Man Shy

by Catherine Mulvany

“That was years ago. A lot could have happened since then.”

  “Just drop it, Lindsey. He’s a cop. Period.”

  “Or is he a cop, question mark?”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning not all police officers are patterns of virtue. Brody Hunter could still be—as Daddy would say—crooked as a dog’s hind leg. Just study the man objectively, Mai, and tell me he doesn’t look like the type who might be into something really scary, like drugs or illegal arms deals.”

  “Right. Or maybe he’s a hit man or a serial killer or an international terrorist, wanted on six continents.”

  “You think it’s a joke, don’t you?” Lindsey fiddled with the piping that edged one of the throw pillows piled at the end of the sofa. A frown etched a pair of creases between her eyebrows.

  Guilt niggled at Mallory’s conscience. Lindsey was worried about her, and flippancy was a pretty poor return for her concern. “Look, I’m sorry we missed the dinner last night, but it truly was unavoidable.”

  Lindsey waved away her apology. “Yes, I know. Mother explained all that.” Lindsey tossed the pillow aside. “Mallory, you just don’t get it. I’m worried about you.”

  “Why? I’m fine.”

  “You’re not fine. You’re acting completely out of character. Missing a dinner engagement. Staying out all night. Evan says c”

  “Evan says what?” Mallory snapped.

  Lindsey’s chin came up sharply. “Evan says you’re upset about the two of us getting married.”

  Mallory was so surprised, she couldn’t utter a word.

  Lindsey stared hard at her. “Are you upset? I know you dated Evan for years, but it wasn’t like you were engaged or anything. Or even had much of a relationship.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You don’t have to pretend, Mallory. Evan told me about your problem.”

  “How very indiscreet of him.” Mallory forced a laugh. “But then, he always did talk too much.” She cleared her throat. She wasn’t going to cry, dammit. She hadn’t cried in years and she wasn’t about to start now. “Tell Evan to stop worrying. I’m not upset or jealous or angry or hurt. When I first heard the news, I admit I was c surprised. At first. But I got over it.” She smiled grimly. “So everybody can just stop worrying about Mallory, okay?”

  Lindsey’s gaze probed Mallory’s for a long, silent moment. “You’re sure?”

  “I’m positive.” She paused. “Anything else I can help you with?”

  Lindsey clenched her fists. “Evan’s still acting weird.”

  So she’d noticed. Mallory struggled to arrange her expression into one of caring concern combined with a hint of detachment. “What’s he up to now?” As if she didn’t know.

  “This morning Evan said he had some business to take care of, but he wouldn’t tell me what it was and he refused to let me go with him.”

  I should tell her what I saw. “Maybe he didn’t want you to be bored.”

  “Oh, give me a break, Mal. He just didn’t want me to know what he was up to. Who schedules business meetings on Sunday morning anyway?”

  “Maybe he had to catch the minister before church.” I really ought to tell her.

  “Minister schminister. The only business he was up to was monkey business!” Lindsey was working herself up to another tantrum.

  Forget it. My lips are sealed. If she starts crying now, I won’t get rid of her for hours.

  “What makes you so sure Evan’s seeing someone else?”

  “I’m not sure,” Lindsey said, “but I’m damned suspicious.”

  “Why? Because he got a few phone calls? Because he didn’t want you with him this morning?”

  “That, yes. But c” She choked on a sob.

  Oh, boy. Here we go.

  Lindsey took a deep breath and pulled herself together. “Yesterday we stopped at the mall to pick up some ribbons and silk flowers Mother had ordered to trim the gazebo and we saw a woman in the parking lot. She practically ran her car into a light pole she was so busy trying to catch Evan’s attention, but he pretended not to see her.”

  “So maybe she was one of his fans. And maybe he was in too big a hurry to bother with an autograph.”

  “Oh, please. Evan’s never too busy to give out autographs. He thrives on attention. You know that. No, he just didn’t want to have to introduce me to her. That’s why he pretended not to notice her. Good grief. A man would have to be blind not to notice a voluptuous brunette like that, especially one dressed in a low-necked leotard.”

  Voluptuous brunette. Leotard. Suddenly it all clicked and Mallory realized why the woman she’d seen with Evan earlier had looked vaguely familiar. Lamour Hooterman. Her husband, George “Hootie” Hooter-man, a former navy SEAL, owned and operated Aerobics Plus where Mallory worked out. Jealous to the nth degree, Hootie’d been known to blacken a man’s eyes just for winking at Lamour.

  What was wrong with Evan? Did he have a death wish?

  “You’re not dressed,” said Brody, though in point of fact she was dressed—in her old blue sweats and an Eastern Oregon University T-shirt. “I said seven. Didn’t I say seven?”

  Mallory smiled at his confusion. “Yes, but it’s only ten after. I wasn’t expecting you for another twenty minutes at least. Come on in. It won’t take me but a second to change. Where are we going anyway?” Somewhere dressy by the looks of him. He wore black slacks and a matching sport coat over a white turtleneck, and she had to admit Lindsey was right. He did look like a criminal, the Hollywood version of a Mafia hit man. But drop-dead gorgeous all the same.

  He glanced at his watch. “We have seven-thirty reservations at Zachary’s on the River.”

  “Wow. Obviously police detectives make more than fifth-grade teachers.”

  “Or maybe they just spend more when they’re trying to impress someone.”

  Mallory’s teasing smile wobbled at the edges, then collapsed altogether. Impress someone? Like her? Oh, boy. This was not good. Not, not, not. “Uh, Brody, I—”

  “Hurry up, Mallory. It’s late.”

  Not too late, she hoped.

  “Dinner was divine,” Mallory told Brody as he helped her into the passenger’s seat of his Jeep. Which, come to think of it, was pretty strange since divine wasn’t a word she bandied about too often. They’d had wine with their meal. Maybe that explained it.

  Brody scraped a bow, then struck a jaunty pose beside the open door. “Where to now, milady?”

  Mallory’s gurgle of laughter came perilously close to a giggle. Definitely the wine. “Milady, is it? How very eighteenth century.”

  A wicked grin tilted Brody’s mouth. “Well, hell. It sounds a little classier than ‘Your place or mine?’—don’t you think?”

  “It does,” she agreed, wondering why the warning bells weren’t going off. They should be ringing like crazy by now. She knew what that grin meant. Danger with a capital D. Trouble with a capital T.

  “So?” He shrugged. “Which is it? Your place or mine?”

  “Neither,” she said. “It’s only a little after nine. I’m not ready to go home yet.”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “You mean you’re not ready to go home with me yet.”

  “No, I c that is yes, but c” She stammered to a halt as he dropped a kiss on the end of her nose.

  “Don’t look so worried, honey. I can handle rejection.”

  Brody shut her door and circled around to the driver’s side, where he slid himself under the wheel. The engine caught with a roar and he pulled onto the road.

  Mallory studied him in the light from the dash. Brody had a terrific profile: straight nose, firm jaw, great cheekbones, eyelashes any woman would kill to possess. And she loved the way the short hairs, the ones that weren’t long enough for the ponytail, curled softly, hugging the back of his neck all along his hairline, a little imperfection, a hint of vulnerability in an otherwise perfect tough-guy facade.

  What she liked best about Brody Hunter, though, wasn’t his looks, b
ut the fact that he was just as nice to be with as he was to look at. She sighed. “We need to talk.”

  Brody cowered away in mock fear. “Oh, no. Isn’t that what the girl always says right before she tells the guy to take a hike? Hey, forget everything I said before. The truth is, I’m lousy at rejection.”

  Mallory bit her lip. He wasn’t making this any easier. “Brody, there are things about me you don’t know.”

  “Just as there are things about me you don’t know, honey. Learning to know another human being isn’t as simple as memorizing a nursery rhyme.”

  “No, it’s more like memorizing an entire set of encyclopedias.”

  “Right. People are complex creatures and building a solid friendship takes time.”

  “Friendship? Is that what we’re building?”

  “Absolutely. A very special friendship.”

  Which was good news, right? So why did she feel like she’d just taken a shot to the solar plexus? “Friendship,” she muttered to herself.

  “And speaking of friends,” said Brody, “I just remembered. Kyle asked if we’d stop by after dinner. He said he has something for you.”

  “What kind of something?” It wasn’t Christmas and her birthday wasn’t for another month. What was Kyle up to?

  “He made me promise not to tell.”

  Kyle lived in a quiet cul-de-sac in one of the older sections of town. His house was a three-story Victorian painted mauve and burgundy with white gingerbread trim. The house had been a decrepit wreck when Kyle bought it three years earlier, but he was slowly returning it to its former glory.

  A ’65 Mustang, lemon yellow in the glow of the streetlights, was parked on the gravel in front of the carriage house. Brody pulled up next to it.

  “Nice,” he said. “I didn’t know Kyle was a car enthusiast.”

  “He’s not,” Mallory said. “He drives a six-year-old Taurus. Gunmetal gray with a pale gray interior and a Triple A sticker in the window. He must have company.”

  They rang the bell, and Tim, the bartender from the Blue Russian, opened the door, answering her question about the car’s ownership. “Ooh, don’t we look nice?” he murmured as he ushered them into the foyer.

  “Where’s Kyle?” Mallory asked. Tim seemed to be right at home. He’d evidently just gotten off work. He was still wearing the tight black pants and flowing white shirt of his Blue Russian uniform, though he’d dispensed with the short, tasseled vest.

  He gestured vaguely. “Kyle’s grubbing away in the bowels of the house. I’d take you back, but I was just on my way out. I tried to convince him to come out for a drink, but he’d rather play handyman.” His charm and his pout were both wasted on Mallory. In her opinion, the man was almost as big a fake as Ramon from Dial-A-Date.

  She and Brody found Kyle in the butler’s pantry, stripping layers of old paint from the woodwork.

  He looked up from the baseboard and let out a low whistle of approval. “Nice outfit, Mallory,” he said in reference to her fitted peach-colored silk jacket and matching slacks. “Is that mascara I see on your lashes? Blusher on your cheeks?”

  “Brody took me to Zachary’s. They frown on sweats and sneakers.” And the makeup was an experiment, she told herself. She was practicing for the wedding. Her sudden interest in eyeliner and lipstick had nothing to do with wanting to look attractive for Brody Hunter. Not a thing.

  Kyle raised an eyebrow. “Did you try the trout?”

  “No,” Brody said. “Filet mignon.”

  Kyle lifted his other eyebrow. “My, my, my.”

  Mallory frowned. “There’s no ‘my, my, my’ about it. Dinner was my reward for pulling him out of the Dumpster at Denny’s Saturday night. Did you hear about that?”

  “I did indeed.” Kyle shoved himself to his feet, setting aside his paintbrush and the can of smelly chemical stripper. “Which is why I asked Brody to bring you by tonight.”

  He scrubbed his hands at the chipped porcelain sink and dried them on a towel that hung from a rickety wall rack. “As I wandered through the mall on my lunch hour today, I saw something that reminded me of you, Mallory.” He led the way to the spacious formal dining room. “You haven’t seen the new wallpaper in here yet, have you? What do you think?”

  It was gorgeous, a rich floral design in rose and teal on a cream background. “I love it!”

  Kyle glowed with pleasure at her enthusiastic response. “Yes, and I ordered coordinating fabric for the valance and chair cushions. With a narrow teal piping, I thought. Or maybe the rose?”

  “Teal. Definitely teal,” Mallory said.

  “What do you think, Brody?” Kyle held up sample swatches.

  “The green or the pink? Either one would look good on Mallory.”

  “On me?” Mallory laughed. “Kyle was talking about drapes.”

  “Drapes?” Brody looked confused. “You bought her drapes? I thought you got her a dress.”

  Kyle frowned in pretended irritation. “I did. And you’ve spoiled the surprise, thank you very much.” He picked up a box from the sideboard and passed it to Mallory. “For you. To make up for the one that was ruined.”

  “Kyle, you didn’t have to c oh!” She stopped, speechless with delight as she saw what lay folded inside on a bed of tissue. “The blue dress.” The one she hadn’t been able to afford. “Kyle, you shouldn’t have.”

  “You need a dress for the rehearsal dinner.”

  “But it’s so expensive!”

  Brody stroked the soft fabric with his fingertips. “It matches your eyes,” he said. She glanced up quickly. The expression on his face set her blood pounding thickly through her veins. She watched his big brown hand stroke the fabric again and felt as if he were stroking her. His hand was broad, with heavy knuckles and a light dusting of black hair, yet his fingers moved across the silky material with a gentle touch. A lover’s touch. Her nipples tightened, and she shivered despite the fact that she was experiencing her own little tropical heat wave.

  “Call it an early birthday present,” Kyle suggested.

  “What?” Mallory was having trouble staying focused on the conversation. “Oh, the dress. Right. It’s beautiful, but you shouldn’t have.”

  Kyle looked from her to Brody, then back again. His lips twitched. “Think of me as your fairy godfather,” he said. His eyes twinkled.

  Brody walked Mallory to her door. She clutched the big dress box to her chest as if it were a shield and he were a dragon.

  “Mallory?”

  “Hmm?” Her glasses had slipped down to the end of her nose and he nudged them back up where they belonged. Her eyes grew large and her lips parted on a nearly inaudible sigh.

  Brody slipped the box from her unresisting hands, set it down on the deck, and leaned in closer to kiss her good night. Just a peck was all he intended to give her, but the taste of her mouth under his, the smell of her perfume, the feel of her body soft and warm and close to his all combined to change his mind. What started as a sweet little peck became something altogether more dangerous.

  Mallory was fun, sweet, and intelligent. He enjoyed her company and valued their growing friendship, but in that instant Brody realized he didn’t just like her, he wanted her too.

  The question was, did she want him? Sometimes he thought the answer was yes. Yesterday, for example, he’d caught a fleeting expression on her face when she stood by his bed. And tonight at Kyle’s, he’d surprised that look again. It was an expression he’d be hard put to describe. Not lust. Nothing so crude. More like awareness. Or an awakening sensuality.

  But other times, too many other times, she looked at him as if she were afraid of him.

  Not now, though. Now she was softness and warmth and the sweet seduction of this endless kiss.

  He backed her into the door, one hand cradling the nape of her neck. Slanting his mouth across hers, he deepened the kiss while he slid his other hand up under her coat to cup her breast.

  She stiffened and jerked away with a strangled cry. Th
e next thing he knew he was flat on his back, sucking air and wondering what the hell just happened.

  SIX

  “Sorry,” Mallory said, embarrassment clogging her throat. “Are you okay?” Dammit, she’d overreacted again. Just like she always did.

  Propping himself on his elbows, Brody shot her an owlish look. “What was that? Karate? Kung fu?”

  “Basic self-defense, a little move I learned from Hootie, my aerobics instructor.” She smiled apologetically. “Sorry,” she repeated.

  “No, it was my fault.” He stood up and brushed himself off. “Apparently I pressed the wrong buttons.”

  “Something like that.” Mortified, she couldn’t bring herself to look at him.

  He touched her lightly on the shoulder. “Want to talk about it?”

  “What? My career as the body-slamming self-defense queen of Brunswick?” Her attempt at laughter sounded pretty sick.

  “No.” He tilted her chin up so their gazes met. “The reason you learned to defend yourself in the first place.” His eyes were soft and understanding. Mallory felt her own fill with tears.

  She jerked away so he wouldn’t see, and he took a step back. Probably thinks I’m going to dump him again. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Maybe you should, though. What happened, Mallory?”

  “Happened?” Startled, she flicked her gaze back up to his. “What makes you think anything happened?”

  His gaze held hers. “Am I wrong?”

  “Let’s just say I have a problem and leave it at that.”

  He brushed a tear from her cheek. “And what if I don’t want to leave it at that?”

  The quick anger, never far from the surface, spurted up. He thought he understood her. But he was wrong.

  Dammit, she didn’t want his insight or his pity, either. She flailed out to shove him away, but he caught her hand and tucked it between his.

  “Let go!”

  “Not until you talk to me.”

  “Don’t you get it, Hunter? This topic is not open for discussion. I can’t talk about it. I won’t talk about it.”

  “Fine. Just listen then. Remember I told you that you reminded me of someone?”