Who's Been Sleeping In My Bed?

by Jule McBride

  He raised his hand. “Please,” he said with exaggerated calm. “Not another hormonal episode.”

  Her jaw set stoically.

  “If I’m going to protect you,” he ground out, “I need to know what you’re up to at all times.”

  “What I was doing is none of your business!”

  Her eyes darted around so wildly that Max knew she was hiding something important. He could swear her lower lip had even trembled.

  “C’mere, T-shirt,” she said.

  “T-shirt?” Max echoed just as the black-andwhite kitten scampered down the steps, then hopped into Lo’s arms. She nestled him against her shoulder, rubbing his fur against her cheek as if he were her last friend on earth. Intent on protecting his mistress, the kitten wrenched around and glared at Max.

  Max almost smiled. The markings on the kitten did make it appear as if he were wearing a T-shirt. And he was kind of cute…Max forced himself to look offended. “I thought you were—” Sheldon Ferris or the FBI. “A burglar.”

  Lo stared at him as if he were crazy. “Who would want to break in here?”

  Max could think of countless people. “Someone. Otherwise you wouldn’t need to hire a bodyguard, now, would you?”

  Lo’s face turned a guilty crimson, reminding Max that no matter how beautiful she was, she was trouble. His temper rose another notch. The woman might dress in virginal white, but she definitely had a black-lace soul. He became conscious that they were still sitting side by side on the steps, him in his underwear and her in her negligee.

  Uncomfortable awareness sparked in her eyes, and Max realized she was steadfastly training her gaze above his waistline. He decided he’d better get moving. Abruptly, he stood. It hardly helped. Now he was towering over her. And staring down, he could see right between her breasts. Another traitorous tug of arousal threatened to pull him back on top of her again. He imagined himself kneeling down, raising her gown, sliding his palms up her silken thighs and…

  “Would you please quit staring at me?” she said.

  Max snapped back to reality. “Sorry,” he said without thinking. “But you’re easy to stare at.”

  Lo’s expression softened, but only for an instant. “Just give it up, Boots. Nothing’s going to happen between us.”

  Max sighed and stretched out his hand. “Here—”

  Eyeing him warily, Lo readjusted T-shirt on her shoulder and gripped Max’s hand. At the mere touch, tingles dusted his skin, and when he tugged, she headed right for his arms. Of course, she sidestepped at the last possible moment. As she skipped a few safe paces away, Max had to force himself not to reach out, grab her and simply demand the truth. What are you doing down here? he wanted to ask. Why were you so desperate to hide from me?

  And then he heard a loud ding.

  He glanced in the direction of the kitchen. Lo had apparently installed a doorbell for the back door. No doubt she’d been expecting someone—and possibly a dangerous someone. Max peered into her nervous eyes, then he swiftly pivoted and headed for the kitchen.

  Pure panic was in her voice. “Wait!”

  From behind, she grabbed his biceps and Max looked at her over his shoulder. His voice turned testy. “What’s in that kitchen you don’t want me to see?”

  “Please,” she begged. “Just go upstairs.”

  It would take far more than Lo Lambert’s wheedling to stop him. Max strode toward the kitchen again. Inside, he quickly flicked on the light—and nearly choked. No wonder she’d begged him not to look.

  His horrified eyes trailed over the counters and tabletop—over cans and jars, past an open pint of ice cream and a half-eaten bag of barbecued potato chips. Finally, his gaze rested on her plate. It was heaped with steaming leftover turkey, dressing and gravy. Smack-dab in the middle of the mess was a huge dollop of melting green, mint-chocolate-chip ice cream.

  Another ding sounded.

  It wasn’t a doorbell, Max realized now. It was a microwave oven. He turned very slowly toward the glass door—and found himself staring at a baked potato.

  Somehow, Max forced himself to keep turning-and face Lo Lambert. She looked positively mortified. Her eyes searched his, gauging his reaction to her gluttonous food binge. His mind raced, searching for something to say, but Lo Lambert had a way of rendering him speechless.

  “I—I’m not usually—usually like this,” she said haltingly. “It—it’s just since the pregnancy—” Tshirt squirmed on her chest, and Lo quickly placed him on the floor as if relieved to focus on anything other than Max.

  Max recalled her untouched dinner plate—and his chest squeezed tight. He couldn’t afford to like the woman, since she was the object of his journalistic investigation, but she was sure making it difficult. He’d been so convinced she was up to no good. But she’d merely been hungry. And she was eating for two.

  Lo suddenly looked from the kitten to Max’s eyes. “Uh…he was a stray,” she explained.

  There was a long silence. Her cheeks turned bright red. Not from guilt, Max now knew, but embarrassment. “You know,” Max managed to say. “I could sure use that piece of pie you promised me for dessert.”

  Her audible sigh of relief made him wince. “Uh—” She swallowed hard. “Why don’t you just sit down and let me get it for you?”

  Max seated himself at the table. A second later, Lo served him not one, but two slices of pie—both pumpkin and pecan. When she grabbed the ice-cream scoop and reached for the green ice cream, now forming puddles in the pint container, Max raised his hand. “Really,” he assured her, “this is plenty for me.”

  She gulped. “Sorry.”

  Max nodded at her colorful plate. “Please…”

  “I am a little hungry,” she said.

  Now that’s an understatement. He watched her scoot sideways into her chair, a hand resting on her belly. Against his will, his eyes drifted over her thick red hair. It was sexily disheveled and layered mussily around her face. Her green eyes sparkled like emeralds and her kissable pink mouth was pouty. Max was sure he’d never seen a woman quite so pretty. He forced himself to look away, only to find himself staring into the disgusting swirl of green mint ice cream melting into her turkey gravy. When Lo caught him looking, he smiled with encouragement.

  “Dig in,” he suggested.

  She shot him such a relieved, grateful glance that he could have just rescued a small child from a burning building. Then as she lifted her spoon and savored a heaping mouthful of the ice-cream-and-gravy mixture, she looked up and smiled a smile that warmed him to his very soul.

  Break my heart, Max thought. Whatever Lo Lambert had done, she was making him feel things he hadn’t for years. Maybe not since Molly Miller, back in grade school.

  “Good?” he inquired as she took another bite.

  Lo was chewing, so she merely shut her eyes and moaned softly. Finally, she licked a fleck of chocolate chip from her upper lip. Then, in a breathy, reverent voice, she whispered, “Pure heaven.”

  So’s looking at you, honey, Max thought.

  And that’s when he knew that turning her in wasn’t exactly going to be easy.

  6

  If At First You Don’t Succeed…

  MAX’S PRIZE CORVETTE sputtered and coughed, then suddenly lunged like a bright red panther into Colleen’s driveway. Even in the darkness, Max could see that Lo’s bad driving skills were making her blush. As well they should. He clenched his teeth as his sorely misused car shuddered to a halt. “Who the hell taught you to drive a standard?” he couldn’t help but growl.

  “Uh…I’m self-taught”

  Obviously. And, no doubt, Lo had taught herself by driving his standard.

  Before Max could say anything further, Lo quickly continued, “I just can’t believe Colleen sent us to the 7-Eleven for drinks again.”

  Max could. Ever since their arrival at the July fourth block party, all Lo’s matchmaking neighbors had made sure Max and Lo stayed joined at the hip. Apparently they thought he was an old fri
end of hers and a potential “catch.” Melvin Rhys had even gone so far as to jokingly introduce Max around as “Maxine’s latest lover.”

  Max only wished. Especially when he glanced over Lo’s outfit—a floral print sundress and a wide brimmed straw hat. “Hot to Trot” pink toenails peeked from her bright blue sandals. She looked so sexy it made up for the fact that she’d destroyed the clutch on his Corvette. Well, almost

  “She did just tell us to get more soft drinks, right?”

  Max nodded, deciding the neighbors probably thought he was an old friend of Lo’s. “Yeah.” As he reached behind his seat for the drinks, Max glanced through the back windshield—and suddenly froze. If he’d been seriously thinking about turning Lo in to the cops, now was definitely the time.

  A man in uniform was headed right for them.

  Apparently, the cop had been about to hop inside his police cruiser when he’d spotted them. Now he was weaving around the countless vehicles doubleparked near Colleen’s. Max took quick inventory. Was a taillight broken on the Corvette? Was the sticker outdated? The license plate missing?

  But no…

  The ruined clutch aside, Max’s car was in perfect shape. So what did the cop want? And would he recognize Lo? Maybe not. Her pictures in the papers were of such poor quality that even Dotty Jansen hadn’t recognized her—at least not yet.

  Lo, still oblivious to the cop, tapped her “Hot to Trot” fingernails on the steering wheel. “C’mon, Boots. In a car this size, I seriously doubt you’ve lost those sodas.”

  “They’re right here,” Max murmured.

  And so was the cop. Visions of a high-speed car pursuit flashed through Max’s mind. Should he tell Lo to punch the gas and make a run for it? If he did, he’d blow his own cover, and Lo would know Max knew who she really was….

  Goodbye Pulitzer, Max thought.

  He eyed the cop, who was three car lengths away…now two. Suddenly, Max sat up straight. He had to act—and fast. Lo was staring warily at him, her eyes narrowed.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “Look,” Max said abruptly, “all week long, I’ve kept my hands off you. And…well, sorry, but I just can’t do it anymore.”

  Lo gaped at him.

  And while her mouth was still like that—hanging wide open—Max smacked his lips down on hers and simply kissed her good and hard. Somehow, he didn’t expect her to kiss him back. But she did. And when her arms circled his neck in the cramped confines of the car, and her delicate, velvet lips nibbled his, Max forgot all about the cop…

  Until the cop cleared his throat.

  Wrenched back to the present, Max jerked up his head—and found himself looking into a pair of suspicious dark eyes. The man had brown curly hair and a brass nameplate on his blue uniform pocket that said Sergeant Mack.

  “Ahem.” Sergeant Mack had the decency to look embarrassed. “So sorry to interrupt.”

  Max swiftly leaned across Lo’s lap, thrusting his head through her window, hoping to obscure her from view. He mustered his friendliest, most trustworthy chuckle. “You’re not nearly as sorry as I am, Officer. But what can I do for you?”

  Sergeant Mack leaned down, forcing Max to retreat inside the car. He held his breath as the cop rested his elbows on Lo’s window frame. Fortunately, her floppy hat brim was hiding her face. Besides, the top was up on the convertible, making the car’s interior even darker than outside. If the police had better pictures of Lo than what had run in the papers, Sergeant Mack still might not recognize her…

  As the officer’s eyes pierced the car’s interior, he shoved a black-and-white picture of Lo through the open window. “I’m looking for a woman named Lo Lambert. You’ve probably read about her in the papers. Have either of you seen her?”

  Lo made a small choking sound.

  Max peered hard at the picture. No doubt the officer had just shown it around the block party. Fortunately, people were preoccupied with having a good time. Maybe no one stopped to carry the photo to a light and scrutinize it. Still, even though the photo was bad, Max couldn’t believe no one recognized her.

  “Have you seen her?” Sergeant Mack repeated.

  Max shook his head. “Can’t say as I have.”

  “No,” Lo squeaked.

  “Was that a no, ma’am?”

  The wide brim of Lo’s hat flopped up and down. “Yes. I mean, no. I mean, yes, that was a no.”

  Max leaned across her lap again. “What she means is that we’ve never seen that woman.”

  “We would have reported it first thing!” Lo exclaimed nervously.

  Sergeant Mack stared down at her hat brim for a long moment. Max became aware of the hard, heavy beat of his own heart, and of the dull dread that had settled in the pit of his stomach. As he waited for Sergeant Mack to yank Lo from the car and arrest her, Max slipped his arm around her, dangling his hand in such a way that it would better obscure her face.

  Suddenly, Sergeant Mack winked. “Well, I guess I’ll let you two get back to your—er—business. Like I say, I’m truly sorry to interrupt, but this woman’s a fugitive. Not that you two should worry. Both New York and Connecticut police are doing everything possible to apprehend her.” His smile broadened. “And if at first we don’t succeed…”

  “You just try, try again?” Lo supplied weakly.

  “That’s right, ma’am.”

  Lo’s voice quavered. “That makes me feel so relieved.”

  Max gave Lo’s thigh a soothing pat, then nodded manfully at Sergeant Mack. “We have total faith in the police.”

  Only when Sergeant Mack backed away did Max duck his head and glimpse under Lo’s hat brim. From the O of her glistening, lip-glossed mouth, he could tell she was blowing out a long, silent breath.

  “Well, I hope they find that woman,” Max forced himself to say. To his relief, his voice sounded convincing. Lo would never guess he knew who she was.

  “It’s frightening to think of a criminal like that running loose,” Lo said shakily.

  Max wanted to end the strained conversation, but it seemed the perfect opportunity to pump her for information. “So you’ve read about Lo Lambert in the papers?”

  With her thumbnail, Lo worried a nonexistent speck on the steering wheel. “Not much. Mostly I just read the papers to check the weather.”

  Feeling disappointed, Max nodded as if he never read newspapers, either. Then he grabbed the sodas. By the time he got out, circled the car and opened the door for Lo, Colleen was waving at them from the yard.

  “We’re about ready to start the fireworks!” she shouted.

  Max put his palm on the small of Lo’s back and guided her toward a group of lawn chairs in the yard, only stopping to leave the sodas on a picnic table. When they reached the chairs, he half expected someone to point at Lo and scream, “That’s Lo Lambert!” Instead, Melvin Rhys’s hairy hand clamped down on Max’s shoulder. As soon as the suburban gorilla had made sure Max was seated next to Lo, he whirled around in his own lawn chair and glared at his sons.

  “Timmy,” Melvin roared. “Quit chasing Jeffie with that baseball bat.”

  “And you girls—” Colleen shouted from somewhere. “Keep your bikes out of Mr. Dickerson’s flower beds.”

  Lo suddenly leaned forward in her chair and laughed, making Max wonder how she could remain so cool under pressure. Was that a further indication of her guilt?

  “You think Howie managed to organize his contest while we were gone?” Lo asked.

  Even though Max was still eyeing the cop cruiser in the driveway, he managed a chuckle. When they’d left for the 7-Eleven, seven-year-old Howie was trying to organize a hot-dog-eating contest. The runnerup was the first person who could make him or herself throw up. First place went to whoever threw up the most. “Even if he did,” Max said, “I wasn’t going to enter.”

  Lo shot Max a disdainful glance. “Afraid I’d win?”

  Max’s lips twitched. “Pregnancy might give you an edge.”

  Their eyes
met. For a second, the sights and sounds of the block party seemed to recede—the scents of charcoal and burnt burgers, the kids wearing more mustard and ketchup than they’d eaten, and the teenage girls self-consciously tossing their hair while strutting boys pretended to ignore them.

  And then the quick whoop of a siren sounded. Lo started as if someone had lit a fire beneath her. Max turned and stared at the driveway again, watching as Sergeant Mack snapped on his headlights. The cruiser glided down the street, then turned a corner and vanished.

  Max hardly felt relieved. It was only a matter of time until the woman next to him was found and hauled off to jail. Max was still staring thoughtfully at the empty roadway where the car had been, when he heard Lo’s voice. “Did you just say something, Helen?”

  Max glanced at the two elderly spinsters who’d just seated themselves across from him and Lo. Both Helen and Gladys had been mere weeks from retirement when the Dreamy Diapers plant shut down.

  Now Helen tapped her hearing aid, raising ‘her voice to a near shout. Max wished she hadn’t. Because she screamed, “I said I think it’s just lovely that you and Boots are lovers!”

  Lo plastered a smile on her face. Under her breath, she whispered, “I can’t believe Melvin told her that. Not that she really believes it,” Lo added quickly. “Everybody knows I’m not that kind of girl.”

  Max gave her a suggestive once-over. “At least hot yet.”

  Helen hadn’t heard the exchange. She dragged a hand through her blue-rinsed hair. “Well, you know what Gladys just happened to say to me the other day?” she said brightly to Max.

  Max shot her a teasing smile. “I’m afraid to ask.”

  Helen clasped her hands more tightly in her lap. “Well, Gladdy said that pregnant women always make the best wives. Now, didn’t you say exactly that to me, Gladdy?”

  Gladys looked thoroughly confused. Then she exclaimed, “Why, of course I did! I really did! Why, I most certainly did!”

  “Enough matchmaking,” Lo said flatly.

  Max laughed. Then he draped his arm around Lo, cupping her bare shoulder with his palm. He just wished things weren’t getting so complicated. It felt so good to be here with Lo and the neighbors. All week, he’d caught himself thinking about how he’d always put his career before relationships and that he’d never met the right woman. And then, suddenly, almost magically, he’d found Lo Lambert cooking in his kitchen…