by Beth Andrews
Which was good. Great, in fact. Things were complicated enough.
Still, it smarted.
“I meant to ask.” Joe hitched a thumb at her car. “What happened to the Beemer?”
She shoved her fingers into her back pockets. She didn’t want to lie. But she didn’t want to tell the truth, either. “Got something against Camrys?”
He looked as if he wanted to say more, then shrugged. “Didn’t see you at the diner.”
“It’s been a while since I last pulled up fifty-year-old carpet. I had a hard enough time getting in and out of the shower.”
Instantly she regretted her provocative words, but Joe didn’t take the unintentional bait. Though why should he? Their bantering days were long gone. He merely nodded, then turned back to his truck. Moments later he held up a crisp white bag.
“I brought you a sandwich.”
“Ham?”
“Extra pickles.”
Her mouth watered. She squinted. “In exchange for...”
“An answer. To one question.”
“Do I get to ask one, too?”
“Did you bring me dinner?”
They stared at each other over the roof of her car. In his eyes she could see that bitterness she’d been wondering about. She sighed.
“Let me guess. You want to know if it bothers me. That Tackett’s basically holding my future for ransom. Am I right?” An incline of his head signaled that she’d guessed correctly. Her gaze dropped to the bag in his hand. “You realize you’re doing the exact same thing.”
“There’s a difference between two weeks and an entire career. And unlike Tackett, I honor my word. After I’ve served my four weeks he’ll ask for more. He’ll offer a bonus if I stay, forget to pay me if I don’t. I won’t be staying. You shouldn’t, either.”
“So now you’re looking out for me. How very—” Wait a minute. She pushed away from the car, a blush of fury scorching her from head to toe. “You want me to quit. To get back at the old man. Or are you hoping you won’t have me to deal with once you’re there?” When he didn’t answer she swallowed against a pang of...something...and glowered. “You don’t like that question? Fine. Here’s another one.”
A muscle car drove past the motel, engine growling, radio blaring an energetic song. Allison blinked back inexplicable tears.
“Were you and Danielle lovers?” she asked.
Joe took his time positioning the bag on the hood of her car. When he looked back up his face had lost all expression. “We were barely friends.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“No. We were never lovers. I had you. I didn’t need anyone else.”
She released the breath she’d been holding, but the pressure in her chest didn’t ease. She turned away. “Good night, Joe.”
“You forgot your sandwich, Allison.”
It would be churlish to refuse, though her appetite had vanished. At least he’d stopped calling her by her last name. When he did that he sounded like Tackett.
She reached for the bag. So did he. He didn’t let go. Instead he held out his free hand. “Truce?”
“So this is a bribe.”
“More like a peace offering.” When she hesitated he wiggled his fingers. “Come on. I’m not asking to be friends. You don’t want to be here and I don’t want to go back. But we’re stuck with each other. And two weeks is a long time to trade dirty looks. So what do you say? Truce?”
“Well.” It was easier just to give in. She put her hand in his. “You did say extra pickles.”
* * *
“JOE?” NO ANSWER. Another rap of her knuckles on the glass, but the lobby remained dark. Damn. She had no way of knowing whether he’d already gone to bed or just couldn’t hear her knock. And she’d never thought to ask for his cell number.
She shivered in the cool night air and glanced around. At each end of the motel lurked a tall, skinny pole, the beams from the lights at the top casting broad puddles of pale yellow onto the broken pavement. The light glinted off the windshield of Joe’s truck. He was definitely here.
She drew in a resolute breath and marched around the side of the building. The sooner they got this settled, the better.
The dew-damp grass slicked her toes, making her feet slide in her flip-flops, every step a rubbery squeak. She hesitated at the corner—no lights back here but for the dim bulb over the door. A pair of moths flirted with the scrawny light, making tiny little pings whenever they connected with the glass.
She yanked at the hem of her top, skirted the wooden box that protected his garbage cans and stepped onto the slab of cement that served as a porch.
Nothing but darkness on the other side of the square window in the door. For God’s sake, it was only ten o’clock. He’d always been a night owl—surely he couldn’t have changed that much?
Then again, there didn’t seem to be a lot to do in Castle Creek. Especially after dark. Except maybe— Allison’s breathing hitched and a prickling heat swept across her skin. An image of what Joe could very well be doing in the dark had her snatching her hand away from the door and stumbling back a step.
After her encounter with the mouse, Joe had said he had to go help a friend. Maybe that friend was female? And maybe she was in his apartment at this very moment, in his bed, and they were shaking their heads at the idiot outside who couldn’t take a hint?
Embarrassment shoved her back another step and she started to turn away. Then suddenly he was there, looming on the other side of the windowpane. Not naked. Not from the waist up, anyway. The door swung inward.
“Come in before the moths do,” he said.
She hesitated. Something in his voice... His hair was rumpled, his feet bare and he wore sweatpants and a T-shirt—clothes that could be pulled on in a matter of seconds.
Or off.
She blinked away an unwanted memory. “I don’t want to interrupt...anything. You alone?”
“Mostly.”
She started to ask what that was supposed to mean when she heard the kitten, meowing softly in the background. Funny guy. She gave a half shrug and sidled past, holding her breath so she wouldn’t breathe in the scent of bed-warmed male.
He shut the door behind her and turned, hand still on the knob. “There a problem?”
“Could you turn off the light?”
“Come again?”
It took real effort to keep her mind from going in an X-rated direction. For God’s sake, Allie, grow up. “The outdoor light. Those poor moths.”
He stretched a hand to the wall. The room went black. Allison blinked and thrust out her hands, feeling suddenly off-kilter.
Asking him to turn off the light might have been a mistake. Still, she couldn’t get that pinging noise out of her head.
“Anything else I can do for you?”
Damn that “throw me to the floor” voice of his. “I know it’s late, but I hoped we could talk.”
“No.”
She frowned in the abrupt silence. Then the refrigerator gurgled and she found her voice. “It won’t take long.”
“Not gonna happen.”
Huh. So maybe “mostly” alone didn’t involve the kitten, after all. Maybe “mostly” meant his date was asleep. Or maybe Allison needed to remember that just because they’d declared a truce, it didn’t mean he was happy she was here in Castle Creek.
She clamped her teeth together. “Fine. We’ll talk in the morning. Sorry I bothered you.”
“My answer will be the same when the sun comes up.” A whisper of fabric—she imagined him folding his arms across his chest. “I mean, I’m assuming you’re here to wriggle out of our deal, right?”
“I didn’t come to wriggle out of anything. I came to have a rational conversation. But obviously this isn’t a
good time.” She took a step toward the door. He didn’t move. She blew out an impatient breath. “If you don’t get out of my way I can’t get out of your hair.”
“I can offer more than conversation.”
A mingling of anger and longing sapped the strength from her knees. Had she considered him funny at one time? Try hateful. She sneaked a step to the left and sagged against the counter. Not one of her better ideas, coming here at this hour. Though she wouldn’t admit to it now, she actually had hoped to talk Joe into letting her leave. Now all she wanted to do was scuttle back to her room and lock herself in.
“If you mean coffee,” she managed, “I’m in. Anything else and you’re out of your mind.” Like me.
He grunted, but that was all the reaction she got. His breathing remained steady—unlike hers. She let her hands slap back against her sides.
“Are we really going to just stand here in the dark?”
“I like the dark. It hides a multitude of sins.” When she didn’t—couldn’t—respond, he laughed softly. “Follow me.”
He paused beside her, and ran his fingers down her arm to her wrist, the heat of his touch suggesting an erotic promise she almost wished he could keep. He tugged lightly. She let him lead her out of the kitchen and down the hallway, past a tiny bathroom to the seating area she’d caught a glimpse of before. He let go of her wrist and pressed a palm to her back, encouraging her to cross the threshold.
A rickety-looking card table sat in front of a pair of windows overlooking the field behind the motel. On top of the table sat a bronzed, bottom-heavy lamp, which shed its light on a thick book of crosswords, a mason jar full of pencils, a clear glass tumbler and a half-empty bottle of whiskey. A cold, crawling bleakness filled her belly. She wandered into the center of the room then slowly turned. He watched her, his mouth forming an arrogant slant, his navy eyes glazed with a falseness she’d learned to despise a year ago.
“You’ve been drinking.” Inwardly she winced at the accusation in her voice. None of your business. Not anymore. Still, she couldn’t help mourning the day-old hope that just that moment unwound itself from around her heart and slunk away. She took a breath and added quietly, “I thought you’d given it up.”
“I gave up getting drunk. Drinking? Not so much.”
She jerked her chin at the bottle of Glenlivet. “This is what you meant when you said you weren’t alone.”
He shrugged. “I’m guessing I don’t need to hunt up a second glass.”
A mewling sound. They both looked down in time to see the kitten launch herself at Joe’s leg. He bent and plucked her free of his sweatpants, cradled her in his arms and scratched her belly. A soft, satisfied rumbling filled the room.
Allison swallowed, but the ache in her throat refused to recede. An overwhelming sadness crowded her chest, pressing painfully against her heart, and she shook her head.
“I can’t do this again. I won’t do this again.”
“If you’re talking about renovating it’s obvious you’ve never done it before.”
“You know exactly what I’m talking about.” She strode back to the doorway but Joe stayed put. Why hadn’t she realized the moment he’d opened the door? The moment he’d spoken? She could have left then, instead of finding herself in the position of having to bluff her way past him.
“Excuse me,” she said briskly. “I have to pack.”
“You leave, I stay.”
Damn him. “You gave your word.”
“So did you.”
“When I thought you were sober.”
“Does it matter? We made no stipulations.”
“We did, actually. Something about keeping your hands to yourself?”
He took his time looking her over, from her flip-flops to her brand-new jeans to the baby doll pajama top she hadn’t bothered exchanging for a shirt. His gaze seemed to settle on her shoulders, and she found herself wishing stupidly that she’d taken the time to brush her hair. She was worse than pathetic.
“Just so we’re clear,” he drawled, “the same doesn’t apply to you.”
Despite herself, despite...everything...a heated thrill of remembered pleasure zinged straight from her heart to her belly. Stop that. She struggled to focus on all the long-ago nights she’d been desperate to touch him, to lose herself in his caresses, but instead had lain frozen and aching on her side of the bed. Why? Because he’d been too drunk to realize she was there, let alone to make love to her.
Did he really think it would be that easy? Did he think it was even an option?
You’ve thought about it, too. She had. Of course she had. At one time they’d been good together. Very good. And as different as he’d seemed to be...
Now she knew that only his appearance had changed. And that he’d found a new hobby. Everything else that counted had stayed the same.
“Is this part of the plan? Seduce the woman who plotted against you? Make her fall for you all over again so she’ll beg you to let her stay? Then of course you’ll respond with, ‘Sorry, my sweet. Offer expired. Let me get the door.’” She tipped her head. “I can see the poetic justice.”
“Nice touch, that thing with the door.” He leaned over and released the cat onto the sofa. When he straightened, brushing the orange hairs from his T-shirt, his expression had loosened. “No plan. Just fond memories. I miss the look of stunned bliss on your face when you come.”
She sucked in a breath. “Damn you and damn that bottle, Joe Gallahan. What you miss is your old life. You’re just too proud to admit it.”
“I am not drunk. I’ve been drinking, yeah, but it takes more than a few swallows of hooch to knock me on my ass. And you’re wrong, slick. I sure as hell don’t miss my old life. Right now? I’m missing my beauty sleep. So unless you want to join me...”
“Haven’t we punished each other enough?”
“Hardly.” He yawned, then scrubbed a hand over his hair and headed toward his bedroom. “Lock the door behind you. Don’t forget we start at seven tomorrow.”
“This is ridiculous,” she said to his back. “There’s no reasoning with you.”
“Yet you persist.”
Because that’s what idiots do. She sighed. “Why is it so important for me to stay?”
At the door to his bedroom he turned. “Because I can make you. I may not wear a suit anymore, but I still like to call the shots.” He bared his teeth. “Almost as much as I like to drink ’em.”
* * *
JOE LAY ON his back, one hand cupped around the kitten sprawled on his chest, the other pressed to his head. The cat was snoring, every fur-coated rumble like a buzz saw ripping through Joe’s brain. How the hell could something so small create such a massive sound? And why hadn’t that handful of pills kicked in yet?
Gingerly he raised his head high enough to aim a one-eyed squint at the clock. Almost time to roll. Yeehaw. He lowered his head again, and groaned when it connected with his hard-ass pillow. If he weren’t expecting Allison he’d stay in bed, at least until he could blink without sending pain shooting through his skull.
Then again, if he weren’t expecting Allison he wouldn’t have polished off that bottle of whiskey last night.
Two weeks. Damn. He’d better stock up.
He closed his eyes, pictured her in her borrowed getup and shifted on the bed. Who knew a determined woman sweating through an oversize pair of coveralls could be such a turn-on? Too bad she’d never let him anywhere near that zipper. He let loose an aching moan.
And then, of course, there was the outfit she’d showed up in last night. Tight jeans and some silky, floaty, barely there top with short sleeves. Pale pink, like the polish on her naked toes. When they’d stood in the cool darkness of the kitchen, where he could hear the excited hitch in her breathing, and smell the familiar spicy peach scent she’d stroke
d across her skin, all he’d wanted to do was strip her, push her against the wall and lick every inch.
But he hadn’t wanted her to smell the booze on him. Because he’d known she’d react...well, exactly how she had reacted. Which was why he’d led her to the living room after all. Where she could see for herself what he’d been up to.
As often as he’d fantasized about taking a horizontal trip or two down memory lane the last couple of days, he knew it would never happen. Allison Kincaid had never been the type for casual encounters. And shame on him, anyway, for lusting after a woman he didn’t trust any more than he trusted Vince Tackett.
What he should have done was get up early this morning and hit the treadmill. An hour-long run would have helped take the starch out of his libido.
Who you kidding, asshole? He’d had to practically crawl to the bathroom to get the ibuprofen.
He exhaled, deposited the kitten on the bed beside him and pushed himself up. The pounding in his head didn’t get any kinder, but at least he no longer felt the need to hurl.
I don’t want to be here. Haven’t we punished each other enough?
So much for a truce. Not that either of them had really wanted it in the first place. Damn it, why’d she have to go all judgmental on him? It was no surprise she hadn’t appreciated his comment about calling the shots. But he deserved some payback of his own and he was going to get it.
He sure as hell wasn’t going to get anything else.
He stroked a palm down the length of his hard-on, his groin somehow managing to out-throb his head. He imagined Allison sinking to her knees in front of him, licking her lips and humming deep in her throat....
He called himself one of the names he’d considered for the cat, peeled off his boxers and staggered to the shower, desperate for the temporary relief of a hot water massage and a personal hand job.
He was showered and dressed and considering a little hair of the dog when the buzzer sounded. Allison called out then appeared in the doorway wearing jeans and a bright green top, the grimy coveralls over one arm, her pale blond hair neatly gathered in a plastic clip. Her eyes were heavy-lidded, her ivory cheeks still flushed with sleep, and it was all he could do not to flash back to the rare mornings they’d awakened in the same bed, him reaching out, her instantly arching, pressing close and hot against him—