“Really?” Decorating, spending someone else’s money sounded like a lot of fun. Still, she teased. “What if I decided goth would be a good look?”
“Then we’d go all in. Tattoos, piercings…black leather.” The side glance he gave her said he wouldn’t be against that particular mode of dress.
“In that case, I’ll bring my black, lace-up corset.”
“You—” he coughed, swallowing wrong.
She threw back her head and laughed. “I don’t, really. But now I might have to get one. A left turn at the next stop sign, then the next two rights.”
His coughing wound down, tears in his eyes. “You shouldn’t taunt me while I drive,” he choked.
“You’re too easy,” she retorted. “But FYI, a million years ago, I owned a black leather mini-skirt. Now I’m strictly jeans and t-shirts, or flannels, depending on the weather.”
“Which also works for me,” he expressed approval. “You look very nice in jeans.”
“Thank you. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a compliment unaccompanied by a come-on.”
He grinned. “Oh, yeah? Who says it’s not a come-on?”
“Right. This, from a man who blushes when he swears? And yes, I noticed.”
“Which is just wrong.” He shook his head. “What grown man can’t swear? I’m going to sue my parents for truncating my lexicon and scarring me for life.”
She bubbled over with mirth. Again. “I think it’s sweet.” She looked at him speculatively. “Will I get to meet your parents?”
He snorted. “If you want to be inundated with talk of weddings and babies. At thirty-nine, having never introduced them to a significant other, or blessing them with grandchildren, my mother will glom onto you like an octopus.”
“I had an aunt once who said I have good birthing hips,” she imparted, impishly.
Hutch wheezed again. “You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?”
“No, just keeping you amused,” she grinned. “You can pull over. It’s that building right there.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Hutch figured she lived in modest circumstances, but hadn’t pictured this rough neighborhood. Like Arkie’s a few blocks away, her building had seen better days, its gray painted bricks peeled, large flakes scaling off like diseased skin. Trash floated over blackened piles of snow, and iron cages covered all street-level windows. You could almost see the despair in every pedestrian’s posture as they hunched against the late winter winds.
“I know it looks bad, but…”
He pulled up in front and covered the hands twisting in her lap with one of his own. “I’m not judging. It just…you work hard. It seems unfair that circumstances make it impossible for you to live in a safer place.”
She sat up straighter. “My neighbors are nice. And I do better than most, who are trying to raise kids as single moms or dads. At least I only have to look after myself. And,” she brightened, “I’ve been putting money away for the past five years, twenty-five dollars a week, looking forward to a day when I might be able to move.”
He swallowed down every negative thing that came to his tongue and did the math. She had six-thousand dollars between her and starvation. Somehow, he managed an optimistic comment. “Where do you think you’d like to live?”
Two dimples popped out he hadn’t noticed before. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe Chicago?”
Her answer threw him, but hope blossomed. “You’d consider that? Moving out of Minneapolis?”
“Nothing here to tie me down. Although,” she opened her door and looked down into a slushy snowbank, “I should consider someplace warm. Chicago’s winters suck as bad as this.”
He wasn’t much bothered by snow, but then again, he drove from his condo’s garage to his office garage, had his groceries delivered, and enjoyed a lot of services—like his kickboxing instructor—in the privacy and comfort of his own home. He’d always known he had it good, he just hadn’t realized how spoiled he’d become.
He got out and rounded the car, extending his hand to help her over the snow. “I could help you find something where the snow wouldn’t bother you.” Or you could move in with me. It was far too soon for him to be thinking like that, but he couldn’t help it. There was something about Darby that called to him. She was the three S’s he’d always been looking for. Smart, sassy, and sexy. She made him feel more alive than he had in years. Was that why Beletseri had sent him to her dreams? Not just to help her, not just to get his life back on the proper path, but to bring them together? He wouldn’t put it past the canny goddess.
“I’d need to find a job, first. It’s not so hard these days, applying on-line and doing phone interviews.” She stopped in front of the faded door and fumbled in her small purse. “Now where’s that damned key?”
Hutch hated to imagine her, in the dark, standing outside by herself, rooting for her key. But he didn’t say anything. She wouldn’t relish his interference, no doubt pointing out she’d taken care of herself for the last five years. Before that? He didn’t know, but he’d get to the bottom of the enigma she presented.
On the bright side, clearly she’d entertained thoughts of moving out. She hadn’t yet given in to her circumstances, hadn’t lost hope for a better future. He broached his next topic, carefully.
“The college friends I talked about. A couple of them have companies. A large roster of employees. One is right up your alley. I could inquire—”
“You don’t even know my qualifications,” she scoffed, having located her key, placing it into the scarred lock that looked like any knife would open it, easily.
“I know you’re smart, well-spoken and dedicated. A company could do much worse than that.”
Her brows drew together, but she chose to ignore him. “I’m on the third floor.”
She hit the stairs and began the trek up. Not a terrible climb, but with an armful of groceries, it would be quite the workout. No wonder she was in such good shape.
The lock on her door was no better than the one at the front. If she returned after her Chicago trip determined to stay, he’d make sure security was updated to ensure her protection.
He followed her in and instantly noted the difference in atmosphere. While the building and hallway were dirty and stark, her apartment was…homey. The ambient smell was somewhere between baking spices and laundry detergent, the colors brilliant even in subdued lighting.
And why was it so dark? He looked around. Seriously? One window, no more than two by three, overlooking the side of an adjacent building. Well, hell. He didn’t like it, but it could have been worse. At least she wasn’t looking directly into a neighbor’s living room.
“Home sweet home,” Darby stated airily, throwing her keys onto the kitchen table. He heard the underlying stress in her voice, as if waiting for him to pass judgment.
No way would he criticize her apartment. He spotted an open book next to an overstuffed, comfortable chair. “That looks like a favorite spot. What are you reading?”
Her demeanor immediately brightened. “Historical fiction. I’m into Normans, Saxons, and shield walls right now,” she grinned.
She walked into what he assumed was her bedroom. And while she packed, he picked up her book and thumbed through it. He recognized the author. “I’ve read some of these,” he called out, her space being small enough they could talk.
“Yup. He’s a great author. Really knows his period.”
They spent the next twenty minutes discussing Britain in its early days. She was smart, and opinionated, and called on him to summon bits of arcane knowledge he hadn’t accessed in years.
He finally had to call uncle. “I give up. You’ve outpaced my memory.”
When she started bringing Danes—eleventh century Vikings—into the conversation, his well ran dry.
She came out of her bedroom, a duffel slung over her shoulder. “You don’t know how happy I am just to talk to someone else familiar with the period. Mrs. Leroy at the library is a
fountain of information, but she’s usually too busy to chat.”
“Give me a few weeks to brush up, and I’ll present more of a challenge.”
“You’re on.” She took the book from his hands and stuffed it into the top of her bag. She looked around. “I think I’m ready. Oh, wait. I need to call the shelter.” She dug her phone out of her pocket and punched in the number.
“Sissy? It’s Darby. If it’s okay, I won’t be in this week. I’m visiting a friend in Chicago… Yeah, I’ll miss them, too. But tell them I’ll bring treats when I come in next week. And give Malarkey an extra hug… Thanks. Bye.”
“Malarkey?” he couldn’t help but ask.
“A real sweetie. We think he’s an Australian Shepherd, Samoyed mix. And he loves to talk. Always has something to say, so we named him Malarkey…as in full of.”
He laughed. “I like it. He’s a favorite of yours?”
“They all are, but I have a soft spot for him. He was dropped off out front four months ago, emaciated and cautious, but he’s thrived under our care.” She thumbed her phone and handed it to him. “Here’s my baby.”
The picture was of her with her arms wrapped around a dog’s neck. He was good sized, maybe fifty or sixty pounds, white with black spots and streaks, and clearly in love with Darby, his long tongue lolling out in a happy smile.
“Wherever you end up living, you should make sure they allow pets.”
She shook her head sadly as she turned off the lights and locked the door behind them. “It’s not in the cards. No matter where I go, I’ll have to work too many hours. It wouldn’t be fair to have a dog.”
Gears turned in his head. Darby living at his apartment. Malarkey chewing his pristine sofa pillows, making stuffing blizzards. Her working in some capacity for his buddy, Lance, at his mid-sized publishing house, and them walking their dog, together. He’d lie if he said the thought of her sharing his bed hadn’t crossed his mind…like, every minute since she’d jumped him in the entrance to Arkie’s. But it was only one of a plethora of wonderful things meshing together in his head subsequent to meeting her. He watched her, head held high, her stride confident as she walked to his car. This woman…
“Are you going to stand there all day, or are we going?” She turned back to where he paused like a bemused idiot, a smirk on her face.
He recovered quickly. “Just admiring my new traveling companion.”
“Fair enough,” she said as he strode forward to open his trunk. “I plan to check you out, too. In detail, while we drive.”
“How come?”
She stowed her duffel, then sidled her body up to his so the tips of her boots touched the points of his shoes. “Because I can’t distract you with touching.” Her lips parted and she gazed up at him.
What else could he do? He leaned down slowly, and gently, carefully placing his lips on hers, breathing in her scent of soap and cherry blossom shampoo. His arms slipped around her and the kiss deepened, although who was responsible for the ramp-up was debatable.
He might have opened his mouth first, or it could have been her, but as the pressure grew, so did his libido, along with his sense of rightness. Mine, he wanted to growl.
But that would keep. He didn’t want to scare her away.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Tingles she’d forgotten existed sped through her body. Hutch wasn’t just a good kisser, he was a great kisser. She molded her body to his, leaning into every inch of his strength. An inadvertent sound emerged from the back of her throat like a purr, and she giggled.
Hutch pulled away, breathing hard. “You laughing at me?” His voice was low and raspy. His hands caressed her arms.
“Nope.” She nuzzled his chin. “At myself. I remind me of our shelter cats, purring and rubbing all over you.”
“Rawrr,” he chuckled. “Consider yourself adopted.” He leaned down and approached her lips again, this time brushing over them teasingly. “I could do this forever. You taste so good.”
“Mmm. Someone fed me Brazilian food.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s not the food.” He stood up straight and sighed. “But now is not the time or place for us to work out these logistics. A few stink-eyes have been aimed in our direction.”
“They’re jealous…” she grinned, putting a few feet between them, gesturing to his vehicle, “…of your car. There hasn’t been a sweet ride like this in our neighborhood since forever. I’m actually surprised it’s still here.” She danced her way to the door as he chuckled.
“Let’s not talk about sweet rides, my lovely friend. My mind will speed away in a totally different direction.”
She wagged her finger at him. “Uh, uh. We have a four-hour drive. Not the time and place to work out these logistics,” she mimicked, then added, “or think about a hook-up.”
He opened her door and she slid in, contemplating what might happen between them. There was no doubt her body responded to Hutch, but that wasn’t all. He lit her mind on fire, as well. Would she be satisfied if they had a sex-marathon in Chicago, put together a plan to unmask Cy, only to get ghosted after all was said and done? Nope. He’d imprinted on her, damn him. His good looks, his fresh-air scent, his humor and brilliance, even his psychoanalyzing tendencies and his reticence to swear. If they had a physical five days, then he walked away, she’d have a hard time recovering.
He opened his door, slipped in and started the car, scowling.
“What?” Had he taken exception to something she’d said?
“This isn’t a hook-up, Darby.”
“Ookay,” she drew out. “I just figured since we kissed, you might be looking for a little…more.” She wiggled her eyebrows, not letting him see the extent of her insecurities.
He huffed. “I like kissing you, holding you. But you’re more than just a physical itch. If I’m honest, something percolates when we’re together. Something that merits more than a quick—”
“Fuck?” she interjected.
He blew a gust of air from between his lips. “I was going to say, romp between the sheets, but yeah.”
She one-hundred percent knew that’s where they were headed. Things were too hot between them. But they only had five days, then they’d go back to their separate, and disparate lives.
She reasoned with him, and at the same time, herself. “You can’t possibly know if we’ll be anything more than lovers. We have chemistry, yes, but our backgrounds, our lifestyles, they’re so different. I don’t know if I’d fit into your world.”
He looked askance. “Are you reverse snobbing me?” His scowl grew more pronounced as he merged onto the highway.
She blinked. “Uh, maybe? Well, yeah. Shit. That makes me sound bad, doesn’t it?”
He didn’t answer right away, but paused thoughtfully. When he finally spoke, it seemed incongruous to the conversation. “I told you about Paxton, right?”
“Uh, huh. One of the two guys in purgatory.”
“Right. Well, his thing is, he puts himself down. All the time. His lack of self-esteem stems from his mother’s early treatment of him, his ex-girlfriend’s disregard, and his company taking advantage. He’s been denigrated most of his life. You, however, if I read you correctly, don’t have those excuses. Despite your…less than stellar, current circumstances, which you tolerate well, you have a good grip on who you are. You know you’re smart, worthy, and you exude a confidence that says you’ll eventually pull yourself out of this temporary hole. Am I right?”
Man, he’d pegged her. She was impressed, and pissed at the same time. “Yeah. Fine. You’ve got me. I hate where I live, what I do for work, and the circumstances that led me here, but I’m coping just fine, planning for a better future, with or without you.”
Rather than take umbrage, Hutch smiled. “And you see? You’ve just proved my point. Paxton would have said he wasn’t worthy, or good enough to warrant my attention. That fate had been kind to him, not that he’d pulled himself up on his own. But you, you’re confident enough to
say, ‘I’ve done this, I’ve got this, so…eh-hem…fuck you’.”
“Ooh, the mighty doctor swears.” She joked, but should she be affronted? All the time they’d talked, he taken every little thing to analyze. She cut him some slack. It was his job. It was probably hard for him to separate the man from the professional, even with friends. But he needed to respect her limits. “Are you going to pry more? Because if you are, I’m done. I like you, but you have no clue what makes me tick. If you can’t keep a lid on it, you can drop me at the next bus station, and I’ll find my way home.”
“Please don’t run, Darby.” His voice remained calm, but the tiny lines around his mouth showed his stress. “I want to know you. The real you. I’ve spilled all my dirt. You know I’m an entitled jerk, fed with a silver spoon by rich parents who believe I can do no wrong. A wimp who, given one setback, checked out on his clients instead of tackling life head-on. But you? You went right back to work with a threat still hanging over your head. Seriously, you have your life together much better than I do. I’m hardly worthy of your time.”
“Now who’s denigrating themselves?” she poked, easing up on him. It wasn’t his fault she kept a lid on her past.
“Not me.” He shook his head, clearly taking no offense. “I didn’t say I’m dumb, or worthless. I said I’ve been coddled. Made mistakes. Those sentiments make for growth…which hopefully I’m doing as we speak.”
She turned to him, allowing herself to soften. “My walls are up for a reason. My reason,” she told him. “If I let them down, I might crumble right along with them, and I have no intention of doing that. I’ve had to be strong, because I’ve got no one but me.”
He reached out a hand and placed it on her shoulder. “Wrong. You had no one. Now you have me. And I’m not going anywhere, no matter how prickly you get. When you feel ready, you tell me your story, but until you do, or even if you do, understand I like and admire you for exactly who you are.”
She sat back, huffily. “Well thanks. I guess.” A thought occurred to her. “So you’re not going to be embarrassed to tell your parents and your friends you’ve brought home a convenience store clerk?”
Hutch Nightmare Men Page 14
