Hurts So Good (10 page)

"Go away, Neil," Andrea said evenly. "I can see myself home. We're through talking for the night."

"Apparently, you
can
see yourself home. But we're not through talking by a long shot. What's eating you?"

"You, that's what, and—"

"You folks need any help?" the shop clerk asked. "We close in five minutes."

"How much for the doll?" Andrea's polite tone, the one she used with everyone but him, made him madder—and he was already chewing nails.

"Sixty dollars. But I'll make it fifty for you."

"Will that price still be good next week?"

The man looked from her to the doll she gently stroked. "I'll give you two weeks, how's that?"

As Neil watched her reluctantly replace it on the shelf, he felt his anger cool. The urge to buy every dumb doll in the place for her was strong, but she'd already thrown one present back in his face. He didn't care to get pelted by a slew of flying porcelain.

Andrea expressed her thanks to the clerk, then brushed past Neil. He tossed the spurned T-shirt to the man and muttered, "Hang on to that doll. I'll be back for it tomorrow."

She didn't get far before he gripped her arm and spun her around to face him. Her cat-green eyes all but hissed up at him where they stood in the middle of the blocked-off street.

"I've got my beef, and you've got yours," he stated bluntly. "Only you know what mine is, and I'm still waiting to hear yours. Spit it out."

If there was anything she wanted to spit out, it was him. Spit him out of her system and fulfill her original mission.

"I reached out to you, Neil, offered my understanding. But you're afraid to let anyone get too close, aren't you? It threatens you. So what do you do? You reduce everything to money and power plays. You're a control monster, that's what you are. Well, you don't control me, buster. No ones does."

"And that doesn't make you a control monster too? Like recognizes like. Two peas in a pod, if you ask me."

"I'm not asking you," she said defensively. "But I am
telling
you something. If you ever try to manhandle me like that again, you'll be singing soprano permanently. Got it?"

"You mean you don't like it too frisky in the boudoir?"

"See?
You're doing it again! No wonder your wife said all those horrible things about you." Her voice faltered as his eyes squinted meanly and his face turned ominously dark. Still, she plunged on, "A smart man knows that the quickest way to a woman's bed is through her heart and mind. Please keep that fact in mind for future reference," she added, imitating his drawl.

He muttered something that sounded like "the Vow" before he looked away. Then, as if drawn back against his will, he looked her full in the face and tightened his grip.

"I know the facts just fine, thank you, ma'am. Now I've got a few for you. It just so happens my ex-wife taught me to stay out of a woman's head and never get near her heart, 'cause a man could lose himself in there. And once he does, he's left wide open for a she-cat attack—not to mention her taking a swipe out of his bankroll."

Andrea didn't want to soften inside, but she did. She wanted to wrap herself around him and beg him to let her undo the damage another woman had done. Instead, she stared mutely into his now-cold eyes.

Taking a deep breath, she touched his cheek and felt him jerk. As she stroked, he subtly relaxed.

"I shouldn't have said that about your ex-wife. That was a low blow and totally inexcusable. For her to have hurt you so deeply... well, you must have loved her very much."

"No love lost between strangers,
chere.
Kids make stupid mistakes, and Christine was one of my bigger ones. Much as I like to put all the blame on her, I can't. She dangled the bait, and I swallowed it. Found out too late that lust and love are two different animals. At least, I hope so. Never been in love, so I can't say fo' sho'." He shook his head and laughed that grainy sandpaper sound that stirred her on some primal level. "Listen to me. You'd think travelin' the world would've taught me some proper diction. I try real hard, but my roots won't let loose."

She felt as if he'd let her in, through a secret passage that led to a vulnerable part of him she never would have guessed existed. Before he could shut the door, she seized the opportunity.

"I like how you talk. I guess you could say I feel about it the same way you feel about my teeth. I can't change them, and I've always hated them because they weren't perfect. But after you kissed me, I didn't mind my spaces at all. I wish you felt that way about your speech. It's special. Like you."

"Hmmm. Never thought about it in
them there
terms." He smiled crookedly. Then, as if in a hurry to say what he wouldn't if he paused, he added quickly, "Christine hated how I talked. Said to keep my mouth on my sax so I wouldn't embarrass her by opening it. Course, I only talked louder and cruder then, just to make her mad. We were married six years, but it seemed like sixty. Hell had nothin' on her. Or me."

Andrea had never met Christine, but she nevertheless despised her. Not only for putting Neil down, but for sharing six years of his life.

"Will you tell me about her?" Andrea hesitated. She wasn't a quitter or a coward. Neither had she been much of a gambler before taking the train to New Orleans. But what did she have to lose by going double or nothing? "And about your mother?"

Neil looked her over as he appeared to weigh his answer. "If you really want to know, you'll have to catch me in a weaker moment. Could make for some interesting pillow talk, I suppose. That is, should I be foolish enough to get inside that pretty head of yours. Oh yes, and you did mention something else about a heart. Best I give some thought as to whether getting you into bed's worth all that."

His deft fingertips slid up her spine and lifted her hair to expose the dampness of her neck to a muggy breeze.

Andrea traced the two-day stubble of beard shadowing his jaw. "If you're feeling dangerous, why not sneak a peek into my mind right now? Tell me what I'm thinking, and you just might make it to first base after a string of strikeouts."

His lips pursed into a pout, then formed a sly smile.

"Why, Andrea, I do believe you've reconsidered my invitation to Lou's party. What-say I pick you up around one on Sunday? Dress with a hot, laid-back afternoon in mind, and leave the table manners behind. Maybe we'll even do body shots and end the night with a kick."

"Body shots?" The way he'd said it promised a lethal sensuality.

"Don't tell me you haven't traded a few."

"I don't think so. Guns aren't involved, are they?"

"Not unless you count a bang." He laughed then, an indulgent, satisfied laugh. "Did I make it to first base or strike out again?"

"You could make it to second by not insulting me with another offer to pay me for being where I want to be."

"You mean Lou's party."

"Lou's party. Work. Wherever. I just want to be with you."

He regarded her for a full minute, his gaze somber. But then he quirked a brow. "So tell me,
chere,
does this mean I still have a snowball's chance in hell to score a home run?"

"You have to pass third base before you get there. You could up your chances by walking me home."

"But no frisky business, right?"

Her only answer was a smile.

They walked in companionable silence, his arm protectively about her shoulders. Hers moved from his lean waist to scratch his broad back as they climbed the stairs to her apartment.

"Nothing better than a good back scratch,
chere.
What's that about you scratch mine and I'll scratch yours?"

"Stop that, Neil!" She laughed uncontrollably when he rubbed two sets of knuckles up and down her spine before goosing her ribs. "I'm ticklish."

"You hate it. You love it. And then you laugh at the pain 'cause it hurts so good."

She hadn't understood the first time he'd said that, but it clicked now as she giggled and struggled, then collapsed against his chest.

"What am I ever going to do with you, Neil? You are the most impossible, irresistible man I've ever met in my life."

"I'll tell you what you can do with me. Invite me inside, and let me make up for the last time I was here."

"I'm not going to bed with you."

"Certainly not. I meant it when I said I wanted you out of here, two keys for you and none for me till my fatal charms convince you to share. But since you don't seem of a mind to let me do that—
yet
—at least let me watch you take out the voodoo pins and fish my glossy out of the trash."

"I didn't trash it. Even if I did come close to burning it in effigy."

"Am I charred?"

"Just a little singed. Lucky for you that you came after me tonight and... apologized, sort of. The glossy thanks you."

He chuckled as she shook her purse to locate her keys. It was so dark in the hallway, she couldn't see to find them.

"Darn, I wish my landlord would replace the bulb. I left a message on his answering machine yesterday. If I had a ladder, I'd do it myself."

Neil's chuckle abruptly ceased, and she wished she hadn't brought up the subject. Feeling his disapproval in the taut silence, she was relieved to grab a hold of her keys.

"Can I come in?" His breath tickled her ear, and his chest brushed her back in a soft persuasion. "I promise to be good."

"Of course—" Had she put away her typewriter? She couldn't remember. Either it was stashed safely in her wardrobe or still sitting on the small table in clear view. "Of course not," she said, feeling frustrated and flustered.

"And why is that?" He leaned in closer, and she shoved the key into the lock, gripping it as if it could save her from something she really didn't want to be saved from.

"Because... because it's a mess, and you were less than impressed after I'd just cleaned. I'll say good night now and see you at work tomorrow, or make that later today."

She should be unlocking the door. Why
wasn't she unlocking the door?
Was it because his arms were wrapped around her waist and his palm softly rubbed a slow circle around her belly that quivered beneath his touch? Or maybe it was the touch of his lips nuzzling her neck and the trickle of Cajun French words she didn't need to understand to blush at them.

What power did this man have over her? She felt it with greater intensity each time he put hands on her. She was slipping, succumbing to a force that terrified and thrilled her.

"You're fighting me. Fighting yourself," he said quietly. "Don't. It's a no-win battle,
chere."

"Don't—don't you need to write down your composition before you forget it?"

"I'll tell you a secret," he murmured. "I call my muse Simon. And Simon says remember. I always do. Right now all I want is to hold you, kiss you, and maybe even risk getting a bit closer to the heart I can almost hear racing in your chest. Can you feel mine?"

"Yes." She felt more, and it was that more she feared.

"But you're pulling away from me. How come?"

"It's the way you're touching me."

"But I've touched you before. We danced with my hands on your—"

"Please, Neil. Don't—"

"Mention how we kissed the first time, the way it ended? You remember, don't you? I got a little carried away, and my fingers went between your legs, while my palm—"

"Stop it," she groaned, frantically clutching the key because she didn't trust where her own hands might go once she released it. "I don't want to hear any more."

"Maybe because... you like hearing it too much?"

"Yes—no! I don't know. All I know is you're trying to seduce me, and I'm not ready for that. Not after tonight."

"Seduce you?" He laughed. "Believe me,
chere
, if I was bent on seducing you, our current position would be lots more intimate than this. I'd already have us on the other side of this door, with your back against it, those gorgeous legs wrapped round my waist and my pants on the floor with your panties."

His hand slid between her thighs, and the glide of his fingers was more than she could bear. She moaned low in her throat and slumped against the door.

"My, but you're hot, and so wet your pants are damp." He caressed her until she thrust against his rhythmic rotation. He slid his palm away and stroked her belly. "Seduce you? I could. But I won't. You mean more to me than that."

It was then she understood the danger she was in, the reason for her fear.
This
was intimacy. A gentle brush of palm to belly, a chest pressed to her back, and a man whose power lay in tender, nibbling kisses.
This
was a hold that could claim her soul. She wanted it so much, she dared not take it, because once she did, he might seize it back and destroy her dreams of having him this way. This side of Neil she could too easily love.

"You scare me, Neil. The way you are now, you scare me."

"How... odd." There was pleasure and puzzlement in his grainy voice. "Seems I do need to get into that head of yours. Try to find out why I don't scare you when I try, then manage to when that's not what I'm after. Forget seduction; I just need to hold you."