wine, but realized there was no way she was going to be able to salvage the dress enough to last the rest of the evening. Her entire front was soaked.
“Um, I appreciate you sacrificing your shirt, and it was really nice to meet you, but I think I’d better… shoot.”
“And now I’m guessing that you’re not talking about the golden hour,” he said and she sighed.
“I just remembered that I don’t have my car.” The reason behind which still pissed her off. “I rode over with a friend. And I hate to ask her to leave, seeing as how she’s the host’s sister.”
“I can give you a ride. Where do you live?”
“Oh, I wasn’t angling for… That’s very nice of you to offer, but you should enjoy your drink.”
“I’ll survive without it.”
“No, really. I’ll work it out.”
He considered that a moment. “Are you worried about getting in a car with a stranger? Because I can have Brian vouch for me.”
She just bet. “I can’t ask you to leave the party so early.”
He shrugged. “I’m not worried about it. Crowds and I don’t really get along that well, anyway. And that was going to be my second beer, so I’m fine to drive.”
Jillian hesitated. His eyes were indeed clear. He appeared sober, and unlikely to be the type to keep shrunken human heads in a display case in his basement.
Brian rushed back out, an old beach towel clutched in his big hands. “Sorry it took me so long. Oh.” He looked at the shirt Jillian pressed to her chest. “Good idea,” he said to Jesse.
“Can you tell Jillian here that I’m not a serial killer? She needs a ride home, and doesn’t want to bother your sister.”
“He’s not a serial killer,” Brian dutifully repeated, flashing a quick glance at Jesse that Jillian couldn’t quite interpret. “But I hate to see you leave. Especially because I’m such a clumsy oaf.”
“I have some editing to catch up on this evening, anyway. If the vandals hadn’t gotten my car, I probably would have only stayed for an hour or so.”
“Vandals?” Jesse said.
“Some asshole smashed her rear window and her brake lights,” Brian explained.
“At least they didn’t steal anything this time. And the glass is replaceable.”
“See, this is why you’re my best girl,” Brian said with approval. “Always looking on the bright side.” He shuffled his big feet and glanced down at the beach towel with uncertainty. “I guess you don’t need this. I’ll tell Katie that you’re taking off.” He leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Thanks for coming. Catch you later, man,” Brian said to Jesse, and then headed back inside.
Jillian blinked. And then slid her gaze toward Jesse.
His dark brows arched over his glasses. “Ready?”
She played the whole thing back in her head, trying to remember when she’d actually agreed to accepting a ride from him. She was pretty sure she hadn’t. But somehow, here she was with his hand on her elbow, steering her out the screened door.
She felt… maneuvered.
Jillian halted on the top step. “That wasn’t” she gestured back toward the porch “some kind of… set up, was it?”
His eyebrows arched again. “Set up?”
She shook her head. She probably sounded like an idiot. A paranoid idiot. After all, she was the one who’d bumped into Brian and spilled her wine. “Never mind.”
“My car’s right over here,” he said, angling toward a black four-door Jeep with fat tires and a trailer hitch on the back. He opened the passenger door for her, but then cursed under his breath. “Hang on. Sorry.” He removed what looked to be a fishing tackle box from the seat, slid it onto the floorboard in the back. He smiled as he stepped back. “Wasn’t expecting company.”
Jillian shot him a look.
“What?”
“Nothing,” she said after a moment. Her imagination was working overtime if she thought that he and Brian had somehow planned this whole thing out. And what a ridiculous notion, anyway. Unlike Katie, Brian wasn’t overly concerned with Jillian’s social life – or lack thereof. And men who looked like Jesse… she never had learned his last name, had she? Anyway, men who looked like him didn’t need help from their friends to get dates.
Not that this was a date. It was simply a nice gesture from a man she’d met all of thirty minutes ago. And in whose vehicle she was now sitting.
The knock on the window beside her caused her to jump.
“Sorry,” Brian said when Jesse rolled down the window. “You forgot your purse.”
“Oh,” Jillian said as he passed it through. “Thanks, Brian.”
“No problem.” He pointed a finger at Jesse. “You take care of my girl.”
Jesse’s tone was droll when he answered. “I’ll do my best.” He pulled away from the curb, and then glanced at Jillian. “So where to?”
“What would you do if I told you I lived in Charleston? Or… Kansas?”
“I’d fuel up, because it sounds like we’re going on a road trip. But you don’t live in Kansas.”
“No, I don’t. But I could. You know nothing about me, aside from my name, and that we have a mutual friend. But you didn’t hesitate to leave the party to offer me a ride.”
His lips twitched as he glanced over. “Are you always this suspicious?”
“No.” Probably. “I just… like to understand people’s motives.” Because she’d been at the mercy of the incomprehensible actions of others too many times before. “Especially when I’m trapped with them inside a moving vehicle and I met them less than an hour ago.”
He nodded. “Fair enough. What I said about me and crowds, that was no lie. I’m not the most social of animals and after prolonged exposure to a bunch of loud, giggling drunks, I start to break out in hives. Not that many of Brian’s guests were intoxicated, but they were headed that way. And there were definitely some gigglers. Better to get out before I was tempted to run screaming down the beach.”
She smiled.
“You’re an introvert.”
He looked appalled. “I just don’t like to be around a bunch of random people for too long if I can avoid it.”
“Same thing. And I can say that because I’m the same way. It has to do with energy. Introverts gain energy from being alone. Interacting with groups drains us.”
He stared at the road, brows drawn low in an expression that radiated skepticism. “If you say so.”
“I do.” Jillian wasn’t entirely sure why the revelation made her feel more comfortable with him, but it did. Her shoulders relaxed a little. “I live on East Henry, by the way. Katie and I are housemates.”
“That’s right. Katie got the townhouse and Brian the beach place when their grandparents died.”
“They were such kind people.” They’d been killed in a car accident. Katie’s grandfather suffered a fatal heart attack at the wheel, driving off the road and into a tree, also killing her grandmother instantly. “Did you know them?”
Jesse shook his head as he drove down the long, low road – surrounded by miles of winter brown-marsh grasses – that connected Tybee to the mainland. The sun hung like a fat ball just above the horizon, painting the sky with pink and orange as it made its final descent. “I didn’t meet Brian until a few years back,” he explained “so that was before my time. You’ve known Katie a long while then?”
“Since college.”
“I thought Brian said that she went to one of those cooking schools.”
“She did,” Jillian agreed. “And I went to SCAD.” The Savannah College of Art and Design was what had brought her to the city. “I had an assignment in one of my classes to photograph prepared food, like for restaurant advertisements and menus, and that’s how I met Katie. We clicked. Been best friends ever since.”
Jillian glanced down. She’d tucked his T-shirt between her dress and her skin to try to keep the wine from saturating her bra as well, but she didn’t think she’d been successful. Her breasts felt damp and sticky. She pulled the shirt back out and then glanced up to find Jesse looking her direction.
“Sorry,” he said. “I’m trying to pretend you’re not wearing the equivalent of a wet T-shirt.”
Her cheeks heated a little. “How’s that going for you?”
“Not all that well.”
“At least you’re honest.”
He returned his attention to the road.
Resisting the urge to clear her throat, Jillian sat the ruined T-shirt on her lap and tried not to notice that he smelled really good. Aside from the wine permeating the air inside the Jeep, she detected the clean, warm scent that struck her as uniquely male. What was it about a recently showered but slightly sweaty man? Something to do with pheromones, she was sure. He seemed to produce an abundance of them.
“So how do you know Brian?”
He glanced her way as they entered the city limits. “I own a fishing boat, and he was my partner in a charity tournament a few years back.”
“Oh? I guess I didn’t realize that Brian was that into fishing.”
“He’s not. Well, he is, but let’s just say that fishing isn’t that into him.”
“I take it you didn’t win the tournament?”
“Sadly, no. Brian got sick as soon as we hit some rough seas about three miles out. He failed to mention that he has the constitution of a Chihuahua inside the body of a Great Dane.”
Jillian smiled at the description. “Do you operate out of one of the local marinas?”
He waited a beat before answering. “I’m docked on Tybee.”
“Oh. Do you live on the island?”
“For the moment. I’ve been getting the home ownership itch recently, so I gave up the lease on the place I was renting and have been staying on my boat until I figure out where I want to buy.”
“Now I feel even worse about you driving me home. You’ll just have to turn right around and head back out there.”
He glanced her direction. “I wouldn’t have volunteered if I minded the drive. Especially when I have a captive audience to regale with my fishing stories.”
“The only story I heard didn’t involve much fishing.”
“I’d be happy to take a detour and correct that oversight.”
“Too late,” she said, realizing that they’d already turned onto East Henry. Then she frowned when she saw the two men dressed in shirts and ties standing on the porch in front of her townhouse, talking to Mrs. Franklin across the adjoining rail.
“Problem?”
She glanced over at Jesse. “I don’t know. Those look like cops.”
“Judging from your tone, I take it that you’re not a fan.”
“Of cops?” She shook her head. “Let’s just say that I prefer to avoid them whenever possible. And not because I’m a criminal,” she added.
“I didn’t think you were.”
“I had an… unpleasant experience,” she felt the need to clarify.
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
So was she. And despite the fact that it had been years since that experience and she knew, theoretically, that not all cops were bad, her palms began to sweat. She hated the automatic nervous reaction, but had come to accept it. Surreptitiously, she rubbed her hands on her thighs, remembering too late that she’d laid Jesse’s wine-soaked T-shirt there. It fell onto the floorboard and when she bent to retrieve it, she hit her head on the dash.
“Are you okay?”
“Fine.” She rubbed her scalp and then offered him a quick smile that she hoped didn’t betray her embarrassment. Leave it to her luck to have a mini-meltdown in the presence of the first guy she’d been attracted to in…
Well, in a really long time.
“You can just drop me off here.”
He pulled to the curb and the two cops turned around, stared at them through the windshield. Jillian tried to swallow, but her throat felt thick. Stupid, stupid she told herself, pushing back against the memory of rough hands, hard fists. The sound of tearing fabric. Blood and water clogging her nose.
Judging by their street clothes they were probably detectives, not beat cops. Maybe they were talking to people in the neighborhood about the vandalism, and someone had mentioned her car. Maybe they had the wrong address.
Both perfectly plausible scenarios. There was no reason to be afraid.
“Jillian?”
Despite the soft tone, Jillian jumped. She’d been so lost in her thoughts – in her paranoia, she admitted – that she’d all but forgotten he was there.
He must think she was crazy.
“Um, thank you for the ride. And the… T-shirt.”
When she turned to reach for the door handle, he laid a forestalling hand on her arm. “Let me come with you.”
“Oh, no. That’s not necessary.” She glanced at the cops, who’d started moving down the steps, heading in their direction. Did that mean they recognized her? How? Why?
“If your face gets any whiter you’ll be able to audition for the role of the Ghost of Christmas Past.” He turned off the ignition. “I’m going to come around, open your door, and stay with you until we find out what they want.” He looked grim. “And sometime I’d like you to tell me just exactly what happened to put that look on your face.”
Muttering something that sounded like unpleasant experience, my ass, he climbed from the Jeep. Jillian wanted to protest, wanted to laugh it off, wanted to get out of the vehicle and talk to the police like any normal person. She hated this fear, and usually managed to control it.
When the door opened she glanced up at Jesse, tried to smile. His eyebrows slammed together, and then he leaned in to grasp her by the elbow again and help her from her seat.
Even though it was humiliating to be treated like an invalid by this man she barely knew, she had to admit that she was grateful. Her legs seemed to have turned to rubber, and she wasn’t sure she could stand on her own.
“Breathe,” he said and she did.
She flicked a glance his direction, woefully emba
rrassed. “Thank you.”
“We’ve got company.” He nodded in the direction of the approaching cops. “Remember that you don’t have to answer anything you don’t want to. You have that right.”
Blinking in surprise at the murmured advice, Jillian found herself somewhat steadied as the two men stopped a few feet away from them. “Jillian Montgomery?” the older one said.
“Yes.” She cleared her throat. “I’m Jillian Montgomery.”
“Detectives Axelrod and Gannon, SCMPD. We’d like to ask you a few questions.”
CHAPTER THREE
JESSE settled onto the sofa next to Jillian after she’d directed the two detectives into the arm chairs on either side of the fireplace. The chairs looked to be holdovers from the days in which Brian’s grandparents had inhabited the townhouse, and he knew, from experience at his own grandparents’ house, that that particular style of chair was about as comfortable as a pile of bricks. Given her obvious aversion to law enforcement personnel, he wondered if Jillian had suggested the formal parlor for that specific reason.
He’d expected her to object to his presence, to tell him that his assistance was no longer required, but she hadn’t. Probably an oversight on her part, as she looked a little surprised when he joined her on the sofa, but he offered a reassuring smile. She blinked, her pale cheeks coloring a little, and then turned her attention back to the detectives.
“Accident?” the detective named Axelrod said, nodding at Jillian’s stained dress.
She glanced down, seemed surprised to realize that she was still holding Jesse’s shirt on her lap. “Yes. I spilled a glass of wine.”
The detective waited for her to elaborate and when she didn’t, said: “Would you like to change? We can wait for you.”
“No, thank you. I prefer to answer your questions first.”
And get this over with, was the unspoken subtext. The trembling fear she’d exhibited earlier had been tucked away behind a polite mask. She was composed, direct and thus far not offering one shred of information aside from what was specifically asked. Obviously this wasn’t her first time at the interview rodeo, and the two detectives realized this as well.
The Southern Comfort Prequel Trilogy Box Set Page 3
