She nodded, then wished she hadn’t when the room started to spin. He was right, of course. It would be better to find someplace to sleep, then reevaluate the situation in the morning.
“Are you ready to go?”
She started to nod again, thought better of it. “Yes,” she said instead.
Chapter 10
J oel had been in his share of scrapes in his life, and he’d always held his own well enough. But he’d never been in a bar fight, he’d never fought over a woman, and he didn’t intend to start now. He also didn’t intend to let Riane leave with the cowboy who was currently directing her toward the door.
Joel stepped into their path, pasted what he hoped was a friendly smile on his face. “Thanks, pal,” he said to the man at Riane’s side. “But I can take it from here.”
The man might have backed off easily enough before, but he wasn’t inclined to do so now. Of course, Riane had given him additional encouragement on the dance floor, allowing him to grope her in public. Which was when Joel realized, without a doubt, that she was drunk. Not tipsy, not happy, not just a little uninhibited. She was completely, stinking drunk, and she probably had no idea that the man beside her was mentally ticking off the minutes until he could have her out of the sexy little dress and on her back.
“I don’t think so,” the cowboy drawled, tightening his arm around Riane’s shoulders. “The lady’s coming home with me tonight.”
“The lady’s not going anywhere with you,” Joel denied.
“Take it outside, boys,” the bartender called over, obviously anxious to avoid any brawling in his establishment.
Joel looked at Riane, concerned, as her face seemed to go from flushed to pale in half a second. “Are you okay, Riane?”
“She’s fine,” the cowboy responded for her.
“Riane,” Joel said again, trying to appeal to reason.
“I think I’m going to be sick,” she said, pulling away from the cowboy and pushing through the front door.
The cowboy backed away so fast he almost created a draft. He didn’t seem to mind taking advantage of an intoxicated woman, but he didn’t want to have to clean up after her.
Joel shook his head and followed Riane out the door.
She was leaning against the side of the building, her cheeks still pale, her lips trembling, a fine sheen of perspiration on her forehead.
“Are you okay?” he asked gently.
She started to shake her head, then apparently thought better of it. “I think I’m drunk,” she told him.
His lips twitched. “You’re wasted, sweetheart.”
“I can’t be. I don’t get drunk. Ever.”
“There’s a first time for everything,” he said.
She started to shake her head again, then bent at the waist and threw up.
Joel caught her hair and pulled it back, holding it behind her head and out of the line of fire as she continued to retch. Apparently, she’d consumed quite a bit of alcohol, more than he’d have thought she’d be able to hold inside and still stand up. It almost made him admire her tenacity, even though he had no idea what he was going to do with her now.
“Do you feel better?” he asked, after the bout of vomiting had finally stopped.
“No.” She straightened and shook off his hand. “But I don’t think I have anything left inside me.”
She didn’t protest when he led her over to his truck. Or when he opened the passenger side and helped her inside. “I’ll be right back,” he told her.
“Wait.” She put her hand on the door and looked up at him with watery eyes. “Don’t leave me here.”
“I’m just going inside to get you some paper towels.”
Still she hesitated.
“I’ll be gone half a minute,” he told her. “I promise.”
“Okay,” she relented.
He was gone only as long as promised, returning with a handful of paper towels he’d moistened in the bathroom. He opened the passenger door again and gently wiped her face. The cool water must have helped revive her, because she took the towels from him and finished the task herself.
“Why are you here, Joel? Why did you come back?”
“I needed to see you again. I want to try and explain.”
She closed her eyes, leaned her head back against the seat.
“Do you think anything you have to say will make a difference at this point?” Her voice was sad, resigned, and he hated that he’d had any part in bringing this misery upon her.
“Probably not,” he admitted. “But I didn’t want you to think that you didn’t matter to me, because you do.”
She opened her eyes, looking at him with a combination of wariness and sadness.
“Are you ready to go home now?”
“No.” Her response was immediate and vehement.
“You can’t run away from this forever,” he said.
“I know. I just can’t face them tonight.” She closed her eyes again. “Not like this.”
“Okay,” he relented, already knowing he would regret it.
Riane was mortified. Completely and utterly mortified. She wasn’t sure if she’d really puked all of the alcohol out of her system, but she’d sobered up enough to be thoroughly embarrassed by her own behavior. She’d never done anything like this; she never would have dared. But the Riane Quinlan who’d been raised to always be on her best behavior, who was conscious that any wrong step could be exploited by the scandal-hungry media, hadn’t been inside Rusty’s Tavern. The woman at the bar, desperately and ineffectually trying to drown her misery in watered-down beer, had little in common with the senator’s daughter. She didn’t even know who she was.
Now, she was at some two-bit motel off the side of the highway with a man she barely knew. Well, at least she knew Joel better than she knew Clint, and she’d almost been ready to go home with him. That would have been a mistake of monumental proportions.
Maybe she should have allowed Joel to take her home. It probably would have been the smartest thing to do. But she just wasn’t ready to deal with any of this right now. She wasn’t ready to face her own feelings about everything.
Did that make her a coward?
Maybe.
She was leaning against the hood of his truck, taking deep breaths of the cool night air. Her head was still spinning, and her stomach was a little unsettled, but she thought the worst of it had passed. Now she was just waiting for Joel to come back with their room keys, then she could drown herself in the shower.
“They only had one vacancy,” Joel told her, holding up the single key on a square plastic holder.
Riane scanned the sad exterior of the building. The faded orange brick, the peeling paint around the dingy windows, the rusted numbers nailed into scarred doors. But sure enough, there were vehicles parked outside of almost every unit. Except for the second one from the end.
“Number 9,” Joel said. “It has two beds.”
“That’s fine.” Riane knew she was in no position to object.
“There was a little general store attached to the office,” he told her, passing her a small brown paper bag. “So I picked up a few things I thought you might want.”
Riane opened the bag as he went around to the trunk to get his suitcase. He was obviously a little more prepared than she for this roadside adventure. She knew it was silly to be annoyed by the fact that he would have a change of underwear and she wouldn’t, and any hint of resentment was forgotten when she dipped into the bag and found a toothbrush and toothpaste, a travel-size bottle of shampoo, and a bag of corn chips. She almost wept with gratitude. “Thanks.”
He shrugged, as if it was no big deal, but it was. At least to her. She was hot and sweaty and embarrassed, but maybe she wouldn’t need to drown herself in the shower, after all. If she could just wash her hair and brush her teeth, she might actually feel human again.
“I thought you might be hungry,” he said, then grinned as her stomach growled in response to his statement.
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“Starved,” she admitted, only now realizing she hadn’t eaten since breakfast. She hadn’t even given a thought to food. But she did so now, taking out the bag of corn chips and tearing it open.
“Well, you can start with those,” he said, gesturing to the bag. “And we can always order a pizza if you’re still hungry.”
“Pizza?” She perked up immediately. Joel laughed.
Riane followed him into the room. It wasn’t much more than he’d said—two twin beds, each with horrid orange floral covers. She wondered if the decorator had consciously tried to match the interior decor with the exterior facade. What other reason could there be for such a particularly putrid shade?
She continued her cursory survey of the room. A single table with a lamp sat between them. On the other wall was a long dresser with a television on top of it and a paper card advertising several triple-X movie options. Past the dresser was a closed door. Riane pushed it open and flipped on the light. The bathroom was as sparse as the bedroom—a shower stall, toilet and pedestal sink. But it looked relatively clean, and the towels were neatly folded.
“I’m going to take a shower,” Riane told him.
“I’ll order pizza,” Joel said.
She offered him a tired smile. “Thanks. Sun-dried tomatoes, artichoke hearts and hot peppers.”
She didn’t see the face Joel made as she closed the door.
The pizza delivery boy had just left when Riane stepped out of the bathroom.
Joel did a double take. She stepped out of the bathroom wearing only a silky camisole with tiny straps and a matching pair of high-cut underwear. Her skin glowed, her hair was damp, and her nipples pushed against the fabric of her top. What was she trying to do to him?
He snapped his jaw shut, unstuck his tongue from the roof of his mouth, and somehow managed to speak. “Where’s your dress?”
“I hung it up in the bathroom.”
“I think you should put it back on.”
She frowned. “I can’t sleep in it.”
“You’re going to sleep in that?”
“I left my pajamas in the bar,” she said dryly.
He’d never even thought about what she was going to sleep in. He had his suitcase because he’d checked out of the hotel after his meeting with the senator, but Riane had been stranded on the side of the road with nothing but whatever she carried in that little purse. Obviously, a pair of pajamas wasn’t an option.
“I have a T-shirt you could put on,” he offered.
“This is fine,” she said.
“No, it’s not,” he grumbled, wondering how the hell he was supposed to get any sleep knowing that she was in the bed beside him in a couple of scraps of tantalizing silk, thinking about how easy it would be to strip them from her body and get his hands on her naked flesh. He lowered the pizza box to hide the evidence of his wayward thoughts, and only then remembered it was there.
“Pizza’s here,” he said.
“Great. I’m starving.”
So was he. But he had no interest in the pizza anymore.
He passed the box to Riane and picked up the remote for the television. He needed a distraction, any kind of distraction, to get his mind off all that tempting skin Riane was displaying. He pressed the power button.
Panting and moaning filled the room as a tangle of naked limbs appeared on the screen. It took Joel less than three seconds to realize that it was a pornographic movie—two seconds longer than it would have if all the blood hadn’t already drained from his head into his lap when Riane came out of the bathroom practically naked. He hit the power button again to shut off the television and dropped the remote onto the table with a clatter.
Riane glanced at him strangely. “What was that?”
He shook his head. “Nothing you’d want to watch.”
“What was it?” she asked again.
“It wasn’t the Disney channel,” he said dryly.
“Porn?” She sounded more curious than offended. “I’ve never seen a pornographic movie before.”
“And you’re not going to see one now.”
“Why not?”
“Give me a break, Riane.”
“What’s wrong with wanting to expand my horizons?” she demanded.
He tapped the pizza box. “Eat.”
She frowned as she flipped open the lid on the box. Her frown deepened as she inspected the contents. “This doesn’t look like sun-dried tomatoes and artichoke hearts.”
“Expand your horizons.”
“You expect me to eat this?” she asked, looking at the pepperoni and sausage with distaste.
“You will if you’re hungry,” he said easily.
“I’m not sure I’m that hungry.”
He reached across for a slice. “It has hot peppers.”
She still looked skeptical.
Joel bit into his slice, unconcerned. He was hungry, and there was no way he was going to order—much less eat—something that had no meat on it. He was reaching for his second slice when he heard Riane’s stomach growl.
She was eyeing the pizza more wistfully than skeptically now. He offered the slice to her. After a brief hesitation, she took it from his hands.
Joel indicated the two cans of ginger ale on the table. “I found a vending machine outside,” he said. “You’re probably thirsty.”
She nodded, her mouth full of pizza. “Thanks,” she said, after she’d swallowed.
He concentrated on his own slice, determined to look anywhere but at her, at all that tempting flesh exposed by her skimpy attire.
“I owe you an apology,” Riane said softy.
“For criticizing my pizza?”
She managed a smile. “For calling you a lousy investigator. I guess you were closer to the truth than I wanted to admit.”
Joel shrugged. “Forget it.”
“I wish I could.” She took another bite of pizza, then, “Why didn’t you tell me you were married?”
He stiffened instinctively. “I’m not.”
“Stuart did some investigating of his own,” she admitted. “Trying to find out who you were and why you were interested in me—”
“If Stuart couldn’t figure out why I was interested in you,” Joel interrupted, “then he’s a bigger idiot than I thought.”
“He was right to be suspicious, though, wasn’t he?”
Joel didn’t respond.
“Anyway,” Riane continued. “He gave me the file he’d compiled, including a copy of your wedding photo.”
“Apparently the file wasn’t up-to-date.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m divorced.”
“Oh,” she said again, a slight furrow marring her brow as she reached for another slice of pizza. “What happened?”
“My wife didn’t like my being a cop,” he told her. “She kept trying to convince me to go to work for her uncle, who had a security consulting business.”
“I can understand why she wouldn’t be thrilled by your choice of career,” Riane told him. “But I’d have thought, if she loved you, she would have supported you in whatever you wanted to do.”
“Obviously she didn’t love me.” He’d realized that fact soon after they were married. Too late to undo the damage that had already been done, and too soon to understand that they would hurt each other a lot more before they were through.
She’d married him, she admitted later, because her father had forbidden her to do so. It shouldn’t have hurt him. It shouldn’t have surprised him. It did both.
He wasn’t sure he’d loved her, either, but he’d been awed that a woman of such class and sophistication would want him. And he’d cared for her, believing that their marriage would last, that their vows were forever.
“The irony of the whole situation,” Joel admitted, “is that we split up when my career with the police department fell apart. We’ve been divorced for several years now.”
Afterward, after the divorce was final and he was alone again, he�
�d realized he preferred it that way. None of the women who’d moved through his life had brought him anything but heartache and grief.
“Oh,” was all Riane said.
“I should have realized it was doomed from the start.”
“Why?”
He shrugged. “I was a cop—a bad boy in uniform. She was a college professor’s daughter—wealthy, privileged, sheltered.”
“You don’t think class differences can be overcome?” she asked.
“I don’t think we even tried,” he admitted. “She wanted the grisly details of my cases to shock her high-society friends, but she never considered how my job affected me.”
“I’m sorry,” Riane said softly.
He shrugged again, wondering why he was even talking to her about his ex-wife. He’d never shared the details of his ill-fated marriage with anyone, and Riane hardly seemed a logical choice of confidante. Especially since she came from the same kind of wealthy, privileged background as his ex-wife.
On the other hand, maybe Riane was exactly the right person with whom to unburden his soul. After all, he knew everything there was to know about her, it only seemed fair that she be given some inside information about the man who’d destroyed her fairy-tale existence.
He gave himself a mental shake, as if to shake off the guilt that weighed heavily on his shoulders. He shouldn’t feel guilty—he wasn’t the one who’d lied to her for twenty-two years. But he hadn’t been completely honest with her, either, and he refused to hide behind any more half truths. He needed her to know that she was more than a case to him.
“Despite the problems in my marriage—” and there were more than a few “—I never cheated on my wife. And I wouldn’t have kissed you if I’d been involved with someone else.”
She dropped her eyes, a faint blush staining her cheeks. He would like to think just the memory of those kisses caused her body to heat, but he couldn’t rule out the residual effects of alcohol.
“Did you have any children?” she asked, reaching for her can of ginger ale.
“Thankfully, no.”
“You don’t like kids?”
“I don’t have enough experience with them to really say one way or the other. I only meant that I’m glad we never had any. I hate to see what happens to them when a marriage falls apart.”
Some Kind of Hero Page 14