Divorced, Desperate and Daring

by Christie Craig

  “No problem. I got something.” He walked into the kitchen.

  Still feeling out of it, she moved over to the sofa, took off her jacket, and sank into the leather cushions. That’s when she realized she’d never gotten out of her pjs. Not that they were indecent, but it was the principle. Oh, gawd, she was a mess.

  “You want something to drink?” he asked as he moved around taking care of her dog’s needs. She heard him pouring the dog food into a bowl.

  “I’m fine.”

  “How about a brandy? My uncle used to say it was the best sleep aid there was.”

  She looked up. Danny stood at the bar, leaning against it, studying her.

  “Okay.”

  He started moving around again.

  The silence seemed a little long and awkward. “I like your apartment,” she said.

  “Thanks. The management company offers discounts to law enforcement officers just to have cops on the premises.”

  He walked over with two glasses and handed her one. Then he sat down beside her. Not exactly close, but close enough she could feel the energy and warmth from his body. She brought the glass to her lips and took a small sip.

  The flavor exploded on her tongue and burned a little.

  When she coughed, he grinned. “The first sip is always the hardest.”

  “It’s good,” she said and looked down at the amber-colored liquor swirling in her glass. “Just a little strong.”

  He took a sip from his glass, his blue eyes studying her over the rim.

  She took another small taste. This one still burned, but she didn’t choke on it, and the warmth sliding down her throat and into her chest felt good. She looked up and saw the framed pictures again.

  “How old were you when you went to live with your aunt and uncle?”

  “Eleven,” he said.

  “Why? Why did you go live with them?”

  “My parents were getting a divorce.”

  That wasn’t a reason, but she sensed he didn’t want to talk about it. She had her own things she didn’t like to talk about, so she dropped it.

  Her mind shifted back to the officers at her place. “Did you tell me one of the officers at my house was the FBI?”

  He nodded. “Yeah, they were called in because of the bomb.”

  “So are they working the case, too?”

  “For now the Feds and Glencoe police are assisting each other. The Feds were called in because the bomb is being considered a terrorist attempt and they think it may have been mailed across state lines. They could pull out, but Chase said they haven’t mentioned it so far.”

  She closed her eyes a second and studied the blackness of her lids. “I still don’t believe it.”

  “What can you tell me about Mark?” Danny asked.

  She exhaled and opened her eyes. “I can tell you that he never came off as someone who’d want to blow me up.” Her gut tightened again.

  “But he’s an electrical engineer, isn’t he? He might know how to build a bomb.”

  “Yes, and you own a gun, but you aren’t parking your ass on top of some building finding joy in killing things. You’re normal.”

  He frowned. “You’re defending him.”

  She shook her head. “No, I’m defending my ability to recognize some sense of moral character in a person. I just think if he was capable of that, I’d have picked up on it.” Oh, God, she wanted to believe that so badly. Picking men who were likely to slip up was one thing. Picking bombers was another one altogether.

  Danny looked down at his hands. “Okay, tell me about him. What was he like?”

  “He was . . . almost tall, almost dark and almost handsome. He liked seafood, and . . . he had nieces and nephews he cared about. We went to one of their birthdays. He . . .” She had to think of what else to tell him. “He liked to bowl, and he could be . . . nice. He used to have a Great Dane.”

  “Sounds like almost a perfect guy,” Danny said, and he sounded almost jealous. “Why did you two break up?”

  She frowned. “He wasn’t perfect . . . for me. Not even almost. First, I hate bowling. I’m not that crazy about seafood. And second, . . . he . . . he was just a tad too into himself. He kind of always wanted to run the show. And he bragged a little about his good job, his good car. And his bowling trophies.”

  Danny studied her. “How close were you two?”

  “What do you mean?” When all Danny did was stare at her, she added. “Are you asking if I slept with him?”

  He wiped a palm over his mouth. “No. Well, maybe . . . I’m just trying to figure out the relationship to understand why he would be so inclined to stalk you. Did you really have a relationship, or did he just imagine you did?”

  “We . . . He didn’t actually stalk me. He showed up at my place twice after we broke up. And yes, he called me a lot, but . . .” But so did you!

  “That’s stalking.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Fine, but he never scared me. He just made me feel . . . bad. Like I’d hurt him on purpose.”

  “Did he claim he loved you?”

  Sheri nodded. “Yeah, he threw that word around some. I never did.”

  Danny looked down at his glass and took another sip. “So you were sleeping together?”

  Sheri frowned. “Fine. Yes, I slept with him. Twice. We dated for almost two months before we . . . And that’s why . . .”

  “Why what?” he asked.

  “Nothing.” She refused to tell Danny that Mark didn’t hold a candle to him. That she’d felt nothing, unlike what she’d felt with him. “It wasn’t working for me, okay. I wanted it to work, but it wasn’t.”

  He nodded.

  “Would you be willing to text him and ask him to meet you? Not that you would actually be the one to meet him. Chase and I would just have a talk with him. See if he’d come down and take a lie-detector test.”

  “You really think he did this?”

  “I think right now he’s our main suspect. I think he had one domestic disturbance charge and one restraining order put out on him.”

  “He told me he had a really bad divorce,” she said. “I don’t know if that’s it, but he still doesn’t seem the type to be violent.”

  He paused. “Can you think of anyone else? Anyone who might want to hurt you?”

  She shook her head. “No. People like me.”

  He grinned. “Do they now?”

  “I didn’t mean . . .”

  “I’m joking.” After a beat of silence he added, “Actually, you are a likeable person.”

  “Right,” she said with sarcasm.

  He studied her. “You take care of your elderly neighbor. You volunteer at a shelter and do free press for them . . .”

  “How did you know that?” she asked.

  “Chloe mentioned it. And you brought home a dog that was covered in mange. Oh, and you dyed your hair pink to show support when your mom had breast cancer. I’m amazed you don’t have a halo hanging over your head.”

  She frowned. “The hair wasn’t my idea. I read about someone doing it in a magazine.”

  “But you did it,” he said.

  She shook her head. “If I had a halo, believe me, it would be crooked and probably cracked. I’m a preacher’s daughter.”

  He shook his head. “I’ll bet you never let your dad down.”

  “Then you’d think wrong,” she said. “And vice versa.”

  She took another sip of brandy and tried not to think about her father and his Godly ways. “Besides, you shined pretty good at Mrs. Lamb’s birthday party, too.”

  “I had ulterior motives.”

  She leaned back. “The lasagna?”

  He shook his head. “You. You were there.”

  She looked away, certain this conversation wasn’t good.

  When the silence grew too loud, he spoke up. “You haven’t ever hired and had to fire anyone? Ever?”

  “No, I had an intern quit because her boyfriend bought her tickets to go backpacking in Euro
pe.”

  “Has any client ever fired you?”

  “Yeah. I mean, not out of anger but because for whatever reason, their business they hired me to promote wasn’t doing well enough to afford me.”

  “Were they upset? Maybe they thought you didn’t do enough to promote them and blamed you for the issues.”

  “No. One of them wrote ABC books, and it was her publisher who decided not to publish her next book. She didn’t care that much because she was pregnant with her second child. The other was a wine bar owner, but he and his wife got a divorce, his father-in-law pulled his money out of the business and he had to cut back. Neither of those clients blamed me.”

  Danny finished his brandy and then stood up. He kicked off his shoes, walked barefoot to the bar and brought the bottle over.

  He poured himself another shot and looked at her empty glass as if asking.

  “Sure,” she said and held out her glass.

  “You know this stuff can sneak up on you.”

  Right now she wouldn’t mind being snuck up on, at least a little.

  He poured her half as much as he had in his own glass. Then he dropped down beside her, putting his bare feet up on the coffee table. Her gaze went to his feet, and she recalled thinking he had sexy-looking feet that night at the hotel.

  Danny must have noted her gaze.

  “Is something wrong with them?” He wiggled his toes.

  She almost blushed. Over bare feet. What the hell was wrong with her? The brandy? Surely not.

  “No.” She downed another sip of brandy.

  “You ever play any games?”

  “Games?” Taco came over in front of the sofa and plopped down. Sheri noticed that Danny moved his foot over to rub the dog’s back. Taco lifted his head ever so slightly, and his droopy eye expression focused on her, as if saying he agreed . . . Danny had good feet. Then the dog moaned and dropped his head down, lavishing the attention.

  “Video games,” Danny said looking at her dog.

  “Not really.”

  “You wanna try?” He looked at her. “It kind of helps me relax.”

  “What kind of game?”

  “Driving and shooting things.”

  She lifted a brow. “That helps you relax? I take that back about you being normal.”

  He laughed. “Not people. Mostly targets and stuff. Maybe an alien or two. I think there’s a clown.”

  “Still not normal,” she giggled. “But I don’t like clowns.”

  He leaned forward and pulled open a drawer at the bottom of his coffee table. Sitting back, he handed her some kind of a remote.

  “I’m supposed to know what to do with this?” she asked.

  “I’ll show you.”

  After simple instructions, she was manhandling the remote and trying to shoot those aliens and the clown. They laughed. They bumped into each other’s shoulders as they turned their cars.

  The closeness should have bothered her, but by the third glass of brandy, nothing bothered her. Not that she was drunk. Just relaxed and grasping for anything to keep her mind off the fact that someone had sent her a bomb.

  Chapter Sixteen

  They had finished several games. It was past four in the morning. While Danny could see the sleepiness in her eyes, he also saw a touch of fear. He ached to put his arm around her and assure her that she was safe. To hold her like he’d done when they’d first gotten here. Call him macho, but he loved the fact that she needed him.

  Just when they shut off the game, Taco meandered to the front door and whimpered.

  Sheri stood up. “I should take him out.”

  “No, I’ll do it. I know where to take him.” He shot up off the sofa.

  He went to snag the leash he’d seen in her bag. When he pulled it out, he discovered it was caught on a pair of pink silk panties with lace. They looked like the same pair he’d had the pleasure of pulling off of her that night at the hotel. His mind recalled the image of her standing and letting him undress her. How he’d slipped his hands between her thighs, tempting and teasing her, before he’d removed her underwear. How he’d felt her moist heat on the silk, telling him how much she’d liked him touching her.

  His lower belly tightened, and he ran his finger over the soft, lacy fabric before he pushed them back inside.

  Tonight wasn’t about that.

  He looked over at her, holding her brandy glass. He’d lost count of how many she’d had. She didn’t have a clue how sexy she looked in those pjs. Not that they showed anything. But they didn’t hide anything either. When she moved, her—what had she called it?—free-range girls, had swayed with her. The top that only came down to her waist would occasionally rise up, showing off a little slit of skin. He recalled kissing her there that night. Touching and tasting her to show her just how beautiful she was.

  She glanced back at him and offered a small smile. She was so damn touchable. He wanted her so bad he ached. His jeans started to feel a little tight.

  “I’ll be right back.” He hooked the leash to the dog collar and actually looked forward to the brisk air in hopes it would cool him off.

  “Do you have a bag?” she asked.

  “A bag?”

  “I should do it.” She stood up and then bent back down, looking for her tennis shoes. All he saw, however, was the shape of her perky bottom. He looked away before he got more . . . perky. Then, because the bar hid his lower half, he readjusted himself, hoping to hide his growing issue.

  “No, sit down,” he muttered to her and to a certain body part. “I’m doing it. What about a bag?”

  “You need a bag. A big one.” She giggled, sounding just a little bit tipsy. “In case he . . . poops.”

  Okay, now he didn’t need the cool air. The idea of a poop bag—a big one—took care of his problem.

  Ten minutes later, his problem and Taco’s completely resolved, Danny walked the dog back inside.

  Sheri sat on the sofa with the photo album Anna had made up for him in her lap. He didn’t mind her looking at it, but he was surprised she had it. Then again, it had been in open view.

  “You were cute.” She looked up at him.

  He put the dog bed down beside the couch. She’d curled her legs up under her and looked small. Her eyes were a bit hooded. Was it the brandy or lack of sleep? Probably both.

  He sat down beside her. “You should probably try to get some rest.”

  She leaned against him and then turned her head and buried it in his chest. “You smell good.”

  He grinned and leaned his head down and caught a whiff of her shampoo. “So do you.” She looked up with that hooded gaze. “I think I’ll sleep right here.” She patted his chest and ran her hand slowly over him.

  “I should get you a pillow.”

  She shifted and lifted her face and kissed him. She tasted like brandy, like sweet woman. Her tongue dipped inside his mouth. His body answered to her taste and to her soft palm on his chest. Then her hand slowly started lowering to his abs and then to . . .

  For one second, he argued with himself that this wasn’t all wrong. But he knew it was. He caught her hand and pulled it back. “Would you like some water?”

  She looked at him, so vulnerable with a sweet smile on her expression. “You know if you made a pass at me right now, I probably wouldn’t stop you.”

  “Is that right?” he asked, his mind waging war on his other body parts.

  Before he could stop her, she lifted herself up and was straddling his lap. “Will you kiss me?”

  His body tightened with her on top of him. She rocked her hips, obviously feeling his problem. She grinned and leaned closer. “I think someone has a little problem.” She glanced down to his lap.

  “Little?” he asked.

  She laughed and bit down on her lip. Looking sexy, soft and tipsy, she glanced up at him through her lashes. “I think I know how to solve that problem.”

  Oh, damn! He ran a hand over his face. “Yeah, but I think it might be the brandy talkin
g.”

  “You think? Let me see?” She put a finger to her temple. “Nope, not the brandy talking. It’s me. Is it hot in here?” She rose up on her knees and tugged her pajama top off.

  “No, no, no!” he said, but his eyes went there. Her breasts were beautiful. Her dark, rose-colored nipples were tight.

  He caught her by her waist. Her skin was so damn soft. “We shouldn’t.”

  “I want to.” She reached out and caught one of his hands and put it to her breasts.

  He held the soft flesh in his palm. She leaned in again and kissed him. Lost in need, he teased her nipple tighter. The kiss went hotter. Deeper. He needed deep.

  Then she pulled back and ran her tongue over his bottom lip.

  “You could take your shirt off,” she said.

  “No!” He drew in a pound of oxygen, picked her up and sat her off of him. Then he leaned down and picked up her shirt that lay by their feet. When he rose up, she was standing.

  She hooked her thumbs in the elastic waist of her pajama bottoms, holding them out and looking down. She giggled. “Do you like black and white cookies?”

  He didn’t have a clue what she was saying. But then she started to lower . . .

  “No.” He shot up off the sofa and caught her hands. She leaned against him and gazed up.

  “No?” she whined the one word, sounding so damn young.

  He sighed. “How about a rain check?” Damn, she was gorgeous, even blitzed on brandy.

  “Can you give rain checks on sex?” she asked, tilting her head and looking like a confused puppy. A damn sexy, cute puppy.

  “I think so.” He slipped the top over her head, and when he reached to get her hand to push through the sleeve, his hand brushed up against her left breast again. The feel of her tight nipple had him almost moaning. “I hope so,” he muttered. “Put that back on. Okay?” He pulled his hand back before he lost it again.

  She dropped back down on the sofa, fit her arms through the sleeves and looked at him with a pout. “I think you are the first guy to tell me no.” She bit down on her lip. “Wait. I’ve never done this before. You’re the first guy I ever really initiated sex with.” She looked up at him. “That’s sad, isn’t it?”