Hot Wheels and High Heels

by Jane Graves

  But then John turned and met her eyes, and her brain replayed the words he’d spoken a moment ago. “One good kick and that’s history. How safe do you think that makes you?”

  The strangest feeling came over her. She’d fought with John from the second they’d met. He was irritating and exasperating and thought he knew what was best for her every moment of every day, and he was doing it again tonight. But right now she couldn’t get around one undeniable fact that gave her a whole new awareness of him. Jeremy had brought her expensive but frivolous gifts.

  John had brought her food and safety.

  Maybe he had an ulterior motive, too, but Darcy sensed none of that. Suddenly the man who drove her crazy had filled her with the most amazing sense of warmth and comfort, overshadowing every need or desire she’d felt before he knocked on her door. Within a few minutes, she’d probably be fighting with him all over again, but still . . . right now . . .

  She wanted one of these men to leave. And it wasn’t John.

  “Uh . . . no,” she told him. “You didn’t interrupt anything. I think you’re right. I really do need that deadbolt.”

  “That’s not a problem,” Jeremy said. “I’ll send someone over to take care of it tomorrow.”

  “No,” John said. “She shouldn’t spend a single night in this place without decent locks.”

  Jeremy’s expression tightened with irritation. “Then I’ll send someone over tonight.”

  “No,” Darcy said. “There’s really no point in doing that. Not when John’s already here. He can take care of it.”

  “I’m sure he has something better to do than play handyman.”

  “Nope,” John said. “Can’t think of a single thing.”

  He spoke in an even tone of voice, but the warning was there just the same. Back off, buddy. I have this situation under control.

  Jeremy turned to Darcy. “My car’s waiting.”

  A beautiful, luxurious limousine, complete with a millionaire making his move. She was insane to give that up, and she couldn’t imagine that tomorrow she wouldn’t be filled with a whole lot of regret over that. But just for tonight, insanity seemed like a wonderful state to be in.

  “Maybe another time,” she said.

  Jeremy raised his chin a millimeter or two, a muscle in his jaw twitching. In one swoop, he’d been dismissed by a woman and one-upped by another man. He clearly didn’t like that in the least, but he was smart enough to know when he’d lost the battle. Whether he still wanted to fight the war remained to be seen.

  He headed for the door. Darcy followed. When they reached it, he turned back, lowering his voice so only she could hear.

  “A woman like you isn’t cut out to struggle, Darcy.” He glanced at John, his gaze tight. “Remember that.”

  He left her apartment, and she closed the door behind him.

  Chapter 14

  Jeremy got into the limo, barely closing the door behind him before reaching into the fridge for a beer.

  “Back so soon?” Bernie said.

  He popped the cap of the beer and took a swig, then looked out the window, amazed that in spite of the squalor that was Creekwood Apartments, he hadn’t been able to entice Darcy to spend an evening in paradise. This whole situation with her was becoming an irritation he wanted to settle in his favor, but for the first time he wasn’t quite sure how to go about doing that.

  “She’s staying in tonight,” he said.

  “So she didn’t like your extravagant but heartfelt gifts?”

  “She liked them just fine.”

  “Is that why you were in there for only twenty minutes?”

  Jeremy clenched his teeth with frustration. “Seems I have a little competition.”

  “You mean she found a guy richer than you? Works fast, doesn’t she?”

  “Actually, it’s the man she works for.”

  “At the repo company?”

  “Go figure.”

  “Did he happen to be the guy who showed up at her door a minute ago carrying the toolbox?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “Hmm.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “What it means is that you’d better ramp it up. You’re fighting six foot three inches of pure testosterone.”

  Yeah, some women had a real thing for the blue-collar type. But in the end, women like Darcy always knew who signed the checks.

  “What’s the matter?” Bernie asked. “Aren’t you up to the challenge?”

  “Of course I am.”

  “Just take her to Paris or something. That’ll wow her.”

  “I won’t have to. John Stark is just a distraction. I know which buttons of Darcy’s to push, and they have nothing to do with hormones.”

  “Oh, I have no doubt you’ll win in the end. The question is, what’s it going to cost you?”

  Jeremy took a swig of his beer, frustrated as hell because he was beginning to wonder about that himself. Not that he didn’t have it to spend. But he hadn’t gotten this far in life by paying more than market price for anything.

  “She’s just playing hard to get,” he said.

  “Never thought I’d see the day. I think you might actually like this woman.”

  “Now, Bernie. You know me better than that. Liking someone would require me to have a heart.”

  “True. My mistake.” She eyed him up and down. “Then again, what’s with the preppy look? You look like you’re heading to a country club. And I know how you hate those.”

  “They’re just normal clothes.”

  “Nope. Normal for you is a Cowboys T-shirt, crappy jeans, and tennis shoes. Yet now you’re going for the rich-guy look. Trying to impress someone?”

  “Bernie, you want to shut up?”

  “Sure, boss,” she said, smiling a little as she turned away. “Whatever you say.”

  God, she was such a know-it-all. One of these days he was going to fire her for real.

  At first this had only been a game. But now, when it looked as if there was a possibility he could lose . . .

  It was time he got down to business.

  John plugged in the drill and ripped through the deadbolt packaging to install the lock in Darcy’s door, moving with the authority of a man used to firing up power tools and repairing things. Warren had never fixed anything around the house. Replacing lightbulbs and putting new batteries in the TV remote were about the only things he’d been able to handle.

  While John worked, Darcy busied herself by arranging a few things in her pantry closet, but several times her gaze wandered in his direction. She noticed his taut expression as he pressed the drill to the door, the fluid, agile way he switched from one tool to another, his forearm muscles flexing as he twisted the screwdriver. And those hands again. Big, strong, talented hands. Now that she knew what it felt like to have them roaming over her body, just looking at them now made her mouth go dry.

  She turned away. This was ridiculous. Getting hot over a man with tools? Was there any bigger cliché than that?

  John had the door open as he worked on the lock, and suddenly he looked up, focusing on something outside. He slowly rose to his full height, his voice booming across the breezeway. “Hey! What are you looking at?”

  Darcy looked around the doorway to see Crazy Bob peeking out his door. He wore his usual gym shorts without a shirt, that cigarette dangling from his lower lip and his eyes shifting back and forth crazily.

  “Beat it!” John said.

  He ducked back inside his apartment in a flurry of door slamming and lock turning.

  “Weirdo,” John muttered, kneeling beside the door again. “You watch out for guys like him.”

  “He’s probably harmless.”

  “That’s what somebody has said at one time or another about every serial killer in history.”

  “He’s a school teacher.”

  “That figures.” John shook his head with disgust. “Damned educational system.”

  A few minutes lat
er, he had the lock installed. He came to his feet a little stiffly, then twisted the key in the lock to test it. He handed her the key. “There. It’s in. I’m hungry. Let’s eat.”

  “How do you know I haven’t already had dinner?”

  “Have you?”

  “No.”

  “Then let’s eat.”

  They went to the kitchen, where Darcy pulled down two of the stoneware plates she’d put away earlier. John grabbed the pizza box and set it on the kitchen table, and they both sat down.

  “So,” he said, eyeing the gift basket on the bar. “I take it Rich Boy is hitting on you?”

  “It’s just a housewarming present.”

  “I don’t like him.”

  “You met him for two minutes.”

  “Doesn’t matter. I don’t like him.”

  “That’s because you’re not a woman.”

  “Why would you want a guy like him?”

  “Gee, John, I don’t know. Maybe because he’s worth millions?”

  “That money thing again. You really do need to get over your fascination with the color green.” He glanced at the basket again. “So, what’s in there, anyway?”

  Darcy shrugged. “Just a few luxuries. Chocolate. Caviar. That kind of thing.”

  “It’s like I told you before. Expensive gifts mean that someday he’s going to expect something in return.”

  “You bought me half the clothes at Amaryllis. What’s the difference?”

  “I didn’t give you those clothes because I wanted to sleep with you. I gave you those clothes because I acted like an ass.”

  Darcy sat back with surprise. “Did you actually say that out loud?”

  “What?”

  “That you acted like an ass.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “But you just said—”

  “I think you’re hearing things. Better have that checked out.” He grabbed three pieces of pizza and put them on his plate. Darcy just stared at him.

  “So are you going to eat or what?” John asked.

  Darcy took a piece of pizza, smiling to herself. She had a feeling that witnessing an admission of asslike behavior from John was like seeing a falling star. It happened only once a blue moon, and if she blinked, she’d miss it. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t tuck the memory away to savor for some time to come.

  As John dug in to his pizza, Darcy picked the pepperoni slices off hers and pushed them aside.

  “What are you doing?” John asked.

  “What does it look like I’m doing?”

  “Now you have cheese pizza.”

  “You didn’t bother to ask me what I liked. You just showed up with a pizza.”

  “Who on earth doesn’t like pepperoni pizza?”

  “See, there you go. You naturally assume everyone shares your point of view about everything. Probably just about nobody does, but you’re so bullheaded that you won’t listen to see if they do or not. So you just go on thinking you’re right about everything.”

  “Just because other people don’t share my point of view doesn’t mean it’s not the right one.”

  “How would you know if they share it or not if you never listen to what anyone else has to say?”

  “You’re exaggerating.”

  “Not according to Amy.”

  “Oh, yeah? What evil things has my sister been saying about me?”

  “Actually, I was the one saying evil things. You might have told me she was your sister before I told her how crabby and dictatorial I thought you were.”

  John had the nerve to smile at that.

  “But it ended up being okay,” Darcy said. “She agreed with me.”

  “That figures.”

  John chomped into a slice of pizza, consuming half of it in one bite. At that rate, she figured he’d have eaten half the pizza before she’d even nibbled on one piece.

  “Do you have any brothers or sisters?” he asked.

  “No. I’m an only child.”

  “Why did your parents stop with one kid?”

  Darcy laughed. “Are you kidding? My parents didn’t even want me.”

  “What?”

  “I was born seven months after they got married. My mother always told me that if she hadn’t gotten pregnant and had me, she would have been a movie star or a socialite or something equally important. So instead she tried to drive me down that path. Did you know I was once a runner-up for Miss Texas?”

  “Oh, yeah? Almost went to the big one, huh?”

  “My mother had me in pageants from the time I was four. Dressed me up in silly costumes. I could do a baton routine before I was six years old. By the time I was eight, the batons were on fire. That impressed the hell out of the judges. I never made Miss America, but I did do my mother proud and marry a rich man.” She sighed. “And look what happened with that.”

  “We don’t always get what we want. Sometimes we just have to play the hands we’re dealt.”

  “So what did you want that you didn’t get?” she asked, not really expecting an answer. John seemed like the kind of man who went out and took whatever he wanted and didn’t let anything get in his way.

  “I got what I wanted,” he said. “And then I lost it.”

  “What?”

  “All I ever wanted to be was a cop.”

  “So why did you quit?”

  Darkness settled over his face. “Blew out my knee.”

  “On the job? What happened?”

  “I’d love to say I was chasing down a murder suspect and was shot as I was taking him out. At least then I’d have a good story to tell. But no. I was playing softball three years ago. I slid into home, caught my cleat in the dirt, twisted my knee, and that was that.”

  “The limp is barely noticeable.”

  “Doesn’t matter. It slows me down. When you can’t pass the physical, you can’t be a cop.”

  “So you miss it a lot.”

  “Every day of my life.”

  “And stealing cars is the next best thing?”

  “There is no next best thing.”

  Darcy heard a note of wistfulness in his voice. How hard must it have been for him to watch the only profession he’d ever wanted go by the wayside in a freak accident?

  “My family thought I ought to open a Subway franchise,” he said.

  Darcy laughed. “You? Making sandwiches?”

  “Supposedly it can be pretty profitable.”

  “Well, then. By all means consider it.”

  “Some days I actually do. The repo business can get a little ugly sometimes. Then I think about being trapped behind that counter for the rest of my life . . .” He sighed. “Just can’t see it.”

  Darcy couldn’t see it, either.

  “Your mother wanted you to be Miss America,” he said. “What did you want?”

  She shrugged. “I didn’t have any big dreams.”

  “Oh, come on. Everybody does.”

  Darcy thought about it for a minute. “I did have something when I was a kid. But it sounds silly now.”

  “What?”

  “I watched the Olympics when I was nine years old. I never missed one second of the ice-skating competition. I wanted to be Dorothy Hamill.”

  “Oh, yeah? Did you take skating lessons?”

  “God, no. My mother wouldn’t let me within ten feet of a pair of ice skates. What if I fell and bruised my knee? Broke my arm? Cut myself? How would I ever cover that up in my baton twirling outfit?”

  “Ah.”

  “I wanted Dorothy’s haircut, too, but of course I couldn’t have that, either. ‘The judges like long hair,’ she kept telling me, and that was that. She always thought that would be my meal ticket. Making it to Miss America. I’m afraid if my fortunes don’t turn around pretty soon, she’s going to have me dusting off my twirling routines and running for Mrs. America.”

  “Except you’re not a Mrs. anymore.”

  “I am until I can get a divorce. My mothe
r’s going to have to work fast.”

  Darcy heard the jingle of dog tags and turned to see Pepé peering around the doorway.

  “Well, look at that,” John said. “It’s Micro Mutt.”

  At the sound of John’s voice, Pepé crouched down, making himself even smaller than he already was. John grabbed a pepperoni from Darcy’s plate and leaned over, holding it out.

  “Hey, you want a pepperoni? Looks like we’re going to have plenty.”

  Pepé considered it, only to have fear overcome his usual food curiosity. He scurried back into the entry hall, looking up at John like Fay Wray staring up at King Kong.

  “So he won’t eat pepperoni either?” John said. “What’s wrong with you two?”

  “You just scared him earlier.”

  “I did?”

  “With the drill. He’s not crazy about loud noises. Warren used to yell at him.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he got underfoot. Because he shed. Because he peed on the rug. But he only peed on the rug because Warren yelled at him. Once that cycle got going, it was tough to break.”

  “Your husband sounds like a real jerk.”

  Darcy almost disagreed with John out of sheer habit, but how could she argue with that?

  A few minutes later, they finished the pizza. As Darcy rose from the table and grabbed their plates, John crushed the empty pizza box, twisting and smashing it until it wasn’t much bigger than a softball, then tossed it into the trash can. She had no doubt he could tear a telephone book in half and never break a sweat.

  “It’s getting late,” John said. “I should go. But I want you to be careful around this place. Night and day. Watch going to your car. And don’t leave anything lying around outside your apartment, or it’ll be gone.”

  “Aren’t you being a little paranoid?”

  “I was a cop, remember? I know what I’m talking about. When I was in patrol, we once broke up a meth lab in one of these apartments.”

  Darcy decided this probably wasn’t the time to tell him a new generation of that particular brand of entrepreneur just might be living next door.

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “I have a watchdog.”

  “Uh-huh. One who runs from power drills and pepperoni. Have you considered getting a real dog? A big one with teeth and a bad attitude?”