Kiss Me, Kelly

by Mary Kay McComas

  It was a logical explanation to Kelly. Tommy had always been generous with his money. Even when they were kids and allowances had barely covered the cost of a movie matinee, Tommy always had money left over to go bowling with. She knew, too, that Angie had received a small inheritance from an aunt a few years earlier. Even though she hadn’t given their finances much thought until now, Kelly was sure Angie’s inheritance was the nest egg they’d used for the down payment on their house. It was the only answer she was willing to accept.

  Damn, Baker cursed silently. Kelly had been too eager to stand up for Shaw. He couldn’t help but envy Shaw her loyalty, but it sure made things more complicated. He’d been hoping he could avoid an out-and-out lie, but she obviously cared a great deal for Shaw and wouldn’t stand for any slander about him.

  There was no other way to do it, he decided. He’d spent most of the afternoon wondering if he could trust her, but he couldn’t. Not yet. He hated lying to her, but there was too much at stake.

  He was sure the soup he was eating had some sort of flavor, but he couldn’t taste it. He wasn’t even that hungry. His stomach felt like a rock, heavy and hard in his midsection, composed of ambivalence, anger, and repugnance…and the knowledge that he was caught in a trap he couldn’t get out of.

  There was nothing shallow or selfish about Kelly. She was loving, giving, and strong. She fit so tightly into his dreams, she could have been custom-built for them.

  He looked at her and his gut churned with desire. He wanted her so bad, he ached, yet he knew he couldn’t have her. He drew the line at dishonest seductions. When the whole truth was finally revealed to her, he couldn’t let her hate him for that too.

  “Let’s not talk about money anymore,” he said, using what enthusiasm he had left to lighten the tone of his voice. “I’m sick of money talk. Let’s talk about how much you missed me while I was gone.”

  “Were you gone?”

  She had been deep in thought—about Shaw, he guessed. But she was quick with her rejoinder, he noted, with no small amount of admiration.

  “Well, probably not from your mind,” he said, “so you might not have noticed. But I’m back and I’m dying to kiss you again. Let’s slip into the back room for a while and—”

  “And have Papa come looking for me when someone wants a refill?” she asked in a hushed voice, trying to keep their conversation private, trying harder to resist his tempting offer. She shook her head, saying, “You’ll have to wait.”

  “I can wait,” he said, greatly satisfied. “When there’s hope, I can be very patient.”

  “That’s good to hear.” She grinned at him. “Papa and Bailey have been known to get a little crazy when someone tries to get fresh with me. I’d hate for something to happen to you.”

  “Me too.”

  “You want another beer while you’re waiting? I mean, you really should make it look like you’re here for something other than me.”

  He frowned at her, then at the near-empty beer tankard in his hand.

  “I have a confession to make,” he said, looking dramatically woeful. “I’m not much of a drinker. One beer is usually my limit, two and I’m sound asleep. That stuff I was drinking last night would have knocked me out cold if I hadn’t wanted to hold you so badly. If I’d known how pretty female bartenders were, I might have built up some tolerance to alcohol over the years. But the bars I go to all have these really ugly, muscle-bound guys tending them, and I have better things to do than to sit around getting blurry-eyed.”

  “Like what?” she asked, turning to take a liquor bottle from the shelf behind her. “What better things?”

  “I play ice hockey every chance I get. And I coach a junior league team.” He watched her pour a dark brown liquid into a glass filled with ice. He loved staring at her hands when she worked. Her fingers were long and tapered and had the most graceful movements.

  “Here, try this,” she said, setting the glass in front of him.

  He gave her a sly look. “Sorry, sweetheart. You gave me hope and I took it to heart. Getting me drunk won’t keep me from giving you that kiss. Hell, there’s no telling what I might do if you get me snookered out of my mind.”

  She laughed at his suspicions. “I’m shocked,” she said, although she didn’t really appear to be. “You’d trust me with the knowledge of your first name, but not with your body.”

  His slow grin set her skin prickling as he studied her long and hard. “I know about girls like you,” he said, the lines around his twinkling green eyes creasing with humor. “This is a test, isn’t it? To see how much I trust you, how kinky I’ll let you be with me.” She opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off. “I can tell you right now that anything goes. Anything you want to do to me is fine—so long as you don’t leave scars.”

  She gasped, both embarrassed and amused.

  “Just drink it,” she said, motioning to the glass of amber liquid before him.

  He picked up the glass to inspect its contents, wondering if he’d spill his guts to her if he was drunk. His desire to tell her was bad enough already; alcohol was sure to push him over the edge. That was one of the many reasons why he’d always known he couldn’t grow up to be James Bond. He was extremely susceptible to beautiful women, alcohol, and pain. Any one of the three would have his mouth running a hundred miles an hour, blabbing government secrets like they were front-page news.

  Still, he was loath to look a coward. He took a cautious sip. He couldn’t believe his taste buds and took another.

  “This is tea,” he said, puzzled and relieved at once.

  “And don’t you feel stupid for not trusting me?” she mocked him. For a final touch, she added, “Mr. Know-it-all.”

  He grinned and showed her a suitable degree of shame.

  “Is this what you serve when you think someone’s so drunk they can’t tell the difference?” he asked.

  “No. It’s Papa’s bourbon. He’s an alcoholic, but he feels he has to save face or something. I’ve heard it was pretty bad when he was younger, but I’ve never seen him drink anything else but that. As a result, though, my whole family is tuned in to alcoholism, since it’s an hereditary disease. We don’t drink much either.”

  “But you own a bar…” He shook his head. “For some reason that seems inappropriate.”

  “I think it’s very appropriate.” She paused to take another order from Imogene, who had been coming and going with her tray since he’d sat down. “We know the signs and understand the disease. We encourage people to seek help and support them once they do. Papa’s bourbon goes faster than you’d think around here. They tell us to put it on their tab and we serve it on the house. Cops have a lot of pride, you know. Some of them would rather admit they were dirty than confess to being alcoholic.”

  Baker had nothing to say. He was awed by her empathy and racked his brain, wondering if she understood the other aspects of a cop’s life that would lead him away from the ideal. The wages, the frustration, the lack of respect that would drive him to do things he knew were wrong.

  Could she understand the motivation and still realize that the individual was responsible for his own actions? If he could count on that understanding, he could tell her the truth. He could put his life in her hands and his hands on her body. He could love her the way he wanted to, the way she deserved to be loved.

  They talked fact, fiction, and nonsense until closing time. Kelly flashed several sets of overhead lights to let the customers know it was time to leave.

  “Good night, Kelly girl,” Mike Branigan called to his granddaughter on his way up to bed. Bailey had already slipped silently off in the same direction. “Sweet dreams to you.”

  “’Night, Papa. See you in the morning,” she said. Every night it was the same farewell. Every night it was she and Imogene—or some other barmaid—cleaning up. Every night she locked the doors and turned out most of the lights. Every night was the same…until Elgin.

  He was still in the bar when she h
eard Imogene leave, the metal lock slip into place, barring the rest of the world from entering. They were alone again. As alone as they’d been the night before, with the jukebox still playing out its quarters in familiar tunes, the lights low, and the tension between them fairly sparking with energy.

  “I should think of something more original to say than ‘alone at last’” he said, “but it seems real appropriate at the moment.”

  “How about ‘Lord, I thought they’d never leave’?” she said, stepping into his embrace as if she’d done it a thousand times before.

  He held her close, pressing her against him inch by inch, as his hands slid up her back. They wandered back down her spine, up along her ribs, and across her shoulders, defining her outline as if to make sure she was there.

  “Would Bailey and the old man really get bent out of shape if I just walked in here during bar hours and gave you a big smack on the lips?” he asked, toying with her hair, following its twisting, curving path to her shoulders.

  She was feeling giddy and light-headed and couldn’t resist teasing him a little. “You bet. I’m his only granddaughter, you know.”

  Elgin didn’t seem to appreciate her humor. “Well, what do I have to do? Slay dragons, trump Trump, what?”

  “Don’t ask. Seize the moment,” she said, nipping his lower lip. She glanced up at his face, and her playful smile froze.

  His features were unexpectedly drawn, his expression severe and intense. Something wild and profound glistened in his eyes. She knew a moment’s fear before his mouth settled over hers in absolute and total ownership, then she feared no more. Soft and gentle, hard and firm, his lips took possession of all they touched. His tongue lured every thought from her mind, promising ecstasy for her surrender. His arms guaranteed shelter and safety in return for her trust. His body, pressed close and intimate against hers, pledged satisfaction and contentment, just for the asking.

  His eyes remained closed as he tenderly traced her cheekbone with cloud-light kisses.

  “Tell me what I have to do in order to do this whenever I want,” he murmured, his voice thick and lazy.

  “You don’t want to know. It’s a fate worse than death. He’s very traditional and doesn’t believe in sex before marriage.”

  That eye-opening remark brought an incredulous expression to his face. “This is sex?”

  “You know him. He lives in another era. Nice girls don’t kiss anyone but their closest relatives in public places,” she said, striving to look innocent.

  The truth of it was that, although the three of them lived in the same building, Bailey and her grandfather had long since come to terms with her independence. They respected her judgment and her right to live her own life and make her own mistakes. Neither one would dream of interfering in her private life.

  “So,” Elgin said, “I’d have to marry you for the privilege.” His deduction was slow in coming and spoken reluctantly.

  “I’m afraid so, yes,” she said, as solemnly as she could before looking away from his disgruntled expression. The temptation to have this tiny bit of control in their relationship was too much to resist. From the very first, he’d taken a firm hold of her thoughts and emotions, and had directed the course of their destiny. It was fun to be able to throw up a roadblock here and there—even if they were imaginary.

  He was silent for a moment, then asked, “Do you think they could do me any real harm? I mean, your grandfather is in pretty good shape for a guy his age, but I think I can handle him. Bailey though…I don’t know.”

  “Oh, Bailey’d snap your head off in a minute,” she said, thinking of how Bailey’s fearsome face and physique hid his quiet gentleness.

  “You actually let those two get away with that kind of stuff?” Elgin asked, looking thoughtful, as if he were already trying to figure out some way to best the two men. “Have you talked to them about it? We could try that.”

  Kelly was amazed that he’d latched on to her joke so seriously. To be able to stake his claim publicly on her was terribly important to him—and terribly thought-provoking for her.

  She liked the idea that he wanted the whole world to know he was interested in her, that he was her man. Warmth glowed inside her at the realization that he didn’t want to keep their relationship a secret. It wasn’t that any of the other men she’d dated had tried to hide their association with her, it was only that Elgin seemed like such a private person.

  Oh, he talked to her and told her about his life, but she sensed he only told her parts of his story. The parts that were already public knowledge. Elgin had secrets. She felt them. She could sometimes see them in his eyes.

  With her arm around his waist she led him back to the bar. “To tell you the truth, it’s never really bothered me before. A female bartender can’t be too careful, and they keep the mashers away.”

  “I’m no masher,” he said. He took the damp cloth she handed him, looking at it as if he weren’t sure what it was or what it was used for.

  “I’ll tell them that,” she said. “I’m sure it’ll make all the difference in the world.” The inflection in her voice implied the opposite. With another bar towel, she began wiping down the tables and chairs and stacking one upon the other.

  She wasn’t sure why she was needling him on the subject. Maybe because it irritated him, or because it was something he appeared to have no control over. Either way, she was eager to see what he’d do about it.

  With his mind elsewhere, Elgin started wiping off tables and cleaning chairs alongside of her. The jukebox ran out of requests and fell silent, leaving the bar very quiet except for the sounds of their cleaning.

  “What do you want to do tomorrow?” he asked abruptly, having found no ready answer to his dilemma. “I thought we could go down to the beach and cool off, but it’s probably standing room only this time of year.”

  “What about work and the investigation?”

  “That’s their problem, I guess. I’ve been suspended until it’s over,” he muttered, sounding both angry and resentful.

  Kelly knew that being suspended not only meant a loss of pay and a delay in his hunt for his drug trafficker, but it also carried a stigma of guilt and humiliation, whether he was guilty or not.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I’m not real proud of it.” His answer was short and clipped, and it seemed to echo through the room. He stood motionless with his back to her for a long minute, then turned to face her. “Look, I’m sorry. I’m real touchy about the whole thing. I haven’t even worked up the nerve to call my captain, to see what he has to say about it.”

  “I understand,” she said, lending him support with her compassion. Sensing that his emotions were still too raw for him to discuss the subject, she changed it. “What would you like to do tomorrow? You’re the tourist.”

  “What I want to do has nothing to do with tourism, sweetheart,” he said, grinning at her, a good-humored sparkle slowly returning to his eyes. Actually, it was more an oversexed glint, but she was glad to see it nonetheless. “But you’ve given me a good idea. Why don’t we spend the whole day being tourists? We’ll go everywhere and see everything. I’ll make all the arrangements.”

  “Why does that scare me?” she asked drolly.

  “Because,” he said, stepping close enough to rest his arms on her shoulders and buzz the end of her nose with a playful kiss. “You’re getting to know me, just like I said you would. And you’re thinking that my idea of playing tourist with you is to take you from one fancy hotel bed to another, making love all over town.” She laughed. “But if you’ll go with me, I promise to behave. We’ll see the Statue of Liberty, the Empire State Building, Times Square, the whole nine yards.”

  “And the gun stays home?”

  “Sure.”

  “Can we take a ferry ride? I love riding the ferries.”

  “We can do anything you want.” His arms slid down her back and he pulled her close. “As long as we do it together.”

&nb
sp; His kiss was like an admission ticket to all the wonders of the world. Kelly gave herself up to the awe, beauty, and excitement he created within her.

  “Are you tired?” he asked, the pulse in her throat beating against his lips, the smell of her filling his head.

  “A little.” Was her weakness due to fatigue or the way he slowly trailed sweet, sensuous kisses down her neck? Her mind was cloudy and it was hard to tell.

  “Then I’ll leave and come back early in the morning.”

  “No.” The word was involuntary. “Stay.”

  “What about Mike and Bailey?” He pulled on the black ribbon that served as her tie and loosened the first two buttons of her blouse. “The way things have been going for me lately, I’d lose in a duel.”

  It was difficult to think, much less speak with his warm mouth nuzzling her. She sighed her pleasure when his hand cupped her breast, kneading and teasing to engorge it with yearning and delight.

  “Sound sleepers,” she murmured, her eyes closed, her head reeling. “No hearing aid.”

  “What?” he said with a half-laugh, stopping his most enjoyable labors to look at her.

  “Papa’s hearing aid,” she said, even though her lips felt numb and useless. “He doesn’t sleep with it and he wouldn’t hear the end of the world without it.”

  Looking at her, her eyes full of passion and need, her body yielding and eager, was more than Baker could take. He wanted her and she was willing, more than willing, and he was going to have to walk away from her.

  At that moment, he hated his life. Why did it have to be so complicated? Why couldn’t they be two people who met and fell in love and lived happily ever after? Why did she have to be his only link to Shaw? Why did Del Rio have to be such a suspicious S.O.B. ? If he could have gotten to Shaw through Del Rio, he could take Kelly to bed and ease the pain of his wanting her with a clear conscience. If she were a little less loyal, he could…