“Do up your buttons and go to bed. I’ll sleep on the couch.”
Her saccharine smile wobbled on the edges as she stood, a bit unsteady. She balanced herself with her hands on the table before kicking off her heels. “What, chickening out, McQuade? There’s still half the bottle left.”
“Being sensible.”
“Tsk tsk. But I’m the sensible one, remember?”
It was a real job not to get up from his chair and take her in his arms. He remembered exactly how sweet and soft she could be. But he couldn’t. He was the one that had to remain in control. He wasn’t helpless anymore—this had to be on his terms. It had been many years since he’d let anyone call the shots in his life, and he sure wasn’t going to let Ella—beautiful or not—do it again.
“Not at this moment, you’re not.”
She wobbled and he stood quickly, reaching out and gripping her arm to steady her. “Jeez. You didn’t have that much.”
She turned brown eyes on him, sorrowful and long lashed. They were like a punch straight to his gut. “I don’t drink bourbon anymore.”
He closed his eyes. Lord, what was he going to do with her? He’d seen her across the bar and he’d damn well wanted to teach her a lesson. He’d been waiting a long time for her to finally get the courage to show up, to end their union with a little respect. He was the one holding the cards. So why was he finding it so difficult?
“Besides,” she continued. “I paid two thouzzand dollars for fordy-eight hours of Devin McQuade. Scooter Brown said so.”
He caught the slur. “You just did it to get me to sign the divorce papers.” It helped slightly to remember she’d come with her own agenda.
“Well, I’ve got you now. What shall I do with you? You’re at my beck and call, remember.” She ran a fingernail down his arm, making a shiver race down his spine.
Beck and call indeed. His blood surged at the innuendo. Why now? She hadn’t sent papers for a few years. Was it something…someone back in Denver making her come all this way? A boyfriend? The thought did nothing to cool his heels. It only served to resurrect some buried territorial instinct where she was concerned.
After the last time he’d sent the courier away, he’d thought she’d given up. That had been nearly two years ago, so what had changed? Why else would she be here, if not to free herself up for some other guy? He clenched his teeth. A husband was a heck of a skeleton in the closet, wasn’t it? He wondered if the new guy had any idea Devin even existed.
Or maybe she’d heard about his change in circumstances and wanted to profit from it. They’d never signed a pre-nup. At eighteen and poor as church mice, there’d been no need.
She was a reporter. It wouldn’t have been that hard, he realized. For a moment he dismissed the notion. The old Ella wouldn’t have considered it. But he wasn’t sure he knew this new person hanging off his arm. Perhaps all this guff about the cabin and him never moving forward was just a cover. Perhaps she knew all about him and what he’d done with his life, and she was after half of everything. In this age of technology, it was difficult to believe she didn’t know about DMQ. All it would have taken was one Google search to figure it all out.
He tried to turn her and steer her to the bedroom. Good Lord, she was going to have a head on her in the morning. He hadn’t meant for her to get this tipsy. Of course, she was a little bit of a thing. Compact, a bundle of energy and passion. Her breast grazed his hand and he gritted his teeth. If she hated him now, she’d really despise him in the morning if they slept together. Almost as much as he’d hate himself. He was in control. It was time she knew that. If she thought she’d get what she came for easily, she had another thing coming.
He’d take what he wanted first.
“Dev?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re so tall. You know that, right?”
He smiled. She could make it so hard to hate her, especially when she used that soft, slightly plaintive tone like she had to have it or she’d just die. “Yeah, rumor has it.”
“No, I mean really tall. Tall like women like their men to be tall. So that we have to tip our head back and look way up.” She sighed, her sex-kitten eyelids drifting half-shut. “Sexy tall.”
“Shut up, Ell.” A muscle ticked in his jaw and in another strategic location. If she kept looking at him that way he was going to find it very difficult to put her in bed and walk away. But he’d be damned if he’d give in to her tonight. No matter what it cost him.
They took two steps.
“Dev?”
He sighed.
“Yes, Ell?”
She gripped his other arm so she was facing him, looking up at him with her dark eyes and lips red and slightly puffy, ripe to be kissed. He swallowed, hard. God, how he’d loved her.
She did it then, standing up on her tiptoes, melding her mouth to his, the flavor of the bourbon seducing them tongue-to-tongue. His mouth opened in an instinctive reaction to feeling hers on it. He lifted one hand and cupped her head, sending the prim twist askew, hairpins dropping to the floor. Her breasts were firm against his chest and she let go briefly to tug at the hem of his T-shirt.
“Take this off,” she murmured, pulling the hem up over his abs. “Not in front of the bar. Not for Katie McGrew.” She said the other woman’s name with just enough venom for Dev to enjoy the surprising fact she was jealous. “Take it off for me.”
For her. The words fired him up and he reached behind his head, grabbing at the collar and pulling it over in one swift movement. This much. He’d allow this much. He’d let her get a good hard reminder of what she’d thrown away. But no more. They didn’t dare go any further.
Her fingers trailed down over his skin, the sensitive skin of his ribs, down his shoulder and to his elbow. “Mmm.”
He slid his hand over her blouse, allowing himself one gratifying handful as he kissed her fully. Despite the Jim Beam or the years that had passed, her taste was as familiar to him as the smell of sweetgrass. Ella. His Ella. He kept his mouth fused to hers as he blindly undid the buttons of her blouse, filling his hands with her breasts once the fabric fell away. Her hand slid around to cup his bottom through his jeans.
A murmur sounded deep in her throat and he knew he had to stop, reminded himself that sex right now would only make things worse. He couldn’t afford to spend Saturday dealing with post-coital fallout. She’d blame him for…what? There would be something, he was sure, and it would be all his fault and none of hers. No, tonight he’d leave her wanting more. He was the one with the self-control here. He’d get her to damn near ache for him, the way he’d ached for her for months after she’d abandoned him. And then maybe he’d sign her precious papers. After his lawyer’d looked at them. His terms, he reminded himself. She owed him that.
It took all his resolve, but he backed away, leaving her standing stunned and utterly beautiful.
“Go to bed, Ella.” He pushed her towards the single bedroom. “If you don’t, you’ll hate yourself in the morning far worse than you hate me right now.”
She turned and stared up at him with dazed, hurt eyes. He couldn’t bear for her to argue, so he walked out into the cool September air, letting the screen door slap behind him.
***
Banging. Someone was hammering something, and each sound wave was a shock to her brain.
Oh God.
Ella rolled to her back and closed her eyes. She was in Dev’s bed, the sheet twisted sideways and the comforter up to her chin. As her legs twisted in the cotton, she realized she was in her underwear. How had that happened? Had she undressed herself or…or had Devin had to help? Why couldn’t she remember?
Groaning, she pressed a hand to her forehead and rolled over, away from the light. Her blouse and skirt were in a crumpled clump on the floor beside the bed. Slowly bits and pieces of last night filtered back into her throbbing brain. Arguing. Then doing the shots. And then…
She sat straight up in the bed and groaned as all the blood rushed forward a
nd suddenly down. She clasped her hands to her aching head. She’d kissed him. More than once. And she’d had her fingers on his skin. And he’d had his fingers on hers.
But they hadn’t slept together, of that she was sure. She sighed heavily, relief sluicing through her. That would have been a big mistake. But she also remembered it was Dev who had sent her to bed like a naughty child and she wasn’t sure the humiliation of that wasn’t just as bad. At least she’d had the wherewithal to undress herself. That much she remembered as her brain began functioning again.
“Drink this.”
His voice, deep with a bit of gravel in it, came from the doorway. He leaned against the jamb with a shoulder, holding out a mug with steam coming off it.
“Coffee?” The aroma wafted across the room. Now that she could live with.
“Yeah.” He pushed himself away from the door just as she realized the blankets were down around her hips and she was sitting there, still in the bra she’d worn last night. She went to grab the covers, but his sideways grin made her hands stop. There was no sense playing modest now. No sense playing shy. She was supposed to be a modern woman, after all. And the bra was far more modest than the bikini she’d worn in St. Lucia last year.
Dev had seen all of her lots of times. But it didn’t stop the odd feeling of shyness at being in his bed in nothing but her skivvies.
“You need something for your head? You’re not looking so good.” His hand reached out and touched her mop of hair and she cringed. “Is it bad?” He sounded genuinely concerned. The jerk.
She wanted to reach out and throttle him, but that would take physical effort, and sitting here scowling was far more preferable to collapsing in a post-drunken heap. “Yeah, it’s bad. So thanks for the coffee.”
“I brought your bag in from your car. I thought you might like to brush your teeth.”
“Thank you, Dev.” This politeness and courtesy was almost as nerve-wracking as being at each other’s throats. It certainly threw her more off balance. She only had to stay until tomorrow and he’d give her what she wanted. Clearly, sweet talking over a few drinks was not the correct approach. A blush crept hotly up her cheeks as she remembered how horribly she’d failed at that strategy. Instead she’d practically thrown herself at him. She was no better than one of those floozies at the bar last night who’d whistled and catcalled when he’d taken his shirt off.
Today she’d have to try something different, and try to keep this happy little reunion short. Above all, there couldn’t be a repeat of last night’s behavior. Maybe today straight shooting was the way to go.
“I appreciate the coffee, but you don’t have to be nice to me.”
“Is there some reason I shouldn’t be?”
There was an edge to his voice she hadn’t ever heard before. She could easily list a dozen reasons and proceeded to name the top contenders. “Because I left you within two months of our marriage and I’m here for a divorce?”
His expression soured. “There is that. But then…I am at your beck and call for another thirty-six hours.”
“I didn’t realize butler service was part of the deal.”
“Just thought I’d keep you in the style you’re accustomed to,” he jabbed, heading for the door. “Oh, and breakfast is almost ready.”
The thought of food made her stomach lurch and she stopped the mug on the way to her lips. “Breakfast?”
He laughed in response to her weak question. “You’ll only feel worse with nothing on your stomach, Ell. The liquor will stew in there for hours. Trust me.” He looked back over his shoulder but the smile was gone. “I learned the hard way.”
She got the feeling he was talking about more than a few nights out with the boys, and stared at the empty doorway. What did he mean he’d learned the hard way? They’d snuck down to the river with a contraband bottle now and then as teenagers, but he’d never been a drunk. She wondered if her leaving had left more of an impression than she thought. He’d never come after her, and she’d assumed he was ambivalent about the whole thing. But clearly not. Had he attempted to drown his sorrows?
It didn’t matter. What mattered was somehow convincing him to sign the papers today. Then she’d be on her way back to Denver, she could finish up her article and life would get on once more. There was a position opening up on the East Coast in the next few months and she knew someone at the paper. If she could break this story, she might have a good chance of getting it. There was a big world out there waiting, and being married to Dev—even on paper—had meant that she never really felt free to explore it. She was always looking over her shoulder.
Gingerly, she stepped out of the bed. She considered pulling on her skirt, but it seemed pointless. The bathroom was just across the hall. She looked out the door, but all she could see was Dev’s back at the stove.
Her bag was sitting beside the toilet. She grabbed her change of clothes—a pair of jeans and a snug pullover—and her makeup kit. Within five minutes she’d showered, and in another five she’d brushed her teeth, put her damp hair up in a ponytail and brushed on a little bit of makeup. The outside felt better than the inside, but she could smell breakfast in the kitchen. Not that she’d admit it to him, but it smelled good. All she’d eaten last night was a packet of peanuts she’d picked up at her last fill-up. It was no wonder the bourbon had gone straight to her head.
She was standing in the doorway to the short hall when he spoke, his back still to her. “Sit down, it’s ready.” She didn’t know how he knew she was standing there, and she uncomfortably moved ahead and sat at the small table. A faint smell of spilled liquor surrounded it and her stomach lurched. Last night she’d definitely been stupid. But being faced with him after all this time…and realizing quite unexpectedly that not all of her feelings had faded…
All in all, bourbon had been the easy way out. She’d only tried to justify it with machinations of getting her own way.
He placed a plate in front of her—scrambled eggs and a couple of slices of buttered toast. Suddenly she felt a craving for something sweet.
“Jam?”
“Out.”
“Marmalade?”
He laughed. “Marmalade? Are you serious? When have I ever eaten marmalade?”
She picked up her fork, recognizing that he probably didn’t have a stocked kitchen, and feeling the need to point it out. How in the world did he live? But she didn’t want to fight anymore, and he had at least made an effort. She’d just have to do without an adornment for her toast. “Thanks for breakfast, Dev.” She speared a piece of egg and tentatively placed it in her mouth. It tasted good, and she knew it would sit just fine. She nibbled on a corner of her toast. He took the chair opposite and scooped up eggs, layering them on his toast, and took a huge bite.
“If you’ll sign the papers I can be out of your way after breakfast.”
He put down his toast and took a drink of coffee. “That wasn’t my deal. You got somewhere you need to be? It’s the weekend. You can’t work all the time. Maybe you should relax. De-stress.”
She didn’t have anywhere she had to be, exactly. At least not today. But it seemed better to get this over with as quickly as possible. Like ripping off a Band-Aid.
“I don’t know why you insist on me staying the weekend. It’s not going to change anything.”
He calmly ate more eggs.
“You’re not going to tell me why?”
“I have my reasons. Maybe if you tell me why you need to leave, I’ll think about it.”
“Denver. I have to finish up my story and get it to my editor first thing Monday morning.”
“Ah,” he nodded, knowing. “Of course. Work.” She stared at him blandly. “Sorry. Career.”
She could have thrown her egg at him the way he used that patronizing tone with her. And the fact that he was sitting there as unperturbed as could be, a layer of sexy stubble on his chin and his perfect teeth glaring at her every time he smiled. She wished he could understand what her job mean
t to her.
“It’s what I do. You know that. And this article is part of a bigger picture, and if I do a good job I can move up at the paper.”
“And that’s what you want? To move up?”
“Of course it is. I don’t want to be in the Lifestyles section forever. I didn’t spend all that time and money in school to cover tea parties and write articles on the season’s recipes. I want to hit the big time. I can’t do that where I am. I need to go after the big stories. And after that…” She let the idea hang. It wasn’t the right time to tell him about the opening in Boston. And it wasn’t important. After this weekend, nothing she did would be any of his business.
His fork hit his plate and his eyes darkened. What had she said to set him off now?
“So what, an article about how the insurance company’s giving Betty the shaft? She’s just another victim in a long list, right? Might as well make an example of her. What the hell. Bonus if it furthers your career at the same time.”
She didn’t understand why he was so angry about it. This was the way life worked. “So what if it is? I hate to tell you, but people make news. The healthcare system is a farce. Betty’s case is one of many. Why shouldn’t I work on a story that might change all that? The media has a lot of influence, you know. It’s important.”
He pushed out his chair, taking his half-empty plate with him. It clattered on the counter top. “Cut the noble cause bit. You’re not interested in change. Reporters have sniffed around before. Betty isn’t a face for reform, Ell. She’s a human being. A human being who’s really sick. And you’re trying to profit from it. You and the rest of the vultures.”
Ella put down her toast and dusted her fingers off on her jeans. “So is it me you have the problem with or my profession in general?”
He dumped the remainder of his breakfast in the garbage. “Maybe both. The old Ella would have cared about more than paper distribution and a promotion.”
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