by Katie Ruggle
“What’s what about?” His already deep voice lowered even more, until it came out in a rumbly growl that made her shiver. What was it about John Carmondy that he could turn her legs to jelly just by talking? There was something very wrong with her. His annoyed tone shouldn’t affect her this way. “Me being nice? You think I can’t be a decent person without having an ulterior motive? Good to know exactly what you think of me.”
“Why wouldn’t I think that? When have you ever done anything for the sake of being ‘nice’?”
“I’m always trying to help; you just never accept it!”
Molly made a scoffing sound. “When have you tried to help—before this whole mess started, I mean?”
“All. The. Time.” His eyes were narrowed, and his mouth was set in a grim line. Molly was trying very hard not to get distracted by how aggravatingly attractive he looked when he was angry. “That skip who tried to jump you at the gas station in Franktown? Then there was the one whose mother chased after you with a hammer. And the guy who started throwing bottles of organic olive oil at you when you cornered him in Whole Foods. Any of these ringing a bell?”
The annoying thing was that they did ring a bell—all sorts of bells, actually. Each time, Molly had assumed that John just happened to be in the right place at the right time to help, thanks to him chasing her skips. She grimaced, feeling the first tentacles of guilt snaking through her. It was getting clearer and clearer that her sisters had been—obnoxiously—right. Molly had been oblivious. “I thought you just wanted to steal jobs from me.”
His expression softened minutely. She wouldn’t have noticed if she hadn’t been staring at him, just inches from his face. Sometime during the argument, without realizing it, she’d moved closer to him…really close. “Well, that was a fun side benefit, but you started it.”
Molly sucked in a breath, bracing herself to apologize, but the front door swung open before she could get any of the words out. She turned around to see Cara leaning against the doorjamb, wearing her sleep shorts and a tank, her dark-brown hair rumpled from moving restlessly against a pillow. “If the two of you get any louder, Mr. P is going to call the cops again.”
Seeing her sister’s sleepy face instantly drained all of Molly’s adrenaline, her utter exhaustion waiting to take its place. “Ugh. Sorry. C’mon, let’s go in.” She directed her words to both John and Cara.
Cara took a step back, swinging the door open wide to allow them room to enter, but John gestured for Molly to go in first. His expression was mostly wiped clear, but she could tell there were storm clouds hiding behind his neutral visage. He didn’t immediately follow her in, and Molly turned around to look at him. Their gazes snagged and held, making her pause as she tried to read his thoughts. She was a little overwhelmed by the knowledge that he’d been trailing after her this whole time with the intent of keeping her safe, rather than—well, in addition to—wanting to steal her skips. Her expression must’ve shown her remorse because, with a sigh that she couldn’t interpret any more than she could read his expression, he lost more of his tension and stepped inside.
Molly found herself exhaling a relieved breath, not knowing exactly what had just happened, but glad that it had ended the way it had. If he’d stomped off into the night, she would’ve felt unsettled and antsy and, she admitted grudgingly, she would’ve worried about him until she’d heard that he’d gotten home safely. Even though he was a grown man with a cell phone and a brain who was perfectly capable of getting from one side of their small town to the other, she still would’ve been concerned.
As a fill-in mom, she couldn’t help it. Worrying was what she did. Besides, now that he was neck-deep in the mess her mom had created, he was in as much danger as she and her sisters were. Even though John had willingly helped out, fully knowing what he was getting himself into, Molly couldn’t help but feel guilty—and grateful—that he’d made that sacrifice.
As they entered the living room, her gaze was caught by the rumpled blanket on the couch. “Were you sleeping down here?”
“I was,” Cara confirmed mid-yawn. “I sleep like the dead, but I figured if I was down here, I’d wake up if Stuart came back and tried breaking in again. Now that you’re here, I’m going up to my bed. That couch is the worst. It feels like a bunch of rocks covered in upholstery.”
Carefully avoiding John’s gaze, Molly made a hmm sound. “Once all of this is over and we have some spare cash again, we’re getting an alarm system.” She very deliberately didn’t mention that they might not be living in that house after everything was said and done.
Cara offered a good-night wave and climbed the stairs as John turned toward Molly. Reluctantly, knowing he was about to complain about sleeping on the couch made of rocks, she met his gaze.
“You need that alarm system sooner rather than later,” he said, proving that she hadn’t actually known what he was going to say after all. “I know someone who’ll do it at cost.”
“You know a lot of someones,” she said absently, staring at the couch as her conscience fought with her caution. “It’s handy.” Her conscience won, and she waved him past the sofa and toward the stairs. “Come on upstairs. No sense in you sleeping on a rock mattress when there’s a free bed.”
He didn’t protest. As he climbed the stairs behind her, he said, “I do know a lot of someones. You should take advantage of that. Unless you think I’m offering just so that I have another chance to search for the necklace.”
She tried unsuccessfully to hold back a laugh, and her attempt to restrain herself turned it into a snort.
“What?” he asked, sounding torn between huffiness and reluctant amusement.
“You’re…” She almost told him that he was cute when he pouted, but she swallowed the words at the last minute. Instead, she cleared her throat and scrambled to think of replacement words, ones that wouldn’t sound so much like flirting. “Nothing. Don’t mind me. I think I’m so tired I’m getting delirious.”
“Bed, then.” His huge hand touched her back ever so lightly, as if to help support her as she walked, and her skin instantly warmed. She knew she should pull away rather than soak up the contact, but it felt too good. Besides, she still felt a residual smidgen of guilt for so quickly assuming his motives were selfish when he’d saved her life at least once that night.
When she reached the bedroom, her hand hesitated on the doorknob for a moment before she turned it. It felt strange inviting John Carmondy into her room when she’d never thought about him except with irritation—and perhaps the tiniest bit of objective lust—until a few days ago. Now, she was trusting him to watch her back…well, mostly trusting him.
As her thoughts tumbled around, trying to figure out how she felt about her changing relationship with John, he stepped into her room, instantly shrinking it to dollhouse size.
Desperately trying to get her thoughts back in order, Molly cleared her throat as she worked out the best arrangement. She didn’t feel right about offering up Felicity’s bed to a random guy—not that John was acting like a random anything these days. “You can have mine.” She waved toward the right side of the room, relieved that she at least had a full-size bed. It would’ve been mortifying if she and Felicity had kid-sized bunkbeds or something. Besides, there was no way that John’s height and muscular bulk would’ve fit in a twin. Shaking away that slightly ridiculous mental picture, she forced herself to focus on what needed doing. “Hang on. Let me get you some clean sheets.”
His eyebrow and the corner of his mouth rose at the same time, giving him that familiar devilish look that signaled he was about to tease her. “Yours are…dirty, then?” The emphasis he put on dirty gave a whole new meaning to the word.
“No.” She was too tired to not get flustered, and that annoyed her. Normally, she prided herself on coolly volleying back whatever John served to her, but it had been a long day—several long days, in fact—and she co
uld feel her face heat with a flush. “Not dirty dirty. I changed them a few days ago. Just, you know, sluffed skin cells and a few stray hairs, that sort of thing.” Okay, she needed to stop talking immediately. Unfortunately, her mouth wasn’t getting the message. “Nights have been cool recently, so I haven’t been sweating, but the sheets probably still smell like me.”
His smirk slowly grew until it was a full grin as he eyed her bed with more lasciviousness than it really deserved. “I’ll use these sheets.”
“But—” She took a step toward her bed, suddenly feeling all sorts of weird about John spending the night wrapped in sheets that she’d rolled around in. It was strangely hot, and that made her squirm.
Before she could strip the bed or finish her objection, he’d maneuvered himself in front of her, blocking her access. If she took even a half step closer, they would be touching. “I’ll be fine,” he said. Although the words were reassuring, there was a deeper timbre to his voice that definitely was not. “Where’s the bathroom?”
“All the way down the hall,” she answered automatically, her brain caught up in the overwhelming proximity of him. “Last door on the left. Why do you smell like bubble gum?”
He blinked. “I do not.”
“You do.”
“I do not smell like bubble gum. I’m not a sticky six-year-old.”
Suddenly realizing the ridiculousness of their argument, she shifted back and mentally changed gears. “Fine. You don’t smell like bubble gum, even though you really do. Hurry up in the bathroom. As soon as you’re done, I want to take a shower. Dutch’s and that empty warehouse left a film of grossness on me.”
He scowled at her, looking like he was dying to continue their discussion, but he clamped his mouth closed with a tight nod and moved to the door instead. At the last second before he disappeared down the hall, he turned back toward her. “Leave those sheets on,” he said, a trace of his usual smirk back in place.
He waited, so she held her hands up in the universal I won’t do anything gesture. “Fine. If you want to sleep in my stink, I’m not going to stop you.”
“I do.” He gave her a wink—which should’ve looked stupid, but because it was John, turned out stupid hot instead—and headed to the bathroom.
As soon as he was out of sight, Molly let out a deep breath and started to sink down onto Felicity’s bed. The squishy mattress called to her, tempting her to lie down and close her eyes, just for a moment. With a groan, she forced herself to stand again. Once she was down, she’d be out like a light, and she’d been telling the truth about needing to wash off this terrible night.
She headed out into the hall, figuring that she might as well check on Norah while she was attempting to stay awake. Cracking her sister’s door, she saw that her room was lit by dim blue light from her sister’s computer screen. Molly knocked softly, pushing open the door the rest of the way when Norah made a quiet sound that she took as an invitation to enter. Norah was sitting on her narrow bed, her legs curled underneath her and her laptop open. The rest of her bed was taken up by a snoring Warrant. Norah’s face was bathed in the bluish light from the screen, making her look even paler than usual. Even though Molly knew it was just an illusion, she still couldn’t stand to see her sister look so sickly. It reminded her too vividly of the many emergency-room visits when they were younger and Norah’s asthma wasn’t controlled. Molly flicked on the floor lamp to its lowest setting, bathing the tiny room with warm yellow light, and Norah instantly looked healthier.
“I know we need to find Mom as soon as possible,” Molly said, leaning on the dresser. She was tempted to plop down on the bed next to her sister, but she knew it’d be just as easy to fall asleep here as it would be in Felicity’s bed. Besides, the thought of waking Warrant and getting him to move was too much effort at the moment. “That doesn’t mean you can’t take a few hours off to sleep.”
Norah finally glanced up to meet Molly’s gaze. “I know. I just keep falling down research rabbit holes.”
“I get it. Find out anything interesting?”
“Maybe.” Norah’s voice was hesitant, cautious as always, and Molly knew not to push. Her sister never liked to share information until after she’d confirmed and reconfirmed her facts.
“John’s staying over tonight.”
That caught Norah’s attention. “He is? With you?”
“Uh…no.” She hated that she’d hesitated on her answer, but the mental image that had sprung up in her head had been very distracting—and, despite knowing it was a bad idea, very tempting. “We had to slip away after Dutch’s exploded.”
“Exploded?” Norah stared at her, eyes wide, her ignored laptop tilting to the side.
“No one was hurt.” After pausing, Molly corrected herself. “I’m pretty sure no one was hurt. We were out of the building at that point. You might want to add getting the police and fire department reports to your to-do list, though.”
“Okay. You’re not hurt? What about John?”
“I’m fine. John’s a little banged up, but I did a beautifully executed dive roll. You should’ve seen it.” Now that the sense of urgency and danger had faded, she wished that move had been recorded.
Norah’s small smile disappeared a moment after it touched her lips. “You need to be careful, especially when you’re dealing with Sonny Zarver.”
“I know, and I will.” Molly made the words a solemn promise.
From Norah’s nod, she understood and accepted it as such.
“Don’t forget to sleep.” Straightening from her leaning position, Molly turned off the light and slipped into the hall before sticking her head back in. “All the rabbit holes will still be there tomorrow, and everything will probably make more sense.”
Although Norah made a sound of agreement, it was absentminded, and her attention was completely focused on her screen again.
“Good night.” Molly pulled her sister’s door closed as she withdrew, knowing that all the well-intentioned nagging in the world wouldn’t get Norah in bed any sooner. She’d finish when she was done researching, and then she’d sleep until noon.
Turning away from Norah’s bedroom door, Molly found herself face to bare chest with John. She couldn’t stop herself from taking in the broad, muscular expanse before resolutely tipping her head back to meet his gaze. She wasn’t sure why she’d thought that looking up would be any less distracting. His beautiful face—with his mile-long dark lashes and full mouth and those tempting dimples—was just as drool-worthy as the hard planes of his chest. He, of course, noticed her looking, and his teasing grin was fully in place.
“See something you like?” he asked, flexing.
She’d already given herself away, but she refused to pump up his ego. It was big enough as it was. She couldn’t bring herself to lie outright, though, so she simply raised one of her shoulders in a half shrug. “Eh.”
Despite her put-on indifference, his smile grew wider. “Don’t pretend like all this”—he made circles in front of his body—“doesn’t flip your lust switch.”
“What?” She laughed. How could she not? “That makes absolutely no sense. And you don’t flip any of my switches.” Despite pretending to be completely immune to his hotness, she couldn’t keep her gaze from straying downward. He was just so perfect and so close and so shirtless.
Her amusement disappeared in a second when she noticed a huge bruise blooming along his side. Moving closer, she grasped his wrist and lifted his arm up and out of the way so she could see his injury. Although she felt him go still from surprise, he allowed her to shift his arm and peer at the dark-red contusion. With her free hand, she traced her fingertips very gently over the area. It was hot and swollen, and she knew it had to hurt. As he sucked in an audible breath, his skin jumping under her touch, she quickly pulled her hand away.
“Sorry. That’s a nasty bruise. Are your ribs okay?” The bru
ise started beneath his lowest rib, but she still pressed against them to make sure.
He cleared his throat, but his voice still came out huskier than normal. “They’re fine, but you’re welcome to continue your examination. I can point out some other painfully swollen spots for you to examine.”
Rolling her eyes, although less dramatically than she usually did, since he was honestly hurt, Molly carefully lowered his arm to his side. Releasing her grip on his wrist, she took a step back, not willing to admit that the idea of running her hands all over him was surprisingly tempting. “If you’re back to flirting, then you’re not going to die.”
“Just feels like it sometimes,” he muttered under his breath.
“What?”
“Nothing.” His grin was back, but she thought it looked strained. No wonder, since he must be as exhausted as she was, and he was bruised and sore on top of that.
“Go to bed. I’m going to shower and then I’ll join you.” When John’s smile widened into something she could only describe as wolfish, she realized her mistake. “As in join you in sleep, not join you in bed.” Turning on her heel so he couldn’t see the way her face flushed bright red, judging by the heat in her cheeks, Molly headed for the bathroom. She needed to get clean and then go to sleep. If she was unconscious, she wouldn’t keep saying embarrassing things.
It was only after her shower, when she was damp and naked under her towel, dirty clothes tucked into the hamper, that she realized her mistake. She’d forgotten to bring pajamas into the bathroom with her. Now, she was going to have to waltz into her room, where John was, in just a towel, and dig through her dresser drawers…which of course were the bottom two. She could imagine the picture she was going to present, her towel-clad body bent over with her butt in the air as she dug for some clean underwear.
She sighed silently, jerking open the door with resigned resolve. Hopefully, John was fully asleep and would miss the show. With her luck, though, that was unlikely. Her only other option was to sleep naked, and that seemed even more ill-advised when sharing a bedroom with John Carmondy.