Crazy Love (13 page)

He sensed the exact moment realization struck, his grin broadening as he tapped the tip of her nose.

“That’s right, Angel Face. I’ll be popping in for sugar every opportunity I get.”

Angel Face
?

She’d been called worse: scarecrow, red-red-wet-the-bed back in school and Bluey in some strange Aussie way Flo had of naming things for opposite characteristics. Angel Face was cute. She could live with cute. What she couldn’t live with was
him
next door.

She waved him away. “I should warn you I keep the rat poison mighty close to the sugar and you never know when I might mix up the two.”

He chuckled as his gaze slid over her, heating her body in a second as she silently applauded her choice of outfit tonight: black satin halter top, matching bootleg pants and enough makeup to hide her dusting of freckles yet look like she wasn’t wearing any. Understated elegance, much appreciated if the look in his eyes was an indication.

“I’ll bear that in mind. By the way, what are you going to give me for a housewarming gift?”

His gaze dropped to her lips and she had a fair idea what he had in mind. If it was anything like that cataclysmic kiss they’d shared last night she’d give him a present he’d never forget.

“You’re only staying a week, not moving in so sorry, no gift.”

“You’re a hard woman.”

“And you’re a pain in the ass. Why don’t you leave me to eat in peace?”

He straightened, drawing her attention to his impressive height. She’d always gone for tall guys, liking the feeling protected thing when she snuggled into their arms. Silly, for a woman who prided herself on her spider killing and light bulb changing abilities.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“What question’s that?”

She knew exactly what she’d avoided answering in the stupid hope a small part of him could actually be jealous if he thought she had a hot date.

He shrugged. “Fine, play coy. I’ll get it out of Flo when she gets home.”

“Since when are you two so chummy? I thought you hated this place and everyone in it.”

“Flo’s good value. Besides, she’s my landlady, I have to be nice.”

“Always the ulterior motive, huh?”

His smile faded, something akin to guilt shifting in the dark depths of his eyes, instantly piquing her curiosity. She hadn’t pegged him for the shifty type; then again, how well did she really know him? Apart from how he liked his coffee, how he protected his mom, how he kissed…

“Not always.”

“If you’re trying to flirt with me, you’re going to have to do a damn sight better than that, Slick.”

“All in good time, Angel Face, all in good time. Besides, can’t stick around long. I’m grabbing a bite to eat and heading to bed. I’ve got an early start in the morning.”

“Let me guess. The friendly neighbor thing was just a routine and you’re actually running scared, right?”

“Wrong. I’m driving to LA tomorrow to pick up some essentials. Don’t pine, though. I’ll be back knocking on your door for a cup of sugar in no time.”

“Lucky me.”

“You could get luckier.”

Coming from any other guy, a line like that would’ve sounded sleazy. From City Boy, it sounded like the best invitation she’d had in ages.

“Okay, I’ll bite. What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Come with me.”

“To LA?”

He chuckled, a rich sound that washed over her, slaying her quicker than any line ever could.

“It’s LA, not Mars. Come on, live a little.”

If he only knew. She’d spent more than her fair share of time in la-la land while at college and though she loved the city’s hip vibe the anonymity of the place scared her.

She’d spent a lifetime getting over her feelings of abandonment thanks to her lowlife father and Love gave her a sense of belonging she’d never found elsewhere. LA may be flash, exciting and larger than life, give her quirky, cozy and sedate Love any day.

She took a sip of mineral water and feigned a nonchalance she didn’t feel. If sparks flew whenever they got within two feet of each other, how would she survive confined in his car?

“I have to wash my hair tomorrow.”

He tucked a strand behind her ear, brushing her cheek and sending heat slamming through her body.

“Do it tonight.”

“I’ve got work to do,” she blurted, trying to ignore the urge to grab his hand and shove a fistful of her hair into it.

“Save it for Monday.”

“I’m allergic to cats.”

He frowned. “And?”

“You drive a Jaguar.”

She grinned and chalked up one in the air.

“Stop, you’re killing me.” He held his sides and faked a laugh. “So, how about it?”

Sundays were for chilling, walking Ripley, reading the newspapers and sipping lattes in her back yard under the old oak tree she loved to climb as a kid. However, chilling would be the furthest thing from her mind if stuck making small talk with City Boy for the day. Yet she found herself nodding anyway.

“Sure, why not? It’ll give me some time to set you straight where Hank’s concerned.”

He winced. “I’ll make up my own mind where that fortune-hunter—” He paused as she sent him a look that would’ve felled a lesser male and cleared his throat before continuing, “—mom’s friend is concerned. Let’s make a deal. No talk of families tomorrow.”

Interesting. She thought his invitation could’ve been another attempt to get inside info from her, yet he didn’t want to bring up the topic?

“For someone who thought I was a pain in the ass when you met me, I’m surprised you want to waste your precious Sunday with me. What gives?”

He shook his head, an action he seemed to do a heck of a lot of around her.

“It’s an hour’s drive give or take each way, probably longer with all the Sunday drivers out. Can’t a guy make a little friendly chitchat for a few hours without being interrogated?”

She should be happy he wanted to spend time with her, should be downright ecstatic he enjoyed the sparks they created as much as she did.

But she didn’t trust him. The men she’d known always had an ulterior motive and if her initial instincts about Marc were correct he had an agenda like the rest of them. In which case keeping him nice and close would be the smart thing to do. And sleeping with the enemy could be the dumbest.

“Okay, Slick, we’ll play it your way. I’ll be the perfect little travel companion. What time do we leave?”

“Ten suit?”

“Just peachy.”

Her mobile rang, the funky rendition of
Love is in the Air
eliciting a smirk and a raised eyebrow from Marc.

She shooed him away, surprised when she saw her mom on Caller ID.

Dolores never called. She preferred communicating the old fashioned way, with lengthy letters arriving infrequently. Mom blamed the Nepalese postal service, she blamed her mom’s lackadaisical approach to everything in life, including corresponding with her only child.

“Everything okay?”

She nodded, hit the answer button, struck by a sudden thought this couldn’t be good.

Marc picked up on her vibe because he sat opposite, his expression serious, his gaze focused on her.

“Hey Mom, how are you?”

A long pause, followed by static. “Mom?”

More annoying crackling, followed by eerie silence. “Jeez, these bloody phone lines—”

“Sierra? Is that you, munchkin?

Sierra exhaled in relief, unaware she’d been holding her breath. “I’m over four foot these days.”

“You’ll always be my munchkin.”

The line cleared and while hearing her mom’s familiar endearment left her warm and fuzzy, she also picked up the edge in her tone, an uncharacteristic sadness hovering where there was only ever lightness and joy.

A born optimist, Dolores Kent let nothing get her down, even a dead-beat husband who’d abandoned them both.

“What’s up, Mom?”

This time, the lengthy pause wasn’t technical as she heard her mom’s heartfelt sigh.

“I’ve got bad news, munchkin.”

Fear ricocheted through her and for some inexplicable reason having Marc slide into the booth next to her lent her courage.

“Your father died.”

The lump of trepidation in her throat dissolved, anger replacing alarm.

“Dammit, Mom, you had me worried for a minute. I thought something serious had happened.”

“Aren’t you the teensiest bit upset? He was your father—”

“He wasn’t my father.”

Marc’s arm tightened around her shoulders, solid, reassuring and she resisted the urge to disconnect, fling the cell back in her bag and bury her head in the comforting crook of his arm.

“I thought you had a right to know.”

A right? Sierra had tried to assert her rights once: the right to unconditional love, the right to both parents, the right to a daddy who tucked her in at night, sang lullabies and would be there in the morning.

Rights meant jack.

Dolores cleared her throat. “Do you want to know what happened?”

“I suppose you’ll tell me anyway.”

Sierra’s sulky huff sounded childish but she didn’t give a damn. She was entitled to a bout of immaturity considering daddy dearest had done it his whole life.

What sort of a man abandoned his wife, his daughter, and never cared enough to follow up?

A weak, spineless, no-hoper and she’d given up pining for him a long time ago.

“He died from liver cancer. First showed up when he was traveling around India, spread quickly, so by the time he reached Nepal he was too far gone.”

It took a second for her mom’s explanation to sink in, another second before the impact detonated, shards of realization peppering her, hurting more than she could’ve possibly imagined.

“You were
with
him?”

Dolores burst into tears, loud, ugly sobs that had Sierra holding the phone an inch away from her ear until they subsided.

“I wanted to tell you but he made me promise not to. He arrived out of the blue, wanted to make peace with me but didn’t want you to see him like that, not after all this time. It was his dying wish so I—”

“Screw him and his bloody death wish.”

Out of nowhere, tears of rage and helplessness and soul-deep sadness filled her eyes, gushed out and plopped onto the table as Marc hugged her tighter, smoothed her hair with his free hand.

“Please understand, munchkin. He said he’d hurt you enough, he didn’t want you to go through this too.”

Sierra couldn’t talk, couldn’t squeeze air passed the giant aching lump clogging her throat with regret. Regret for not having the opportunity to see her dad before he died, regret for not saying all the things she’d wanted to say over the years but most of all, regret she’d never had a father and now never would.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. So sorry.”

“Me too, Mom.”

The words came out on a hiccup and she rummaged through her handbag for a tissue, making a frantic swipe at her nose before she added to her humiliation.

“If there’s anything I can do—”

“I’m fine, Mom. Really.”

Sierra took several deep breaths, grateful Marc hadn’t released his hold.

“I’ll write to you soon, explain it all in the letter, okay?”

Dolores’ answer to everything: put it in a sonnet.

“Sure. And thanks for telling me.”

“I love you, munchkin.”

“Right back at you, Mom.”

The dial tone hummed in her ear for a few seconds before she lowered the phone, raised her eyes to Marc, dreading his expression. Revulsion? Shock? Pity?

She needn’t have worried. The tenderness and compassion in those melted chocolate eyes snatched her breath away.

“Let’s get out of here.”

“I’m fine—”

“I’m not leaving you alone.”

She clamped her lips together and meekly fell into step beside him, leaning into him, secure in his solace. There were times to assert her kick-ass independence. This wasn’t one of them.

In a daze she let him lead her outside, away from the diner and through the town square to the gazebo on the outskirts of the park where he gently eased her onto the bench and sat beside her, his thigh wedged against hers, his arm a support around her waist.

“If you want to talk, I’m here. If you don’t, take a moment to catch your breath and I’ll drive you home.”

His tenderness had the tears welling all over again. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to.”

They lapsed into silence, a comfortable silence punctuated by the nocturnal shuffle of a squirrel nearby and the occasional owl hoot as the warmth from his body cocooned her, seeped into the icy recesses of her heart and thawed some of her resentment and pain.

“My dad died. I barely knew him. He walked out on us and I hated him for that. Hated him all my life really. Now he’s dead and I’m supposed to feel sad but all I feel is furious and my mom was there but he didn’t want me to know and—”

“Hey, it’s okay.”

The tears started again, a sad trickle rather than the angry gush in the diner and this time she let them fall, let him cradle her close, not caring she drenched his expensive shirt, not caring about anything other than releasing years of pent-up frustration. Frustration at not having a dad, not having any contact, and not giving a damn.

When the waterworks subsided, she pulled away. “Bet you think I’m a sad case.”

“I think you’re amazing.”

His mouth slammed hers, shockingly impulsive, gratifyingly obliterating the last fifteen minutes.

Her emotions had see-sawed between fury and sadness, pain and regret but all that vanished the second his lips demanded a response she was all too willing to give, his tongue coaxing entry into her mouth.

She needed this and as she clung to him, kissing him with a ferocity that defied description, she knew that whatever happened from here she wouldn’t second-guess it.

Life was short. She intended to play hard.

Marc broke the kiss, his hair mussed, his eyes wild. “Hell, I didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t you dare apologize for that.”

To emphasize the point she wrapped her hands around his neck, tugged his head toward her and kissed him, slower this time, a soft, sensual, sexy melding of mouths and lips and tongues that lingered long after they eased apart.