Divorced, Desperate and Dead (Divorced and Desperate Book 5) (21 page)

He looked over his shoulder as if afraid someone was listening. “Life?”  He tossed the word out as if it hadn’t been what he was about to say.

How about death?

He started moving in. Slow and easy. Probably because of his leg, but there was something sexy, almost primal, in the way he moved. Like a big cat stalking their prey.

Was she ready to be caught?

Yes.

No.

Yes.

He stopped a foot in front of her. And frowned. He looked to his left at the wall and she could swear she heard him mutter something.

“What?” she asked.

He looked back at her, ran a hand over his face before saying anything. “Have I told you how good you look in that dress?”

“I don’t think so,” she said and then he moved a tiny bit closer. She leaned against the wall. Was that step to get more space, or to let him know she was done running? Damn, even she didn’t know. “But you might have mentioned it when we were having sex and I don’t remember that either.”

He chuckled—a deep sexy sound that reminded her it was late, and she was weak. And he was . . . he was six foot plus of temptation. And after not feeling temptation for so long, it was a powerful lure. Like a cool breeze on a hot day, or warm fire on a cold one.

His grin remained firm on his lips and the smile crinkled the edges of his eyes. “If we’d had sex, you’d remember that.”

“I kind of thought I would.” She’d give him that much. “But then it seems you told Dan that we . . .”

“I didn’t actually tell him we’d had sex. I sort of said some things and let him assume we’d had sex.”

“Why?”

He contemplated the one word question for about thirty seconds. “It made a better argument for him to let me take over the date.”

“And the truth wouldn’t have sufficed?”

He shifted again, nearer, until his body almost touched hers. Her breath caught.

He put his hands on each side of her head. Something about being that close, trapped, made delicious flutters hit her stomach. Okay, so maybe she shouldn’t have mentioned the sex thing. It was late. She was tired. And so tempted.

His head came down, his forehead rested slightly against hers. He brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. The sweep of his finger across her face sent warm shivers through her body.

“The truth is complicated,” he said. “Can we agree on that?”

Their noses touched, his breath tickled the side of her lips. She forced herself to speak. “But haven’t you heard, the truth will set you free?”

“Who wants to be free?” His kissed her then. Not a complete hard and heavy kiss, but something in between soft and totally seductive.

Definitely leaning more toward totally seductive. His hand slid down the wall and came to her waist.

He eased his mouth from hers—almost as if having second thoughts. His lips still slightly touched hers. She opened her eyes. Their gazes, so close, met and held.

“Thank you,” she said.

“For the kiss?” His hand remained firm on her waist.

“No, for the plywood. But the kiss was nice, too.” Without considering the consequences, she eased up on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his again.

He tasted like coffee and cream with a touch of liqueur. Ahh, the dessert he’d eaten earlier. The kiss lasted another thirty seconds or longer. Or until a voice and footsteps got too close. When he pulled back, he passed his finger over her lips, almost as if to hide the evidence of their kiss.

She looked up at his eyes again. Heat, humor, and passion.

And . . . hesitation.

And just like that, she remembered part of their earlier ‘dream’ conversation:
Why do I scare you?

Because you aren’t the type you love and leave. And I’m not the staying kind anymore.

Had he stopped being afraid? Or should she be the one afraid? Wasn’t he the kind of guy her dad warned her about?

“Hey,” Sheri said. “Oh.” She saw Cary and came to a halt in the doorway. “I didn’t mean . . .”

“It’s okay,” Chloe said.

“I just wanted to make sure you didn’t want to come back to my place.” Her gaze shifted to Cary. “No offense,” she said.

“None taken.” He looked at Chloe.

“Uh, no,” Chloe said. “I’m going to my mom’s.”

She saw something flash in Cary’s eyes. Disappointment.

“Okay,” Sheri added. “Oh, did you call Amber? The alarm company called her, too.”

“Yeah, I just called her.” Chloe frowned. “The cops think it would be best to close down tomorrow. And since I have to get the repairs done, I might as well.”

“Good idea.” Sheri hugged her. “If you need me, call. As a matter of fact, text me when you get to your mom’s.”

“I will,” Chloe said.

Sheri looked at Cary. “I expect you to make sure she’s safe.”

“That’s my plan.” He looked at Chloe, and she couldn’t help but wonder who was going to keep her safe from him.

• • •

Neither of them was in the mood to go to a bar. So Cary suggested they hit a Waffle House and order pecan waffles and strong coffee. Chloe couldn’t have been happier. She tried to remember if in any of their unearthly time together she’d mentioned her love of late night breakfasts—waffles and French toast in particular.

She couldn’t recall saying anything about it. So maybe they actually had something in common. Something besides Room Six.

They went into the restaurant, slid into a clean booth, and ordered. Well, semi-clean. The table was a little sticky from spilled syrup, but she didn’t even mind. She stood up, leaned over the counter, snagged a cleaning rag, and wiped the table down.

How many nights this last year had she frequented this exact Waffle House? You had to do something when you woke up hungry and lonely at midnight.

The waitress, Ginger, who didn’t appear to remember her, showed up with their coffees and took off again.

Chloe reached for her cup and met his gaze. “So life, huh?”

He looked a little confused.

“You said we’d talk about life.” She added a couple of creamers to her coffee. She noted he took his black.

“Yes.” He smiled at her as he pulled the steaming cup to his lips for his second sip. “Ladies first.”

“Great. That means I get to ask the first question.”

“Question?” he almost choked on the hot brew.

“How else are we going to find out about each other’s life?”

He paused for one second. “Okay, shoot,” he said.

She frowned. “Let’s not use that phrase.”

He grinned. It crinkled his eyes and she almost couldn’t look away. Her mind took her back to their kiss at the bakery. And then to the kiss in her bed. The kiss that sort of . . . kind of . . . never really happened. But it seemed as real as the second.

“What’s your question?” he asked.

She set her coffee down and turned it counter clockwise. “Did we really go to college together?”

He nodded. “Yup. I went from 2003 to 2007. Same time as you, right?”

She nodded. “But we didn’t meet, did we?”

“Oh, I’m sure we did. I’ll bet we checked each other out.”

She shrugged. “I don’t know, I wasn’t all that into men then.”

He raised a brow and grinned. “So you were into women?”

She rolled her eyes. “No, I was into school. I worked for a magazine fulltime and went to school fulltime. I didn’t have time to date.” She paused. “What was your major?”

“Criminal justice. Yours?”

“I got a double. English and business.”

“An overachiever, huh?”

“No, I just loved language, but didn’t know if I could make a living at it.”

“But you’ve proven you could. You hit the New York Times, and you’re good.”

“How do you know?”

“It says so on the front of your book covers.”

“No, how do you know I’m good?”

“When someone hits the New York Times, doesn’t that mean something?”

“It could be a fluke.”

“Not when you’ve hit with four books. Besides . . . I’ve read them.” He picked up his coffee.

“Really?” she asked.

“Really.”

“Why? I mean, you aren’t my normal demographic.”

He turned his cup in his hands. “Curiosity, I guess. My sister insisted I go to her place for a night when I was released. I think she told you that my niece is a huge fan. She had your books on her nightstand with a ribbon tied around them.”

Chloe smiled, but the smile faded rather quickly when she remembered how unsuccessful she’d been at writing lately. “That’s nice.”

He glanced down into his cup, studying the dark brew as if contemplating what he wanted to say. “Talent like that shouldn’t be wasted.”

She pulled her paper napkin over and started folding it. She’d confessed to him in the dream that she wasn’t writing. Was he saying he remembered that?

“Two pecan waffles.” Ginger set the plates down and Chloe picked up the syrup and poured it over the hot piece of heaven.

“Wait a minute.” The waitress looked at Chloe. “I almost didn’t recognize you all suited up tonight. That dress shouts, ‘Oooo la la.’ Red’s your color.”

Chloe grinned and tried not to look embarrassed.

The waitress looked at Cary and winked. “You are a lucky man. When a woman dresses up like this for a date, she really likes you.” She leaned in and grinned extra big. “But the real test is if she’s wearing red underwear.”

Chloe felt her face start to match her dress. When the waitress walked off, Cary raised a brow. “So?” he asked.

Chloe cut a piece of her buttered waffle and took a bite. The warm sweetness exploded on her tongue, but she barely tasted it. “Mmm.”

When she looked up, he was still staring as if waiting for her to say something.

“So what?” she asked around the warm, gooey concoction in her mouth.

“Red underwear or not?” He picked up the syrup and added it to his plate.

She pointed her fork at him. “Eat your waffle before it gets cold.”

“I thought we were asking questions.” He carved out a bite of his waffle, pierced it with his fork, brought it up to his mouth, and held it there. A drop of syrup hung from his utensil, then slowly fell to his plate.

She nodded. “About life. Not my underwear.”

“Red it is, huh?” He chuckled, but it lacked humor. And he continued to stare at her. “So, this . . .” he moved his loaded fork up and down, “was all for Danny?”

She stuffed another bite into her mouth and held up one finger, asking for a short reprieve, while she tried to figure out a way to derail the conversation.

• • •

J.D. tried to call Carlos back twice. He never answered. Why was he never answering his damn phone? Had something happened? He hit redial, and just like before, it went to voicemail.

He didn’t leave a message.

Feeling anxious, he walked out into the pitch dark night and got into his truck. The night’s silence hung heavy. He looked up and saw the moon was full. His grandmother used to say it was wise to stay inside on a full moon because all the crazies would be out.

Well, he supposed he was one of those now. No doubt the cops were all looking for him, as was Jax, but he couldn’t just stay here if Carlos was in trouble. Especially if his friend had his ass in a sling because he’d helped J.D.

J.D. had too much on his conscience already, he couldn’t take more.

He got to the end of the dead-end street and stopped, not certain where he was going.

He couldn’t go to the apartment where all the gang members hung out and slept, because Jax might be there, too. But Carlos seldom stayed there. He was either at that bar that had darts and pool, or at his brother’s apartment.

Mind made up, he headed toward the bar first. He didn’t want to worry Carlos’ brother if his friend was okay.

He stayed off the major roadways, somehow sensing that was where the cops would be looking for him, and took the back roads.

There was only one four-mile stretch of road that he worried about. But without options, he took it anyway.

He watched his speed as he drove, making sure he didn’t do anything stupid. Glancing at the passing road sign, he took one deep breath. He was only about a quarter of a mile from his turnoff. But that’s when the flashing blue light came rushing up behind him.

“Damn it!”

The blue light bounced around the cabin of his truck.

His foot hovered right above the gas pedal, and froze. Did he run for his life, or rather for Carlos’, or did he give up? Would they just shoot him because he’d shot one of their own?

Panic put a vise grip on his lungs.

• • •

Cary took his first bite and studied her beneath his lashes. Normally, the first taste of a hot, buttered pecan waffle with just the right amount syrup, made all the wrongs in his world feel right. Especially on those late night runs he’d make when he woke up feeling empty—emotionally and physically.

But nothing tasted right about this bite, or perhaps it was the taste on his tongue left by knowing she’d planned on sleeping with his partner.

“Clothes lie,” she said.

“Do they?”

“Especially when they were bought under duress.”

“Duress?” He cut another piece of waffle, swiped it across the syrup, and popped it into his mouth. This bite tasted a little sweeter as he waited for her to explain.

“Or coercion.” She must have seen the question in his expression, because she added, “Sheri. She’s been trying to get me to go out with him for months.”

“With Danny?”

“Yeah.”

“Wait. I thought you met Danny when he went to question you about the accident.”

“Yeah. I did just meet him. But when he showed up and said his name, I realized he was the guy she’d been talking about.”

“How does she know Danny?”

“Sheri does PR work, websites and such, and works for a florist, Kathy Hunter. Kathy knows Danny.”

“I know Kathy. I’m friends with her husband.” He looked back up, his gaze caught on the red dress again. “So, back to the coercion.”

Chloe rolled her eyes. “Sheri went shopping with me. She was adamant that this was the right dress and . . . underwear.”

He grinned. “So, you really are wearing—?”