Francis, squinting, looked from Paul to Kayla, her shrewd gaze taking in way too much. “How do I order me up one of them?”
A laugh bubbled up from inside her, and Kayla was relieved to have an outlet for the silliness of her reaction and the memories it evoked. “Call Hank,” she said, and laughed along with the other woman.
Paul stepped back from the automatic door, allowing it to close. He figured he was better off waiting for Kayla outside. The grocery store was too bright, too public, his instant physical reaction to the sight of her way too strong.
This was bad. This was really bad. Just one look at the woman and his organ was at attention and saluting. Damn. It hadn’t happened like this for him since he’d been a randy youngster who seemed to go around with a hard-on every waking hour of the day.
Tomorrow, he promised himself. Friday night. A mere twenty-four hours away. Come hell or high water, he would get himself back down here to Susanville and take care of his body’s needs with a willing woman who knew the score. It was becoming a necessity.
Although he wondered if just addressing his raging hormones would do the trick. There was something more going on here than just the simple urge for sex, even if he didn’t want to admit it. What Kayla aroused in him wasn’t only physical; it was something deeper, something that concerned the heart.
He brushed the thought aside as Kayla pushed her loaded cart through the door. Taking over, he hefted all four sacks out of the cart and walked with her toward the car. She popped the trunk and he loaded the stuff.
Then he opened the driver’s side car door for her, which earned him a smile. Cocking her head to one side, she said, “I had two martinis with dinner. Would you like to drive?” She held out the keys.
Her offer took him by surprise, rendering him momentarily speechless. Then he managed to say, “I…uh, I haven’t driven in quite a while.”
“I’m told it comes right back to you, like riding a bicycle.”
He frowned, not quite sure how to take her offer. Was she being kind out of some misplaced sense of charity? “But, this is such a valuable car.”
“Which is why it’s such a pleasure to drive.” She kept her gaze steady on his, waiting for him.
Idiot, he told himself. Do it.
“Thanks,” he said gruffly, then added, his mouth turning up at the corners, “I’d like that.”
“Paul,” she said, her eyes wide with surprise, “you actually smiled.”
“Sorry, I forgot myself.”
“And you made a joke, too. Will wonders never cease?”
Making a mock-disgusted face at her teasing, he took the keys and walked her around to open the passenger door for her.
“Not only do you smile,” she observed as she got in, “you open doors. Be still my heart.”
“My father insisted. Some women like it, some don’t.”
One thin eyebrow arched. “And sometimes I like it, sometimes I don’t.”
“Which is why men get crazy,” he countered, earning him a delighted laugh.
Paul, too, was surprised by his behavior. He was actually bantering. Trading quips. The whole thing was making him feel light-headed, nearly…happy.
He got in, adjusted the seat and the mirrors, all the while brimming inside with excitement. Kayla wasn’t simply being charitable; it was as though she actually liked him and wanted him to have a gift. Yeah, it was just to let him drive her car, that was all, but it seemed somehow more important than that.
Would each small adaptation to his freedom feel as momentous as the events of this evening had been? he couldn’t help wondering. Probably not, he reflected with some rueful sadness. Eventually, he would begin to take the small, ordinary things of life for granted and forget how special they were. Which was a shame.
The machine drove just like it looked—sleek, smooth and expensive. It took the turns as though it had been programmed to do so without any human aid. And it was quiet—no engine noise, just a satisfied hum.
Paul sighed contentedly. “Nice,” he told Kayla.
“Yes,” she agreed, then turned to face him. “So, did you accomplish what you wanted?”
“Excuse me?”
“In Susanville. At the library. You said you had business there.”
“Oh. Yes. I did some on-line research. For my case.”
“Oh. Well, good.”
“And you?”
Now it was her turn to say, “Excuse me?”
“Did you accomplish what you wanted to?”
She nodded. “I had dinner with a friend, Lou McAndrews.”
Lou. A friend. A male friend. Paul felt his good mood plummet. A friend, she’d said. Named Lou. Men and women could be friends, so they said. Although that hadn’t been his experience. Not unless the guy was gay or blind or deeply in love with someone else. Otherwise, there was always the sex thing—acted on or not—that came between them and true friendship.
He pondered this as, on the outskirts of Susanville, the lights disappeared; as they climbed up the mountain, the only illumination came from translucent bumps dotted along the broken white line separating the two lanes. Many of those were missing. Winter snowstorms and the after-plowing ripped out eighty percent of them each year, and they were slow to be replaced. They drove in near blackness, a pale, three-quarter moon overhead, headlight beams alone lighting the road ahead, the towering trees on the side of the road, the shadows cast by the night.
They lapsed into an easy silence, broken when Paul turned out of a sharp curve and came upon a form appearing in the headlights. At once, he slammed on the brakes. The machine responded perfectly, stopping mere inches from a deer.
“Oh,” Kayla said with a quick, indrawn breath. “How lovely.”
A deer caught in the headlights. It was a common catch-phrase, Paul knew, but now, as he gazed at the animal staring back at them, at its oversize ears and long, graceful neck, its small, feminine face and large, dark eyes, something stirred inside him. He was witnessing a creature of the wild. In person. Not passively observing it on a TV nature show.
His reaction made him choke up and he had to swallow. Damn. His emotions were all over the place this evening, and he had to get a grip on himself. He flashed the brights, which brought the deer out of her trance. She loped across the road and disappeared into the trees.
He drove on, more cautiously now. When he pulled up in front of Hank’s Cragsmont hardware store he put the car in Park. “This is where I get off.”
“You live here, with Hank?”
“No.” He draped his left arm over the steering wheel, turned to face her. In the light from the town’s single street lamp, her skin looked porcelain, ghostly. “In the back,” he told her, “behind the shop, Hank has his own house and a couple of cabins for his new recruits.”
“A cabin. How nice.”
He shrugged. “It’s just a room.”
“Does it have a kitchen?”
“Nope, just one small room, a bath, a hot plate. It’s fine, trust me.”
She hesitated, bit her lip, then said, “Look, I know it’s none of my business, but can’t you go back? To your old job, I mean.”
“To the Albany police force? Hardly. Nothing’s been disproved. To them, I’m still a dirty cop.”
“Oh.”
Feeling somehow invisible in the car’s dark interior, he allowed his gaze to roam her face, taking in the planes of her cheekbones, the softness around her mouth, the fullness of her lower lip, and he felt that same, now-familiar yearning toward her.
“So, then,” she continued, “do you have plans? I mean for the future. I’m sorry, I know this is none of my business, I’m just so curious about you.”
He liked that she wanted to know about him. The feeling was mutual. “It’s okay,” he assured her. “After I get this case cleared up, then I’ll be able to think about what I’ll do next.”
She nodded. “Yes, of course. That makes sense.” She turned her head and gazed front, at the blackness be
yond.
He waited, studied her profile. Did she have more questions? As far as he was concerned, at this moment he could talk to her all night. There was something so intimate about the darkened car, the quiet night, the mountains surrounding them.
God, how he wanted to touch her. To stroke her cheek, as she’d stroked his earlier. And not just her cheek. Other parts of her, too.
All the other parts of her.
He was by nature a man used to being the aggressor when it came to women, and most of them liked that. But he wasn’t certain that was the right move in this instance, or if he should even be contemplating it. The situation was unique. Employee and employer, rich widow and penniless ex-con.
In the stillness of the night, as he studied her face, he felt the air in the car filling with something subtle yet rich. Nothing he could put his finger on, but it was there. As though she was aware of the same change in the atmosphere, she turned her head, and her eyes met his. Their gazes locked. Time seemed suspended. He leaned in toward her, watched her face, deciding it was time to just test the damn waters.
Then, from somewhere nearby, a dog barked. Loudly and aggressively. The noise snapped him out of whatever spell he’d been under. Shaking his head to clear it, Paul said, “I guess it’s time to go.” He opened the car door, adding gruffly, “Thanks for the lift.”
He put one foot on the ground but was stopped by the sound of her voice. “Paul?”
He turned his body and looked at her. “Yeah?”
“Can I ask you a favor?”
“Sure.”
“I keep telling myself I’ll be fine…but, well, will you go back to the house with me? Check around?”
Disgusted with himself, he knocked the heel of his hand against the side of his head. “Of course. I should have thought of that myself.”
He swung his leg back into the car, closed the door and drove them the rest of the way up the mountain.
Kayla’s mind was in disarray. She was such a hypocrite! Earlier in the day, Paul had offered to spend the night. She’d turned him down because that “man the protector of the little woman” attitude that was so ingrained in alpha males turned her off. And Paul Fitzgerald was most definitely an alpha male.
Now here she was, terrified to go home to a dark house and seeking that very same strength that had been anathema to her hours earlier.
The truth was…
What was the truth?
That she found him sexier than any man she’d ever known? Yes. That he could still terrify her with his simmering rage? Yes again. That just a moment ago he’d seemed on the verge of kissing her and she’d been on the verge of welcoming it? One more time, yes.
Welcome to the grown-up world of ambivalence and ambiguity. Welcome to a world where there were no easy answers or solutions. Not even any easy questions.
Such as what was she going to do about these feelings she was developing for Paul Fitzgerald? What should she do about them?
At the house, Paul unloaded the groceries, then dealt with a furiously barking Bailey defending his kitchen by getting down on his haunches and offering his hand to sniff. “Hey, boy, remember me? I’m a friend.”
Kayla smiled at the picture. Such a big man, such a little dog. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, there was gentleness inside Paul Fitzgerald, and that was the part of him that called to her more than anything.
After he’d thoroughly checked the house and the surrounding brush, and reported all was well, he told her, “I’ll head out now.”
“How?”
“The way I usually do. I’ll walk.”
“Nonsense.”
He seemed taken aback by her adamant response. “Have you changed your mind? Do you want me to stay the night? I offered before, and I think it would be a good—”
“No,” she interrupted. “God, no!” Less adamantly, she said, “I mean, take my car.”
“Absolutely not.”
“I will not have you giving up all this time, working for me off the clock, hiking down the hill and back up again in a few hours. I absolutely insist.”
He frowned and she could see that her argument made sense to him. Still he said nothing.
“What’s the problem?”
As he shook his head, he expelled a breath. “What if something happens and you need to get away?”
“I’m locking the doors. I’ll be fine.”
“But what if something happens to the car? Another deer? A skunk, a drunken driver?”
“That’s what insurance is for. Please, Paul. Take the car, come back in the morning. Win-win, as the saying goes.”
After another moment, he nodded. “Okay.”
She walked him out to the Mercedes, Bailey trotting along after them. When they got there, she handed him the keys again and smiled. “Good night, then.”
He gave her another long, searching look, like the one they’d exchanged in the car in front of Hank’s. It was as though they were on the tail end of their first date and he was waiting for some signal from her.
A signal that it was all right to kiss her good-night.
High school again, she thought, her emotions all over the place. Total and complete juvenile-fantasy time, reliving something she’d never lived in the first place.
“Turn on all the lights, okay?” Paul whispered.
“Good idea,” she whispered back, then nodded and turned to leave. Out of nowhere, an idea zinged into her head, and she turned back and voiced it before considering the consequences. “Paul?”
“Yeah?”
She leaned back against the car. “There’s another little house on the property, through the trees near the edge of the mountain. Did you notice it?”
What are you doing? a voice screamed in her head, but she ignored it.
He, too, leaned back against the car so they stood side by side instead of facing each other. “The shack down that little hill?”
“Yes. It’s called the ‘grandpa’ cabin, because over the years, various elderly members of Walter’s family lived there in summers, most recently Walter’s father. I never met him.” Now that she was making the suggestion, it made a lot of sense, and the words fairly tumbled from her mouth. “It’s not in great shape, but it can be fixed up enough to be habitable. And you have at least another week or two of repairs, and I hate to think of you having to hike up there in the mornings and hike back down at night. I was going to offer to pick you up, but maybe this would work out better. There’s even a little kitchen there. I don’t know.” She took a breath, slanted a sideways look at him. “Are you interested?”
She watched his profile in the weak moonlight. So stern, so unsmiling. The Cherokee ancestors ruled.
He took quite a while before he shook his head. “No.”
“Why?”
He pushed himself away from the car, moved to stand right in front of her. He rested his broad hands against the car, one on either side of her head, his arms bracketing her, his body close, oh so close.
“Because of this,” he growled, and lowered his head to capture her mouth with his.
Chapter 6
There was nothing subtle about the kiss. Paul’s lips branded hers with their searing heat, taking savage possession. At once, he thrust his tongue inside and stroked all the sensitive areas there—the roof of her mouth, her gum line, the soft skin behind her teeth—before pulling at her tongue with the force of a riptide, bringing it into his mouth.
Kayla heard the sounds in his throat, the sounds of a man deeply, sexually drawn to a woman, and, as though running on automatic, her body responded. Long-dormant senses were reawakened, brought to instant life. Grabbing the back of his head with both her hands, she met his tongue, his lips, his passion, with equal fervor.
If he’d been aggressive in plundering her mouth, now his entire body responded to her tacit agreement to proceed. He pressed his taut body to hers, crushing her against the car’s hard surface. His breathing became a rhythmic rasp and she could feel him, all
of him. The sheer brute strength of him, the rock-hard firmness of his muscles, and the heavy fullness between his legs pressing against her stomach. At first, she found it thrilling, that she could arouse so much passion so quickly, and she reveled in it, feeling as though something wanton in her soul had been set free.
Then, something changed. The passion, it didn’t feel right. It felt…impersonal, as though she were merely a convenience.
Memories of another time, of a different, equally insistent male, assailed her. Now a sensation akin to panic arose in her chest, choking off her breath. Kayla shut down, unable to respond anymore.
She removed her arms from around his neck and instead pushed at his chest, trying to move him away from her. The pressure of his unrelenting aggression was too much for her; she desperately needed oxygen.
But he didn’t seem to notice, or care, didn’t move away. She tried to close her mouth, tried to avert her head. He responded by becoming more insistent, pressing harder against her.
Sheer, unadulterated terror assailed her; her heart was beating so hard, she knew she was close to blacking out. With all the strength she could muster, she fisted her hands and pounded on his shoulders. It surprised him just enough to ease up on the pressure, enabling her to manage to say, “No! Paul, please, stop!”
In the next instant, he’d stepped away from her, shaking his head, wiping his mouth.
Nearly crying with the panic that had enveloped her, she gasped, “You’re…too hungry. You’re scaring me.” It was nearly impossible to get the words out, her chest was heaving so with exertion.
“I’m sorry.” He, too, was panting heavily. “I’m an idiot. I shouldn’t have—”
“No, it’s not that,” she interrupted.
The look on his face was so miserable with shame, she found herself actually wanting to comfort him, even as her terrified response was only just beginning to recede. “It’s not you. It’s me.”
He rubbed one big hand over his face, once, twice, then shook his head. “No, no, it’s me. I am too hungry. It’s been so long. I mean, I haven’t…” He heaved another huge exhalation. “Not since…” Again leaving the sentence unfinished, he continued to shake his head.
Whispers in the Night Page 9
