Killing Bliss (16 page)

The laughter in her eyes died a sudden death, but she didn't answer him right away, seemed instead to take some time to gather her resources and plan her next move. She picked up their dishes and headed for the counter. "Does someone need a reason to be a private person?" she asked, setting down their plates.

He stood. "Ah, the classic answer-a-question-with-a-question ruse. But I'd say yes, they generally do." He walked toward her.

She took a step back, her eyes darkly wary. "Then you'd be wrong."

He backed her against the tiled counter, looked into her dangerous eyes, caught the scent of her, soap and lemon. When she was within arm's reach, she straightened, gave him an I-dare-you-to-come-closer gaze. His heart thumped heavily in his chest and his groin tightened. Both reactions confused him, stilled him. Hell, he was acting like a goddamn caveman—and he damn well felt like one.

An image of Dana flowing into his arms drifted across what was fast becoming a one-track mind. He could never love another woman the way he loved Dana, he knew that, accepted it. No one would be as good, as honest, or as openhearted.

But Dana was gone, dead for months, the living dead for months before that. She'd loved and trusted him, given him all of herself—and he'd failed her.

Addy would never trust him, would give him nothing, but for the first time after what seemed like an eternity of grief, he wanted...

Hell, he wanted sex. A feeling so amazingly normal, he hardly recognized it. And so powerful, it made mincemeat of his common sense. This was the last woman on the planet he should sleep with... and he didn't give a damn.

When he placed a hand on either side of her on the cool tiled counter, he had her trapped. Her eyes blazed, then narrowed threateningly. She quickly shifted position, put her knee between his legs—damn close to his groin—and folded her arms tight across her breasts. He didn't expect her to panic, and she didn't disappoint.

"You're pushing your luck, Harding," she said, her tone as lethal as her gaze.

Cade didn't ease back, but he didn't advance, either; that knee of hers could do some damage.

Checkmate.

She looked up at him, half smiled, half taunted him. "I'd do it, you know. It wouldn't be the first time." She lifted her knee, nudged his genitals, and brought it down again. "Must hurt like hell."

His groin quickened at the rub of her touch. "It does. As any guy who's ever played football without a cup will testify."

"Then why don't you back off? It's the smart thing to do."

She was dead right. He wasn't here to seduce Addilene Wartenski, he was here to get her help in finding a lost boy. Instead, he spread his legs to give her a clear shot, and took her face in his hands. "The thing is"—he lowered his mouth to within an inch of hers—"I don't feel very smart at the moment. What I feel is... interested."

He brushed his mouth across hers, softly and without threat. His breath stopped deep in his throat. Her scent slammed into him, woman, lemon, Chinese food. With effort, he lifted his mouth from hers, studied her amazing eyes, and saw surprise, mixed with hot blue and a trace of a confusion. He stroked her lower lip with his thumb. "And the truth is, I haven't been interested in much of anything for a very long time."

He kissed her again, another brush of his lips over hers, a warm mingling of breaths. God, he wanted more, wanted to crush and take, but he held himself back.

She inhaled sharply, and he lifted his head, looked down at her in time to see her eyelids open slowly, the light color of her eyes darker now, her pupils dilated. In the quiet of the room, he heard her breathe, saw her breasts rise and fall under the red cotton T-shirt.

Shaking her head, she said, "If there was an award for lousy timing, Harding, that bit of business would win hands down." She placed her hands on his chest. "And now that it's out of your system, I'd like you to step back."

He stepped back. "It's not out of my system." He was raw, hard, and sexually hungry. Add a triple shot of fascination to the mix, and it was a serious call of the wild. She was right about one thing: definitely lousy timing, which didn't stop him from adding, "And I don't think it's out of yours."

She walked around the counter, surprised him by not starting to fuss with the dishes in a busy attempt to ignore him. Instead, she sat on a stool, put her elbows on the counter, and cupped her face in her palms to look up at him, her eyes sharp and speculative. "Assuming you're looking for some quick, uncomplicated sex, you should know I don't do sex with strangers." She frowned, briefly looked away, before again looking him in the eyes. "Actually, I don't do sex at all."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me. I tried it a couple of times." She dropped her hands to the counter and flattened her palms there. "And I didn't like it much. I'm what you call frigid, I guess. No fun in bed at all. The first guy I slept with said I was a minus ten on his 'hot-babe scale.' And the second said—let me see if I remember right—oh, yeah, you'll have to pardon my French. He said 'fucking me was like putting his dick in a bucket of ice.'" Not for a second did she take her eyes from his face when she added calmly, "So you're wasting your time."

"I see," he said, seeing nothing but a beautiful woman who was as matter-of-fact discussing her libido as she was dumping soil from her wheelbarrow. True or not, it was a hell of a successful road-closed sign.

"Good." She picked up the Chinese food cartons sitting on the counter and headed for the trash. When she turned to look at him again, she appeared surprised he was still standing there.

So was he, but he was busy rummaging around his so-called educated brain looking for a string of words that made some sense.
Nada.

"I embarrassed you," she said.

"Astounded me, more like it."

"Yes. My news flash tends to do that."

"I'll bet it does." He looked down at her, her placid expression, her too-wide eyes. Her too-clever eyes. Something inside him gave way, shifted from astounded to suspicious.

Addy walked to the door and picked up his sneakers, held them out for him. "I'm glad we had this talk, cleared the air. I hope it doesn't affect the rest of your stay at Star Lake."

He moved toward her, his sport-sock-clad feet soundless on the plush carpet. When he was directly in front of her, he took his shoes from her with one hand and used the other to grasp her chin, pull her face to his. "An ice bucket, huh? That's not the way you feel to me." He kissed her again, quick and hard, swallowing her surprised gasp, tamping down his need for more. "I'd say you went to bed with the wrong men."

"And you're the right one, I suppose." Her tone dripped sarcasm.

He looked at her a long time, until her defiant gaze slid sideways. "I think I am," he said quietly before he walked out.

Outside, he rammed his feet into his shoes and headed for his cabin. Along the way, he took some deep breaths of fresh air and inhaled some reality.

He'd damn near made a big mistake back there, the normal result when a man did his thinking from behind his zipper. Hell, the woman was wanted as an accomplice to murder and as a possible kidnapper—a couple of grisly facts he'd be wise to keep front and center from here on.

What mattered was Josh Moore, not his own back-from-the-dead dick.

But, Christ, she felt good...

Not that it mattered, because from here on, he planned to stay as far away from touching her as Star Lake allowed. He'd play the necessary part, gain her trust, and see where it took him. He couldn't hold Stan and Susan off forever, and if they showed up on the scene, Addy would be gone in sixty seconds.

He did not want that to happen—even if his reasons for it had muddied since he'd kissed her.

***

Addy watched Cade stride to his cabin, disappear inside. He came right back out with Redge at his heels and headed for the path around the lake.

She let the curtain drop and slumped against the windowsill, her body white-hot, her brain on fire.

Cade's lips on hers were like... it was like some kind of crazy magic potion thrown on a smoldering fire, making it wild and sky high.

Her stomach, a storm-tossed ocean, wouldn't settle.

And she needed to settle, because she had more to think about than Cade Harding's mouth touching hers.

She touched her lips, closed her eyes, and for a second drew back the taste of him, the sharp, clean scent of him—the sensations she couldn't afford to feel, to risk.

Not that it was worth thinking about.

She opened her eyes, and shoved her adolescent emotions aside to get to her brain, and her current problem. She needed to think about Beauty, about Gus, about Frank Bliss—not the possibility of sex that actually felt like something for the first time in her life.

She hadn't lied to Cade—maybe laid it on thick, but not lied. She'd never come close to enjoying sex, and she had given up on it. She'd tried it because her body told her to, but her mind set itself against the whole crazy idea. All it did was whir and beep inside her skull like some kind of whirligig of worry, sounding alarms and ringing warning bells.

Mostly she'd felt like she wanted to leap off the bed and run for her sanity. It made no sense until she thought it through, came to an understanding of herself.

Hot sex—and, God forbid, any kind of long-term commitment—didn't pair up well with an outstanding arrest warrant and the lies and evasions that came with it. Pretty impossible to relax in bed when you had one eye on the emergency exit and an ear cocked for the sound of a police siren. And none of that had changed, or would, no matter how many times Cade Harding kissed her.

Getting stars in her eyes back then was risky enough. If she let it happen now, it would be beyond stupid.

And she had Beauty to worry about.

She walked away from the window, her eyes again drawn to the phone.

Call me, Gus. You and I have to stop Beauty from killing someone. I need you, because I can't do it alone.

* * *

"Hey, Wayne, how's it going?"

Grover swallowed, shoved the file he'd been working on to the side of his desk, and tightened his grip on the phone. "Frank?" Stupid response; he knew exactly who it was. Let the game begin.

"The one and only. I've been trying to reach you, but keep ending up in voicemail hell."

"Sorry about that," Wayne uttered, his blood running through his veins like skim milk. "I'm not in the office all that much."

"Yeah."

Wayne coughed. "What can I do for you?"

"Like I said, I find myself a little short in the pocket, what with getting out of prison and all, and I was hoping you—or maybe Sandra?—would help me out."

Grover rested a hand on the pad of his stomach, told himself he wasn't going to be sick. He was smarter than Frank Bliss. He could handle him. Had to handle him. "I'd appreciate it if you'd leave my wife out of this." Grover glanced through the glass wall of his office toward the sea of people and cubicles on the other side. He'd been given the office five years ago. In lieu of a promotion, Sandra said, but Wayne didn't care how he got it. He loved this tiny space. Within these walls, he was somebody. He did good things, had control. He would not allow Bliss to spoil that.

"That's the idea, isn't it? To leave savage Sandra out of it." He chuckled. "Shit, quit worrying, will you? I can't tell Sandra anything that she doesn't already know. Now that boss of yours, that's another thing."

Wayne blanked his mind, swiveled in his chair, and lifted his face to the warm sun filtering through his window. "How much do you want?"

"Ten thousand ought to handle things. For now."

Ten thousand.

When Wayne found his tongue, he said, "You know I don't have that kind of money." Not even close.

"I know you'll get it."

Wayne cut in. "I'll need some time."

Silence.

"Okay," he said. "I can give you a couple of days."

"But, Frank," Wayne added, holding his breath a moment before going on, keeping to the putridly obsequious tone he used in all his dealings with Bliss, "I don't think it's safe to use Western Union. I'll bring it to you. In cash... if that will work for you."

"Suit yourself. Give me your cell number."

Wayne gave it to him.

"I'll call you," he said. "When I do, you better have the money and be prepared to move that fat butt of yours and make tracks. You got that?"

"Yes, I understand. You don't need to worry," he said, then took a deep breath. "May I ask who is included in that 'we' you mentioned?" Grover asked, his chest thick with dread.

"I figured you'd be curious about that." Bliss laughed, went silent for a bit as if considering whether to answer, then said, "What the hell. How about this for a clue? It's the bitch I pumped, while you were pumping dear old Mom." He stopped, added in a hard voice. "Get the money, Grover."

He hung up.

Grover had no idea which girl he was talking about.

* * *

During his lunch hour, Wayne worked through the errand list Sandra had given him; make arrangements to have the gutters cleaned, pick up the dry cleaning, go to the hardware store to buy those special bulbs for the dining room chandelier. The routine was welcomed and worked to regulate his increasingly bizarre thoughts.