In Another Man’s Bed

by Francis Ray

  Matilda closed the drawer and studied her manicured nails. “Depends on what you think I’m about to say.”

  “Cut it out, Matilda, and spill. Who?”

  The secretary looked up through her lashes in an uncharacteristic stalling tactic. “You promise to remain calm?”

  “The name,” Brianna snapped.

  “Patrick Dunlap.”

  The banging on his front door interrupted Patrick’s cooking. Tonight it was sea bass he’d caught himself. The three-pound fish had put up a good fight, but in the end Patrick had been victorious. He would have liked to have cooked it over an open fire on the bank of the river, but the grill mounted next to the oven was the next best thing. There was also a green salad with walnuts, and fresh squash and mushrooms waiting in the refrigerator and a huge baked potato in the oven.

  The noise grew louder. Turning the fillets over, he went to the door in his black T-shirt and faded denim cutoffs. He’d taken a shower after he’d returned, then dressed comfortably. He had thought about lounging near the pier to see Brianna when she came home, but had discarded the idea. She was too unpredictable and totally captivating.

  The noise grew louder as he neared. Whoever it was hadn’t even tried the doorbell. He knew it worked because Brooke and her family had been over the night before. He looked through the peephole from force of habit.

  A slow grin spread over his face. He couldn’t get the door open fast enough. “Hello, Brianna. Change your mind about visiting?”

  A slim finger tried to dig a hole in his chest as she stalked into the room. Since that was where he wanted her, he let her have her way . . . for now. “Stay away from my office and from me.”

  He had no intention of doing either. Stepping around her, he casually swung the door shut, but he was careful to keep an eye on her. She looked ready to blow and absolutely gorgeous.

  Today she wore a little pink suit with large black buttons. The collar was cut in a V that displayed a tempting hint of her lush breasts. He’d like nothing better than to press his lips there. “Would you like something to drink?”

  Hands on her small waist, Brianna glared at him. “I don’t intend to have this conversation again. Understand?”

  He hooked his thumbs into the pockets of his jeans. It was either that or hook his fingers into the vee of her jacket, pull her flush against him, and kiss her until she stopped spitting at him and purred. “Could you tell me why?”

  She spluttered. “I don’t need you cooking for me.”

  He rubbed his chin in a thoughtful manner. “There must be some mistake.”

  “Mistake!” she yelled. He had a feeling Brianna didn’t lose her temper often. She must really be fighting the attraction between them. “Are you going to tell me you didn’t bring coffee and a coffee cake to the office?”

  “No. Matilda and I were talking yesterday and we got into foods. I decided to drop by this morning before I took the boat out and show her how my grandmother taught me to make coffee. She had fresh baked goods yesterday so I returned the favor.” He frowned. “Did she say they were for you?”

  No, she didn’t. Brianna had been so sure that Patrick was trying to get to her that she had simmered all day, then driven straight from work. Her cheeks heated in embarrassment. “I—” The apology stuck in her throat. She felt like a fool. First Jackson, now Patrick.

  “Excuse me, I smell my dinner.” Patrick headed to the kitchen.

  Brianna figured it was a good time to make her escape, but she’d been taught if you could dish it out you had better be able to take it when it was your turn. She’d apologize, then make sure to stay away from Patrick.

  “This might take a moment,” he called from the kitchen. “Can you please come in here?”

  Her steps were slow as she passed through the great room, which was done in a tasteful mix of eye-popping red and sedate black. In the spotless kitchen, which was bigger than hers, Patrick was dishing up fish fillets on a red platter. The delicious smell made her mouth water.

  “I caught it today. You like fishing?”

  “I haven’t been since I was a kid,” she said, hoping her stomach didn’t growl. She’d worked through lunch . . . which was becoming an everyday occurrence.

  “Once a fisherman, always a fisherman.” He grinned, causing the dimples in his face to deepen. Brianna felt her stomach clench. Time to get out of there. “I really—”

  “We haven’t finished. Please have a seat.” Setting the platter on the table, he pulled out a chair in front of the single place setting of bamboo stainless and an abstract plate of black and white.

  “I don’t want to interrupt your dinner.”

  “I hate to play hardball, but, after your accusation, the least you can do is have dinner with me.”

  She eyed the fish. Her mouth watered.

  “There’s peach cobbler and ice cream for dessert,” he coaxed.

  She’d been known to eat a whole cobbler by herself. “Matilda tell you I liked peach cobbler?”

  “As a lawyer, I’m sure you’ll understand confidentiality.”

  She also knew when someone was evading answering the question. He and Matilda had that much in common. No wonder they had hit it off. Brianna sat. She couldn’t say if it was because of her weakness for the peach cobbler with a thick lattice crust she’d caught a glimpse of on the black granite counter, hunger, or the dimpled smile.

  Almost immediately, Patrick stepped away. In no time the table was set with another place setting, a baked potato, and a large green salad. The amazement must have shown on her face.

  “I grew up with four brothers and we were always hungry. You didn’t waste time setting the table.” He sat, bowed his head, and said grace. “How is your father?”

  Brianna hadn’t expected the question and tried to figure out if he had an ulterior motive. “Shouldn’t you know about your new best friend?”

  He stopped halving the largest baked potato she’d ever seen. “In my previous profession, you learn to judge people quickly. I think your father is the same way. Sometimes you know a person in an instant. At other times you can be around someone for years and not know them.”

  Andrew and Jackson popped into her mind. Her mouth tightened.

  “Seems like you’ve had the experience.”

  Her gaze lifted. A mouth-watering body, a heart-pounding smile, and perceptive. Trouble was sitting across from her. If she wasn’t careful, she might succumb . . . but she always was careful, at least she had been. Besides, she was too busy to even think about a relationship. She picked up her fork. “What profession were you in?”

  He grinned and placed the salad plate with the halved potato in front of her. “Almost forgot you are a lawyer. Policeman.”

  She couldn’t have been more surprised. Her gaze ran over him again. “That’s why you were at the police station?”

  “And the book signing.” He dug into the salad, which was liberally sprinkled with fat toasted croutons an inch thick, walnut slivers, and fresh bacon bits. “Dalton does policemen proud.”

  “You said previous.”

  His gaze slowly met hers. “I retired about six months ago and decided to do some of the things I always wanted to do.”

  There was something dark and tortured in his black eyes that made her want to soothe him and not push for answers. She’d been around enough policemen to know they lived with images that would haunt them for the rest of their lives. “Like fish.”

  “And boating. You want to come along sometime?”

  He’d slipped that in nicely. He was as sharp as Justine thought he was. “I’m busy working.”

  “Since I own the boat and it’s a two-minute walk from where we both live, if you change your mind, please let me know.”

  Brianna was surprised he hadn’t tried harder to talk her into going. Oddly peeved, she tucked her head and dug into her salad.

  “The food all right?” he asked.

  “It’s delicious. Thank you.”

  “
Food is enjoyed better with someone,” he said easily. “It’s chicken primavera tomorrow night if you’d care to stop by.”

  “I’m—”

  “Busy,” he said, but he smiled. “At the risk of being redundant and predictable, since we’re in the same building, feel free to stop by anytime. You’re always welcome.”

  “Thank you, but it gets busier by the day at the office,” she told him.

  He cut into his fish. “How about eating dessert on the balcony? We can watch the sun go down.”

  A tempting offer from a tempting man. “In here is fine.”

  “You don’t know what you’re missing.” His voice deepened; his gaze lingered on her mouth.

  Her body heated. She barely kept from squirming. She could well imagine what she was missing, but self-preservation came first.

  Fourteen

  Dalton was going home. No matter where he’d lived since he’d graduated from college and moved to Detroit, Charleston had always remained home. Now, turning into the Riverview shopping center, he finally admitted to himself why he’d left. Justine.

  He’d been angry that she hadn’t tried to contact him as he’d tried to contact her after her mother sent her to visit her grandmother. Her mother might have tossed him out, but his parents would have told her how to reach him. She hadn’t and that hurt.

  Dalton shook away the feeling that he probably should have followed her example of years ago, get back on the freeway and not stop until he’d reached the hotel where he’d rented a room. But it was too late. Across the street was It’s a Mystery Bookstore.

  He’d run from his emotions and confrontations with disastrous consequences in the past. If there was a way to help Justine, he was going to try and find it. Hopefully, while he was with her he’d do his best to keep his feelings for her under wraps.

  Stopping in front of the bookstore, he got out and went inside. There had been enough hesitation on his part. The second he saw her shelving greeting cards, her face pale even from ten feet away, the dress hanging from her shoulders, he knew he’d been right to come. She’d lost weight. Although he hadn’t said a word, she glanced around.

  From the dark circles beneath her eyes, she hadn’t been sleeping either. Her hand that was holding the card shook. He didn’t know if that was a good thing or bad, but he wasn’t leaving. Justine might be as aware of him as he was of her, but she wasn’t going to act on it. And, so help him, neither was he. She didn’t need another complication in her life.

  “Hello, Justine.”

  “You’re back.” Her voice was hushed, raspy.

  “I finished the book,” he said, closing the door and advancing further into the bookstore.

  The uneasiness in her eyes was quickly replaced by happiness. “Congratulations.”

  “Thanks.” He stopped a safe distance away. “How about helping me celebrate?”

  Wariness entered her eyes again. Although she didn’t move, he had the impression that she had stepped away from him. “Thank you, but I have to work.” She ran her hand through her shoulder-length auburn hair. “I’ve missed a lot of time here.”

  “I’m sure you have a competent staff. I promise to have you back in an hour.”

  She was shaking her head before he finished. “I’m sorry.”

  “Dalton, what a wonderful surprise,” Iris cried as she joined them. “How is the book going?”

  “Finished and on my editor’s and agent’s desks.” He allowed his casual gaze to touch Justine. “I was just trying to get my old schoolmate to have an early dinner with me and celebrate.” The last thing he wanted was for there to be gossip about his association with Justine. “But she’s too busy.”

  “Not that busy.” Iris took the cards from Justine’s hands. “I’ll finish this. You’ve been missing too many meals as it is.”

  Justine ran her hand over her pale green linen sheath. “Thanks, but I’m not hungry.”

  “You will be when you smell the food at Big Jumbo’s,” Dalton said.

  Iris smacked her lips. “I’ll say. I stuff myself every time I go there.”

  “I really—” Justine began.

  “Please, help me celebrate. I was holed up at the house for two weeks.” He didn’t mind playing on her sympathy if it would get her to relax. It didn’t seem like she had done much since the accident.

  “I’ll go get your purse,” Iris offered and rushed to the back. She returned in no time, giving Justine the large drawstring bag. “Have fun.”

  Justine clutched the large handbag to her chest. “If Beverly calls—”

  Iris patted her hand in reassurance. “I’ll tell her to get you on your cell.”

  Dalton glanced at his watch. “I didn’t make reservations because I wasn’t sure you could make it. We better go if I want to keep my promise and get you back here in an hour.” Not giving her a chance to delay anymore, Dalton took Justine’s arm and led her to his Cherokee, then assisted her inside.

  Rounding the vehicle, he got in and started the engine. Fastening his seat belt, he said, “Thanks for coming.”

  The corners of her soft mouth tilted upward. “I’m not sure I had much of a choice.”

  He backed out of the parking space. “Then I’ll have to make doubly sure that you enjoy lunch and have a good time.”

  The melancholy expression returned. “I don’t think you or anyone else can guarantee that.”

  Dalton heard her comment and chose not to say anything. The words had sounded heartrending, hopeless. He was more determined than ever to be there for her . . . even if she didn’t want him.

  Justine knew it was a mistake thirty seconds after she entered the popular soul-food restaurant. Andrew was well known in the community and so was she. Heads turned, whispers followed. She tensed.

  “It will be all right.”

  She looked up into Dalton’s calm gaze. There was something else there that she couldn’t identify. Or so she tried to convince herself.

  “Two old friends just having dinner.”

  Oddly she hadn’t thought of the gossip or speculations as much as the dread of repeating Andrew’s condition. Each time she did, his betrayal came back.

  “I wonder if they still serve bread pudding with rum sauce.”

  Bread pudding had been one of her favorite desserts. She’d mentioned it on one of their three dates. “You have a good memory.”

  “On some things,” he said.

  Not knowing how to take his comment, Justine didn’t say anything.

  The hostess came to the wooden podium and removed two menus from the built-in slot. “Two?”

  “Yes,” Dalton answered.

  The young woman in her early twenties smiled at him with youthful appreciation. “Follow me.”

  Justine idly wondered if Dalton got that “I’m available look” all the time, then she cast a sideways glance up at his handsome bearded face and knew the answer. Most definitely.

  Dalton released her arm, then held the cane chair out for her. Justine accepted the menu and hid behind it.

  “What do you have a taste for?”

  You. The wicked thought came from nowhere. She was flustered and flushed, and her hands trembled. “I’m not sure.”

  “Something must tempt your taste buds. I know they do mine.”

  She lowered the menu, sure he would be studying his. Instead she found his eyes trained on her. Desire was there, and so much more. Patience, kindness, caring.

  “Hello. I’m Sally, your waitress. You folks ready?”

  Justine lifted the menu. Time to stop acting like the awed teenager she used to be around Dalton. “I’ll have the blackened red snapper, garden salad with house dressing, and iced tea.”

  “I’ll have the same.” Dalton handed the oversize menu to the waitress.

  “I’ll bring your drink order right out.”

  “Does your mother still live here?” Dalton asked as the waitress moved away.

  If ever there was a question designed to snap Justine
back to reality, it was that one. “Yes. She teaches second grade at a school near the house.”

  “I’m glad she’s here to help you,” he said quietly.

  Justine couldn’t keep the surprise from her face. She blinked.

  “Your drinks,” the waitress said. She sat them down and left.

  “I might not have agreed with her method, but she was trying to help you when we were in high school. My rep was pretty bad,” Dalton admitted.

  “But you weren’t like that,” Justine defended him.

  “She couldn’t have known that,” Dalton said. “Although, at the time, my thoughts weren’t so forgiving.”

  “Mine either,” Justine admitted.

  “Your order.” The waitress sat their food on the table, then withdrew. Justine blessed the food, then picked up her fork.

  She didn’t expect to enjoy the food. Had planned simply to go through the motions. It was easier than arguing. But after one bite, she discovered she was ravenous.

  “How’s the food?”

  “Wonderful,” Justine said. “Have you called Brianna yet?”

  “On the way here, but she was in session with a client. I left a message with her receptionist.”

  “Have you made up your mind what you plan to do with your home place?”

  Dalton sipped his tea. “Nothing beyond repairing it. The place holds a lot of happy memories for me and my sisters.”

  Justine watched the play of muscles in his throat, the large calloused hands that could be so gentle, the flash of strong white teeth in his chocolate-hued face. He was so good looking and much too appealing.

  “Hello, Justine.”

  Justine started and glanced up to see the wives of two of the ministers from the luncheon. Their husbands had been among the first to donate funds. “Hello, Mrs. King, Mrs. Carter.”

  Their gazes kept sliding to Dalton, who had stood. Justine quickly made the introductions. “Pleased to meet you, ladies. Besides owning the bookstore where I had a signing a couple of weeks ago, Justine is an old schoolmate of mine.”

  “I’ve read your book,” Mrs. King said. She was in her mid-fifties and attractive. The aqua Lilian Ann suit fit her slim body well. “The church’s book club considered reading it, but thought it had too much violence.”