by Beth Yarnall
He made a face. “Eww.”
“Yeah. That was my sentiment. I turned away from the…scene to look outside—”
“You can do that?” he interrupted.
“Usually. If I can focus on something else in the room, I can work my way out of it. But this time I turned to look out the window, concentrating on the hotel sign—”
“You saw what hotel they met in?”
“Yeah, something about it was familiar.” She put a hand to her forehead and closed her eyes.
He settled on the floor next to her. “Describe it to me.”
“Red and blue. Square. On a pole in the parking lot.” She lowered her hand and opened her eyes. “There were a lot of cars going by on the street out front even though it was early in the morning.”
“A highway maybe? What else was around it?”
* * *
Erin tried to concentrate on Graham’s questions, but with him so close it was difficult to separate her memories from the tangle of emotions his proximity stirred up. “There was a McDonald’s across the street, I think. Yes. Definitely a Mickey D’s. The hotel sign had a number on it, like an eight or a six… Super 6!”
“That’s good. Anything else?”
“No. I think that’s it.”
“Now tell me what happened between you and the cheating check-out clerk.”
“Keith?”
“Is there another one?” Was that jealousy tugging his mouth down into a frown?
“Why do you want to know?”
“I’m interviewing him tomorrow.”
“Can I at least get up off the floor before reliving my humiliation?”
“Sure.” He helped her to her feet, which weren’t as steady as she wanted them to be. “Easy. Come and sit down.” He guided her to the couch, then sat down next to her. He wiggled a finger at her nose. “You got a little something…”
“I’m still bleeding?” She wiped at her nose with his handkerchief.
“No. Not blood.”
“What then?” Realization dawned with burning embarrassment. “Ooohh.” She covered her nose with both her hands. “I’ll just go…” She eased up off the couch and headed for the bathroom, grateful to be steadier on her feet.
The sight that met her in the mirror made her gasp. She’d been talking to Graham all this time with a booger hanging out of her blood-smeared nose! She turned on the tap. While it ran to hot, she blew her nose. Why did these things always happen to her? Her cheeks burned. How horribly, awfully mortifying. First he finds her flat on her face on the floor. Then he wiped up her blood with his pristine handkerchief. And who carries a handkerchief these days anyway? And then, then she smeared that same handkerchief with snot.
She rinsed the poor abused cloth, scrubbing at the dried in blood. A trickle of a memory danced at the edge of her consciousness, but she couldn’t quite catch a hold of it. Something from a vision maybe? She closed her eyes, trying to clear her mind and focus, but the thought slipped away. What was it? She was missing something important. She shook her head and opened her eyes. She was losing it. Maybe she really had hit her head.
After rinsing off her face, doing a minor makeup touch up, and checking her nose this way and that, Erin headed back out to the living room. Graham wasn’t there. She followed faint sounds coming from the kitchen. Graham stood at the stove, his back to her, stirring something and mumbling.
“What are you doing?” she asked, her earlier embarrassment quickly morphing into surprise.
“Making you some food,” he answered, without turning around.
“What? Why?”
“I’m guessing there was no dinner date so there was probably no dinner either.”
She kicked the barstool back, nearly toppling it, and sat down. She propped her chin on her hand. “No. There wasn’t. What are you making?”
“Chili. I found a can in your pantry.” He looked at her over his shoulder. “Hungry?”
“I guess.”
“Want toast?”
“No.”
He went back to his stirring. “What happened with Keith?”
“I think that’s the first time you’ve actually called him by his name and didn’t find a way to make fun of him. Why the change?”
He hitched a shoulder. It was a nice shoulder and even nicer in a pair that tapered down to a V at his waist. She leaned across the counter, bringing his behind into view. A rather tight behind, snug in jeans that hugged all the right places. He chuckled and she snapped her gaze back to his in the reflection of the microwave.
“You have a nice ass,” she said unapologetically. “I just noticed.”
“Thanks.” He winked. “So do you.”
She smiled back at him. How did he do it? How did he manage to get her out of her funks when nothing and no one else usually could? “I think I’ll have a glass of wine.” She slid off the barstool. “Want some?”
“Sure.”
“What goes with canned chili? Red or white?”
“Got any boxed wine?”
She laughed. “Heck, no. But I might have a couple bottles of Two Buck Chuck.”
“Works for me.”
She uncorked a bottle of red and poured two glasses. She handed one to Graham. “You’re not on duty tonight?”
“No. Not really.”
She pulled a couple of bowls and spoons out and set them on the countertop next to the stove. Leaning back against the counter next to him, she sipped her wine. “What does that mean ‘not really’?”
“I’m the sheriff. I’m pretty much on call twenty-four-seven in a town this size.”
“Sounds like you’ve gotten used to it.”
He made a face.
“Or not.” She set her glass down, deciding on a subject change. “Tell me, what happened out at Old Man Rooster’s house? I heard he shot himself in the ass, trying to shoot his neighbor’s dog for barking at his ugly wife.”
Graham rolled his head in her direction, one corner of his mouth kicked up. He had a naughty gleam in his eye that was probably the undoing of a lot of ladies’ intentions. “You really want to know?”
“I asked.”
He switched off the burner and turned toward her. “What’ll you give me for it?”
“Give you? You’re drinking my cheap wine and are about to eat my…” He leaned toward her and she suddenly lost all thought but the memory of his lips on hers.
“Erin?” he whispered, close enough for her to catch his scent. He smelled of the ocean and something altogether new and dangerous.
“Hmm?”
“I’ll tell you if you tell me what happened with Keith.”
“Blackmail is beneath you.”
“I always get what I want.”
She lowered her gaze to his mouth. “I’m surprised you just don’t take it.”
“Where’s the finesse in that?”
Her reply caught on a gasp as his hand grazed the back of hers. Accidental or on purpose?
“Tell me you broke up with him,” he said.
“I did.”
“How’d he take it?”
“How would you take it?”
He rested a hand on the counter next to her, leaning in. His thumb brushed the inside of her wrist. Once. Twice. “Not well.”
“That makes one of you.”
“Really?” He drew out the word, stretching it as thin as her resolve.
“He seemed more concerned that you knew about him and Deidre.”
“What exactly did he say?” All languidness gone, Graham’s gaze sharpened.
“He demanded to know who told me about their affair.” Instinctively she rubbed her arms where Keith had grabbed her.
He tracked the movement. “Did he hurt you?”
“No.” And that was the strangest part of all. There’d been no hurt between them. No affection either, apparently. Keith’s regard was equal to hers. They’d both been forcing the relationship. She knew why she’d stayed in a relationship that never should
have begun. But why did he? Was it all just a cover up for him?
“What did you tell him?”
“Just that I knew about the affair…and the baby. I asked him if he was the father.”
“And?”
Flexing her fingers, she tried to smooth over the invisible imprint of Keith on her skin. The way he’d looked at her—wild, panicked—she’d never be able to blot out. “He was seriously freaked. And desperate to know who’d told me about their affair.”
“Desperate?”
“How I found out was more important to him than my knowing about it.” She snatched up her wine glass and stared into the ruby red liquid. “I expected more…” She made a wide gesture with her hands, sloshing her wine up the sides. “I don’t know.”
“Remorse?”
“Yeah.” She crossed her arms and took a sip of wine. “Some remorse would’ve been nice.”
He eased toward her. “Maybe a little groveling, too?”
“Groveling might have been a bit much.”
“Probably.” He captured her glass and took a sip before setting it on the counter at her hip. “But seeing him on his knees begging for your forgiveness…”
She pressed her lips together, quashing a smile.
“Ah, not too much after all,” he guessed.
She playfully smacked his arm. “Stop. I’m picturing it.”
Graham dropped to his knees, his hands clasped under his chin. “Please forgive me, Erin. I didn’t mean to fornicate.”
“Stop it.” Laughing, she tried to pull him up. “Don’t make fun of him.”
“It’s just that the freezers are so cold and she was so warm. And I’m surrounded by all those melons all day long. Please forgive me my trespasses.”
She bent over, giggling, trying to tug him up off the floor. “You have to stop.”
He allowed her to pull him to his feet. “I think that’s the first time I’ve ever seen you laugh like that.” He was so close, grinning down at her, his eyes creasing at the corners. “Did you know you have a dimple?” He touched her cheek with a finger. “Right there.”
She wrapped her hand around his finger and brought it down between them. “Stop pointing out my flaws.”
“You don’t have any flaws.”
Her smart-ass comeback melted on her tongue under the look in his eyes. Keith had never looked at her like that. Like a man before a buffet trying to decide which delicacy to sample first. Graham’s expression boasted of lingering touches and hot open-mouthed kisses that would leave her panting for more.
“Erin?” he whispered, close enough for her to see flecks of silver in his blue eyes.
“Hmm?”
“Do you think I could kiss you?”
Her gaze dropped to his mouth. She could smell the wine on his breath as it mixed with hers. “I know you can.”
“Should I though?”
“You ask stupid questions,” she murmured.
And then his mouth came down on hers. He tasted of everything that was wonderful and scary. Cradling her face, he deepened the kiss. She wrapped her arms around him and moved into him, wanting so much to be closer. He broke the kiss, trailing his lips across her jaw, his beard heightening her sensitivity. Fisting his shirt, she tilted her head back for better access.
He nipped her earlobe and licked the sting. “I want you.”
His declaration whispered across her senses, igniting little fires of awareness that threatened to burn out of control. She could easily lose herself in him, giving over to whatever was happening between them. She wanted to tell him how much she wanted him, too, but he was doing this thing with his mouth on her neck...
* * *
Graham couldn’t think. She filled up his senses, blotting out rational thought. He had his face buried in her neck, which smelled faintly Tropical, bringing with it images of beaches. And skin. Lots of bared skin under a hot sun. She moaned as he palmed her breast. Fuller than he expected. She eased onto the counter. He nestled his growing erection between her legs and she moaned again, ripping an answering groan from his throat. He wanted her naked. Right now.
“Oh, yes,” she gasped, pulling up her shirt as though she’d heard his thoughts.
Slipping a hand under her top, he got his first feel of her. Soft. He kneaded the flesh at her hip and imagined gripping her from behind, thrusting into her. Hard. She pulled his head back by the hair and kissed him as she writhed against him, grinding his hard-on until he thought he’d come right there in his pants. She broke the kiss and yanked her shirt over her head. His mouth dropped open. All that creamy skin. He ran a fingertip along the top of one bra cup. She shivered and wrapped her legs around him, bringing him up against the place he most wanted to be.
He was desperate for her. The feel of her against him. Skin on skin. With her legs locked at the ankles, she unhooked her bra and shot it over his head. He tugged his shirt off, barely registering the rip. And then she was against him. Her breasts smashed to his chest. He reached up and cupped her from the side, his thumbs stroking her nipples. Palms on the counter, she arched back. He trailed kisses down, down, down to suckle her gently. She bucked against him, increasing the maddening pressure on his groin. He had to be inside her, already had a fumbling hand on the button of her jeans.
“What’s… that?” she panted.
“Nothing,” he mumbled around her nipple.
“No… oh… ah… yes!” Then, “Graham?”
“Hmm?”
“I think… that’s my… oh, god…”
He lifted his head from her breast. Blinking, he tried to get a grasp on what she was trying to tell him. Then he heard it. He pulled his hand out of her pants and patted his pockets for his phone and then he remembered he’d left it in the car. “Not mine.”
She unhooked her ankles and pushed at him to back up. He watched her jump down from the counter, her breasts bouncing as she ran to her purse. She rummaged around until she found her prize. It stopped ringing.
She frowned at the screen display. “My dad.” She punched a couple of buttons and put the phone to her ear.
His gaze traveled from the crease between her brows to her naked torso. He wasn’t gentleman enough to look away. And he couldn’t summon up any guilt over it. She shoved a hand through her hair, lifting one breast. The one he’d been sucking on. Light red splotches dotted her skin where his beard had been. He liked that. He liked the flush in her cheeks and the way she looked bending over to pick up her bra and shirt. He tilted his head for a better look.
Clutching her clothes to her chest, she straightened. “What happened?”
His gaze snapped up to hers. Something in her tone…
“What does the doctor say?” That crease was back between her brows. “For how long?”
He moved to stand next to her.
“I’ll be right there.” She punched the phone off. “My aunt’s at the hospital. I should go.”
“What happened?”
She shoved her phone in the pocket of her jeans and began to dress. “She’s had a really bad headache all day. Barely came out of her room.” She struggled with the hook on her bra.
“Here, let me… there you go.”
“Bet you hardly ever help a woman into her bra,” she mumbled, missing his frown as she pulled her shirt over her head. Smoothing her hair back, she continued, “Mabel went to wake up my aunt for dinner only she couldn’t. Auntie wouldn’t wake up. Mabel called an ambulance.” She stood for a moment, looking around as though she couldn’t quite figure out what to do next.
“Do you want me to drive you?” he asked.
“To San Luis Obispo? That’s over an hour away.”
“I know how far it is.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why do you want to drive me?”
The way she looked at him made the space between his shoulder blades itch. He wasn’t sure what answer she was looking for, but he was pretty sure it would be the difference between hi
m getting to see her breasts again or not.
“It’s a long way,” he said, wanting to spend more time with her.
“I know how far it is. I just told you.”
“It’s dark.”
“Never mind.”
He followed her as she wandered around, searching for something. “You shouldn’t be alone.”
“Ah, there they are.” She pulled her shoes out from under the coffee table and sat down on the couch to put them on. “I said never mind.”
“You don’t make it easy to be nice to you.”
“Put your shirt on, Graham.”
“I’ll put my shirt on and drive you to the hospital.”
“Whatever.”
He headed to the kitchen and found his shirt half hanging off one of the barstools. He pulled it on and noticed the top button was missing. “Damn.” When he returned to the living room she wasn’t there. “Erin?” He found her sitting on the edge of her bed, twisting a swatch of material. He eased down next to her.
“Auntie made me this.”
“It’s nice.” Whatever it was.
“After my mom…left.” She threaded the fabric back and forth between her hands. “Aunt Cerie was there. She moved in with my dad and me.” She turned to him, her eyes wide and worried. “What if something happens to her?”
He wanted to tell her that everything would be all right. That good things happened to good people. Her aunt would be fine. And every other bullshit platitude. But he’d be lying. He knew from his experience in L.A. that bad things happened in spite of good intentions. Things were only ever ‘all right’ in fits and bursts. And that sometimes people died. Good people. In the place of some asshole who had that and more coming to him.
Instead he put a hand over hers, stilling their frantic worrying of the fabric. “I want to take you to the hospital. Let me.”
She stared down at their joined hands. Her shoulders sagged as she let out a sigh ripe with relief. “Okay.”
They found Erin’s father, Donald, pacing the hall outside her aunt’s room. The fluorescent lights hollowed out Donald’s cheeks and darkened the circles under his eyes. His hair stood up in white tufts around his head, which he plucked at randomly as he shuffled back and forth, mumbling to himself. Graham barely knew the man, but as they approached he could see that Donald wasn’t well, probably hadn’t been for some time.
