by Pamela Clare
She’d since called her insurance company, arranged a substitute car, and attended court to make an election for one of her clients. She closed two real estate transactions (as her partner Vince so often said, you gotta make up that Legal Aid and pro bono stuff somewhere), and called her mother, who’d asked if she were still seeing that sartorially-challenged policeman.
Now, after capping her day with the news that the Crown intended to appeal a recent acquittal she’d earned for a client, she was more than ready to go home.
On that thought, Vince stuck his head into her office. “Quigg’s here. Says you’re traveling together tonight.”
Quigg? Quigg? Since when had her partner and John Quigley become nickname pals? “Thanks.”
“No problem. Oh, and here.” He stepped forward and dropped several files on her desk.
“What’s this?”
“DeBoeuf needs to reorganize, incorporate another limited company or two, shuffle some stuff around. I need you to read these files so we can put our heads together over the best course of action.”
Gilles DeBoeuf. A charming rogue, and easily the firm’s biggest client. Vince had remodeled his kitchen on the last fee he’d collected from the handsome Frenchman for securing a corridor authority for his small trucking company. She picked up the files. “What’s our time line?”
Vince grimaced. “Yesterday.”
“Yikes.” She thumbed through the files. Four of them. “Mind if I take these home? I’m gonna have to burn the midnight oil on these, and Quigg,”—she let the name rest there for an extra beat—“hates to see me work alone here after dark.”
“Can’t say I blame him under the circumstances. Which reminds me, why didn’t you tell me what was going on? I mean, I can’t believe you didn’t say anything.”
“Hey, old man, you’ve got enough to worry about, what with the twins coming and Marly having such a hard time of it.”
Vince, whose forty two year old wife was into the twentieth week of a tricky pregnancy, went for the bait beautifully, launching into a description of Marly’s latest tests. Suzannah half expected him to produce a wallet sized version of the ultrasound images. She was stuffing the files into her briefcase by the time he wound down.
“So,” he said, gesturing to her briefcase, “you okay with this? I know Gilles isn’t your favorite guy.”
“He’s an amoral pig.”
Vince blanched and she laughed.
“Relax, Vince. It doesn’t matter what I think of Gilles DeBoeuf. You’re the one who has to deal with him, not me. I just do the grunt work behind the scenes.”
“That’s my girl.” There was no disguising the relief in his voice. “Now, go put your detective out of his misery.”
“Misery?”
“I believe Candace was quizzing him about the size of his weapon when I left them.”
*
John leapt off the leather covered couch the moment she pushed through the big oak door and into the reception area. Suzannah suppressed a smile at the sight of him. His tie hung askew, and his suit, which she knew for a fact had looked almost passable this morning, was impossibly rumpled. What on earth had he been doing? She lifted an eyebrow. “Rough day?”
His brows drew together. “What do you mean?”
“It looks like you been wrestling alligators.”
Following the sweep of her gaze, he looked down at himself, then back up. “I resent that remark. I’ll have you know I’ve been pushing paper all day.”
Her smile broadened at his offended tone. “Sorry.”
“So, you ready to go?”
“I have my own car, you know. A temporary replacement courtesy of the insurance company.”
“Saw it. Thought I’d follow you.”
He did, did he? “I don’t need an escort every time I leave the building, John.”
“Agreed,” he said easily. “You can go lots of places without an escort. You can go to court. You can go to lunch. You can go to the Registry Office. In fact, you can go most anywhere there’s lots of people around. But you can’t go home.”
At her station, the receptionist tapped away at her keyboard without missing a stroke, but Suzannah knew the younger woman wasn’t missing a word.
“Candace, could you excuse us a moment?”
“Of course. No problem.” The tapping stopped, and Candace slipped out of the reception area, letting the heavy door fall closed behind her.
Suzannah swung her gaze back to John, but before she could say anything, he went on the offensive.
“Don’t even start with me,” he warned. “I told you this morning it’s not safe for you to go home alone.”
A tendril of hair had escaped her neat French twist, and she pushed it behind her ear with an impatient hand. “Dammit. I hate that I’m scared to stay alone in my own house.”
“We’ll find the creep. In the meantime, you can stay with me.”
Stay with me.
The prospect sounded frighteningly attractive, on too many levels.
“No.”
His eyebrows rose, making his forehead wrinkle in a way that was becoming familiar.
“No?”
“Bad enough I let him drive me out last night,” she said. “Bad enough that I feel constrained as to where I can go and what I can do. I will not be driven out of my house.”
He didn’t miss a beat. “Then we’ll move in with you.”
Her pulse jolted. John, living in her house?
Suddenly, she remembered the scene she’d been trying to banish all day, the memory of the raw yearning that had blazed from his eyes last night just before she’d closed her bedroom door on him. Her parting comment had been meant to make him suffer, but it had backfired on her. She was the one who’d tossed all night, burning with curiosity and something more.
Dear God, it would be the height of insanity to let him move in. Which meant that she must be losing her marbles. Suicidal as it might be, she wanted the danger of being alone with him. Then her addled mind finally registered his use of the plural. “What do you mean, we?”
“Me and Bandy. Unless you want me to kennel the mutt.”
A week ago, she might have missed the flicker of shadow in his eyes, the subtle change in his voice. He didn’t want to subject the neuroses ridden old dog to the stress of a kennel situation, but he would if he had to.
“God, no, don’t do that.”
“Good. ’Cuz he’s in the car. It would have broken his heart if I’d dropped him off at the doggie hotel. Shades of the dog pound and all that.”
Her jaw dropped. “He’s here? Right now?”
“Yup.”
“Dog dish, kibble and all?”
“He likes to be prepared.”
“What about Bandy’s master? Are you all packed for a sleepover, too?”
He rolled his shoulders, tugged at his already loose tie as though it were strangling him. “I like to be prepared, too.”
She shook her head in disbelief. “Am I really that predictable?”
A shrug. “I figured it wouldn’t sit well with you, being driven out of your house like that. And there’s no way I’m gonna let you stay alone.”
Let her stay alone? As usual, his choice of wording could use some work, but she didn’t pursue it. This was old ground, and well covered. No point arguing she didn’t need his protection, especially when it was looking more and more as though she did. She searched his face, but it held no clue as to how he felt about her decision. “Do you think I’m being stubborn, wanting to go home? Stupid?”
“I’d feel more comfortable with you at my house, no question,” he said, lifting a hand to rub the back of his neck. “But at the same time, it might not be a bad idea to show him you’re not intimidated. As long as you’re smart about it. And bloody careful. That means you don’t go there without me. That means we keep Bandy around; he’s actually a helluva watchdog. Barks up a storm at the slightest noise. Looks pretty scary, too, if you don’t know better.”
The same strand of hair fell down again, and Suzannah tucked it back behind her ear. “What are the chances that plan of action—your moving in with me—will just make him escalate his campaign?”
“Pretty high, I expect.”
Her eyes widened. “That’s what you want him to do, isn’t it? Take more chances so your guys can catch him.”
“You want it to be over, don’t you? You want your old life back?”
Her old life. Life without fear.
Life without a bossy, interfering cop underfoot every way she turned.
He was watching her, she realized, waiting for a response. “Of course I want my life back.”
“Then we need him to mess up. And he’s more likely to do that if he’s a little pissed.”
“And moving a man in should do the trick?”
“Moving your lover in,” he corrected. “And yeah, I think that’ll do the trick, especially if you thumb your nose at him by doing it under your own roof, the place where he threatened you the strongest terms.”
A shiver skittered up her spine, and it had nothing to do with the admittedly aggressive air conditioning in the empty waiting room. She licked lips gone dry. “If this does draw him out, are we equipped for it?”
The strand of hair fell forward onto her face again, and this time it was his fingers that tucked it back in place. She shivered again.
“You want to change your mind?” he asked, his voice pitched low, quiet. “We can stay at my place if you like, lay low. Or you can take a few weeks’ vacation and get right out of town, leave the boys to work on it.”
“No!” Then, less sharply: “No. I want it over. I don’t want to think about it anymore when I cross a busy street. I don’t want to jump when I hear some guy gun his engine, or when some old clunker backfires. I don’t want to cast backward glances when I’m walking down a deserted corridor and hear footsteps behind me.”
“Good girl.”
She felt his hand on her arm, warm and approving.
“And to answer your question,” he continued, dropping his hand, “I think we’re well prepared when this guy crawls out from whatever rock he’s hiding under. With your new security system and the beefed up exterior lighting, you’re in a much better position than you were before. And I’ll have my radio, not to mention my service weapon.”
A gun. In her house. Oddly, the idea wasn’t as disturbing as she thought it should be. So much for her pacifist principles. She pushed the thought away. “You’re forgetting our biggest asset in that laundry list of security measures.”
“Yeah?”
“Bandy.”
“Right.” He laughed, a throaty chuckle that made her pulse skip a little faster. “Speaking of which, we’d better get going if I want to have any upholstery left.”
*
An hour and a half later, replete with the pasta Suzannah had prepared, Quigg drained the last of the single glass of wine he would permit himself.
She lifted the bottle. “Refill?”
“No, thanks.”
“Are you sure? It’s good for the blood chemistry, you know. A red-meat eater like you should probably have a couple of glasses a day just to keep those platelets from congealing. It may even help to ward off cancer.”
The benefits of red wine consumption? That’s what she wanted to talk about? He was a master himself at avoiding discussions that involved touchy feely stuff, but this woman took the cake. There were some things you just didn’t leave laying out there. Like her bald statement last night that had left him climbing the walls.
“No, thanks,” he said. “One’s my limit.”
She shrugged and topped up her own half empty glass and put the bottle back down on its pewter coaster. Quigg watched her raise the glass to take a sip, then lift a napkin to blot her damp lips.
“So, what do your tastes run to in television?”
He lifted his gaze from her mouth. “Huh?”
“Vince has got a rush job that’s going to tie up my nights for the next while, which means the TV will be all yours, but I only have basic cable. I was just wondering if you’d be able to find something to watch.”
He pushed back his chair. “I don’t believe this. You’re really not going to say anything about it.”
“It?” She lifted her chin defiantly, blue eyes glittering. “And what would ‘it’ be?”
For a wild second, he was tempted to take the glass form her hand, drag her into his arms and show her, graphically and satisfyingly, exactly what ‘it’ was.
Patience, Quigg, buddy. That’s supposed to be the new watchword. And you’ve already blown it. Don’t get her back up any further.
He forced himself to relax, keep his tone low key. “Last night. If I’m going to be staying here, don’t you think we should talk about it?”
“Oh, that.” She lowered her lashes. “I owe you an apology for that. I guess I wanted to make you suffer a little bit. You know, for turning me down.”
“It worked,” he said wryly. “But I was already pretty clear on what that was about. What confused me was the other stuff.”
She shot him a look, and there was no mistaking the flare of panic in her eyes, though she controlled it quickly.
“Other stuff?”
“Just things you said.”
“Like what?”
The words came out casually enough, but he saw her swallow.
He leaned forward, snaring her gaze. “Make no mistake about it, Suzannah—I called a halt because I didn’t want us to end up in bed for the wrong reason, not because I didn’t want us to end up in bed.” Her jaw went slack, but he pressed on. “I still want that, but only if you want it, too. Not out of fear. Not because you had one drink too many. And please God, not as a sort of coin for bodyguard services rendered.”
Her eyes blazed fiercely. “I already told you it wasn’t about that.”
His pulse took a crazy leap. “Good. I didn’t think so, but I had to be sure. Which brings me to the next point.”
“There’s more?”
“You’re a beautiful woman, Suzannah. Classy, smart, sexy, sophisticated. Way out of my league. I know that. But for a minute there, when I put the brakes on, it didn’t feel like that. It felt like I was depriving you of something you were really stretching for.”
She muttered something that sounded like, “Oh, God.”
His face burned. “Stupid, I know. I can’t give you anything you can’t get anywhere, anytime, with a crook of your little finger. But I just can’t shake the –”
“Okay, Detective.” Her voice broke into his, and suddenly she was on her feet, facing him aggressively. “I’m only going to say this once, so you’d better listen up.”
His instinct was to stand, too, but he squelched it. Patience. Going toe to toe with her would accomplish nothing. Instead, he slouched back in his chair. “I’m listening.”
“I don’t like sex.”
He blinked. “Huh?”
“I don’t like it. It’s ridiculous, awkward, and ultimately unfulfilling. It’s my fault, I know. I’m just no good at it.”
He heard the words, his brain processed them, but they didn’t make sense. That wasn’t the woman he’d held in his arms last night. “But –”
She held up a hand to stop him. “I know what I’m talking about, John. It’s not like I tried it once and decided okay, I guess sex isn’t for me. I do feel stirrings from time to time. I am human. And when it seemed like the right thing to do, the natural progression in a relationship, I tried it.” She dropped her eyes, twisting the delicate stem of the now empty wine glass in her hand. “It never got any better.”
“I don’t believe that for a minute,” he said. “The way you kissed me –”
“That’s why I was so upset last night. For a few minutes, it felt like I could … like I might want to…”
Her voice trailed off and the room was silent for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was a disbelieving croak. “And you don’t th
ink you can get that back? Is that the trouble?”
She colored. “You don’t understand.”
“No, sweetheart, you don’t understand.” He stood and held a hand out to her. “Come here.”
She took a step back. “That was last night. I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to go to bed with you anymore.”
God, she was beautiful. And so earnest. She really believed she was frigid. “Who said anything about bed?” he asked, advancing a step closer.
“Have sex, then.” Her voice was tight as she retreated another step.
“Who said anything about sex?” Something leapt in her eyes, and he didn’t think it was fear, though she did take another step backward. He smiled. “Don’t you want to know if you can recapture the feeling?”
The yearning and fear that chased across her face made his heart squeeze. This time when he reached for her hand, she didn’t retreat, possibly because she’d backed herself up against the antique buffet and had nowhere to go.
“Come on, Suzannah, trust me this once,” he said. “No pressure, no expectation, just some good old-fashioned necking on the couch.” He stroked the inside of her wrist, where her pulse pounded madly, though with fear or excitement, he couldn’t say. But she certainly wasn’t indifferent.
She chewed the inside of her lip. “I don’t know.”
“What have you got to lose? If it doesn’t work for you, you can tell me to take my hands off you. How’s that?”
He was gratified to see her breath come faster, but still she held out.
“I don’t get it. What’s in it for you?”
He laughed. “Baby, if you still have to ask that when we’re done, you can give me a failing grade.”
“Won’t it be … frustrating?”
“That’s a small price, and one I’ll happily pay.” Especially since he’d been fantasizing about kissing that prim mouth into a flushed, swollen bloom since the first moment he’d laid eyes on her in the courtroom two years ago.