“I don’t mean to sound dense, but is there any particular reason why?”
“Because I don’t want to have that kind of relationship with you. Because I don’t believe in sex for the sake of sex. And most importantly, because there could be a crazed killer stalking us, and we need to keep ourselves focused on that and not on getting laid every five minutes.”
“How about just once a day then?” he said, smiling, but she couldn’t summon the good humor to smile back.
She was angry at him, angry at herself, angry at the world.
She hated losing control more than anything else. And yet she hated how seductive it was too.
“Seriously, Ethan. We need to establish some ground rules. No touching, no flirting, no sexual stuff at all. Do you understand me?”
“Absolutely.”
He moved away from her on the couch, sat as far away as he could get, and she should have been happy. She should have breathed a sigh of relief. But instead, she just felt miserable. Totally freaking miserable.
12
ETHAN SPENT the rest of Sunday and most of Monday trying his damnedest to avoid getting too close to Nicole. He’d felt such a connection with her when they’d finally let down their guards and talked openly, that he was terrified now of screwing it up with more sexual advances or anything else that might piss her off.
She was a hot-tempered thing, that was for sure, and he admired her fire, probably because he had the same passion within himself, though it usually stayed hidden by what most people took as his affable British exterior. While her passion spilled out all over the place, whether she realized it or not, his was channeled into his work.
He was having a hell of a time focusing on work with Nicole bumping around his house, jamming dowel rods in windowsills and installing extra locks.
Ethan’s editor had made it clear that he needed to wrap up his research of the Jonas Pulatski story soon, while it was still news that he was out of jail. But now there was this whole other angle to consider—that Jonas was out to get Nicole and it seemed him, too—and that pretty much blew his original story idea out of the water. How could he objectively write about a man who apparently wanted to kill him?
He couldn’t. And he needed to let his editor know about his predicament, except he found the story utterly fascinating and didn’t really want to give it up. Okay, what probably fascinated him most about it was that Nicole was involved.
Spending the past twenty-four hours cooped up in his house with her was enough to leave him itching for something to focus his mental energy on besides figuring out how to get her in bed again, so he’d been reviewing his notes on the Pulatski story, drafting his article, in spite of the fact that he shouldn’t have been writing it at all. Bizarrely, it was yet another way for him to focus on Nicole, while still feeling vaguely productive at the same time.
As if she’d sensed him trying his damnedest not to think about her, she came wandering into the room humming what sounded like a Donna Summer song.
“Whatcha’ working on?”
“My story on Pulatski, although I should probably be handing it over to someone else right now.”
She stood behind him and read the text on his computer screen, which made him crazy. “I really prefer not to let anyone read my rough drafts,” he said, then minimized the document before facing her.
“It read almost like you were glorifying what Pulatski did.”
“Look, it was a rough draft—a shitty one at that—and the article isn’t going to be published anyway. My editor gets word of the fact that Jonas is out to get me and she’ll pull the story.”
“And then you’ll try to sell it elsewhere, or why would you even be writing it?”
“To be honest, I was writing it purely as a distraction from you.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and narrowed her eyes. She was probably taking his statement as an insult, but if he explained that he just found her too damn interesting and sexy to have in his house without being distracted, she’d get pissed about that too. It was a lose-lose situation.
“You can’t write a story that glorifies a killer, especially not one as awful as Pulatski,” Nicole said, and Ethan could nearly feel the fury emanating from her.
“I have no intention of glorifying him or what he’s done. I just want to explore his life and his crimes, as a profile of how a normal kid evolves into a hardened killer. What’s so wrong with that?”
“Because it’s the kind of story that’s all about selling newspapers and has nothing to do with telling people anything they need to know.”
“I think people do need to know what breeds a criminal and how the criminal mind works. Knowledge is never a bad thing.”
“If it helps further the cult of celebrity around guys like Pulatski, it is. It gives other criminals something to aspire to, and it’s an insult to the victims to do any kind of article that shines the light away from their story and onto the perpetrator’s.”
“You’ve got a pretty narrow view of the issue, if that’s what you really believe. We’re going to have to agree to disagree here.”
“Hey, since you very well could be his next victim, you go ahead and disagree with me. No problem. Then you won’t even have to worry about researching or writing the story.”
“Could you be something besides hostile for a few minutes?”
She glowered harder at him now, not saying a word but still communicating plenty.
“Nicole, listen to me. I am perfectly willing to consider other angles on the story. You could even be the subject of it, frankly. That is, if you were willing.”
“Me?” she said as if he’d just suggested she take a job at a topless bar.
“Sure, if I went at it from the angle of how it feels to be the cop left behind, the one who witnessed Pulatski’s last crime before he went to prison. What lasting effect that’s had, and then spin off into a bit of background about him and his other crimes.”
He knew it was a long shot Nicole would agree to any such thing, and judging by her still-stiff posture, he was right. She hated the idea.
“Not a chance,” she finally said.
“Why not? Afraid of developing your own cult of celebrity?”
“It never happens to the people fighting the criminals, only to the scumbag murderers.”
“Why do you think that is?”
“Because people are dumb asses.”
He could have argued with her, but he found himself utterly charmed by the simplicity of her conviction. Stopped dead in his tracks by how strongly she opposed what he wanted to do. She had the power to do that to him, stop him in his tracks anytime, anywhere, about anything. It was amazing, really. No one else could wield such power, especially where his work was concerned.
“If you feel that strongly about it…”
“Don’t let me stop you from writing your crap story,” she said, all mock-casual.
“You mean the one that I really have no intention of publishing now anyway? I really can’t win with you on this one, can I?”
She said nothing, just glared.
“Maybe I should write it and send it out, just to tick you off. It’s pretty fun to watch you get angry.”
Ethan tapped his pen against the desk, and Nicole glanced down at the noise and made a face at the offending object.
“You keep reminding me that I hate journalists.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re all angling for something. The stories you report are never the straight truth. It’s always just one person’s version of it, complete with a political slant.”
“Isn’t that the case about everything? I mean, is it within the realm of possibility for humans to have an unvarnished view of the truth, regardless of subject matter? We can try, but we can’t really know for sure.”
“What have you been smoking? Nothing illegal, I hope. In case you haven’t noticed, the truth is the truth. Everything else is a lie.”
“It’s not that bl
ack and white. I believe in reporting the truth as much as anybody,” Ethan said, gearing up for his favorite rant. He’d spent more than a little time considering the nature of Truth with a capital T. “We see everything through the filter of our own experience, which distorts the truth as we see it. There is some greater sense of truth out there with regard to objective matters, but within our experience, it’s all subjective.”
She looked at him as if he’d just killed a puppy. “You are so wrong.”
“Then we’ll agree to disagree.”
She sighed and stormed off, and Ethan glared at his computer, frustrated by all the sexual tension in the house, frustrated by having Nicole so close and yet emotionally so far.
He had to get out for a little while. Take a breather, get some distance from the angry whirlwind ball of sexual energy named Nicole Arroyo.
She might not be keen on him leaving, but that was her problem. He’d go anyway, maybe even sneak out and leave a note so he wouldn’t have to deal with another argument.
And his plan would have worked if she hadn’t caught him trying to slip out the front door with his laptop tucked under his arm.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“Oh, um, nowhere really. Just outside to work.”
She raised her eyebrows, clearly not buying his story.
“Wherever you’re going, I’m going too.”
Oh, bloody hell.
“Fine, I’m going to my office to gather some work files.”
“I’ll drive you,” she said, and Ethan thought about arguing but decided against it.
He actually did enjoy her company. Even her argumentative nature, which he found fun and incredibly stimulating. It was the frustration of trying to keep sex out of the mix—sex, an essential part of how they needed to relate to each other—that was driving him batty.
The two rode in awkward silence most of the way to the newspaper offices, with an alternative rock radio station turned up loudly enough to keep them from having to talk. Finally Nicole reached out and turned the station down, then cleared her throat.
“I should apologize,” she said. “I’ve been a bitch, and I’m sorry. You’re the most respectable journalist I know, and you didn’t deserve my bad attitude earlier, nor did you deserve my meddling in your work.”
“Hey, it’s okay. This situation, being cooped up worrying about some killer out there waiting for us, is bound to create some tension.”
“I think the tension is as much about my reaction to you as anything.”
“Oh?” Now they were getting somewhere. A ridiculous little flutter of excitement rose up in Ethan’s belly.
“I mentioned already that I get caught up in the need to feel in control of things, and especially in control of myself. But when I’m around you, I start feeling like I’m losing it—losing control, I mean.”
“Yeah, I know that feeling all too well.”
“And we can’t blame it all on that damn lust potion either, even if it does turn out to have some narcotic effect.”
“Because it’s always been a little out of control when we get together, hasn’t it?”
“In my limited experience, yes,” she said, and Ethan wondered for the first time just how experienced Nicole really was.
He’d always assumed she was just as bedroom-savvy as the next girl, but…
“Limited experience?”
“Well, I just meant you and I haven’t been together except for a few times, and—”
“What about you and other guys? Are there many?”
“How the hell is that any of your business?”
“It isn’t. I’m sorry. I was just curious. I mean, we hang out in similar circles, and I’ve never seen you around with anyone.”
She sighed. “I haven’t been around the block that many times, if that’s what you’re wondering. I’ve had a few sort-of-serious relationships, a few not-so-serious ones, and that’s about it.”
“A woman as gorgeous and passionate as you should have been around the block more than a few times by now, you know.”
“I grew up watching my mom’s rotating selection of men do her in, and now my sisters are suffering a similar fate, and I just don’t want that to happen to me. I’m waiting for the right guy to come along before I give away the farm.”
Ethan tried not to smile. “You’ve got a whole farm in those tight jeans of yours? I’m impressed.”
“Shut up.”
Okay, okay, it was a cliché to call a Latina woman fiery, but the word fit Nicole so damn well. He got a hard-on when she said something as simple as shut up.
“You know, if you ever give up looking for Mr. Right and want to settle for Mr. Right Now, I’d love to take you around the block a few more times—or fifty, or a hundred. You know, just for the sake of experience and all.”
He pinned his gaze solidly on the road, hoping it would force her to subconsciously do the same and not try to hit him while she was driving.
“How generous of you, Ethan.”
“But let’s get back to these intense feelings I evoke in you. Could you describe that a little more?”
She laughed. “God, you’re insufferable.”
Outside the car window, the busy freeway exit gave way to palm-tree-lined streets, a bridge over the waterway, and then the route toward downtown. San Diego was a city of ocean and beaches and hillsides, of blue skies and laid-back people. A far cry from gray, cold London. As much as he loved the city where he’d been raised, it was occasionally difficult to imagine living there again after having spent years in California.
“Do you think that we’re just such kindred spirits, we can’t help but get aroused by each other?”
“I never would have called us kindred spirits before, but the more I get to know you, the more I think you might be onto something there. You had me fooled with that whole charming British-guy act.”
“It’s taken me years to perfect it.”
“You think the real you can’t get laid or something? Is that it?”
Ethan was silent for a moment, mulling over her question. “You know, I think it’s a case of us being kindred spirits. Just like you’re terrified of turning into your mom, I feel the same about my dad.”
“How does pretending to be easygoing keep you from turning into him?”
“It’s more like, if I never get serious, I don’t have to worry about any woman getting serious about me, right?”
He glanced over at Nicole, and she shrugged. “Makes an odd kind of sense, I guess.”
The part he didn’t feel comfortable speaking up about, the part he wasn’t sure he wanted Nicole to know, was that he feared he was like his dad in some of the most important ways. He feared he’d never want to settle down with one woman.
Although…
If he were going to settle down, he could almost imagine doing it with a woman like Nicole. Someone who excited him and challenged him and kept him on his toes.
When they reached their destination, Nicole said she’d wait in the lobby while he went in to take care of business.
Walking into the newspaper offices never failed to give Ethan a little jolt of adrenaline. Chasing down sources, seeking out little-known details, putting all the pieces together to form a cohesive whole fuelled his intellect. His insatiable curiosity led him on quests for answers. As a result, he’d never once dreaded coming to the office.
He sat down at his desk and tried to remember everything he needed to grab to take home.
“Where have you been?”
Ethan looked up in the direction of the female voice that had asked the question, and found Kathryn leaning over his desk.
“Hey, Kat. I’ve been sitting right here at my desk. Why?” For the past five seconds, anyway.
“I meant this morning. You were mysteriously absent, and no one knew why, but there was this big rumor circulating about a crazed murderer on your trail.”
Ethan winced. “Yeah, well, the rumor is fact, I’m afra
id to say. I just came in to gather some files to work on at home.”
Kathryn’s eyes widened. “Dear God, Ethan. Are you going to be okay?”
He nodded toward the reception area where Nicole was pacing back and forth, her arms crossed over her chest, her eagle eyes scanning the premises for dangers.
“I’ve got all three of Charlie’s Angels rolled into one out there covering me. I think I’ll be fine.”
Kathryn followed his gaze. “Is that the cop you used to have the hots for?”
“Still have the hots for, to be honest.” He thought about mentioning the spilled lust potion and the wild sex that had followed, but it felt like kissing and telling, and if there was one way Ethan was strictly old-fashioned, that was it. He never talked about the intimate details of his love life, except to his lovers.
“Oh?”
“Don’t think you’re going to drag any lurid gossip out of me.”
“Do you really think I’d spread office gossip?”
“No, I know you’re above it, but I’m still not going to spill any details, other than to confirm that yes, Nicole is acting as my twenty-four-hour-a-day personal bodyguard, and it’s a hell of a burden, let me tell you.”
“I’ll bet.” She flashed a brilliant smile. “So did you get any word about that fake lust potion stuff from the crime lab?”
“Wish I could say I have, but no. They were pretty backed up so might not have the results back to us for weeks.”
Zoe appeared beside Kathryn, having just escaped what was probably a tedious editorial meeting. “Results of what?”
“That lust potion stuff.”
“Oh, right. Rumor has it you were behaving like a man with a serious case of lust on the dance floor at La Casa Friday night. Any truth to that?”
“God, you’re good.”
“That’s why they pay me the big bucks,” Zoe said. “It’s my job to find the gossip and report it, so watch out, you keep behaving like you did and you could show up in my column.”
“I doubt your gossip column audience is sitting on the edges of their seats waiting to hear about my love life. Don’t you?”
“You never know. It’s a good story—handsome man-about-town reporter, mysterious Latin beauty, a nearly obscene encounter on the dance floor followed by a hurried exit to parts unknown but easily guessed…”
A Whisper Of Wanting Page 11