Man Shy

by Catherine Mulvany

  Brody held her close. “Dammit. You were a baby, Mallory.”

  “With a grown-up’s body.” She shrugged his arm away, folded her legs up, and wrapped her arms around them, resting her cheek on her knees. “And I did flirt with him. Just a little. In the beginning.”

  Brody clenched his hands into fists. “How can you make excuses for an animal like that?”

  “I’m just telling you what happened, Brody, so you’ll understand why I’m the way I am.” Her voice was even, almost emotionless.

  “Mallory c” He reached out to pull her back into the circle of his arms, but she twisted away.

  “No, let me finish the story first.”

  “But, Mallory—”

  “Please.” She looked at him squarely then and the expression on her face made him feel sick to his stomach.

  Dammit to hell and back. Those depths were murkier than he’d thought. A thousand times murkier. And the worst part was even knowing how much Mallory was suffering, he was helpless because there wasn’t a thing he could do to make it better. He groaned. “Okay. Finish it.”

  “We heard Lindsey coming back. She was singing ‘Polly-Wolly Doodle’ at the top of her lungs. I started to scream, but Cameron put his hand over my mouth and told me I’d better shut up or he’d have to do her too.” She spoke with all the expression of a zombie. “I shut up, just curled up in the dirt like a frightened sow bug.

  “He left. I heard Lindsey ask where I was. Cameron said he didn’t know for sure, but he thought maybe I’d gone home for lunch. She said yeah, she was getting hungry too. Maybe she’d better go home. Then I heard the mower start up again, so I knew he wasn’t coming back.

  “I quit crying finally and just lay there in the dirt, watching a spider spin her web in the latticework.” She buried her face against her knees. “I didn’t want to remember the smell of his sweat or the feel of his hands.” Mallory lifted her head, shrugging slightly. “But I did.” She swallowed hard. “I still do.”

  “Mallory c” God, he felt useless.

  “After a while the clock on the First Christian Church chimed noon. I knew my mother would be mad if I were late, so I straightened my clothes, washed myself off in the ditch, and went home for lunch. Tuna sandwiches, grapes, and lemon Kool-Aid.”

  “You didn’t tell your parents?”

  “I was afraid Cameron would go after Lindsey if I said anything.” She shook her head. “I never told a soul until tonight. I thought you deserved an explanation because—” She sighed, a hopeless sound. “I can’t make love with you, Brody. No matter how much I want to, I just can’t.”

  Brody felt weak, as if he were suffering acute blood loss. Like somebody’d just cut the heart from his chest. “It doesn’t have to be that way, Mallory.”

  She laid a hand on his. “I wish I could believe you. But I know better. You know better. I flinch whenever a man touches me.”

  “That’s not true. I’m touching you now.”

  “You know the kind of touching I mean.”

  He knew, the kind that had landed him flat on his back on the entry deck.

  “Brody, believe me, it won’t work. Thanks to my past, I’m terminally frigid. I wish things could be different, but I know they never will be, and I like you too much to lie to you.”

  “Maybe if we take it slowly—”

  She shook her head. “You’re wasting your time, Brody. You deserve better.”

  Dammit. So did she.

  Mallory’s appraisal of her own sexuality was way off base. He knew it as well as he knew his own name. Hadn’t he felt her response more than once? She just needed a little coaxing and a lot of reassurance. Hell, there was a world of difference between the forcible rape of a child and the gentle seduction of a woman. Eventually she would realize the truth.

  Mallory couldn’t tell what Brody was thinking. He hadn’t said a word in the last five minutes. Sighing softly, she glanced sideways at him, but his face told her nothing. He was probably fighting a losing battle with revulsion. Talk about shooting herself in the foot.

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t like something to drink?”

  “Not tonight.” Brody stood up. “I should be going anyway.”

  Mallory smiled at him uncertainly. “Thanks. Thanks for everything.”

  “Yeah.” Brody nudged her glasses into place. “See you.”

  She watched him walk to his Jeep. No good-bye kiss. She wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. Had he given up on her? Did she want him to give up on her? She closed and locked the door behind him, then leaned against the sturdy oak panels, her arms crossed.

  Brody Hunter. She’d never met anyone who made her feel the way he did. If only she weren’t such a screwed-up mess.

  Sighing, she headed for the bathroom. A shower and then bed, she decided with a yawn. It had been an exhausting day.

  The hot water revived her. Wrapping herself in a towel, she wandered into the kitchen. Her emotional purge had left her with a raging case of the munchies. Unfortunately, she hadn’t been to the grocery store in a while and there wasn’t much to choose from. A bowl of cornflakes maybe? She checked the refrigerator. Only a trickle of milk, so forget that bright idea.

  Fruit? All she found were two black bananas. Gingerly, she transferred their pungent corpses to the garbage.

  Suddenly she froze at an unaccustomed sound, her fingers clutching the top edge of her towel. What was that noise? Not the purr of the refrigerator or the hum of the freezer. Not the furnace fan. Not the computer.

  She scanned the kitchen. Nothing. The sound didn’t originate in the living room, either. And it wasn’t coming from either of the guest rooms. Which left only one possibility—her bedroom.

  She paused outside the door, listening intently. Bingo. The noise, which sounded a bit like static, was definitely coming from behind her bedroom door. But she still didn’t have a clue as to its source. Had she left the radio on? The TV?

  The hinges squealed a protest as she eased the door open.

  Someone’s sleeping in my bed. The line from “The Three Bears” popped into her head.

  She poked the supine snorer in the ribs. “Evan Corby! What is going on? How did you get in here?”

  He snorted and blinked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes before propping himself on his elbows. “Mallory?”

  “Who’d you expect? Baby Bear?”

  “Baby Bear?” He blinked again and sat up straighter. For once his hair was rumpled, his clothing wrinkled.

  “What are you doing here, Evan?”

  He brushed a hand back across his hair and the stray locks fell into place as if by magic. “Waiting for you.” He checked his watch. “It’s after two. Where have you been?”

  “Home for the last hour, not that it’s any of your business.” She frowned. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be getting your beauty sleep for the wedding tomorrow?”

  “What wedding? Your sister c” He made it sound like an insult. “Your sister suddenly transformed from a completely reasonable human being into a raving lunatic. After you and Hunter left, she flipped out, started throwing things.” He grimaced. “Got me right in the chin with an ashtray. Ceramic. Weighed about five pounds.”

  “I can’t believe Lindsey would make a scene like that in public. What did you do to set her off?” Mallory leaned against the door jamb, folding her arms across her chest.

  A slight flush tinged Evan’s perfectly chiseled cheekbones. “I was explaining why you’d mistakenly assumed I was having an affair with that Hooterman woman, and in the process I happened to mention the fact that I’d accepted a job with KBRU. At a huge increase in salary, I might add. Silly me, I thought she’d be pleased.”

  Mallory raised an eyebrow. “She wasn’t?”

  “She said I was a gutless wonder who was scared of the competition in a bigger market. She said I was more comfortable being a big fish in a little pond. She said I hadn’t even considered her preferences. She said what about her professional ad
vancement? I said, ‘What profession? You buy underwear for a department store. That’s not exactly brain surgery.’ And then she threw the ashtray and said the wedding was off.”

  What an idiot, Mallory thought. He’d probably had this grand career move in the works for months now, but he hadn’t bothered to tell Lindsey. In fact, if he hadn’t been forced into it, he probably would have saved his news for the honeymoon. By the way, darling, call the movers as soon as we get back to Portland. Did I mention that we’re moving back to Brunswick? What’s that? You say you prefer Portland? You say you enjoy your job? But honey, this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. You don’t expect me to turn down a dream job just because you have an unhealthy addiction to the Clackamas Mall. Be reasonable.

  She curled her lip in disgust. “Where’s Lindsey now?”

  He hung his head. “I don’t know. She took off in the Lexus, so I borrowed your mother’s car and went looking for her. I was hoping she’d come here.”

  “Here?”

  “She always comes running to her big sister when she’s upset.”

  “Think back on the evening, Evan. She was royally ticked off with me even before she got mad at you. Under the circumstances, I don’t think she’s going to come to me for comfort.”

  “Oh, right. I forgot.” Evan shoved aside the afghan he’d been sleeping beneath and stood up. He hadn’t bothered to remove his shoes, she noticed. She eyed the quilt, searching for traces of dirt.

  Evan tucked his shirt in, straightened his tie, shrugged into the jacket he’d hung over the ladder-back chair next to the window, then shot a disapproving look her direction. “You know, you really ought to get dressed. It’s chilly in here.”

  She’d forgotten she was standing there in nothing but a towel. But dammit, this was her house, not his. She’d run around buck naked if she wanted to.

  “I waited across the street in the car until I froze out. Luckily, I remembered that key you leave under the flowerpot.”

  Luckily. Oh, yeah. She was definitely going to have to move that key.

  “What took you so long getting home?” Had he always been such a whiner?

  “Brody and I took the scenic route.” She frowned. “Look, Evan, it’s late and I’m tired. Why don’t you go back to Mother and Daddy’s? I’m sure Linz has cooled off by now.”

  “I don’t think so. She was really steamed. She said she didn’t want to see me again. Ever.”

  “Then get yourself a motel room.”

  “I left my wallet in my other suit.”

  “Then go wake up a friend. You can’t stay here.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s my house, and I don’t want you here.” She turned and marched into the living room. Maybe if she could lure him out on the deck somehow, then slam and lock the door behind him c

  Evan trotted behind her like a faithful dog. “Mallory, please. For old times’ sake. You owe me.”

  “I what?” She whirled to face him, her hands planted firmly on her hips. “You want to explain that? How do I owe you? What do I owe you?”

  He gave her that poor-whipped-puppy look that had suckered her every time back in the old days. She’d written him term papers because of that look. She’d run umpteen stupid errands because of that look. She’d even battled ring-around-the-collar because of that look. But the old days were history. Ancient history.

  “What do I owe you, Evan?” she repeated.

  “Six hundred dollars, for starters.”

  She sucked for air, completely nonplussed. “What are you talking about?”

  “Remember the red dress? The beaded designer dress?”

  “The one you bought me to wear to the KBRU Christmas gala?”

  “Exactly.”

  She slumped down onto the love seat. “But, Evan, I didn’t want that stupid dress in the first place. You’re the one who insisted, remember? You’re the one who didn’t think my black suit was dressy enough. You’re the one who wanted to impress the station owner.”

  “But you’re the one who has the dress.” Had he always been this big a jerk?

  Mallory shot to her feet. “Fine.! You want the dress, take it. Then get out of my life.” She dashed into the bedroom and ripped the beaded dress from the garment bag where it had hung ever since the KBRU party two years earlier, then rushed headlong back to the living room. “Here!” She tossed the dress in his face. “Now we’re even.”

  Evan looked at her as if she were crazy. “I don’t want the damn dress!” he shouted, tossing it in a glittery pile on the floor. “What would I do with a dress? I sure as hell can’t wear it myself, and it would hang like a sack on Lindsey.”

  “Well, I don’t want it, either,” she yelled back. “If you don’t want it, give it to the Salvation Army.” She knew she was being unreasonable, but she was furious. If anyone owed anyone around here, it was Evan Corby. Who’d accompanied him to every boring station function for four long years? Who’d taken his dog to the vet? Who’d chosen Christmas and birthday and Mother’s and Father’s Day gifts for his parents? Who’d baby-sat with his rotten little spoiled-brat nephew? Who’d ironed his stupid underwear, for crying out loud?

  Mallory opened her mouth, but before she could share her thoughts, the doorbell rang. She exchanged a look with Evan. Who would be ringing the doorbell at this time of night?

  “Lindsey,” they chorused, pushing and shoving each other in a slapstick battle to be the first to get the front door open. Mallory won after a strategic application of her elbows, but she reeled backward in surprise when she saw who was really standing on the front deck.

  Evan was the first to regain his tongue. “Hunter! What the hell are you doing here?”

  Brody’s smile was distinctly unpleasant. “Exactly what I was about to ask you, Corby.”

  “Evan was just leaving,” Mallory said.

  “Got what he came for, did he?” Brody’s gaze wandered from her bare feet, up her legs, and past the terry cloth wrapping her torso to the cleavage the towel didn’t quite cover.

  Mallory tugged self-consciously at her towel. “It’s not the way it looks.”

  A smile tickled the corners of Brody’s mouth. “No, I guess not, seeing as Corby here still has his tie on.”

  “Evan didn’t come to see me. He was looking for Lindsey. They had a fight.”

  “A disagreement,” Evan said. “A misunderstanding really.” He looked down his nose at Brody. “Not that any of this family business concerns Mr. Hunter.”

  Brody moved her aside and strolled in like he owned the place. Evan, she noticed, took a couple of steps back. Great, she thought, now I have two of them. “Come right on in, Brody. Join the party. I always entertain at two in the morning while I’m dressed in a towel.”

  “What are you doing here in the middle of the night?” Evan demanded, as if he were her guardian.

  “Maybe he was invited over,” Mallory said. “Unlike you.” She eyed Evan from between narrowed lids. Swear to God, if he did take the job at KBRU, she’d never watch that channel again—except for Saturday-afternoon reruns of Magnum. Disgusted, she plopped down on one end of the sofa.

  Brody perched on an arm of the love seat. Evan edged toward the door, his eyes shifting nervously from Brody to Mallory, then back again to Brody. “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “Sorry.” Brody raised an eyebrow. “Did you say something?”

  Evan’s face turned brick red. “I said what the hell are you doing here at this time of night?” He spoke slowly, enunciating each word.

  Mallory waved her arm in the air like an overeager student. “No, actually, what you said before was ‘What are you doing here in the middle of the night?’”

  Evan swore in frustration.

  Brody raised both eyebrows this time. “Now, that’s not a very nice way to talk in front of a lady.”

  Evan lifted the corner of his lip in a sneer. “Well, if she invited a sleazebag like you to spend the night, then she’s not much
of a lady, is she?”

  “Get out, Evan!” Mallory jumped up, grabbed the beaded dress from the floor, and threw it at him again. “Take your stupid dress with you too.”

  Brody shoved himself to his feet and advanced on Evan with athletic grace. “Sleazebag?”

  Evan shrank away, holding the sparkly red dress in front of him like a shield. He backed into the door with an audible thunk.

  Mallory didn’t blame him. The look on Brody’s face boded ill for Evan’s bridgework.

  “I was just leaving.” Evan’s voice rose a full octave in terror as Brody shoved him out the door.

  “And don’t come back,” Brody growled, slamming the door shut with more energy than was strictly necessary. He turned to face Mallory, and a grin spread slowly across his features. “I really, really like that towel.”

  She knew her face must reflect her bewilderment. He liked her towel? It was perfectly ordinary blue terry cloth, the nap of the fabric a little thin in places now; she’d had it ever since college.

  Brody’s smile grew broader yet.

  She glanced down, following his gaze. “Whoops!” She hiked her towel back up to a G-rated position and tucked the overlapping end securely into the top edge. “Why did you come back, Brody?”

  “Forgot something.”

  “What? Your lucky penny?” she asked sarcastically, remembering the line he’d fed her mother.

  “Nope.”

  She caught her lower lip between her teeth. He watched her steadily, the hint of a smile hovering at the corners of his mouth. “Then what?”

  Brody sauntered over, never lifting his gaze from hers. “This.” He framed her face with his hands, and she felt herself flushing as his touch sparked a response. He slowly bent forward, his gaze still locked on hers, and she vibrated with anticipation.

  He’s going to kiss me, she thought, surprised by her own lack of panic. And this time I’m not scared. I’m not scared of Brody at all. I want him to kiss me. I want to kiss him back.

  The touch of his lips still came as a surprise.

  Mallory jerked away, not motivated by fear or revulsion, simply startled by the fierce, almost painful emotional jolt. My God, if a mere brush of the lips could set her heart racing and turn her knees to overcooked spaghetti, what would happen if he touched her, really touched her? Another inexplicable case of spontaneous human combustion?