by Leigh Duncan
“Oh, this is wonderful,” she murmured between spoonfuls. “What idiot dissed your favorite restaurant?”
For the first time since they’d met, her self-assured date looked a little out of his element. “You might know her,” he said.
Despite the warning, she prompted him. “Yes?”
“Deb Peters.”
“My real estate agent? The woman who swore I’d never have to worry about hurricanes? Who conveniently forgot to mention the storm that nearly destroyed the house she sold to Space Tech? That Deb Peters?” Her simmering distrust of the woman she once considered a potential friend morphed into full-fledged, green-tinged dislike. Stephanie grasped her wineglass, forcing herself to sip slowly when she really wanted to chug it all and ask for more.
Maybe she shouldn’t ask about first dates. Maybe she should ask about last ones.
“How long has it been since you and Debbie, you know, quit seeing each other?” She held her breath while, across the table, Brett blew out his.
“A year. Maybe more.”
She exhaled. A year was certainly long enough to get over someone so unappreciative though Stephanie felt certain she’d never forgive the woman. She knew better than to ask, but her mind latched on to the image of Brett with the tall blonde and it wouldn’t let go. There had to be others. “And since then?” she asked.
“No one,” he said firmly. His blue eyes held hers while the waiter whisked empty bowls from the table, replacing them with chilled salad plates.
“And you?” he asked. “Any ex-boyfriends going to descend from Ohio to steal you away?”
“Remember me? I lived with my parents.” The quip earned a laugh, but Brett kept looking at her, waiting for a real answer. She studied her plate where lemony vinaigrette slicked greens and red beans. The pages in her love diary were embarrassingly empty. She sighed.
“It’s been all work and no play for far too long,” she admitted slowly. “I hired on at Space Tech right out of college. Between work and getting my master’s, and work and writing my thesis, and work…” She shrugged. “I haven’t had much time for anything else.”
She frowned as a familiar tightness settled onto her shoulders. Talking about her job would ruin the whole evening if she let it, and a single glance at Brett told her what a terrible mistake that would be. Deliberately, she straightened to issue a challenge.
“Pick a topic. Anything but work. Even religion and politics are fair game. Go.”
After a pause long enough to let her know they were both thinking the same thing, amusement danced in Brett’s eyes. “Fly fishing,” he said with a grin that could disarm a bandit.
Not what she would have chosen, but she’d laid down the rules. Now she had to follow them. “I’ve always wondered, how is that different from regular fishing?”
A waggish, horrified look dropped over his features. “You’ve never been fishing? Ever?” When she shook her head, he continued. “Everyone who lives in Florida has to fish. It’s a state law. As a police officer, it’s my job to uphold the law so, unless you want me to arrest you—”
“Again?” She clutched at her heart and aimed a finger. “No shop talk, remember.”
“—I’ll have to introduce you to the sport. How about tomorrow?”
With another whole day to kill before Monday, floating down the river in a boat seemed like an excellent idea.
“Sounds good to me,” she agreed.
“Great.” Brett grinned. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”
“In the morning? That’s awfully early for the weekend,” she protested.
“It’s all part of the game.” Brett leaned back in his chair, his lips straightening as he assessed her willingness to go along with the plan.
The urge to restore his trademark smile moved Stephanie to push aside any misgivings about the hour. “Okay,” she said, brightening when he grinned.
“I’ll bring the boots,” he added.
Before she could ask why, their entrées appeared and, for the next few minutes, they were busy savoring the results of a talented chef. Between bites, they spoke of families and school and hobbies, but the conversation never did circle back to fishing before dinner was over and it was time to go. By then, Stephanie was trying to gather enough courage to ask Brett back to her place.
From a reasonable two steps behind, Brett watched Stephanie pick her way across the crushed-shell parking lot without complaining—not even once—about her shoes.
Deb had. Boy, had she ever!
He frowned at the memory. All through a dinner she’d barely touched, the rail-thin blonde had ranted about a nearly invisible scratch on one of her high heels. If he had to point to the moment that marked the beginning of the end for them, it was dinner at The Yellow Dog. Yet here he was, starting a new relationship right where the other one had crashed and burned. The thought slowed his steps.
Is that what he wanted with Stephanie, a relationship? He picked up a palm-size oyster shell and skipped it across the parking lot. This might be their first official date, but he knew they had potential. While she was independent to a fault, insisting she could handle things that he could easily take care of for her, he had to admire her spunk. She was also smart and witty, and they made each other laugh. What more could a man ask for?
A stir below his belt reminded him of exactly what else he wanted. He shrugged. Once they got to know each other better, sex with Stephanie would be as inevitable as an incoming tide. Still, he didn’t want to rush things, even if he ached to hold her.
He saw a chance to do just that and seized it as he reached past her to open the truck door. When he lifted her into his arms, her powdery floral scent filled his head until he pretended to stagger so he could hold on to her a little longer. A body like hers deserved a reward, he decided. He gave her the only one he had and stole a teasing kiss before settling her on the leather seat.
At least, he intended to steal a kiss and back off. Keeping his distance was not as easy as he’d thought it would be. He kissed her until they were both in danger of getting in over their heads right there in the parking lot. Breathless, they pulled back, and he let his eyes roam the length of her. From curls his hands wanted to lose themselves in, to sensuous curves that made every part of him ache, to the most elegant ankles he’d ever seen, she was everything he had ever wanted all rolled into one small package. Loving this girl would be easy.
Brett stepped back and closed the truck’s door. The L-word was definitely off limits for a first date, but Stephanie was different from anyone he had ever known before. So different, in fact, that he could hardly wait to introduce her to the people who watched his back. He knew the guys would be glad for him. Jake and his pals had sniffed out Deb’s self-centeredness from their first encounter and pounced on her like a pack of hungry wolves. And when that relationship had failed, they’d predicted he was doomed to date the same type of woman over and over and over. They would see how wrong they had been once they met Stephanie.
Sliding behind the wheel he asked, “How about a drink before we call it a night?”
A broad smile broke across his face when his buds at Sticks N Tips got their first look at Stephanie. She was quite an eyeful. The thought straightened his spine and filled his chest.
Since she seemed a bit overwhelmed when several of the guys muscled their way through the crowded bar to pay their respects, he draped his arm possessively about her shoulders and pulled her close enough that there would be no doubt. She was his and he was not about to share, not even with his pals on the force—especially not with his pals on the force.
“Beer?” he asked. Without waiting for an answer, he flashed the gal behind the bar two fingers before steering Stephanie toward the corner where his usual spot was empty and waiting at Jake’s table.
“Stephanie Bryant, I’d like you to meet Jake Davis, our training officer. Jake, this is Stephanie Bryant. She moved into the Henson place.”
Jake disentangled enough of himself from
Becca, his latest good-time girl, to half rise. He stretched a hand across a table littered with beer mugs and shot glasses. “Ma’am,” he said.
Brett held Stephanie close enough to feel her stiffen. He grinned, remembering her reaction the day they’d met. He couldn’t fault the reserved, “Pleasure,” she offered Jake in return, but wished he could remind her that his mentor was a senior officer. Despite some rough edges, the man deserved her respect.
As they took their seats, Jake handled the rest of the introductions, leaving Stephanie and the others to trade smiles and polite nods. The second their drinks arrived, Brett slid one of the two frosty mugs over to his date while, across the table, Jake raised his glass in salute.
“Cheers,” offered the older cop. After a deep swallow, he asked, “So, Steph-ee, where’re you from?”
Brett bit back a smile. Jake found it impossible to forget he was a cop and had just commenced Interrogation 101. A pro, the man would ferret out more information in an hour than Brett could get in a string of dates.
“It’s Stephanie, and I’m from Ohio.”
Or maybe not.
Brett traded an uneasy glance with Jake, whose presence was so intimidating that people rarely corrected him. Every man on the force knew Stephanie would have to earn the senior officer’s approval, and his misuse of her name was part of the process all the wives and girlfriends went through. The ones who lasted endured without complaint. Brett leaned in to whisper caution in his date’s ear, but Jake motioned him back.
“Ohio, huh? Waaal…” he drawled, “you’re a long way from home, Ste-fanny. What brings you down here?”
If he could, Brett would have told her to ignore the jibe, but one look at his mentor told him to stay out of the fray. Stephanie was on her own as she answered crisply, “A job transfer. I work for Space Tech.”
“Oh?” Jake’s heavy eyebrows wagged suggestively. “They couldn’t find a local girl willing to sit on the boss’ lap and take dictation?”
Beside him, Stephanie straightened until she sat primly on her cute fanny. “I am the boss, and you don’t need to be rude.”
Brett couldn’t stop himself. He lifted his mug to stare a warning over its top and set the ground rules for his date.
“Stephanie is the new head of the HR department. She’s from up north so it might be a while before she realizes we don’t take ourselves so seriously down here.” Jake’s nod of approval felt almost as good as the cold liquid that slid down Brett’s throat.
“Waaal, I think that calls for another round. Ma treat,” Jake insisted.
“Hey, Lincoln!” A voice rose above the general din. “C’mon, man. We need you back here.”
Brett twisted in his seat. At the back of the bar, a dart game was forming up. “Some other time,” he said, almost shouting to make himself heard.
From across the table came Jake’s voice of command. “Go ahead and play a game. Me and Steph-an-ie, here, will get better acquainted.”
Brett wasn’t certain which one of them he was feeding to the wolves but his response to Jake was so ingrained he was halfway out of his chair before he thought to ask permission of his date. “That okay with you, honey?”
Stephanie sipped her drink before she answered, “Sure. Honey.”
The clipped tone told him a kiss was out of the question, not that he would have offered one in front of his pals. He was content with trailing his fingers across shoulders that flinched beneath his touch. “I won’t be long,” he offered.
No use. Sharp teeth filled the smile she tossed in his direction.
Nursing a Coke—no way was he going back for the beer he’d left on the table—Brett joined the group in the back room, where the dart game was already underway. Trading good-natured digs with the players, he tried to monitor things at Jake’s table without much luck. One or another of his cop buddies always seemed to block his view. The game was tied up when Brett caught a glimpse of dark brown in his peripheral vision. He knocked back a last slug of soda and turned to face Stephanie.
“Ready?” he asked as if the arms folded securely across her chest weren’t clue enough.
She didn’t speak, merely nodded and spun into reverse.
As they passed Jake’s table, Brett eyed his pal who gave him an innocent look that was anything but.
“You okay?” he asked Stephanie once they were outside.
“Fine. I love it when my date abandons me to a game of twenty questions.”
Sarcasm was never a good sign. “What happened while I was in the back?” he asked.
“Oh, Jake was exactly what I thought he’d be—rude, insulting. Nice to be left in such good hands. Thanks for that. And you say he’s the finest officer on the force?”
He hadn’t heard Jake’s side of the story, but Stephanie’s opinion was easy enough to read. He watched as his date practically marched all the way to the truck where she scrambled into the cab before he could cup her elbow, much less anything else. Her hand shot for the radio dial where she spun the volume high enough to block out all conversation during a short ride that was so chilly it required no air-conditioning. The truck barely rolled to a stop before, with a quick, “Thanks for a nice time,” she was out of it and halfway up her sidewalk. Brett watched her hips rocket from side to side until she stepped onto her front porch.
Now what? He resisted the urge to scratch his head.
He could follow her. Ask her to talk. Fix things. He eyed the closed door at the end of the walkway. The porch light blinked out. It might be cowardly, but he knew better than to knock on that door tonight.
That left Sticks N Tips. He could drive back to the bar. See what the guys really thought of his woman. Maybe talk to Jake. Or not. If Stephanie had failed the senior officer’s interrogation, Brett’s gut told him he didn’t want to know.
Relationship or no, choosing between his gal and his pals was a choice he was not prepared to make.
Dissatisfied with both options, Brett put the truck in gear and headed home.
Sleep was impossible when you were furious, Stephanie discovered after tossing and turning for hours that seemed to stretch as endlessly as the ocean. She punched her pillow until she felt sorry for it. The tangled mess she’d made of her sheets rivaled anything she and Brett could have done to them. “Would have done to them,” she said with a sigh when she finally calmed down long enough to admit she had acted like a jerk.
She hadn’t been the only one. The bar had been full of them.
Jake was hardly a class act, but she could avoid him. Brett was the one she was worried about. Though his bad behavior hardly excused her own, she owed him an apology. She spent what was left of the night crafting one that would tell the man who was dangerously close to stealing her heart she was sorry without letting him off the hook for going all testosterone on her the moment he pulled into the parking lot of Sticks N Tips.
At five, she gave up on sleep, ran a hand through her tousled hair and stretched. Hitting the button on the alarm before it rang, she sat on the edge of her bed. Sunrise was still an hour away but the pitch-black of night had already faded to shades of gray outside her bedroom window.
Would she see him today? Or had their plans collapsed along with their date last night? Either way, the sleepless night lay behind her.
An hour later, she sat at her kitchen table, a cup of coffee growing cold at her fingertips. The morning paper was open to page three, but when the air conditioner riffled the pages, she realized she had been staring at the same article for fifteen minutes without reading a word.
Loud chimes broke her concentration.
She managed to stand without knocking her coffee cup to the floor, but that didn’t keep her knees from knocking. He was early. No doubt about that. Had his night been as sleepless as hers? She could only hope.
She glanced down at the T-shirt and shorts she wore over her bathing suit. Good thing for him, she was ready.
Okay, so her speech wasn’t quite finished.
Actually, it was two speeches in one. An apology. And a what-for. All the way through the kitchen and living room, she practiced the back half.
“I’m sorry,” she said as she pulled the door wide.
“I’m sorry,” he echoed as he pulled her into his arms.
Well, I’m glad that’s over, she thought in the split second before his lips claimed hers. His cheeks were unshaven. He tasted like coffee and breath mints. She loved the smell of him and when he stopped kissing her long enough to breathe she leaned into him and inhaled a good whiff of—
Whatever it was, she hated it. With a muffled cough, she pulled away. “What are you wearing?” she asked.
She could have written a novel in the blank look he turned on her.
“Shirt. Shorts. Zoris?” he asked, lifting one foot to display a dangling flip-flop.
“Yeah,” she said slowly. “Now, don’t get offended, but that new cologne? Let’s just say, it’s not a favorite.”
Comprehension animated Brett’s face. “It’s my special concoction of sunblock and bug spray. You’ll need it, too.”
Despite her protests, he insisted. “It’s the middle of summer. In Florida. We have bugs. The sun burns. Spray the repellant on your clothes, not on your skin.” Next, he handed her a bottle marked SPF 45. “I want us to have long lives. So you have to follow the rules. Don’t smoke. Wear your seat belt. And put on sun block when you’ll be outside. Sunburns are the pits. Plus, they give you cancer.”
Okay, so it wasn’t mushy-mushy, but it did prove he cared. She especially liked that “us” part. She applied the gooey liquid to her arms and legs, pleasantly surprised when the smell faded as it dried into an invisible barrier.
He doused her hat with bug spray and they were off.
Stephanie wrinkled her nose at the pungent smell that permeated the air as they neared the river. She tried breathing through her mouth, but the taste of rotting grass tossed ashore by Hurricane Arlene was worse than the smell.
It was so not a good day for her nose. Or her feet.
