Out of Nowhere

by Beverly Bird

  “I want to try this,” she murmured, not realizing that Fox had come to stand behind her.

  “Then go for it.”

  His voice touched the back of her neck. A shiver traced up her spine then down again. Tara turned quickly.

  And he saw that her eyes were panicked again.

  “Go ahead,” he said quietly. “I’ll try to line up something with Acosta while you relax for a spell. Enjoy the view and take your time.”

  The relief in her eyes that he wouldn’t make an issue of joining her should have hurt him, he thought. But it only made him want to hold her more. Fox retreated back up the hall.

  Tara looked at the tub again and sighed. She was so tired. In an instant, it all tumbled in on her. The Rose was gone. A very bad person seemed to think she knew where it was. And with all her heart, with all her soul, she wished that were true. But she was only getting shot at when a knife wasn’t at her throat.

  Her mother had died protecting her, her mind raced on. And now a man she didn’t know what to do about was watching her, with too much understanding in his eyes. Add to that the way he could kiss her, she thought, and yes…yes, she deserved a hot bubble bath with jets and a view to die for.

  Tara eased back against the door until it clicked shut. She locked it and wondered with an uncomfortable squirming feeling in her stomach if she was keeping him out or herself in. Then she let out another gusty breath and stepped forward to lean over the tub and start the water running.

  She had no matches for the candles. She had no wine. She decided that she wouldn’t let that spoil the experience. Then there was a knock on the door. She hurried back to it.

  “What?” she asked, leaning her palms against the wood.

  “You’ll be needing these, I think.”

  Tara opened the door a crack. He held matches in one hand, a bottle of wine and a glass in the other. Her stomach rolled over. “You’re good,” she whispered.

  “Darlin’, you don’t know the half of it yet.”

  Her heart kicked. She snagged everything from his hands before she could wonder about just what he meant.

  She closed the door again and peeled out of her clothes, the ones she’d deliberately put on this morning so as not to look too provocative. Sure, that had worked. But her clothes were no protection against what happened to her whenever he looked into her eyes.

  Don’t think about it. The tub was full enough for her to put the jets on and she found the little black dial on the wall. She set the timer for forty minutes. Then she stepped into the tub with the city glittering all around her as night came on. She steeped herself in the hot water and groaned aloud, closing her eyes.

  She forgot everything for nearly an hour. Then, with a click that sounded inordinately loud, the jets turned off. Tara sat up in the cooling water, a little disoriented. Had she actually slept again? No, she thought, she hadn’t. For once in her life, she had just…let go.

  She knew immediately that it had been the wrong thing to do. She’d let her guard down again and she’d been burned for it. She listened hard but nothing changed. Beyond the closed bathroom door, the apartment was too silent. It was the inhuman quiet of emptiness.

  She scrambled out of the tub with a small cry, grabbing a thick white towel from a pretty brass rack as she passed it. She wrapped it around herself, flung the door open, and raced back to the living room.

  “Fox!” There was no answer. She’d already known there wouldn’t be.

  He was gone.

  Chapter 14

  He’d gone to see Acosta without her.

  It hit her hard and left her reeling. While she’d luxuriated in the tub, Fox had sneaked out on her. If this was some sort of payback for butting in with Liam Bradstoe, she’d…well, she’d kill him.

  If she ever saw him again. If he hadn’t just…left.

  Twenty-seven years of ingrained panic climbed inside her, making the idea seem less than absurd. Clutching the towel together with one hand, Tara went in search of a telephone. She found one in the kitchen and called information. They had no listing for a Petro Acosta. She didn’t know the name of his jewelry store, so she couldn’t ask for that.

  See what you get for trusting him? whispered a serpentine voice at the back of her brain. He’s gone, gone, gone. They always go.

  Tara pressed her knuckles against her mouth. She’d never thought he would stay forever, but she’d believed he’d at least stick with her through the search for the Rose. He wanted his killer and he thought her ruby could give that to him. He didn’t care about anything else. Why should he care?

  Because his eyes said he had.

  Her heart cracked. Tara snarled wordlessly at the pain and went back to the bathroom.

  She grabbed the bottle of wine from the holder beside the tub. Ignoring the glass, she drank from it, carrying it back to the bedroom with her. How could she hurt over something she’d seen coming a mile away? She drank more wine and dragged a shaky hand over her eyes. Still gripping the towel in one hand, the bottle of wine in the other, she wandered back to the living room. The dog was snoozing on the sofa. She lifted her head groggily then cocked one ear at her when Tara groaned aloud.

  She didn’t know how to fix things on her own this time.

  Surely there was something she could be doing to go forward with the search on her own. She had Acosta’s name. Tomorrow, she thought, when the city came to life again, she would just…do something about finding the Rose herself. Except the city wouldn’t get back to business tomorrow because it was Christmas.

  She swigged from the wine again, still clutching the towel. Then she heard the door open behind her and his smooth Southern drawl.

  “This might be the part where you say welcome home.”

  Her eyes cut to him over the upended bottle. Her heart slammed. “If I cared that you were back.”

  Fox had cut his errands short. Somewhere between the restaurant and the convenience store, he’d started considering what she might think when she came out of the bathroom to find him gone. Between the convenience store and the tree lot, he’d started remembering how her eyes could go wild. He would not be the one to put the panic there, not for anything in the world.

  So he’d come back. But not once in all his worries had he envisioned…this. She looked splendid in fluffy white cotton.

  “I went out to grab us some dinner,” he said. “But don’t dress for it on my account.”

  It put some color back in her cheeks. She looked down at herself, back at him, and then she sputtered and pulled the towel a little tighter. It only hiked up higher on her thighs. He couldn’t help it. Fox smiled.

  “You saw Petro Acosta,” she accused.

  Ah, so that was it. He was oddly disappointed that that had been the worst of her fears. “No. I called him.”

  Her eyes widened. “You talked to him? You actually spoke to him?”

  “It wasn’t a recording.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He agreed to see us at two o’clock tomorrow. He doesn’t seem to care overmuch about Christmas after all.”

  Tara’s legs folded. She sat down on the sofa. “Tomorrow.”

  “I told him we were looking for a certain keepsake for our anniversary. He was noncommittal.”

  “For our what?”

  “And that your favorite color is red. By the way, your name is Connie Whittington.”

  That floored her too much for a response.

  “Tara Cole is a little too memorable given that whenever the Rose has been mentioned in the papers, so have you. And Connie was the first thing that came to my mind.”

  “That’s fine.” Cornelius would have been worse.

  “Will you share that wine now?”

  Tara flushed and got to her feet again, thrusting the bottle at him. Only by sheer force of will did she manage not to run down the hall. She reached the master bedroom and closed the door carefully with a quiet, little snick.

  He’d gone out to get them dinn
er. He hadn’t betrayed her at all.

  The relief was too sweet, too treacherous. She gave a quick, shaky laugh as she threw the towel on the bed and dropped to her knees beside the bag she’d packed. Only C. Fox Whittington would think to quietly place it in the bedroom for her while she was in the tub. It struck her briefly that she still didn’t know what the C stood for.

  She pulled out the jade lounging pants she’d thought twice about packing but they’d been right there on top of an upended drawer so she’d grabbed them. And somewhere…yes, she’d brought her metallic gold tank top. She held the pieces up and frowned. Together, they looked like…Christmas.

  But it wasn’t Christmas. It was the day before and they were in New York on the trail of the Rose. Fox had brought dinner and Gabriel Marsden had very good taste in wine. Tara dressed quickly. She took her braid down and dug her fingers into her hair to fluff it, then she looked in the mirror. Her color was high. It was just a pleasant night, she thought, a little respite from the last hellish weeks. Tomorrow they would see Acosta. That was why this giddy feeling was bubbling in her chest.

  She almost believed it.

  She went to the door and stepped out into the hall, forcing herself to breathe. Then she went back to the living room. And stopped cold.

  “What have you done?”

  The cocktail table was set for two. She stared at the plates and as shaken as she was, Tara tilted her nose up for the aroma. Lamb. He’d brought lamb for Christmas Eve. How could he know?

  She had a flash of her and her mother pressed close to the table in the kitchen of the Chestnut Hill house, the scent of lamb and mint jelly wafting up from their plates. There’d been a small gift with shiny red paper beside her own. Scott had had guests over and she’d been banished from the house proper, but her mother had joined her long enough to pretend to eat with her. That Christmas Eve dinner had been everything she’d ached for since her father had smiled his rakish smile in the park and had gone away.

  With a jolt, Tara tore her gaze from the table and looked around at the rest of the room. He’d brought a tree, too. There were no balls, no lights, just garland, with a huge star at the top. Belle sat beside it in a miniature Santa hat. When she saw Tara looking at her, she tipped her nose up and barked.

  Beside the table, on the floor, was another plate with a can of beef stew on top of it. There was a bow stuck to the top of it.

  Tara’s gaze flew to Fox. He stood in the door to the kitchen with one strong shoulder against the jamb. He’d poured the last of the wine and he held a glass in each hand.

  “Business is no reason to miss Christmas.” He came into the room and put the wine on the table. Belle began circling her plate and snarling. “Have some manners,” he scolded her. “It’s a holiday.”

  Tara wasn’t going to move, Fox thought, not unless he helped her. She stood in the center of the room as though she had taken root. He’d anticipated shock, maybe even frantic anger. But he hadn’t been prepared for tears. Her eyes were bright. Something shifted in his chest sweetly and painfully.

  Then her gaze danced to his, not daring to believe. He had one more stop to pull out, one she hadn’t noticed yet. He thought it ought to break the ice.

  He took her elbow and turned her so she was facing the hall again. Her gaze flew to the arched doorway. She saw the mistletoe and began to tremble.

  “Humor me, darlin’. I’m a traditional sort of man.”

  “Oh.” She spun back to him. “Oh!”

  She knew he’d leave her, Tara thought. Someday, sooner or later, he would go. When the Rose was found and he had his killer, there would be no reason for him to stay. But now, just for now, he was here and he’d given her Christmas.

  She didn’t melt into him this time, Fox thought. Always before it had been a slow kind of easing into his embrace. This time she flung herself at him and her mouth seized his. They hadn’t gotten even remotely close to the mistletoe.

  “This will work, too,” he murmured into her kiss.

  His hands found her hair, where they’d wanted to be since he’d first seen her standing there in a towel, her head tilted back for the wine, that braid so neat and tidy. He gathered it in his fists and let himself enjoy the weight of it. He let her scent fill his head.

  Their mouths touched, slid, came back. She opened to him without reservation. She trusted him, she thought. She trusted him. It would damn her later, but she would believe in magic for one night.

  His tongue found hers and they tangled. She caught his lower lip between her teeth. The sound he made in his throat warmed her heart. Then he pulled back to smooth the hair from her forehead.

  This would be by his rules, he thought again, or not at all. He knew what he wanted now. “Tara.” He felt her stiffen just slightly in his arms.

  “Please don’t stop.”

  It almost swayed him. He steeled himself against the whispered plea in her voice. “I have to ask you. How much does this matter?”

  Her eyes flew open and found his. He saw something happen there, something stark and startled, then the wariness set in as her walls went up. He felt her shudder quickly beneath his hands.

  “It’s just…just sex,” she answered shakily. “I’d never try to hold you.”

  It hurt, he realized, like something hard and knotted at the center of him. He hadn’t entirely been prepared for that. Fox set her away from him carefully.

  She looked left, right, then finally back at him. “I don’t understand.”

  “That was the wrong answer.” But he didn’t know the right one, Fox thought. He couldn’t quite explain. How could he say that he had no desire to go through the motions with her, not her, this woman with the defensive tilt to her chin and haunted eyes? He wouldn’t make love with a lie while she hid behind her quick words.

  He wanted her to trust him. And maybe, he thought, maybe that was asking too much.

  Tara looked wildly around at the tree, at the dog’s now-crooked hat, at their dinner on the table. He didn’t want her. He’d given her the world then he’d told her what she had to give in return somehow wasn’t enough. She stepped jerkily away from him, sideswiped by a pain more vicious than any she’d known before.

  He was damned, Fox realized. If he turned away from her now, he would be just another man turning away when she’d reached out. If he took her in his arms just for tonight, he’d cheat himself out of something he’d only just realized he needed. Knowing that, the answer was easy after all. If he was going to let anyone down, it would be himself.

  He went to her and framed her face in his hands. He found her mouth again and expected her to resist when she put her hands to his shoulders. But he didn’t expect her to sob and the sound broke his heart.

  “No, darlin’, no,” he murmured, his thumbs finding her cheeks, touching the wet spots away.

  “Leave me alone.”

  “That’s it, darlin’, that’s just it. I can’t do that. I can’t play by those rules. I want you to hold on to me and I want you to know it.” He didn’t tilt her head back this time. He bent his neck to find her mouth without making her yield.

  Her hands stayed fisted at her sides. She strained with the effort to keep them there. Hadn’t he proven twice tonight that he was just a man? She’d looked up to find him gone and then he had pushed her away.

  She couldn’t do this. The Christmas decorations were just tawdry glitter. She’d only blinked for a moment and thought they shined.

  But he was so persuasive. So warm. So gentle. And she ached inside to believe in him. From the beginning he’d done that to her. From the start he’d made her want.

  Her mouth parted under his.

  She wasn’t sure who groaned, whether it was her own sound or his. Or maybe they both mingled together. But then she was gripping the front of his shirt in both hands and his were at her waist, sliding under the hem of her tank top. His touch was barely on her skin and she shuddered anyway. His fingers spasmed on her ribs and he drew her closer.
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br />   He feasted on her neck, at the hollow of her throat, not caring anymore about the words. She didn’t have to say it. She was here, in his arms, abandoning all cares. And that was trust enough.

  There were parts of her he hadn’t met yet. He found a soft pulse behind her left ear, shadowy beneath the spill of her hair. He discovered the way her eyebrows arched as though she were skeptical of everything she heard. He traced his mouth along each of them, and he ran his palms up her spine to discover each little ridge and every spasm of muscle. He eased her top up over her breasts and touched his mouth to the swell of skin over the sheer red lace of her bra.

  Red, green and gold. His mind registered the colors and he wondered if she was his own Christmas package. He wondered if she even realized what she’d done with the colors she’d chosen.

  She couldn’t stand anymore, Tara thought. She had a mind-numbing moment where she thought she would melt into a puddle at his feet, mortifying herself. But nothing she’d ever done yet had truly turned him away and this time when she swayed in his arms, he slipped a hand beneath each of her thighs. He gave her a little boost and she wrapped her legs around his waist and laughed. It was a shaky sound, torn right from her soul. Straddling him that way, she felt him hard against her. She met his eyes and saw his own doubt, his own fear that she would turn away again.

  She finally understood what he’d tried to say earlier.

  This wasn’t just sex. It meant putting a part of herself—of himself—on the line. It was reckless, chancy and terrifying. She knew now that she might care very much if he walked away when it was over, and she knew that he could. She knew her own heart might break later just to know these precious moments now.

  She didn’t protest when he turned around and lowered both of them to the sofa. There was no gunshot, no rapping on the door this time to stop them. Neither one of them noticed the dog pluck a lamb chop from the table and, with a single backward glance, trot into the kitchen with it. They wouldn’t have believed what they were seeing anyway if they had watched her drop the treat to the floor and nudge the kitchen door closed with her nose.