by Nancy Warren
“Yes. Exactly.” He stepped closer to her. “I have to make a confession.”
Her pulse sped up. “What is it?” She hoped it wasn’t something bad. She really hoped it wasn’t something bad.
He said, “I was attracted to you the first time we met.”
“You were?”
“Yep. You obviously weren’t into me so I figured friends was still good.”
“I was caught up in my ridiculous fantasy.” She closed her eyes. “I was so naive.”
“Do you still just want to be friends? Or are you open to something more?”
In response, she stepped even closer to him until she could see the black flecks in his blue eyes that were staring into hers with an intensity that she felt throughout her being. She raised herself on tiptoe. She’d intended to kiss him. Somewhere along the line, though, he took over, drawing her in tight and kissing her long and hard. It was a kiss that could make a woman forget to breathe.
When he pulled away, she touched his face. “Oh, I am definitely willing to consider more.”
“Good.”
She fiddled with her car keys. “I’ve got some linens I picked up for you in the car.”
“The bedroom furniture arrived today. Do you want to come and see it?”
His gaze was tender, and she didn’t feel like speaking, maybe wasn’t able to. She just nodded.
He nodded back. Sometimes you didn’t need words.
She climbed into her car and followed him back to his place. She felt jumpy and strange, but also keenly excited. She was pretty sure they were going to do more with that bed than put linens on it. Luckily, her gym bag was in the car so she had toiletries, a few cosmetics, a toothbrush and a change of underwear—an unexpected benefit of belonging to the gym.
When she walked into his house she cried out in delight. Against the freshly painted walls rested the new furniture. Clearly the bedroom suite wasn’t the only furniture that had been delivered a day early.
“The sectional is great there. And wasn’t I right about the paint color and those black-and-white photographs? Masculine but stylish. Even the TV fits in now.”
Even though this was her business there was huge pride when her design worked out. As this one had.
“What do you think?” she asked him.
“Beautiful,” he said, not looking at the freshly painted walls or the brand-new furniture. He was looking at her.
She held the bag of linens in one hand, her gym bag and purse over the other shoulder. He walked over, took the bag from her hands. “Would you like to see the bedroom?”
“Very much.”
When they entered his bedroom, she barely noticed the decor. All she saw was that splendid Mission-style bed. Already made.
“It looks fantastic,” she said.
“I haven’t slept in it yet.”
To be the first in his bed was a wonderful thing, she decided. “New beginnings are good.”
He took her into his arms, kissed her slowly, and then he knelt and scooped her up.
“What are you doing? I weigh a ton.”
“No, you don’t.” And he laid her down on his bed.
He left the bedside lamps on, and for once, she didn’t insist on darkness. If he was brave enough to lift her, she figured he knew she had a pound or ten she’d love to get rid of. He hadn’t groaned or toppled under her weight. He didn’t even seem to be breathing hard. She supposed he could handle her.
He took his time undressing her. When her full breasts spilled out as he took off her bra, he made a sound of pleasure and reached down to pop a plump nipple in his mouth. She felt lazy, content to be toyed with, as he learned her body, explored her hills and valleys, coaxing her slowly until she didn’t feel lazy anymore. He slipped a hand between her thighs, drove her up higher until she crested the first peak crying out against his mouth.
“You’re dressed,” she said, when she could focus once more.
“Not for long.”
She watched him, taking as much pleasure in eyeing his body as he had in revealing hers.
“You don’t care at all that I have a few extra pounds on me, do you?”
“I like you exactly the way you are.”
She sighed with deep contentment. Then she reached for him. “Let me show you what a woman with a few extra pounds can do with them.”
18
ROB DECIDED TO BE COOL. So Hailey had a date with a smarmy twit who didn’t like cops? It wasn’t like she would go back to his hotel room or something on the first date.
He upped the weight on the leg press and powered through a few more reps. He didn’t even think about the pain, only about getting strong again. Getting his mobility back.
Rob needed his quad muscles to be completely functional. Not only did he need to run a mile in six, he needed to be strong enough to run away from Fremont, from his memories, from Bellamy House, and most of all, from Hailey.
It bothered him even to admit how that woman had burrowed under his skin. No, when he thought about it, she hadn’t burrowed at all. She’d blasted into his system with the same impact as that bullet. And there were moments when he thought the damage she’d done wouldn’t heal as fast. Or be as relatively painless.
“You using that bench?” a gym-jock grunted at him, indicating the bench where he’d rested his towel.
He shook his head. Kept pushing. Five more reps. He’d do five more reps then he’d take a break. As beads of sweat slid down his temple, he hunched a shoulder and wiped it onto his T-shirt. Three more. He could do it. He’d push through the pain.
The sooner he was out of here the better. He’d head back for New York. Pick up the pieces of his normal nomadic life. He tried to picture a reunion with Romona, but the fantasy wouldn’t come. He could only think about Hailey. How he’d started out enjoying the challenge, the teasing to get the woman into his bed and the utter mind-blowing passion they’d experienced together once he had.
She’d warned him that she was afraid to fall in love and he’d tried to respect that, backing off out of courtesy to her.
Okay, they’d fallen into bed one more time but neither had planned that. He couldn’t stop thinking about those hours in that four-poster and how everything had felt so utterly right. A final puzzle piece had fitted into place. Click.
One more rep. Every muscle in his body was bunched as he pushed up against the weight. It felt as if he were lifting a million pounds with his ankle while someone was stabbing this thigh with a hot poker.
The irony was they’d both worried about her heart. Who’d given a rat’s ass about his?
Nobody, that’s who. And now look at him. Trying to build up enough strength to run.
Because the truth was it wasn’t Hailey who was in trouble here. It was him.
Mr. Lighthearted, the traveling guy who never stayed in one place long enough to get caught. And here he was, as caught as any man could be.
He was so in love with that woman he ached with it. But that didn’t change who he was.
He hobbled off the machine, grabbed his towel and dried his wet face.
And that didn’t change who she was.
Nobody knew better than he did that love wasn’t enough.
He showered and returned home, driving Gran’s Buick down streets as familiar as his own memories. He was pulling into the drive when his cell phone shrilled.
“I ran a mile in eight minutes yesterday,” he said.
“Hello to you, too.”
“Merv?” He checked his cell again. “What’s my agent doing calling from my editor’s office?”
“We were talking about you.”
“I know he wants me back. I’m ready. Really.”
“Rob, I’m not the HR department. Gary and I were talking about your photojournal.”
“Photojournal?”
“That’s what we’re calling it. My Neighborhood. A photojournal. We’re both excited about the possibilities. You’ve captured how people have parallel interes
ts and concern wherever they live, whatever their relative wealth or political situation. It works because you always come back to your own hometown. Fremont becomes the central character in the book. And the photos are some of your best work.”
“Oh, right. The book idea.” He’d almost forgotten he’d sent Merv the photos and idea.
“More than a book idea. Gary and I talked about doing something interesting. World Week’s parent company, Anvil Media, also has a book publishing arm, as you know.”
“Sure.”
“Gary and I are discussing a book that also has a magazine and website component.”
He shut the engine off. Got out. Wandered toward the mountain ash tree. “Not sure I follow.”
He wanted his grandmother to hear this. He settled himself on the cool ground, his back leaning against the tree trunk, his throbbing leg stretched out before him.
“It’s simple. Anvil publishes the coffee-table book, you agree to do a number of features for the magazine based on the same idea. Cross publicity for the book and the magazine. Maybe a few extra pieces exclusive to the web.”
“I don’t do features. I cover hard news.”
“Until a few weeks ago, you didn’t write coffee-table books either.”
“What kind of money are we talking?”
Merv told him. His eyebrows rose. He repeated the sum for his grandmother’s benefit. “That’s a nice chunk of change.”
“You bet. Think about it. Gary says you’ll still be a hard-news guy but this gives you a little more breathing room. Might stop you from burning out.”
Or getting bored. He nearly jumped out of his skin. He could have sworn his grandmother’s voice had uttered those words.
And, as so often, he thought she might be right.
He wondered how much of his travel bug had been simple boredom? The truth was, since he’d been home this time he hadn’t felt bored once. With Hailey trying to sell the house to hordes of the wrong types and My Neighborhood to keep him busy and wanting to get Hailey into bed, enjoying the greatest sex of his life when he did, then wishing he could get her back into his bed, he hadn’t had much time to be idle.
He patted the ground where tulips would bloom come spring and he wouldn’t be here to see them.
Unless.
He realized he needed to tell Hailey his good news.
He called her.
“Hi, Rob.”
“Hi. I want to talk to you about something.” He didn’t want to tell her his news over the phone. He wanted to watch her face, to share his excitement. “How would it be if I take you for dinner?”
“When?”
“Tonight.”
There was a tiny pause. “I can’t tonight. I already have a date.”
His good mood dimmed as though a light had been switched off. “A date.”
“Yes.”
“Would this date be with Dennis Thurgood?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t think you should go. I don’t trust that guy.”
“You met him for five minutes. You don’t know a thing about him.”
“I saw him. When you were showing him the house. He turned his head when a cop car went by.”
This time the pause was longer. “Were you spying on us?”
“No. Not exactly. I happened to be across the street at the park.”
“With a telescope?”
“A telephoto lens. It was purely coincidence.”
“And through studying a man through a camera lens for a couple of minutes you’ve decided...what exactly?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “How he turned his head as the cruiser went by looked suspicious. An innocent man doesn’t care if a cop gets a good look at him.”
“That’s it? That’s your entire reason for telling me not to go out with a man? There might be a million reasons why he turned his head. Maybe he thought he was going to sneeze. Or he was checking out the state of the siding. He is interested in buying the house, you know.”
“I have a bad feeling.”
“You’re paranoid.”
He traced the words of that poem on the plaque she’d bought. “I was right about your friend and the Nigerian scammer.”
“Even she figured that one out.”
“Don’t go.”
“Give me a better reason why I shouldn’t go.”
“I want to talk to you. I—I...” What was the use?
She sighed. “I need to get going. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“Where’s he taking you? On this date?”
“So you can turn up with your telephoto lens? I don’t think so,” she said, ending the call.
* * *
ROB SHOWERED, CHANGED INTO a clean pair of jeans and a gray sweater and decided that if it was date night here in Seattle he didn’t feel like spending it sitting around in the house feeling sorry for himself with nothing better to do than imagine Hailey out with Mr. Slick.
He didn’t feel like hooking up with one of his old friends.
There was a neighborhood watering hole not far from here where he could sit at the bar, enjoy a beer, get something to eat and watch the Mariners.
He looked at the keys to the Buick and decided that one beer might too easily stretch into three. He’d leave the car and grab a cab.
Rain was falling when he stepped out. Ridiculous city. Always dripping. Who’d want to live in a rainforest? Not him.
He gave directions and the driver said, “Going to the bar to watch the game, huh?”
“Absolutely.”
And he was treated to the cabbie’s views on the Mariners. He experienced a strange sense of disconnection. He could so easily be one of those guys who followed teams and put money on fantasy leagues and whatever men who lived in one place for extended periods of time did.
He’d never missed that sort of life because he’d never envisioned it. Still, as the cab splashed its way through the wet streets, he began to warm up to the idea.
Hell, it was a cold, wet night and the idea of some male bonding over a game sounded good.
He paid the driver and entered the noisy place. There was one seat left at the bar. Empty because it was closest to the big screen and he’d have to crane his neck to see. Since his other choice was standing and his leg hurt like a son of a bitch, he took the barstool.
After ordering a beer, he started to watch the game. Groans, shouts of encouragement, cheers punctuated the play. They were the people of his neighborhood, he supposed, if he’d ever really had a neighborhood. They were professionals with ties bunched in their pockets, stopping to watch some baseball on their way home from work. They were soccer moms and dads. The plumbers and electricians he’d call if something needed fixing. They were groups of guys who liked to hang out together and a few singles like him who didn’t want to sit home alone.
Especially not when the woman he’d fallen in love with was out on the town with another guy.
He took a pull of his beer, cold and smooth going down his throat. He rubbed the back of his neck, wishing the prickling sensation would go away. Hailey was fine. Maybe she had terrible taste in dates but she wasn’t in a jungle surrounded by rebel forces wanting to harm her. She was an intelligent woman in a big city.
She’d be fine.
He tried to concentrate on the game but he couldn’t stop thinking about her. About everything she was communicating to him by dating another man.
And what had he communicated to her? By stepping out of the way and letting her go?
Maybe that’s what his irritation was about. It wasn’t her in danger, it was him. In danger of losing the most amazing woman he’d ever met.
“What a fool!” he suddenly blurted aloud.
“I know, man,” the chunky guy beside him said. “He totally shoulda seen that comin.”
They both had their eyes on the screen. “Yeah,” Rob agreed. “He should have seen it coming.”
Tomorrow, he’d call her.
And what?
/>
Was he really thinking about changing his life dramatically? For a woman?
His pocket buzzed and he realized it was his cell, which he’d put on vibrate. He glanced at the call display. “Gary? Why you calling so late?” He calculated it must be after eleven in New York.
“Where are you?”
“What? Oh, in a bar.”
“Go somewhere quiet. Now.”
19
GARY WASN’T A MAN to give orders without serious reason. Every nerve in Rob’s body went into heightened alert. He rose from the bar, tossed money on the counter and walked out to the relative quiet of the street.
“I’m outside. What is it?”
“Those pics you sent me? Of the guy you wanted checked out?”
His fight-or-flight response was on full alert. Only there was no flight. It was all fight. “What about him?”
“Is he still in Seattle?”
“He left for a while but he’s back. Why?”
“Your instincts are the best I’ve ever seen. Dennis Thurgood is a person of extreme interest to Interpol, the CIA and the DEA.”
“Holy shit. What’d he do?”
“He’s a real bad dude. Drugs and arms mostly. He almost got caught in a big bust in Paris a few months ago. Nobody knew he’d snuck into the States. The best guess is he’s trying to hide out.”
Rob thought of the fact the man had said he wouldn’t need a mortgage. “You can add money-laundering to the list.”
“Any idea where Thurgood is now?”
He wanted to punch something. “Out with my girl.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.” Fear, anxiety, anger churned in his gut and he had to tamp them down or he was no good to anybody. He forced himself to calm down. Think.
“They were going for dinner. I’ll find out where.”
“You call me when you find out where they are and I’ll relay the information to the right people.”
“Yeah.”
“Do not be the hero. Let the pros handle it.”
He didn’t waste time arguing. There was no time. He ended the call.
Hit the button that would connect him with Hailey. “Come on,” he urged. “Pick up.”
She didn’t pick up. Instead, he got her chirpy message telling him that she would love to talk to him but unfortunately couldn’t take his call right now, blah, blah, blah. He stood there, watching as raindrops hit puddles and when the tone sounded for him to leave a message, he said: “Hailey. I need to talk to you. It’s urgent.”
