Moving his hand from the cat, he reached up and touched a strand of Sue’s hair. Soft. Leaning closer, he caught a whiff of the fruity scent. He’d smelled it the night he’d kissed her, and again the day of the rat incident.
Yeah, he’d noticed. So much so that yesterday at the drugstore he’d actually paused at the shampoo aisle and loosened lids trying to discover which she used. Very unlike him. He simply wasn’t the type of man who cared what type of shampoo a woman used. But he cared about Sue.
His gut tightened when he remembered someone was trying to hurt her. He took a deep breath and swore that whoever had put that fear in Sue’s eyes to night would pay. Pay big.
For a second, he got that soul-wrenching feeling to run, the same feeling he’d gotten the night he’d kissed her. The one that said this could only lead to regret. But who would Sue turn to? She hadn’t called the foot doctor to night. She obviously hadn’t gone to Mexico with him. Which meant she didn’t care about him. An odd sense of relief flooded Jason’s chest.
Sue nestled closer against him as if comfortable with his presence. He hoped that was the case. Because until he caught the stalker, he planned on staying right here.
Here, with Sue. With the woman he’d vowed not to get close to.
“I’m staying,” he whispered, not loud enough to wake her but loud enough for her subconscious to hear. “So don’t argue with me. Got that?”
She stirred again, her hand came to rest in his lap, and his sex stiffened. It felt good. He glanced at the rising bulge in his jeans. Realization hit. Things were back to normal. He smiled.
Ah, hell, since they were going to be together anyhow, he didn’t see any reason they couldn’t indulge in a few pleasurable pastimes. If she was up for it. He knew he was.
But why now and not last week, or last month? Because she needed him? Yeah, that was it; but there was also the whole no-dating rule she’d followed. Non-dating women were either too easily hurt or they were looking for more than the average man was offering. Jason was definitely the average man in the offerings department, and he hated the idea of hurting someone. But obviously Sue had moved past that. Now all he had to do was convince her that they could be good together.
Letting his gaze whisper over her, he shifted his arm so she rested closer against him. Nice. Real nice. Tilting his head down, he pressed his lips against her forehead and eyed the tiny buttons of her pajama top.
She let out another light rattle/almost a snore. He grinned and decided again that a little convincing was the only thing keeping him from exploring what was below those cotton pj’s. Not to night. But soon.
Knowing Sue, he expected her to try to talk him out of it. Luckily, he was good at convincing.
Light.
Morning breath.
A hard object.
“Jiminy Cricket!” Sue snapped her eyes open, attempting to identify the hard object pressed against her hip.
She tried to dislodge herself, but her legs and arms were tangled with another pair of arms and legs. Pushing against a very masculine chest, she jerked up, lost her balance, and started falling off the couch. A pair of arms caught her and in one swoop she was once again against the warm, masculine chest…and the hard object.
“Relax.” His voice sounded hoarse with sleep. “You’re gonna fall.”
His breath tickled her ear, and the hardness now pressed against her thigh. She pushed up, carefully.
Standing, she gazed at the large bulge between his legs. Yup, she’d been right. After two years, she should be proud she could recognize one. She might have been proud to have gotten Jason Dodd in the state, but she knew better. Men just naturally found lead in their pencils in the morning.
He followed her gaze. “Sorry. I was asleep. It has a mind of its own.”
Yeah, because your other mind wasn’t interested enough to call me! Sue looked at the silent television screen, then at the clock. It was almost ten.
“The movie’s over.” She marched across her breakfast room and into her hall. She opened her bedroom door, then called back, “Thanks for staying. You can see yourself out. And lock the door behind you.”
Closing her eyes, she leaned against the wall. Perhaps it was normal for men to wake up to lead in their pencils, but it wasn’t so normal for a woman to want to be used as stationery. Forcing herself to move, she headed to the bathroom and a cold shower. And then she needed to figure out what she was going to do about someone wanting to kill her.
Ten minutes later, dressed in a pair of cut-off jeans and a T-shirt, she stepped into the hall. When she didn’t hear anything, she assumed he’d done as she’d asked and left. Later she’d call and thank him again. After all, it had been rude to send him off without offering him coffee, tea, or…me. She moaned at the wayward thought.
She got to the kitchen and froze when she heard the running shower in her guest bathroom. Dashing to the window, she peeked out to make sure Jason’s car was still there. For all she knew, her stalker had come in and had decided to bathe before he did her in. Seeing the blue Mustang out front, she relaxed.
But as she reentered the kitchen, she got a mental picture of him naked, his pencil still ready to write, standing beneath a steamy spray of water.
Swallowing, she started coffee and made it strong. Jeepers! The man wasn’t interested in her. The least she could do was return the feeling.
After calling her mom and leaving a short message that she was fine—not mentioning the whole Elvis situation, she would deal with that later—Sue phoned her grandparents to remind them of tomorrow’s doctor’s appointment. Her grandpa pointed out that she obviously hadn’t gone to Mexico.
Sue told him the truth. “You were right. Settling isn’t going to cut it. No more guys with issues.” Then she reminded them both to take their vitamin C.
Hanging up, Sue poured herself a cup of vanilla java with milk and filled another cup for Hitchcock. “It’s a little strong,” she warned the cat waiting on the table.
Hearing footsteps, she darted to the fridge, opened it, and stared at some mayonnaise. The footsteps moved closer, then stopped.
Sue felt his gaze and pulled her cup to her lips, hoping to appear nonchalant, sophisticated, and totally uninterested. Suddenly not sure staring at mayonnaise said sophisticated, she focused the gorgonzola cheese. Much more sophisticated. Moldy cheese would always do the trick.
“Thanks,” Jason said.
For what? She turned. He had on the same jeans and T-shirt, but his blond hair was wet and finger-combed. He held Hitchcock’s coffee as if she’d poured it for him.
His gaze homed in on her as if she were something delectable. He sipped the brew before his delectable gaze shifted to the cup. “I usually take it black.”
She glanced at an unhappy cat, tail twitching, staring up at Jason from a chair. “Yeah, but Hitchcock takes his with cream.”
Jason eyed the cat, then the cup. “You serve him coffee?”
She nodded.“We used to share, but after he ate that dead rat, he gets his own cup. Nasty germs and all.” Sue grinned at the look on Jason’s face.
“Funny.” He set Hitchcock’s coffee on the table and opened a few cabinet doors until he found a new cup.
She should have gotten it for him, but the morning-after awkwardness had her in knots. Not that they’d had a night.
Then, feeling rude for staring, she refocused on the cheese. The cool air hitting her face felt good. She heard Jason pour coffee and felt his gaze on her again.
“Make yourself at home.” Her tone bordered on sarcastic.
“I did.” He either ignored her sarcasm or was deaf to it. “What are we having?”
“Having?” She refused to look at him. Safer to stare at the cheese.
“For breakfast.” He nudged her over so he could share the fridge space and her much-needed cold air.
She looked at him.
He glanced into the fridge. “Eggs, milk, cheese.” Still holding the coffee in one hand, he opened t
he vegetable drawer. Steam rose from his cup. A lock of wet hair fell to his brow. He looked at her and smiled. “You could make us omelets.”
Yeah. She barely managed to scramble eggs.
Snatching the milk, she shut the fridge. Sue then retrieved a box of raisin bran and shoved it into his hand. “This is as good at gets around here.” But why had she said that instead of asking him to leave?
“I’m a cereal man, myself.” He carried the box to the table and then, bringing the cup to his lips, his slow gaze moved over her body. “Does the cat get his own bowl?”
His smile wrapped around her lungs making it hard to breathe, and the unexplainable heat in his eyes made her heart drop. She grabbed bowls and spoons and, moving to the other side of the breakfast table, set them down.
“Look, I appreciate what you did last night. But I should be fine now. I mean, you’re welcome to some cereal but—”
“Good, I’m starved.” He opened the box and commenced to fill the two bowls.
Resigning herself to sharing a meal with him, she pulled one bowl closer. “Then you go.”
He closed the top of the cereal. “No.” He said the word so casually it surprised her. “After we eat, we talk.”
“We don’t need to talk.”
“Yes, we do. I’ve got questions about the phone calls.” He pointed to her bowl. “But now, let’s eat.”
She could have argued. Could have, but didn’t. Instead she sat down, grabbed her vitamin bottle from the table, and poured out two for herself and two for him. Leaning over, she dropped his pills beside his bowl. “Vitamin C. Cold prevention.” She’d answered his raised brow.
“I don’t get colds.”
“Anything that stays around here long enough starts dying.” She motioned to Ms. Ficus. “Look at my plant.” She swallowed her pills with a sip of coffee.
He smiled—one of those really nice smiles. Obviously, Jason thought she was too scared to be alone. Why else was he being nice? And why was she letting him?
“Look.” She sighed. “As Officer Martin pointed out last night, this isn’t your district, so it’s not your problem.”
He picked up his spoon and met her gaze. “Why? You want to call Martin again?”
“No.” She leaned back in her chair.
“Good.” He uncapped the milk and filled both bowls. “The guy’s a jerk.”
She propped her elbows on the table and watched him spoon bites of cereal into his mouth. Why was he still here? She understood the panicked phone call may have brought out his to protect and serve instincts, but to stay last night…“Why are you being nice?”
He grinned. “I’m a nice guy.”
“No, you’re not.”
He pointed to her bowl with his spoon. “Your cereal is getting soggy.”
She hated soggy cereal, so she started eating. He refilled his bowl and finished before she did. Obviously not going back for thirds, he crossed his arms over his chest and watched her eat.
No longer hungry under his intense scrutiny, she pushed her bowl away. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.”
“Get what over with?” He smiled as if she’d secretly meant something sexual.
“The questions.”
He settled back in his chair, and his smile melted away. “Okay. Why aren’t you in Mexico with the foot doctor?”
CHAPTER EIGHT
“I…” Why did she get the feeling of déjà vu?
Oh, yeah. His smug tone reminded her of the conversation they’d had last week at Lacy’s. The gratefulness she’d held for him for staying last night started to wane. “You know? I don’t want to do this. You should—”
“Your mother thinks the doc is behind all this.”
She wadded a paper napkin in her hand. “My mother is having sex with a fruit-selling Elvis. How much weight do you think you should put in what she thinks?” Sue shook her head. “Paul didn’t do this.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“I just know.” She unwrinkled her napkin, flattened it, then ripped it in half.
His blue-eyed stare made her realize that the air conditioner hadn’t come on. Hot, too hot. The memory of waking up on top of him did funny things to her stomach. She fidgeted with her napkin and tore it again.
“So, what happened to your plans for the weekend?”
Oh, I decided I couldn’t fake orgasms. She ripped the napkin into tiny shreds. Realizing the mess she’d made, she swiped up the bits and closed them into her hand. “He had a medical emergency.”
“Someone get an ingrown toenail?” Humor danced in Jason’s eyes.
Sue stood and carried her bowl to the sink. “Paul’s a doctor. He doesn’t deserve to be ridiculed. Feet are important.”
Jason turned in his chair. “So you broke up with him, huh?”
“I did not.” She shot him her best go-to-Hades look. The fact that she planned to break up with Paul tomorrow night was none of Dodd’s business.
“So, why didn’t you call him last night to come rescue you? Isn’t that what a girl does—calls her boyfriend during a crisis?”
She opened her mouth but couldn’t answer. Truth was, she’d never considered calling Paul. Even before she’d decided to break up with him, she would never have counted on him. Didn’t that say something about how little she really cared?
She bit into her lip. “How is that any of your business?” Being that you’re not interested in a woman who can’t stand still and never shuts up, she continued in her mind. But she didn’t say it. Because to say it would make her sound hurt. And if she was hurt, then it meant she cared. Which she didn’t, of course.
Sure, she had a bad case of you’re-my-kind-of-jeans lust going on, but give her a break. It had been two years since she’d had sex and anything battery operated didn’t count. Jason had all the right equipment, no batteries required. She’d probably be attracted to any man if he’d kissed her and discovered a never-before-found G spot in her throat.
Jason brought his bowl to the sink. His leg brushed against hers.
Zip.
Zing.
The thrill of his touch rushed through her again and sent liquid pleasure pooling in places that didn’t need to be moist right now. Space. She needed space. She stepped to the side.
He edged closer. “You mom has a point. Stalkers usually turn out to be the boyfriend or the ex-husband.”
“Not this time.” She shifted to avoid touching him and opened the dishwasher.
“Why do you say that?” He leaned against the counter and watched her load the dishes. Wasn’t that just like a man—to watch a woman clean and not offer to help?
When she rose up, she noticed his eyes on her butt. The words tumbled out before she could stop them: “Did I sit in something, or are you just enjoying the view?”
“It’s definitely the view.” He grinned, not at all admonished. She supposed she needed to work on her chastising voice.
His smile hit her again, pure sex appeal and a whole bunch of promises. She tugged on her shorts to make sure she wasn’t truly giving him an eyeful.
He took her by the elbow and started to the living room. “Let’s sit down. Tell me why you don’t think this foot doctor or your ex is responsible for all this. Tell me about the phone calls.”
His touch as he guided her to the sofa made it hard to think period, much less to think about Paul or her never-think-about-him ex-husband. Sitting down, the cool leather sofa pressed against her upper thighs and reminded her of the cut of her shorts. They weren’t indecent. So they weren’t Sunday school attire, but when she’d dressed she hadn’t expected him to be here.
“Start with the phone calls. When did they begin?” He sat beside her.
The sofa gave way; a few pieces of foam shot out of the bullet hole. His weight brought Sue against him. She scooted over and considered telling him to go take a hike, but then she spotted the gunshot in her sofa again. While that bullet hadn’t been intended for her, someone had wanted to do her
harm last night.
She met his eyes. “I don’t know. I got a few hang-ups. I don’t know if they were part of it or not. I only started noticing them after I got the rat. By Lacy’s party I ‘d gotten several. He never said anything, just hung up. And—”
“Why didn’t you say something then?” Jason sounded annoyed.
She crossed her legs, her right foot swinging as she spoke. “I didn’t know if they were connected. Everyone gets hang-ups when telemarketing computers—”
He held up his hand to silence her, reminding her of his comment about her talking too much and never standing still. She stopped fidgeting.
“But now he does more than just hang up?”
She nodded and accidentally kicked him as her foot began to swing again. Uncrossing her legs, she dropped her hands on her knees. “He says weird stuff. Things like, ‘Die, Sue, die.’ ”
“Die?” Jason frowned.
“And what’s scary…Yesterday he called my cell. Few people have that number.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Does the doctor have your cell number? Your ex?”
“Yes, Paul has it, but he’s not doing this, and I haven’t seen my ex in two years. Neither of them is behind this.”
Jason folded his arms across his chest. “How can you be so sure?”
She decided to just tell him. “Because neither of them has read the book.”
“What…do you mean?”
She stood and walked around the coffee table. Bending, she straightened the bowl of wooden fruit. “My book, Murder at Midnight, isn’t coming out for two weeks.” Seeing his gaze travel again to her backside, she jerked upright and tugged at the bottom of her shorts. His gaze went back to her face.
“What does the book have to do with the phone calls?”
“My story has a serial killer who taunts his victims. He makes frightening calls, says strange things, and…once he sent a—”
“A dead rat!” Jason stood up. “Shit! Why the hell didn’t you tell me this last week?”
“I didn’t want to believe it. It wasn’t exactly the same as my book. And you and Chase were already accusing Melissa. If you learned about the scene and knew she was one of the people who’d read it, you’d have probably taken her down for questioning.”
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