by Jianne Carlo
“Don’t.” He set two fingers to her mouth. “Whatever you were going to say, hold it for later.”
“I was going to say—we’re running late now. You better set the pedal to the metal.”
She didn’t utter a word until they hit I-10. By then the clouds had opened and rain streamed down in a loose weave.
“Thanks for the ride. I really appreciate it.”
“I was going into town anyway. Don’t forget the shake.” He had already downed his.
She eyed the tumbler. “You did mention it’s chocolate flavored?”
“Double fudge. Go ahead. Indulge.”
She sucked on the straw and her throat worked and that had all sorts of sucking scenarios playing in his head. “That was delish. Thank you.”
“Like I said last night. Not much of a cook. The shake does the trick, and it’ll keep you full for a couple of hours.”
She set the tumbler back in the holder and cleared her throat. “I’m going to see if I can get back the room in the dorm I stayed in before Terri and the lease happened. Hopefully I won’t have to take advantage of your hospitality for more than a couple of days.”
Joe ground his teeth. If he weren’t driving, she’d be on his lap melting under a firestorm of kisses.
She fiddled with the seat belt and kept her eyes downcast. “If that doesn’t work out, I met a woman last week who’s searching for a roommate. I can easily move in with Charlene.”
Joe concentrated on the road. Visibility had dimmed to three hundred yards, but his wolf vision kicked in, and he could see for miles. What he needed right then, though, was a focal point, and slamming on the brakes, turning to her, and ordering her not to even consider stepping out of his orbit was definitely not the thing to do. Nor was he about to mention not using a condom.
Why hadn’t she brought it up?
She seemed more worried about not being indebted to him than a possible pregnancy. He crossed his toes in his boots; hopefully she was on the pill.
He had two days. ’Nuff time to develop and execute a plan of attack.
“Is Charlene in one of your classes?” He geared down and started the radio scan option.
“Yes. She’s getting a master’s in nutrition too. She happened to be in the admissions office during mature student registration, and as it turned out, we’re cotutoring some sessions together.” Susie tugged at the hemline of her skirt.
Joe admired her supple knees, cut calves, and trim ankles. Heck, he could and would spend a long, leisurely afternoon on those shapely ankles. “Does she live on campus?”
“No. She’s married, and she and her husband live off campus. They own a three-bedroom house near the downtown area. They have a spare bedroom in the basement going begging.”
No fricking way would she share a living space with any other male. “You find it hard being older than most of the other students?”
“I’m not really older than the other grad students, but it’s different as most of them have actually done the four-year college thing. I would’ve liked to have had the real college experience, you know? The whole sorority rush thing, the parent weekends, the homecoming games. I’ll still experience some of it, of course, but not the usual way.” She twisted the clasp of her purse. “Did you go to college?”
“I did. Graduated from Hallie University with a degree in business. Did a finance MBA right after that.” He shifted into second for the downhill run coming up.
Her mouth formed a perfect O. “No kidding? How’d you get from an MBA to being a mercenary?”
“Not too many jobs available to you when you have a criminal record.” He didn’t bother to dress up the bald facts, just put the shit out there for her to wallow in.
“Criminal record?” She had drawn back into the bowels of the supple leather seat.
“I was arrested, tried, and convicted for the kidnapping and murder of a minor. I spent sixteen months in jail before DNA evidence cleared me of all charges.” He concentrated on the road, on the zippered white dividing line, and refused to surrender to the temptation to gauge her response to his statement.
“Sixteen months.” She touched his forearm, and the brief connection ignited his desire in a heartbeat. “That’s awful, Joe. You must have been so angry.”
“At first. But I’d learned to channel my rage at an early age.” He shook the cobweb memories from his head. “It’s all in the past, and it worked out for the best.”
“And the minor?”
“Turned out he had staged his own kidnapping for the ransom. His father was wealthy.”
Her brows did an indignant uphill run, and she balled her hands. “Who the hell was this sick kid?”
“Henderson, Ritchie Henderson.”
“I remember that case. It was on the national news. The ransom was paid, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah. Paid and never recovered.” He waited for her to recollect the rest of the details.
“They accused you of…of raping him. They found his body in a cabin in the woods. A cabin you owned.”
“That’s all it took, plus the fact that I’d just paid cash for a new car. Circumstantial evidence, but the jury bought it.” Joe eased the gear into second for the steep hill up ahead. “It took sixteen months and damned hard work on the part of a couple of buddies and myself, but we got the conviction reversed.”
“Did they ever find out where the money went?”
“Nope.”
He was probably the sole American citizen who reported every cent earned and refused all the tax loopholes available to him. Bob Weber, the district attorney who’d prosecuted his case, had declared war on Joe after the verdict was reversed. Every year since his conviction was overturned, the IRS had audited Joe on the basis of anonymous tips.
They traveled in silence for the next seven miles. “Where do you want to be dropped off?”
“Anywhere’s fine.”
“Susie, give me a drop-off point or we’ll be circling the campus for hours.” Joe tried to keep the testiness out of his voice.
“Registrar’s office, please.”
He pulled into the porte cochere entrance, reached over, and opened the door.
“Um…” She twiddled with the tassel on her purse. “I, um. There’s no subtle way of saying this. Do I ask for a key for the next couple of days? I want to pay for my share of groceries and some form of rent. I don’t want to be underfoot. Maybe it would be best if I moved into one of those extended-stay hotels until I find a place I can—”
“Here.” He pulled a key from his pocket. “Let’s not make this more complicated than it has to be. Stay at my place as long as you need to. We’ll put last night into an abyss if you want. I’ll keep my hands off you, but if you make another move, all bets are off. No rent, no groceries, not for a lousy two days.”
She licked her lips and met his stare. “I wouldn’t be averse to a friends-with-benefits arrangement. You did tell me exactly how you operate yesterday, and that works for me. But I’d prefer if we waited until I had my own space before we, um, incorporate the benefits side of the arrangement. I don’t like feeling beholden.”
He didn’t like the way she viewed their relationship, but had no intention of refusing a gift horse or, in this case, annoyingly independent warrior woman. “I can accommodate those terms. Friends with benefits—after you move out. Agreed?”
“Agreed.” A wash of color cascaded across her face. “You’ve been so great to me, Joe. Thanks…thanks for everything.”
He filled in all the crap she didn’t voice. Thanks for being my fuck buddy, my cock-in-the-hole, my dumb-prick stud. “Glad to be of service.”
She couldn’t quite suppress the slight wince his words engineered, and that gave him a great measure of satisfaction. “Bye then.”
Joe drove to the parking lot when she disappeared into the building, then made his way to the admissions office.
Poor Susie had no clue. She had given him his ace in the hole.
Chapter
Four
Susie’s stomach was eating itself by the time she made it to the cafeteria well after two thirty that afternoon. She scanned the near-empty cavernous room and spied Charlene and her husband, Grant, sitting in the farthest corner.
Charlene waved.
Tucking the folders she’d collected from the tutoring session under one arm and adjusting the bags from her mini shopping spree, Susie ambled over to the table.
“Don’t tell me you’re only now grabbing lunch.” Charlene pulled out a chair. “Drop your stuff here and get what you can. They’re emptying all the trays.”
“Thanks.” Susie stacked the files and bags on the table and dashed over to the buffet line. Sure enough, most of the hot food was gone. All she managed to scrimmage was a bowl of lumpy baked potato soup and three packets of crackers.
Carrying her tray, Susie headed over to Charlene and Grant’s table, and settled in the lone unoccupied chair.
“Where’ve you been, stranger? We had a barbecue yesterday. I called to invite you but got voice mail.” Charlene’s contagious smile, ever eternal optimism, and Vegas showgirl figure masked a deep-seated raptor personality. Add a Mensa IQ to the mix and the total combo never failed to set Susie’s teeth on edge after five minutes in the other woman’s company.
“Long story and I have a thesis meeting with Dr. Surgue in half an hour. But I’m so glad I ran into you two. If that basement apartment is still available, I’m definitely interested.” Thank the Lord the rental apartment came with a separate entrance. But how in heck would she avoid socializing with Charlene and her cloying husband until she graduated?
Charlene and Grant exchanged a quick glance. “Oh, bummer. We rented it out a week ago. One of the reasons we threw the barbecue on Sunday was to introduce our new tenant to everyone. He’s from the UK and doesn’t know many people in the US.”
Damn the universe. She could’ve afforded the five hundred dollars rent for the basement apartment. Susie gnashed her teeth, flashed the falsest smile in the galaxy, and said, “I guess that’s what happens when you drop the baton.”
“You were a majorette?”
She gripped the fricking spoon so hard her fingertips burned. Miss Magnolia and Mint Juleps couldn’t imagine Susie in a band? Screw her for being on the mark. “No. Relay for the track team. Batons don’t only belong to drum majorettes.”
“No offense meant, sweetie. We southern women tend to lump batons, marching bands, parades, and homecoming games all into one category. Course we’ve all heard about your amazing sprinting skills. Why, Grant says you could outrun him in a heartbeat. And that takes some doing since he was the Ruffians’ wide receiver.” Charlene flashed her picture-perfect snowy smile and reached over to brush Susie’s shoulder.
She barely refrained from flinching. Susie bared another toothed grimace and tried for a rapid subject change, hoping to prevent Charlene from recounting, yet again, a blow-by-blow of Grant catching the winning pass for the national championship game. “I’m so sorry I missed the barbecue. Did you make your famous ribs?”
Charlene’s family owned The Pig and Poke chain of restaurants, and their ribs were on the superlative side. Rumor had it that their secret sauce recipe was insured for seven figures.
“You have to ask?” Grant quirked a brow. “It’d be heresy, otherwise.”
“Wait a minute. Didn’t you say you’d found a place to live? A house near the state park?” Charlene leaned forward, eyes narrowed, looking for all the world like a cat about to snare the canary. The woman hadn’t been able to conceal the insult dealt to her when Susie’d turned down the basement apartment.
Her mother’s often repeated saying of “make your words soft and sweet, ’cause you may someday have to eat them” echoed in Susie’s head. A fierce heat wave scalded her flesh. She crumbled a cracker package. “I did. It exploded yesterday.”
“Whaaat?” Charlene’s big blues couldn’t possibly get any wider. “What do you mean exploded?”
“Exploded. You know. Big bang. Blazing fire. Razed to the ground. That sort of thing.” She didn’t want to have to go through this over and over again.
Grant pulled back, pale ash eyebrows at his hairline. “Houses don’t just explode. How did this happen?”
Shrugging, she said, attempting a nonchalant tone, “This one did. The fire department hasn’t determined the cause as yet.”
“How awful, Susie. You must move in with us until you can find another place. The attic bedroom’s available until my niece comes to vacation with us in two weeks. I can’t believe you didn’t call. What else can we do to help?” Charlene brushed Susie’s knuckles. “We have a pickup. We can run you there and get your things—”
“That’s not necessary, thanks. I’ve got everything under control.” Praying the lie wasn’t obvious, Susie rushed on. “I’m staying with a neighbor until I can find another place. I rescheduled this morning’s test, and after I meet with Dr. Surgue, I’m heading over to housing to see what’s available. But thanks so much for the generous offer. It shouldn’t be too hard to find another place. Graduation’s next week, and there’ll be a ton of places up for rent.”
“I wouldn’t count on that. This is a four-college town, and while it’s Hallie U’s graduation next week, the agricultural college begins next week. You might find it harder to find another place than you think.” Grant scrubbed his smooth jaw.
Susie squished another cracker packet. Did Grant have to smile while delivering the wonderful news? “Oh, my phone burned in the fire.”
She dug in her purse, pulled out her new monthly cell, and switched it on. “I have a new number.”
Both Charlene and Grant programmed the information into their phones.
“Heck. Is it orientation this week, hon?” Grant draped an arm around his wife and jutted his chin at the cafeteria’s entrance. “Check out all those parents and their kids, touring the school, planning for the fall. Seems like we did that years ago.”
The wistful note in his growly baritone surprised Susie. Grant and Charlene had to be in their middle to late twenties, which meant they’d been freshmen only a few years back.
“Does, doesn’t it?” Charlene met her husband’s gaze. “Remember our first homecoming?”
He knuckled her cheek. “Sure do.”
Charlene laughed, and her cheeks turned a pretty pink hue. “Grant never noticed me in high school, no matter how hard I tried to get his attention. But he certainly did that first homecoming.”
“It would’ve been hard not to, babe.” Grant winked at Susie. “My wife here was the star acrobat on the cheerleading team. She broke her arm at that first game. I will never forget the team throwing her up in the air and realizing halfway through it wasn’t going to end well.”
“I beg to differ, darling. I got you that day. It ended perfectly.”
Grant kissed Charlene’s forehead. “There was a major pileup on the interstate, and it took them three hours to attend to her. She never cried. Not a single tear. The bone was sticking out of her flesh, and she’d not had even a single painkiller. She was in terrible pain and bore it like a trooper.”
“I wanted to impress him, and I guess I did.” Charlene ducked her head.
Hard to reconcile this shy, lovey-dovey Charlene with the caustic woman who relished tearing her classmates’ papers apart. Maybe she had misjudged Charlene.
“It’s a good thing I made reservations for next Friday. With all these newbies in town, every restaurant will be packed to the gills. Want to join us, Susie? We’re hosting Vance’s formal appointment as head coach at Chez Pierre’s.”
Vance Ellison, the Ruffians new football coach, had the town by the short and curlies. He’d stepped into the hallowed shoes of the former head coach, Tommy Sloan, after the man’s massive stroke last spring, and led the team to their second championship victory the past year.
Ellison had been the Ruffians’ second-string coach for decades, but most people had never heard of him, as the media lim
elight had always shone on Tommy Sloan. Coach Tommy, as he was affectionately known, had won more championships than any other coach in college football history. Hallowed couldn’t begin to describe how the citizens of Hallie, who treated football as religion, viewed Coach Tommy. After the Ruffians massive victory, Ellison had become the new media beacon, and the man appeared to savor the attention and adoration.
She’d met Ellison and his wife at a get-together hosted by Dr. Surgue to introduce all the new graduate students. She had asked Dr. Surgue to chair her thesis committee, and planned to broach Coach Ellison to be the sports advisor for the committee.
“Can I get back to you on that one? I’ll give you a call later in the week.”
“Sure. This isn’t a party I’d miss if I were you.” Charlene had recently finalized her thesis committee and her subject for the exam—sports nutrition.
The noise level in the cafeteria escalated as hordes poured through the main doors. The frenzied shouts, greetings, and high-pitched squeals and laughter of boisterous recent high-school graduates and proud parents echoed and bounced off the walls.
Susie watched the newcomers through a veil of wistful envy. Had she ever been that innocent? That carefree? Did it matter? She’d long ago decided what she didn’t want out of life. No one was ever going to control her or her future.
After her master’s, she hoped to land a job in a test kitchen, preferably Cook’s Illustrated, make the necessary contacts, and then wrangle her way into a cooking show on the Food Network or maybe the Travel Channel. She’d become a force in the industry and, more importantly, be financially independent.
“Whew. I don’t think we were ever that noisy.” Charlene scrunched her nose.
Grant rolled his eyes. “On a good day we’d have made them sound like a library. Did you know this woman can level a room with one whistle?”
Susie blinked. Charlene? Whistle? Miss Lace and Petticoats? Not in this lifetime.
“Grant. Stop spilling all my tomboy secrets.” Charlene cupped a hand over her mouth and tittered. Actually tittered.