Incidental Contact (Those Devilish De Marco Men) (2 page)

Best of all, with Amy on his arm, he wouldn’t have to worry about all his other exes—the circling vultures. He hadn’t decided what he’d do with his part of the insurance money, but he didn’t plan to blow it on pussy, like Dan seemed to expect.

As Eric started forward, Amy cried, “Goddammit, what a waste of time.” She wriggled out of the trunk, clutching a tent spike. She hurled the slender metal bar atop the massive pile of clothes heaped into the back of her car. Jamming her hands on her hips, she muttered like she thought she could cuss those clothes off the spare compartment. For the first time all day, Eric felt like smiling. Amy reminded him of a teddy bear—short and plump, with dark eyes. A teddy bear that cussed like a sailor was awesome, in his book.

“Is your closet being exterminated, short stuff? How the hell do you manage not to trip over those jeans?” He stepped behind her and tugged a thick lock of black hair.

She whirled. Tipping her head back, she spat, “At the moment, I don’t have a damn closet. And the only pair of jeans I ever bought that weren’t too long were Capri pants.”

He barked with laughter at her pants remark. Unsure what she meant about her closet, he pulled his cell phone from his jacket pocket and powered the device on. “Got a flat?” Amy had a boyfriend, although she seemed to spend more time with Lila than with Drew Pearsall. He and Drew had gone to school together, and Drew was one person Eric couldn’t care less about pissing off. The dipshit probably didn’t know how to operate a tire iron. Besides, he wasn’t asking Amy to have sex, just stroll around the mall and grab a sandwich.

The sleeve of her shirt slid past her fingers when she waved her hand. “What I have is the sneaking suspicion I dropped my only pair of heels in Drew’s front yard the night I moved out. Can’t find my fucking dress, either. Gotta buy new.” She puffed out her cheeks and blew her bangs out of her eyes. “I have to build a
professional wardrobe
any damn way.”

She said the two words in a tone Eric reserved for “bottled water” and “market price” menu items. Flapping the sleeve again, she struck herself on the hip, making him grin.

“My mama’s riding my ass like a jockey, hounding me to start buying clothes for student teaching in March.” She smiled. He felt a jolt of annoyance. Thanks to overlong bangs, he never could see her damn eyes. He’d always had the feeling Amy hid behind that unflattering haircut.

Raking his hair from his eyes, Eric pictured Amy in a dress. He imagined bending her over the back end of her car, flipping the hem up around her waist, and yanking down her panties. He just wasn’t sure why. Habit, maybe. Or deprivation. Or the cute way she said “fucking”. Okay, so the jockey comment had him going. The part in her hair was crooked. A dyed-in-the-wool tomboy if he’d ever seen one, right down to the freckles on her unpowdered nose.

Not his type. Except....

He’d dated a few coeds. He always ended up resenting he hadn’t had the advantages they took for granted, or got pissed off because they thought a college degree was the only indicator of brains. Amy, on the other hand, was working her way through school as a sports official. Thinking back, she’d never once made him feel stupid. Hell, she even liked NASCAR.

Shoving his phone into his pocket, he placed his hand on the edge of her trunk lid. “Got your keys?” She bobbed her head, jangling a key ring. Plucking the ring from her fingers, he placed it in his inside jacket pocket, grinning at the way her mouth rounded. “Purse?” he asked, though he’d never seen her with the iconic female accessory. Shoving her sleeve up her forearm, she rooted in the tangled clothing, finally pulling out a small clutch. Eric slammed the trunk closed, then took custody of her wallet, tucking the item next to her keys.

He had to stoop to grab her hand. “You sound like a woman who could use a fried chicken sandwich and a tall glass of tea. I’m buyin’. After I get my hair cut, if you act real sweet, I’ll follow you around the mall and carry your packages. Buy really high heels. Goddamn, you’re short.”

A
my Sizemore couldn’t think of an explanation for Honey Bee’s sudden offer to buy her dinner.
Must be a full moon.
“I didn’t come to shop. I have to go to the mall office before they close.” This mall didn’t have a clothing store for someone shaped like a garden gnome.

Several cars turned into the row, cruising for a place to park. A black Mustang stopped as they approached, but there wasn’t an open space. The car’s tinted side window lowered. Amy identified the driver by her long, copper-colored hair. She and Daniella Peyton weren’t friends, nor were they enemies. No doubt, Dani was stopping to drool over Eric. Watching the redhead trace her upper lip with her tongue, Amy wondered if she should offer to go back to her car and get the woman a wet wipe.

With Dan and Colton in committed relationships, the competition was sure to heat up for the last eligible De Marco brother. Everybody said Eric was a sex machine. If he was the kind to carve notches in his bedposts, Amy figured he had to suck up the sawdust with a Dyson and buy a new bed every six months.

Colton was close to thirty, but much to Lila’s dismay, he had pretty-boy looks that made him appear closer to Amy’s age. Eric’s older brother Dan was so big, Amy found him intimidating, but she liked the distinguished touch of silver at his temples.

Eric might be the shortest De Marco brother, but he was still a six-foot mountain of rugged, country boy sex appeal, from his clipped goatee to the holes in his worn jeans. Nothing pretty about him; Eric was pure male. He had his family’s trademark hazel eyes and bronze skin. His dark hair fell in waves to his shoulders. Laugh lines around his eyes gave him the seasoned look of a grown man. He copped an attitude that implied he knew something about sex other men didn’t know.
Which is utter bullshit
.
Gotta be hype. He gets laid a lot because he’s drop-dead gorgeous, not because his equipment or technique is anything special.

Dani Peyton sure looked like she believed the hype. “Well, well, Eric De Marco,” the redhead purred. “Dee said you had an appointment tonight. I was just going to run to the other side of the highway and grab a steak and a salad. Hop in, let me take you for a ride.”

Eric was welcome to talk to every woman he knew, but Amy didn’t have a jacket on and she had to get to the mall office before it closed. She tried to pull her hand free.

His grip didn’t loosen. To her amazement, he lifted their locked hands. “No, thanks. Amy and I are on our way to grab something to eat.”

She thought for a moment Daniella might fall out of her car. The other woman stared at the possessive way Eric clenched her hand before raising her eyes to Amy’s face. “Amanda, right? I see you’re still in school.” Dani wrinkled her nose while she checked out Amy’s favorite Clemson jersey.

“Amy.” She knew her days of wearing whatever felt comfortable were numbered. Now random acquaintances were trying to shame her into dressing up? “Yes, but I’m a senior. I’ll be teaching high school next fall.”
Seriously, Mother, how’d you bribe the Devil to give you minions?
For months now, every time she’d seen her mom, Alice Sizemore gave Amy’s clothing pretty much the same look.

The De Marcos were a tight-knit bunch. The brothers worked together, lived within shouting distance of each other, and hung out after work. Since everyone in town was talking about Lila’s scandalous pregnancy, Lila had started talking back, becoming very outspoken. Imagining Daniella and her friend in the same room, Amy nearly laughed aloud.

“Then you need to make sure she meets Tina.” Dani dismissed Amy in favor of looking at Eric. “That woman’s a miracle worker.”

Eric squeezed her fingers. She looked up, startled to find his eyes on her, not Dani. “Tina’s a dresser. Not the furniture kind. The kind who helps people build a professional wardrobe.” He mimicked her earlier tone. Mischief danced in his eyes. Amy’s heart thumped at the glimpse of the old Eric, before all the uproar started over his mom’s killer. “She works here at the mall. I can hook you two up.”

Shivering, Amy wished he’d give her stuff back and go make beautiful babies with Daniella. Transforming her image wasn’t going to take a miracle, surely. Just her entire savings and every dime she could earn.

“I do free makeovers,” Dani added, narrowing her eyes. “You should definitely come see me. You need the works.”

Not laughing was getting harder by the minute. With all the dark shadow and heavy eyeliner, Dani looked like she’d had “the works”, courtesy of Mike Tyson. Amy wanted to teach high school, not join the circus.

Dani turned back to Eric, batting long lashes. “We should get together again real soon, big guy. Grab a nice bottle of wine and just kick back. You must be stressed over all this... mess... about your mom. A deep-tissue massage and a little sheet wrestling should help you relax.”

Amy wasn’t sure what to call a woman with the self-confidence to proposition a man while he held another woman’s hand. “Bitch” didn’t seem adequate, but her behavior didn’t quite rise to the level of the C-word. Still, someone should turn a fire hose on Dani for using a term like “sheet-wrestling.” She darted another look at Eric, confident he’d be interested.

A scowl darkened his handsome face. “Amy needs to get inside. See you later.” He tugged her forward, leaving the other woman behind.

Amy was still amused by the idea of Daniella in a room with Lila. “You dated her?”

He nodded and cocked a brow. “How do you know her?”

“She’s related to a friend. I wouldn’t say I know her. Did you introduce her to Lila, by chance?” she asked, breaking into a grin.

His eyes rounded and he clapped his free hand to his chest. “Do I look stupid? Baby Mama’s not in the best of moods lately. Lila’d eat Dani for a snack, then bitch at me for giving her indigestion.”

Amy burst out laughing while they waited at the crosswalk for traffic to clear. “Not in the best of moods” was an understatement for the funk Lila’d been in. “I was a change of life baby. My mom says pregnancy after forty isn’t for pussies.” According to Lila, the experience was right up there with having teeth pulled without Novocain. Her friend was so miserable, she’d probably be happy to remove Dani’s the same way. The more Amy thought about that, the harder she laughed. After a moment, Eric joined in.

He tightened his grip on her hand when they stepped onto the sidewalk in front of the mall entrance. “South Carolina needs a hate crime law,” one woman informed them, waving her sign. Eric shouldered past the picket line with a set jaw.

Amy lost her urge to laugh. Any hate crime law would come too late to help the De Marco family, she feared. Her heart ached for Eric and his brothers. Part of why Lila was so miserable was because she’d confined herself to the house to avoid the reporters swarming the De Marcos, as well as any unkind comments about her love child.

He held the door open. Shivering in the sudden warmth, she stepped into the busy food court, prepared for Eric to make an excuse, fork over her stuff, and beat it. Surely he could find something better to do. Not letting go of her hand, he wound through the milling shoppers, towing her behind like a car that wouldn’t start. He made a right out of the food court and onto the main concourse.

She had to trot to keep up.
Does he have to treat me like a toddler?
She wasn’t going to lose a man who stood six feet tall, not when he had custody of her most valued worldly possessions. When she managed to pull alongside, he raked his long hair back from his face and peered at her.

“Everybody’s got a damn axe to grind all of a sudden. I feel like a whet stone. I told Dan we should close the garage and make bumper stickers. Might make more money selling slogans than oil changes.”

She wrinkled her nose, trying to take longer strides. The confession made by his mother’s killer had stirred strong reactions. “Only if you follow your customers home and yank ‘em off their bumpers. It’s not like anyone’s gonna change their minds. One sticker’s good for as long as they own the car. That won’t pay for your printing press.”

He gave her another baleful look. “You can trust me. I’m a math major.” She grinned, trying to lighten his mood.

He turned and stepped in front of her so unexpectedly, she banged into him. His body didn’t give. With a grip around her waist that made her cheeks scald, he took three steps, walking her backward. She searched his face, but saw no sign of strain, though her feet dangled like a rag doll’s. He plopped her on the edge of a planter.

“Okay, ground rules.” Fighting to keep her balance, she clutched the shoulders of his fleece-lined denim jacket. He shoved his face close to hers. His big hands still held onto her waist—or rather, the baby fat Amy couldn’t seem to lose. Her new perch let her look him in the eye. She spied tiny gold flecks orbiting his pupils, though her head was spinning. “Every time you mention anything remotely political, I get to talk about sex.”

Seriously, he’s a pain in the ass.
She wasn’t the one who’d brought up the controversy swirling around his family. Leaves from the fake ficus poked through her sweatshirt and grabbed her hair. She felt like Jane of the Jungle. Cartoon version. “Nice, asshole,” she griped, bouncing the toe of her sneaker off his shin. “Sex? Rub it in, Honey Bee. All you have to do is snap your fingers, but I just—”
Broke up with the only man who ever looked at me twice.
Horrified by her near-admission, she pressed her lips together.

Their banter should’ve been like teasing between siblings. He’d always treated her like a little sister. But this encounter felt... different. Amy’s heart skittered in her chest, but she was good at keeping her head on straight.
Cut out the wishful thinking. This is just incidental contact, not a damn date.

She’d attended his mother’s funeral, for Lila’s sake. If she lived to be a hundred, Amy doubted she’d forget that day.

The memory swam in her mind, made vivid by being close to him again. She’d somehow ended up seated between him and Lila during the short service at the graveside. Shoulder to shoulder in the row of frigid folding chairs, she’d felt his broad frame shudder while the minister prayed. At the conclusion of the service, he’d thrown his arms around her. She suspected he’d been wiping his eyes before he had to thank folks for coming.