But now he was doing it. Because now she was no different than anybody else? Because he’d mentally put her back into the category of merely a job, an assignment?
And again her insides twisted, knotted. And no amount of chastising herself for being an idiot seemed to make any difference.
“If you’re not going to eat, tell me again about that day you and Amber met Edward.”
Oh, yes, she was right back in the pure business category.
The instant the thought formed she hated herself for it. He was trying to help find Amber, and shouldn’t that be her focus, too? Here she was stewing over the fact that a man had nearly made love to her but stopped, for praiseworthy reasons, when her best friend was still out there somewhere, maybe in trouble, maybe serious trouble.
With a serious inward shake, she shoved her own concerns down, telling herself bitingly that she could whine later, in private.
“I don’t know what I can say that I haven’t already.”
“Maybe nothing. But maybe something. Close your eyes. Walk through it in your head.”
Like the detective had done with the kid who had Amber’s phone, she thought. It had worked with him, so why not? Besides, she liked the closing her eyes part. Looking at him sitting across the too-small table from her was unsettling.
When she did, when the distraction of his face, the strong jaw, the clear blue eyes, was gone, somehow all she could think of was his bare chest, how he’d looked, what his skin had felt like, stretched over taut muscle.
Where on earth had all her self-discipline gone? She knew she had it, and had the history of long, hard hours working to get her business started and keep it going to prove it. She just couldn’t seem to find it at the moment.
“What day was it?” he prompted, and she barely managed not to open her eyes just to look at him.
She tilted her head back, let the sun warm her. Soon it would be gone and the long, wet winter that was the price they paid for such glorious days as this would set in.
“Saturday,” she said. “I had gone down and walked on the ferry to Seattle, and Amber picked me up on the other side.”
“What were you wearing?”
She did flick her eyes open then. This question was new, and as far as she could see, irrelevant. “Me?”
“Close your eyes,” he said again. “Going through the small details you do remember might trigger others.”
“Oh.”
That made sense, she supposed, although she’d tried so hard to remember every little thing that she couldn’t imagine anything else would be lurking in some corner of her mind that she’d missed.
“Khaki-colored jeans,” she said. “Red sleeveless blouse. Tan shoes, the comfortable ones. I wanted to wear sandals, because the weather was great, but we were going shopping, so I didn’t want to walk that much in them.”
“What was Amber wearing?”
She’d given them that in great detail more than once, but she didn’t point that out. She’d been foolish enough already this afternoon. This was professional Teague, and she was going to act accordingly from here on.
“Blue. Her best color. Dark blue shorts, lighter blue knit top. She did wear sandals. She’d just had a pedicure and wanted to show it off.”
“Where did you go?”
“To brunch, first. Her favorite place, right near the waterfront. Her plan was to eat a lot, then walk it off.”
“Shopping for what?”
“Nothing in particular.”
“Just...shopping?”
At his tone, again her eyes opened. She could do this, too, she thought. “You’re such a guy,” she teased. “I’ll bet you only go to a store for something specific, find it, buy it and get out.”
“Well...yes. If you don’t need something, what’s the point of going?”
“What if you don’t know you need something until you see it?”
He blinked. “But if you didn’t see it, you wouldn’t know you needed it, so in effect you don’t need it.”
She managed a genuine smile at that one. And repeated his own words back to him. “That made sense to me. Should I worry?”
After a split second a grin spread across his face. “Touché,” he said. “Now where were we?”
“Shopping.”
“Where?”
“At the mall near Amber’s place. And close to where I used to work.”
“Walk me through it. Everything, don’t worry about if it’s relevant or boring or seemingly meaningless. Tell me.”
She closed her eyes again. It did help. She brought up the day she’d thought so much about.
“It was crowded. We had to park way out. We heard a dog in a parked car, and I was worried because it was so warm. But Amber spotted it, and there was a girl in the car with it, I guess waiting for someone. She had all the windows all the way down, and a door open while she was giving the dog water, so it was okay. It was a pug. Cute.”
“Keep going,” he said when she paused.
“There were Girl Scouts at the door, selling flavored popcorn. We bought a bag to share, just because the kids were so cute, so earnest in their pitch, and so excited about the camp they were raising the money for.”
This had to be boring him to tears, Laney figured; he’d been there every time she’d gone through this, but she kept going.
“It was nice to get inside, where it was air-conditioned. Amber loves malls. She always has.”
“But not you?”
“I went to hang with her,” she said. “And that was where she wanted to go. I didn’t mind. Sometimes we went for hikes like I wanted, and I know she didn’t like that, but she went because it was my turn to choose.”
“Good friends.”
“Yes. The best.”
Tears threatened again. She had to open her eyes to blink them back. Decided not to mention it, not to call attention to the fact that she was crying again, although he could hardly miss it.
“Go ahead,” he said, gently.
Back in her mind again, she went through it all, every stop she could remember, the two purchases Amber had made: makeup and a pair of sparkly, dangly earrings. Walking down toward the shoe store at the far end of the mall, where Amber had her eye on a pair of stiletto heels that made Laney’s feet hurt just looking at them.
And coming out of the big, anchor department store had been a familiar face. Edward. He’d been talking to someone a little behind him and then spotted Amber. As many men did, he stopped in his tracks. Then he’d seen and recognized her, and if Laney thought that some of his smile was for the fact that she could introduce him to Amber, she kept it to herself, then and now.
The chatting up, the tentative flirtation, all took place there in the relative safety of a public place full of people. Nothing untoward was said, in fact, she’d watched the exchange with some amusement; men tended to get a bit silly around Amber. Even Edward’s friend was rolling his eyes a bit. But in the end Edward played it smart; instead of asking for Amber’s number he gave her his, and asked her to call him. Anytime. Anywhere. Please.
She shifted in her chair. This was where it got uncomfortable, and it didn’t matter that she’d been through it a few times before.
“He left. Amber asked me about him. I told her what I knew.” She took a breath to steady herself. “I said he seemed nice enough, from what I’d seen. She asked if she should call him. I said sure, why not. We finished our shopping. She took me back to the ferry, I came home. That’s it.”
She opened her eyes, aware she’d hurried through that, but it was the most painful part, and she’d had to say it so many times. And each time it etched her guilt more deeply.
“And she called him.”
“Yes. She told me she was going to. And she seemed quite happy about i
t when they agreed to go to dinner.”
“And she called you that day.”
“Yes. She was fussing about what to wear. Normal Amber. I told her it didn’t matter, she’d be gorgeous in anything. She kept fussing. Our usual routine.”
“And that was—”
“Yes.” She couldn’t bear to hear him say it. “The last time I spoke to her.”
It hit her hard, the realization that that laughing, teasing conversation might well be the last she ever had with Amber. She didn’t realize she was shivering, even in the sun, until Teague put a hand over hers. The warmth steadied her, just as that new awareness, that electric charge tingled along her nerves.
“We’ll find her,” he said.
“I know.” She believed that. Foxworth would not quit until they did.
She just wished she could go back to believing they’d find her alive.
“Walk with me.”
Laney looked across at him, feeling a little drained.
“You need the distraction,” he said. “After that.”
She hesitated. But he was still holding her hand, and if she didn’t walk with him he might let go. And at this moment in time that seemed like the worst thing that could happen. So she rose, and they started to walk along the peaceful, picturesque waterfront.
She didn’t pull her hand free, although she considered it. But right now she felt as if he were her anchor, the only thing keeping her from, as he’d once said, going airborne.
You’re my anchor, Laney. Without you to keep me centered, remind me of who I am, I’d be lost.
Amber’s oft spoken words came back to her with a poignancy that struck hard.
“What?” Teague asked.
Most women would kill for a man this observant, Laney thought ruefully. And here she was wishing that, for once, he wouldn’t notice every little change in her expression.
Or wishing it wasn’t because he was a trained pro at it. Something she’d do well to remember. Especially when he was holding her hand and her body was all too aware of the fact.
“Just something Amber used to say.”
“What?”
“That I was her anchor. Kept her sane, centered.”
His fingers tightened around hers. “I can see that.”
“She worried about something happening to me. Neither of us ever thought it would be her, not Amber, the golden girl who had it all—” She stopped dead, shaking now. “Oh, God. I’m using past tense.”
He didn’t say anything. He simply pulled her into his arms and gave her shelter.
Chapter 25
She was steadier by the time they got back to her apartment. Teague had driven mostly in silence. It didn’t matter, he was there, and that in itself was comforting.
She appreciated that he hadn’t tried to soothe her with false hope. That he hadn’t assured her Amber was all right. He’d only said what he’d always said, that they’d find her. But he must have known all along, and more certainly the more time passed, that there was a chance it would be too late.
As she opened her door she managed not to look at the spot where they’d ended up on the floor last night. But it took an effort that was almost embarrassing, and as observant as he was, Teague was likely noticing how carefully she was avoiding it. Her discomfiture made her voice a little sharp when she turned back to look at him.
“I’d invite you in, but I don’t want a replay.”
He winced, made a small, compressed sound that matched the expression. “That never should have happened.”
“I didn’t mean that it happened. I meant the abrupt stop.”
He looked disconcerted then, which gave her a small bit of satisfaction.
“It wasn’t right. You’re—”
“A client? I know that.”
“Quinn—”
“Wouldn’t approve of you getting involved with a client? Yeah, I got that, too.”
He shifted uncomfortably.
“Not sure Quinn has room to talk, though,” Laney said.
Teague’s mouth quirked wryly then. “And he knows that. It’s not that he’d say anything. Except to be sure.”
“Of what you want?”
“Oh, I know what I want,” Teague said, and a new undertone had crept into his voice, a note that sent an entirely new kind of shiver through her. “He’d be worried about you. Because you’re not in a real good place right now.”
“I’m also a grown woman capable of making decisions.”
“That’s obvious. Look at what you’ve accomplished.”
“But you think me incapable of making this one? Incapable of knowing that I know what I want, too?”
She heard him suck in a deep breath. His jaw tightened as if he were fighting some internal battle. She hoped he was. She hoped he was losing. Or maybe winning? Was he fighting to go, or to stay?
“Not incapable. Just situationally off balance.”
“Is that an official military term?”
He blinked. And then one corner of his mouth quirked upward. “No. But maybe it should be.”
“Have you ever been...situationally off balance?”
“Often. But I’ve also been trained to adapt.”
“And you’ve made decisions in those situations?”
His brow furrowed. She waited. “Of course.”
“And how did they work out, given you’re still here to talk about it?”
His mouth quirked again, and she suspected he’d figured out where she was going with this.
“Laney—”
She cut him off before he could stop her. “So you’re saying you can make a rational decision while situationally off balance, but I can’t?”
“Remind me never to get in a battle of words with you,” he said dryly.
“Gladly.”
“Probably wits, too.”
“Maybe,” she said. “Does this mean you surrender?”
He sucked in a harsh, audible breath. “Speaking of words,” he muttered.
“If I were Amber,” she said slowly, holding his gaze, seeing, savoring the heat burgeoning in his eyes, “I’d try to wind you up tight and then send you on your way wanting, lesson learned.”
“But you’re not Amber.”
“No. I love her like a sister,” she said, very consciously using the right tense this time, “but we’re very different. But I finally remembered that, thanks to her, I’m prepared. She’s always telling me a girl should be, and I’d forgotten she gave me a box on my birthday, as a joke. Or a nudge.”
“Laney,” he began then stopped as if he didn’t have a clue what to say.
Somehow this reassured her, made her bolder. And in the back of her mind she could hear Amber egging her on. She had always said this was the only part of her life where Laney was afraid of taking a chance, and maybe she’d been right.
And underneath it all was another driving motivation. Amber’s disappearance had rattled her quiet world, had brought reality crushingly home to her. You really never knew what might happen and assuming you would have endless tomorrows was not the way to really live.
She reached up to touch him, her fingers lightly stroking that clenched jawline.
“Go or stay,” she said. “But don’t treat me as if I’m fragile or breakable. Or make decisions alone that we should both make.”
“Damn.”
It exploded from him, sounding more like prayer than curse. And then he turned his head, pressed his lips to the palm of her hand. Decision made, she thought, exhilaration slamming through her.
The fire sparked, caught. Nerves already tingling sent messages of heat and need, awakening every part of her in a fierce wave. And then his mouth was on hers, urging, demanding, and she knew he’d th
rown that caution to the winds. She wasn’t sure there wouldn’t be a big price to pay, eventually, wasn’t sure he hadn’t been right all along, but she didn’t care. Not now, not when he was holding her, not when she had vivid, searing proof that what she’d felt last night hadn’t been some kind of fluke born of her unsettled state.
It was fire, pure and scorching, and unlike anything she’d ever felt before. Her heart was hammering in response to his touch, her body both demanding and offering. This, this was what they wrote about, sang about. She’d never been sure, feared she was lacking whatever something that enabled people to experience this. But it had just been the wrong person before, that was all. Teague was right, even if only for this moment in time. Maybe she’d regret this someday, maybe he would, but now, now it was all that mattered.
Whatever this was, it was worth any risk.
They made it as far as her couch this time. It made shedding clothes more difficult and the entanglement more frustrating. She thought she heard something rip as he yanked at her shirt. She didn’t care. And he didn’t even notice, which somehow thrilled her.
He was as beautiful as she’d remembered. Taut, lean and strong. Then his hands, just a little rough and very, very male, were on her, cupping her breasts, lifting them for his mouth. She nearly cried out at the searing sensation that shot through her, as if the nerves he aroused were connected to her entire body. His tongue flicked nipples already hardened by his touch, and she arched helplessly. He suckled her gently, and this time she did cry out as the heat and sensation flared. Harder then, drawing that eager peak into his mouth until she thought she would forget how to breathe. He switched to her other breast, repeating the sweet attention until she gasped out his name. Her body seemed to ripple of its own accord, and she felt the ridge of thoroughly aroused male prodding her lower belly, hot, hard, silken, ready.
Just the thought of taking him inside her had her heart pounding until she thought she would die if he didn’t move, now, right now.
He slid a hand downward, not in a rush, at least not the rush she seemed to be in. Leisurely, as if there were all the time in the world, as if she wasn’t about to be consumed by the fire he’d lit. He traced each rib, stroked over her waist, slid out to linger at the curve of her hip, as if he thought someday he might have to reproduce that curve and wanted to get it right.
Operation Blind Date Page 17
