Satisfaction

by Marianne Stillings

  But the instincts and iron will he’d relied on as a kid burdened with too much responsibility, and then as a cop bent on dogging the truth, slapped his brain, reviving him, saving him from making a catastrophic mistake. Georgie’s words rang inside his head: keep that PI distracted…

  He broke the kiss, yanked her top down over her breasts, and pushed her to an arm’s length.

  “If I didn’t know better,” he rasped, desperate to pump some air into his lungs, “I’d say you were trying to sidetrack me.”

  Georgie ran her fingers through her hair and smiled up at him, blinking innocently like Scarlett O’Hara bending witless fops to her will. “Now, why would I want to do that, Mr. Detective Man?”

  “So I’d forget about asking you about Paul Corcoran,” he accused, anger and sexual frustration morphing his words into bullets. “How far would you have gone, Georgie? Would you have let me fuck you?”

  She gasped and shoved at him. “You’re horrible! Let me go!”

  “Answer me!”

  She was nervous now that he had her on the ropes. Staring defiantly into his eyes, she bit out, “You don’t strike me as a man who lives with breaches of ethics easily, and since I am technically under your protection, having sex with me would…”

  “What are you hiding, Georgie? And what’s it got to do with Paul Corcoran?”

  “I’m not hiding anything,” she snapped. Wiggling, she tried to break free, but he held her tight. “My life’s an open book—”

  “Yeah, if you’ve got a crowbar and a magnifying glass. Tell me about Corcoran.”

  “Nothing to tell.”

  “You saw him Friday in the window across from your dressing room at the studio, didn’t you?” He watched her carefully as she gave him a how would you know? lift of a brow. “He left finger-prints behind, Georgie. He was there and you did see him, and it scared you.”

  He had to give her credit; she didn’t so much as flinch. “Okay. So he was there. Caught me by surprise, that’s all.”

  “You screamed when you saw him.”

  “It was a mouse—”

  “Cut the crap, Georgie,” he growled, his fingers tightening on her shoulders. “When you broke up with Corcoran, you filed an injunction against him.”

  “I tried, but the judge denied the order.” She shoved his hands off her shoulders and turned away. “Just filing did the trick, though. I haven’t seen him since then.”

  He jammed his fists into his hips, staring at her rigid back. “You saw him because he wanted you to. It was an act of intimidation. Has he contacted you?”

  “Butt out, Detective,” she warned. “This is none of your business. If he does start to hassle me, I’ll call the proper authorities.”

  She was lying, and they both knew it. She was scared of her ex-boyfriend, but unless Ethan could get her to trust him, she was so damned stubborn he might never get the truth out of her.

  “Look at me, Georgie,” he said softly. “C’mon. Turn around. Talk to me, here.”

  She pivoted on her heel, facing him, her jaw set tight, a mixture of fear and fury in her expressive eyes.

  “Why’d you file the injunction against Corcoran?” he coaxed. “Did he hurt you? If he did, I swear to God, I’ll take him apart.”

  He meant it. The thought of Corcoran, or any man, lifting a hand to Georgie sent an unexpected spike of anger through his body, tensing his muscles, piercing his bones. His fingers curled into fists.

  She seemed to consider the question for a moment. Then, “He didn’t hurt me, not like you mean. Paul is a rich man’s son, used to getting what ever he wants, whenever he wants it. He asked me to marry him, and when I said no, he got a little…aggressive in his pursuit. End of story.”

  “Why’d you say no?”

  “He fooled around on me. Slept with other women. That’s all there is to it.”

  “That’s all there is to it for breaking up with him, not for trying to get a restraining order. There’s something else.”

  Her eyes remained locked with his. “No. There isn’t.”

  Yeah, there is, Ethan thought. But why wouldn’t she admit it? What was she really afraid of?

  In spite of the barriers she’d erected between them, he would still get to the truth.

  At his request, Lucas Russell, one of Ethan’s best PIs, had begun compiling a file on Georgie—and on Paul Corcoran as well. Sometime in the next forty-eight hours, Ethan would know all there was to know about the lovely Georgiana Mundy, including her relationship with Corcoran, whether she cooperated or not.

  Grabbing a handful of her hair, he tugged her gently toward him, planting a kiss on her lips she’d never forget. When she was breathless, nearly begging for mercy, he pulled back.

  “Stay put,” he mumbled against her mouth. “If you’ll tell me where the mop and broom are, I’ll clean this mess up before I leave.”

  “I can do—”

  “I’ll do it,” he insisted, then kissed her again. “I want to. For God’s sake, Georgie, let somebody do something for you without kicking them in the head for it.”

  “I’m not like that!”

  He grinned into her eyes. “The hell you’re not,” he said softly. “But that’s okay. If you can dish it out, believe me, I can take it. Now, where’s that mop?”

  An hour later, Ethan violently cut into his porterhouse steak, shoving the chunk of rare beef into his mouth, chewing as though he were grinding galvanized six-penny nails into metal kibble.

  Frustrating woman. He raised his wineglass and knocked back a huge gulp, letting the rich burgundy complement the savory meat in his mouth. Frustrating damn woman. Swallowing, he tucked into his steak once more.

  He’d kissed her. It had been the last thing on his mind, and the first thing he’d wanted to do when he’d seen her. Jamming another bite of steak into his mouth, he tried to focus on his meal, and not on Georgie’s hot little body and what he wanted to do to it.

  God, her outfit had about driven him wild, and it had taken every bit of restraint he possessed to walk away from her after that last kiss, especially after he’d had his hands on her.

  What he needed was to get laid. Find a woman and get down to business. That’d take his mind off Georgie, her curves, her big brown eyes.

  But it wouldn’t erase the fear he’d seen in those eyes at the mention of Paul Corcoran’s name. Why was she so afraid of him? Ethan wanted to tear the guy apart, if for no other reason than he’d put that look into Georgie’s eyes.

  Leaning back in his chair, he refocused his energies, tuning out the bustle of the five-star restaurant, the clatter of dishes being cleared from a nearby table, the chatter of friendly conversation. He sat alone. In the entire dining room, only he sat alone.

  He rubbed his thumb along the stem of his wineglass. What the hell did it matter? Being alone suited him. After all, he’d spent years struggling to meet the demands of other people, talking when he’d’ve preferred silence, cleaning up one disaster or another of someone else’s making. He deserved a little peace and quiet; he’d earned it.

  It had been six years since he’d pulled out all the stops and painted the town, taken a beautiful woman to her favorite restaurant, enjoyed her company, laughed at her charm and wit, and later, reveled in her body. Those days were behind him, and any social activities he’d participated in since then were either for business or simply to blow off a little testosterone.

  Until Georgie. Why her, and why now?

  Maybe it was because she was in trouble, needed a champion, and he’d always been a sucker for women like that—never mind that he was a paper tiger, hardly the kind of man a woman could depend on when the chips were down.

  Except that Georgiana Mundy was nobody’s victim. She kept her own counsel. Didn’t trust him enough to confide in him, preferring to fight what ever battles she faced alone.

  That made her one smart lady, and more attractive to him than she could possibly imagine.

  He lifted the wineglass
to his lips and started to take a sip when he heard a man’s voice behind him.

  “And here I thought this place had class.” A second later, a tall blond man wearing wire-rimmed glasses moved from behind Ethan to slide into the vacant chair across the table.

  “Mind if I join you, big brother? Thanks,” the man said, without waiting for Ethan’s reply. Raising his hand, he caught the waiter’s attention and waved him over. “I’ll have exactly what he’s having. Oh, and put it on his tab. It’s my birthday.”

  The waiter smiled and nodded, then scurried away.

  Ethan’s mood tripped and fell down a few flights. Jamming another bite of steak into his mouth, he mumbled, “Your birthday’s not for another three months.”

  Inspector Nate Darling of the SFPD, and Ethan’s younger brother by two years, grinned. “How cool of you to remember. Thought I’d better cash in my birthday chips now, though. Who knows if we’ll even be speaking in three months? I’d hate to have to wait another twenty years just to tell you what a prick I think you are, even when you step in front of me to take a bul—”

  “I thought you were on your honeymoon,” Ethan snapped. No need to rehash the past. He’d done what he had to do, and if he’d been shot in the process, well, those were the breaks. It sure as hell didn’t make him any kind of hero. “And stop looking at me like that, Nate. You’d’ve done the same thing for me.”

  “Yes. I would have. But in my scenario, it would have brought us closer together.”

  The two men eyed each other for a moment, neither speaking, neither looking away. Their bond had been fragile for years, and even now teetered on a precipice. It could tumble either way, and both men knew it.

  But fate had given them a second chance at a relationship, and while Nate seemed poised to leap into the void, Ethan wasn’t sure he could survive the risks. What if he did go for it, and it pushed his brother farther away than ever? He leaned back in his chair. “Why are you here?”

  Nate shoved his glasses up on his nose. Cocking his head, he said lightly, “Paris was great, thanks for asking. Yes, we had a fabulous time. Incredible food, beautiful art and architecture. The websites really don’t do it justice.”

  “You never even made it out of your hotel room.”

  “Not very often, no, but when we did, well, you know what they say—Paris is for lovers.” He grinned again, and Ethan tamped down a twinge of jealousy.

  Nate looked relaxed and happy, like a man who’d just spent the last ten days in bed making love to his bride. It was actually kind of disgusting, but somehow, Ethan just couldn’t drum up any ill feelings over it. His brother was no longer a he…he was a they. Obviously in love, he’d found a great woman in Tabitha—well, a woman who was willing to put up with his crap anyway, which was what it usually boiled down to. And someday they’d probably have a kid or two…

  The fundamentals of a fulfilling life, Ethan thought. The things most men wanted, fought for, sometimes even died for. Things even he had once craved, once upon a time.

  “…got home a couple of days ago,” Nate was saying. “Tabby’s teaching her dream interpretation class to night, so I called Andie, but she’s off-line, so I talked to Mom. And she said she thought you were still in the city. Told me this was one of your favorite haunts.”

  Ethan swallowed a sip of wine. “You came looking for me? What in the hell for?” He eyed his brother for a moment. Good-looking, easygoing Nate. Nate, who had gone off with their dad when their parents had divorced, leaving Ethan to clean up the emotional wreckage. “If you came by just to tell me about married life, I don’t give a rat’s ass.”

  Nate didn’t bat an eye. “I see we missed taking our happy pills again this morning.” He gestured toward Ethan’s injured side and his brown eyes grew serious. “You healing up okay?”

  The waiter returned, bringing a second wineglass, a salad, and another basket of hot dill bread. After filling Nate’s glass with burgundy, the waiter departed.

  “I’m fine,” Ethan said, as he ripped off a hunk of bread and slathered it with butter. But his mind went once more to the green silk cloth in his pocket, the silly gift of healing Georgie had given him, and suddenly he wanted to push himself away from the table, jump in his car, and go see her. Maybe she’d let him kiss her again, let him touch her again, let him make her smile. He loved her smile. “When do you have to report for duty?”

  Nate’s fork spiked through several crisp chunks of romaine. “Tomorrow,” he said, then shoved the bite in his mouth. “So, how’s it going? You getting any?”

  Before Ethan could form a reply, inside his jacket pocket his cell phone vibrated. Checking the readout, he swallowed a groan. Not now. He should let his voice mail take it. She’d never know.

  The phone pulsed again, and the guilt of a lifetime washed over him.

  “I’ve, uh, I’ve got to take this,” he said to his brother, busy digging into the basket of bread. Pressing the button, he put the phone to his ear. “Hi, Mom. What’s up?”

  Across the table, Nate’s eyes locked with Ethan’s.

  Ignoring his brother’s inquisitive stare, he said, “Do you need something, Mom?” Keep it light, keep it casual, he admonished himself. Maybe, if he was lucky, he could bring this conversation in on time and under bud get. But when his mother sighed, long and loud, he knew he was in for an earful.

  Across the table, Nate grinned wryly and returned to his meal.

  “Oh, Ethan, honey,” Lydia gushed. Then she sighed again, starting very high and ending very low, almost as though she were falling from a cliff and he heard her in passing halfway down. “You know how I hate to bother you.”

  Uh-huh. Gently, he said, “Tell me what’s wrong, Mom.” Or not. Not would be better.

  “Well, it’s my back again. Now, you know how I was seeing that one doctor in the city, and I really thought he was helping me for a while? But then, on Tuesday, no, wait, I think it was Monday. Yes, yes, that’s right, it was Monday. I remember because that’s the day the boy comes to mow the lawn and he came that day, so that’s how I know—”

  “What happened to your back, Mom?” Ethan sat back in his chair and patiently waited.

  As though he hadn’t interrupted her at all, Lydia continued, “—because he never comes on Tuesday, so it was Monday, and I wanted to make a hamburger noodle casserole, so-o-o-o-o I went out to the garage to find one of the big cans of cream of mushroom soup, you know, in the pantry that you built for me that summer? Well, I was bending down to look on the bottom shelf…I don’t know why I put the cans there, because, really, bending is so difficult, but the higher shelves have the cereals and grains and flour, and I don’t want bugs—”

  “You sprained your back again, Mom?” He furrowed his brow. “Are you in pain?”

  Nate stopped chewing, and sent Ethan a look of concern.

  “Well, honey,” Lydia whined, “now, you know I’m always in pain, it’s just a matter of degree. But I try not to complain about it too much, because I don’t want to be a burden to you kids with my misery, but what with my sciatica acting up…Oh, and lately I’ve had just this horrible ache in my side? Well, I try to ignore it, of course…”

  Years ago, when his parents had divorced and his father and Nate had moved to Washington state, Ethan and Andrea had opted to stay with their mom. Now, not only did Ethan understand why his father had left the woman, he had occasionally cursed the day he’d decided not to go, too.

  If ever a woman felt she needed a man in her life in order to survive, it was Lydia Darling. Without one, she flailed about helplessly, incapable of functioning on even the simplest level. The problem was, if some man did show an interest in her, she just plain bled the life right out of him until he crawled away to die in the Graveyard of Broken Suitors.

  But Ethan was her oldest son, the man of the house, her protector; he couldn’t crawl away, and they both knew it. Besides, in spite of everything—the grousing, the obvious bids for attention, the constant medical conditions
, real or imagined—he loved her.

  From the time he’d been sixteen, Ethan had been the man of the family, taking care of Mom and Andie, working two jobs, struggling with the finances, plundering his mother’s purse to snare and cut up her credit card whenever she got a new one—and immediately ran it up to its limit. Even though his dad never missed an alimony or child support payment, somehow Lydia failed to understand that it wasn’t free money to be spent on what ever caught her fancy.

  After over twenty years of this kind of insanity, sometimes the burden was a bit much to bear.

  “What do you need for me to do, Mom?”

  She sighed again, a sound that Ethan should be used to hearing by now, but that occasionally set his teeth on edge.

  “Nothing, I suppose,” she grumbled as though she were a little girl who knew she’d misbehaved, but should be excused simply because she was a little girl, and therefore not responsible. “Are you coming by the house soon? Since your sister moved out, it’s been so quiet here and, well, I could pass the time by working in the garden, but my knees, you know—”

  “Mom,” he said as gently as he could. “I hired a gardener for you. You have a cook and a house keeper. You don’t have to lift any finger you don’t want to lift, and I’m sorry your back and knees hurt.”

  “Really?”

  Across the table, Nate lowered his eyes and focused on slicing into the steak the waiter had brought.

  “Of course, really. Tomorrow, I’ll see if I can find a specialist who might be able to get you some relief. How does that sound?”

  “Good. That’s good. But maybe you could come by and see me? I can make chocolate chip cookies, like when you were little. They’re still your favorite, aren’t they? With toasted macadamia nuts?”

  He smiled. “Yeah, Mom. They’re still my favorite. It’s going to be a busy week, but I’ll try to make it by in the next couple of days, okay?”

  “Sure. Okay, honey.” She sounded a little dejected, which pinched his heart a bit, but it couldn’t be helped.