by Joan Hohl
A short time later, his hair still damp from the shower, his lean cheeks close-shave shiny, his body subdued and dressed in faded jeans, a washed-out gray sweatshirt and his favorite, if scruffy, running shoes, Eric stood at the stove, whistling through his teeth as he scrambled three eggs in a shallow frying pan.
When it came to feeding, there were beasts, and then there were beasts. His empty stomach was one of them.
After finishing the meal, Eric took up his position at the window, dividing his attention between the house across the street and the one containing the beautiful object of his increasing interest and desire.
Quite like the majority of residents in the community, the couple living in the house across the street were in their middle thirties. Robert Freeman and Dawn Klinger were both well educated and career oriented. Although they had been together for seven years, they had never legally tied the relationship knot. There were no children.
Which was all rather normal by the prevailing societal standards. Bob Freeman was outgoing, easy to get along with, the type commonly referred to as a nice guy. He was a middle-management employee with a medium-size paper products company located on the outskirts of Philadelphia. Dawn Klinger managed the ladies’-wear department of a local discount store. She was described as a quiet homebody type.
While still married, Tina and Glen Reber had been close friends of Bob and Dawn. And although Tina had withdrawn somewhat after the divorce, her former husband had maintained the friendship, and continued to visit the couple on a fairly regular basis.
Again, all rather normal sounding.
But was it? Eric snorted. He was a veteran of over ten years on the force. He had been around the block, and not just jogging, either. If his hunch, along with the information garnered from one of his informants, was on target, Glen Reber and the couple across the street had deviated from the norm by dabbling in the dangerous business of illegal substances, initially as users, and then as dealers.
And now the word on the street was that there was going to be a very big deal going down soon in the house across the way. Having met Tina, and now wanting her, Eric hoped like hell that she wasn’t involved in the filthy business. But, either way, he had determined to be there for the payoff.
It proved to be a long and boring morning. The rain continued to pour from the heavy gray sky. Apart from the leafless tree branches whipping about in the gusting wind, there was absolutely nothing moving in the neighborhood.
Slumped in the one comfortable chair, which he had drawn up to the window, Eric stifled a yawn and shifted position in the padded seat to ease the numbness in his rump. He was settling in again when a black luxury car glided to a stop in front of Tina’s house.
“Hello,” Eric murmured, sliding upright in the chair. “Look what the wind blew in.” He immediately identified the man who stepped from the Lincoln and dashed to the overhang above Tina’s front door. “Ah...the former husband and possible suspect, Glen Reber. Interesting.”
A picture formed in Eric’s mind of the investigative report Cameron had run on the possible suspect. It seemed that Glen Reber was average—height, weight, appearance, everything. Everything, that is, except for a few minor facts, such as the fact that he had a police record dating back to his late teens, and the fact that his lavish lifestyle didn’t equate with his salary—not by a long shot.
Eric had a bone-deep suspicion that Reber was supplementing his legal income with rake-off funds from his association with Bob and Dawn’s sideline. That suspicion didn’t bother Eric to any great degree; if Reber was walking outside the law, they would nail him, along with the other two.
What did bother Eric was the question of whether or not Tina had her slender fingers in that messy pie.
The boredom of the morning banished by Reber’s appearance, Eric sat forward, peering through the rain at the man repeatedly stabbing a finger into the illuminated doorbell button set in the frame of Tina’s door.
* * *
“All right, all right, I’m coming,” Tina called, turning away from the stove to rush to the door. “Give it a rest,” she went on in a mutter, shaking her head and breaking into a trot when the bell trilled again.
“Well, it took you long enough,” Glen complained when she pulled open the door. “What were you doing?” he asked irritably, walking into the house—uninvited.
“Basting a chicken.” Tina gave him a wry look. “Why don’t you come in, make yourself at home?”
“I am in.” Glen took on what she had come to think of as his lost-puppy expression, all big eyed and sorrowful. “And I wish it still was my home.”
If Tina was moved, it was to a knowing smile. “How strange,” she said, in an exaggerated drawl. “Since you spent so little time here when it was your home.”
“Don’t start that again,” he groused.
“I’m not starting anything.” Tina conveyed her unconcern with a light shrug of her shoulders. “But I do recall that you spent more time in the various houses of several different women than you ever did in this home.”
“Maybe I wouldn’t have if there had been a warm and willing body here,” he retorted.
At one time, Tina had conceded his point. For though she had never rebuffed his sexual advances, she hadn’t abandoned herself to them, either. But that time was long gone, and she was no longer buying his guilt-trip ploy.
“Yes, I think you would have,” she said with gentle chiding. “You feed your ego on scoring with other women.”
“It’s the challenge,” he admitted, with blunt and unusual honesty. “They mean nothing to me.”
Tina had learned to be as blunt. “Neither did I.”
“That’s not true.” The denial was quick. “You were the only one I ever wanted to marry.”
She laughed in his face. “No, Glen, you married me because I posed the ultimate challenge. A, I was a virgin. And B, I absolutely refused to sleep with you in anything other than a bed of marriage.”
“Yeah.” He sneered. “You were a little prude.” A smile of utter male superiority twisted his lips. “You still are. I keep tabs on you, you know.” His smile went smooth with satisfaction. “I’m still the only man who ever had you.”
“Big deal.” Tina made a wry face. “With you I learned that sex isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
“You see?” Glen pounced on her admission. “It was that attitude of yours that killed our marriage.”
“Whatever.” Tina was not offended; she was bored with the subject. “Was there a reason for your visit today?” she prompted, anxious to get back to basting her roasting chicken.
“I’m on my way over to see Bob and Dawn.”
She turned to open the door. “Give them my best.”
“I want us to get back together.”
The hard demand in his voice froze Tina with her hand hanging in midair, an inch from the doorknob. Then she slowly turned to look at him, really seeing him for the first time since their divorce. Glen looked good, attractive, well dressed, properous, sure of himself.
Sure of her? Tina wondered. On the flimsy basis of the fact that she had not been intimate with any other man, did he seriously believe she would even consider a reconciliation after all this time of enjoying her freedom?
Of course, Glen didn’t know how much she enjoyed her freedom; his massive ego wouldn’t allow him to consider the possibility. What a jerk, Tina thought. What had she ever seen in him?
“Did you hear me?” Glen asked, testily. “I said...”
“I heard.” Tina swept his five-foot-ten-inch frame with a dismissive glance. “The answer is no.”
“You can’t mean that,” he said, closing the short amount of space between them. A suggestive smile curved his mouth, and he raised a hand to caress her cheek. “By now, even you have to be needing a little loving.”
What he said was perfectly true, Tina allowed, as she had so recently discovered. But she certainly did not need Glen’s version of loving, either emotiona
lly or physically.
“My needs, or lack of them, are none of your business,” she said, grasping the doorknob and swinging open the door. “Goodbye, Glen.”
He looked angry for a moment, but then he flashed her a cocky smile. “Okay, baby, but you don’t know what you’re missing.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” she corrected him, smiling back at him as he stepped outside. “As far as you’re concerned, I know exactly what I’m not missing.”
Glen looked to be on the point of exploding. “I’m going. I’ll come talk to you some other day.” He swung away and started down the flagstone path to the sidewalk, sniping over his shoulder, “When you’re not in such a bitchy mood.”
“I’ll survive the wait,” Tina called after him. Slamming the door, she leaned back against it, drawing deep, calming breaths into her constricted chest.
The gall of the man, she railed in silent fury. What she was missing, indeed. She didn’t need him...not for anything, and especially not for sex. Pushing away from the door, Tina headed for the kitchen. She was doing fine on her own. She didn’t need any man, she assured herself.
But she did want one particular man.
The unexpected thought brought Tina up short. Standing in the center of the sparkling-clean room, she stared into the middle distance, while gazing inward, examining the wild idea her mental processes had come up with.
Eric Wolfe.
Tina shuddered in response to the flash of excitement the mere thought of him caused inside her.
What kind of lover would he be?
That thought set the excitement to rioting throughout her entire being. Tina could see him, feel him, smell him, his broad shoulders, his slim waist and hips, his long legs, his slender fingers, his masculine, sensuous mouth.
A low moan escaped the sudden tightness of her throat. A fine film of perspiration slicked her forehead. What was happening to her? Tina cried in silent wonder. She had never, ever, reacted to a man in this overheated manner.
Breathing in great gulps of steadying air, Tina raised her hand and drew the back of it across her forehead. She felt odd, strong yet weak, hot yet cold...and needful.
What to do about it? Tina pondered the question. She had options, lots of them. The safest choice being to put all speculative thoughts of Eric Wolfe from her mind.
But was that really what she wanted? Without giving a second thought to the question, Tina shook her head in denial. Her reaction to being with Eric last night, both hopeful and fearful of having him touch her, kiss her, and then the sensations she had felt on seeing him jog past her house that morning, gave ample proof that putting him from her mind was not at all what she wanted to do.
If she was brutally honest with herself, Tina had to admit that what she wanted to do was find out, once and for all, if she was the unresponsive block of ice that Glen had repeatedly accused her of being.
And Tina felt, sensed, instinctively knew, that Eric was attracted to her. If he wasn’t, why pay so much attention to her at the tavern Friday night, bother to meet her at the bus stop yesterday?
But, on the other hand, if he did feel attracted to her, why hadn’t he made a move on her last night? Tina frowned as she wandered back into the kitchen. Since she had never seriously participated in the male-female ritual games, she was unsure of exactly how to read the signs. For all she knew, Eric was playing it cool, biding his time, waiting for some kind of signal from her.
Okay, she decided, she’d give him that signal.
But how to proceed?
Seduce him?
Tina laughed out loud at the sheer ludicrousness of the idea. She wouldn’t know where to begin.
The aroma of roasting chicken wafted to her, stirring her senses with a possible solution.
She could begin by inviting Eric to dinner.
* * *
Eric sat, still and tense, watching Tina’s house through narrowed eyes.
“Ah...” His breath hissed through his teeth when he saw the door open and Glen Reber step outside. A quick glance at his functional wristwatch told Eric what he already knew; the man had been inside, alone with Tina, for less than fifteen minutes—hardly enough time for any meaningful acts of intimacy.
It was not until that instant that Eric acknowledged the emotions tying his gut into hard knots. He was feeling angry, and frustrated, and protective with regards to Tina and the man who had once shared her bed. But by far the strongest emotion gripping him was a raging possessiveness.
If he should ever learn that Reber touched Tina, in any personal way, he would blow the bastard away.
The decision so shocked and startled Eric, he bolted out of the chair.
What the hell?
Upright, Eric became painfully aware of his hard body condition, and he knew, precisely, what the hell.
All the time he had sat there on the edge of his seat, intently watching her house, Eric had envisioned scenes of Tina, pinned to her bed beneath that slimy creep.
“Only through me, you punk,” he snarled at the man now crossing the street. “Tina is mine.”
That statement startled Eric every bit as much as his unheard-of feeling of possessiveness. He mulled it over while monitoring Reber’s progress to the house across the way.
Tina...his?
“Yes.” His voice hissed through his teeth once more. On the spot, Eric decided that if anyone was going to pin Tina to her bed, it would be him.
Acting on the decision, Eric pivoted away from the window. The trio across the street were closeted away from his sight. Besides, he could keep watch from any location along the quiet street. Detouring past the single kitchen cabinet, he scooped a cup from the shelf.
Eric was going to visit his neighbor.
Five
The doorbell rang.
“Now who?” Tina muttered, pressing the fork tines into the dough edging the pie pan. “If that’s Glen again, I’ll...” Her voice faded on an exasperated sigh. Setting the fork aside, she turned away from the countertop.
The doorbell pealed once more. Heaving another sigh, Tina shot a helpless look at her flour-speckled hands, shrugged and, tearing off a paper towel, wiped her hands as she marched out of the kitchen, through the tiny dining room and across the living room to the door.
“Darn it, Glen, I’m—” Tina began, as she yanked open the door. Her spate of impatience dried in her throat at the sight of Eric Wolfe sheltering from the rain beneath the overhang above the front stoop.
“Hi, neighbor,” he said, giving her a slow, bone-melting smile, while holding a cup aloft for her inspection. “May I borrow a cup of...coffee?”
“Grounds or brewed?” Tina returned his smile, along with an arch look.
Eric’s smile evolved into a grin. “Brewed, please, with a splash of milk, no sugar.”
“You want it to go or to drink here?”
“You have any cookies?”
“Yes.” Laughter gave a threatening quiver at the corners of Tina’s lips.
“Then I’ll drink it here.” He lifted one tawny eyebrow questioningly. “If you don’t mind?”
“Do you mind having your snack in the kitchen?”
“No.” Eric shook his head. “I come from a long line of kitchen sitters.”
“Then I don’t mind.” Tina gave in to the laughter and swung the door wide. “Come on in.”
“Thanks, neighbor.”
“You’re welcome,” Tina replied, observing him wryly as he entered and glanced around the room.
“Nice,” he said, turning to watch her shut, then lock the door. “Who’s Glen?”
“My ex-husband.”
Eric’s eyebrow shot up again. “You were expecting him to stop by today?”
“No...yes,” Tina floundered, frowning. “He was here a few minutes ago. That’s his car out front, the big expensive one,” she explained, even while asking herself why she should feel a need to do so.
Eric shot a glance through the large picture window. “He’s
not in the car,” he observed, dryly stating the obvious.
“He’s visiting friends across the street.” Tina’s smile was as dry as his tone. “When the bell rang, I thought he had come back for something.”
“Something?”
There was an element contained in Eric’s quiet voice that sent a chill down Tina’s spine.
“He’s making noises about a reconciliation.” Tina shrugged, to dislodge the cold sensation as much as to dismiss the very idea of Glen’s suggestion.
“You’re not hearing his noises?” The chilling element in his voice was gone, replaced by what sounded to Tina like more than mere interest.
The word interrogation crept into her mind; Tina dismissed it at once. She had wanted some proof of Eric’s attraction to her, hadn’t she? she chided herself. Well, what better proof could she ask for than more than mere interest? The conclusion brought the smile back to her lips, and a lighter, careless shrug to her shoulders.
“I stopped hearing him on that topic long ago,” she said, motioning him to follow as she led the way to the kitchen. “Come along if you want some coffee.”
“Does this mean the subject of your ex is closed?” Eric inquired, trailing her through the dining room.
Tina felt a twinge of impatience at his persistence, but squashed it at the optimistic consideration that he just might be feeling a trifle envious of Glen.
“No, not closed,” she replied, going straight to the automatic coffeemaker on entering the kitchen. “There’s simply not much to say about it, that’s all.”
Eric watched her in silence as she went through the drill of lining the basket, measuring the coffee grounds and pouring the water into the grate. Tina could feel his steady regard. It made her nervous, in an excited way. She had to concentrate to keep from fumbling the simple routine.