Knowing You (15 page)

She tensed briefly, half-expecting a thunderbolt to blast through the roof and roast her to a crisp—Fate's little way of reminding her just who was in charge around here. When it didn't happen, she shook her head, pushed the coffeepot under the filter, and slapped the button. In seconds, the machine hissed and burped and steam lifted from the top, twisting and dancing in the moving air as yet another early-morning type pushed open the front door.

Bells jangled in welcome, and Stevie turned with a smile to greet the newbie.

The smile slipped the minute her gaze collided with Paul's.

The impact of his level stare slammed into her hard, and Stevie almost swayed with it. His hair was sweat-dampened; his running shorts showed off his tanned, muscular legs. Stevie's mouth went dry. His T-shirt, with the phrase
Scientists Do It With Knowledge
, fit him like a sweaty second skin. Plus, she had reason to know that his T-shirt wasn't false advertising.

Back that thought up, she ordered silently. No sense in torturing herself. Besides, she wasn't horny at the moment.

She was mad.

He could get coffee anywhere.

But the only place he could get a look at
her
and find out what had happened the night before between her and Nick was here. At the Leaf and Bean.

The bells on the door clanged again as the door closed behind him. He continued to study Stevie. Her wide blue eyes suddenly looked as deep and stormy as the ocean, pounding relentlessly against the shore just a few hundred feet away. He wondered what she was thinking. Wondered why her smile had disappeared the moment she saw him. And wondered what the hell he was doing here.

He shouldn't have come.

Hell, he was a damn genius. He
knew
he shouldn't be here. He should have gone home, showered, changed, and gone to work. He should be putting thoughts of Stevie out of his head completely. Hadn't that been the plan all along? To get over whatever feelings he was still carrying around for her?

Yeah, right. That had worked out real well.

Well, he had two choices here. He could turn around and bolt. Pretend he'd never stepped into the Leaf and Bean. Or … he could brave the less than welcoming glare she was giving him and find out the answers to his questions.

It was humiliating to admit—even to himself—that he much preferred the idea of not facing Stevie's anger. But because the temptation to leave was so strong, he forced himself to walk farther into the shop. He lifted a hand to the coach, smiled at Harry, and continued on. His long legs carried him across the floor in a few easy strides. Stevie's eyes didn't look any warmer close up.

“Hi.” Good. Clever, he told himself. Real smooth.
This
from a man who thought nothing of giving speeches in front of hundreds of colleagues?

“Why are you here?”

“Ouch.” He drew his head back and looked down at her. Her eyes seemed to ice over while she was looking at him. Not a good sign. “Nice greeting for a paying customer.”

One blond eyebrow lifted. “Customer? That's it? You're here for coffee?”

He shifted position, a little uneasy with her tight smile and clipped voice. “Isn't that why most people come in here?”

“Fine.” She nodded, whirled around, poured him a cup so quickly, the hot liquid sloshed over the rim and splashed onto her hand. If she even felt the stinging heat, she gave no sign of it. Slapping the cup down in front of him, she ignored the small lake of coffee staining
her counter, held out one hand, and said, “That'll be two-fifty.”

“Christ,” he muttered. “What crawled up your ass and died?”

“Oh, that was charming.” She set the coffeepot down before glaring at him again. Lowering her voice, she whispered, “Did you learn that lovely phrase in rocket scientist school?”

“All right,” Paul said, wiping spilled coffee off the counter with a wadded-up napkin. “I can see this wasn't a very good idea.”

“That's what I like about you,” she said, snatching the soggy mess from him and wiping the counter with a clean dishcloth. “You're a real quick study.”

His back teeth ground together. “Look, Stevie, I only came by to—”

“To what?” she interrupted quietly with a quick glance at Jessie, just a few feet away, to remind him that people were close enough to hear them. “Find out how it went between me and Nick last night?”

He actually winced. Either she was psychic or he was way more transparent than he'd always thought. And if it was the latter, he could only be grateful he'd turned down a college offer to join the CIA.

She read his expression and her own features went thunderous. “So you
did
know Nick was going to stop by here last night.” Stevie hissed in a breath and shook her head even as she leaned in close enough for him to catch a soul-shattering whiff of her perfume. “Why didn't you warn me? Why didn't you tell me?”

“There wasn't time,” he grumbled, glancing around to reassure himself that no one was paying attention.
Nope. They were safe. The morning crowd were all sitting huddled over steaming cups of coffee or hidden behind opened newspapers. Small consolation.

“Right,” she said. “No time to call and say, ‘Look out, here comes Nick'?”

“He left Mama's right after you did.”

“Uh-huh. But not you. No, not good ol' Paul. What? Did you stay behind to help Mama plan the wedding?”

“What wedding?” Christ, he was just not awake enough to do battle with Stevie. When a man went to war with this particular woman, he needed all thrusters firing.

Stevie pushed away from the counter, clearly disgusted. “You're unbelievable. I thought you—never mind.” Then she spoke up louder, so everyone could hear her. “I'll be in the office, so if you need refills, just help yourselves.”

No one answered and Stevie turned around sharply, stepped into her tiny cubicle of an office, and closed the door firmly behind her.

Paul stared at the door for a long minute and felt his own temper snapping at his insides. For chrissakes. He hadn't done a damn thing and he was the one being roasted. And suddenly he had plenty of sympathy for the people who'd faced Stevie's temper in the past. In all the time they'd been friends, he'd never experienced the full frontal assault of Stevie's anger. But then, they'd never really been involved deeply enough to stir up that kind of passion, had they? Until now, that is.

Passion. Desire. Rage.

This was turning out to be a real thrill ride.

“Do an end run,” the coach offered.

“What?” Paul turned to look at the man who'd been Nick's high school mentor.

“Son,” the man said slowly, “when a woman has her defensive line holding tight … you've got to do an end run. Outflank her.”

Great. Now he was getting romantic advice from a man who thought stadium lights made for atmosphere.

“She wants you to follow her,” Jessie pointed out quietly.

“Yeah?” Paul shot her a look.

“What've you got to lose?”

“Good point.” He'd worry later about the fact that too many people were paying attention to what was happening between him and Stevie. Right now, there were other considerations.

Thoughts of leaving and heading off to work were completely dismissed as he stepped around the edge of the counter and grabbed that doorknob. Hell. If she wanted a battle, then she could damn sure have one.

He opened the door, stepped inside, and closed the door behind him again. He didn't mind a fight, but he didn't want an audience.

Stevie didn't even look up. “Get out.”

“No.” Paul folded his arms over his chest, planted his feet wide apart, and waited for her to look at him. It didn't take long.

She shot him a dangerous glare from under her lashes, but Paul wasn't about to be chased off. Not until he'd had his say. Sitting behind her incredibly small desk, she stared at her computer screen and did a great job of deliberately ignoring him. But Paul
wasn't fooled. He could almost feel tension radiating off her body.

“You want to tell me what this is all about?” he demanded.

“Nope.”

“Fine. I'll tell you.”

She snorted, but kept her gaze on that damn computer screen, and suddenly Paul knew how he must look when someone was trying to get his attention. Damn it.

“You're pissed off at Nick and taking it out on me.”

“Sure. Whatever.”

“Tell me I'm wrong.”

Slowly Stevie's icy blue gaze lifted to his. “You're wrong.”

Paul ignored his self-preservation instincts and walked around the edge of her desk. Stopping right in front of her, he bent down, grabbed her upper arms, and dragged her to her feet. She yanked free of his grasp, but since there was nowhere to go in the tiny office, they still stood just a breath apart.

A low, fierce growl sounded out just before Paul felt a stabbing pain in his ankle. “Hey!”

“Scruffy, no!” Stevie said it quickly, instinctively, even though she probably regretted stopping the little mutt from chewing on Paul's foot.

“What is that?” he asked when the bag of fur let go of him and scooted under Stevie's desk.

“It's a dog. Why do people keep asking me that?”

“The latest?”

She nodded. “I found her last night.” She turned her
gaze back up to his. “Just before I sent your brother packing.”

Relief pushed its way through Paul's heart. She hadn't let Nick inside. Hadn't talked to him. Kissed him. Hadn't … He should have known. But he'd been so sure that Stevie would once again take Nick back into her life the minute he turned on the charm.

“So you're not pissed at Nick. You're pissed at me,” he said.

One corner of her mouth quirked, but there was no humor in the half-smile. “Ah, we have a winner, folks! You've won a year's supply of Turtle Wax. Thank you for playing.”

“Knock it off, Stevie.” He glanced down to make sure the little mutt wouldn't attack again in Stevie's defense. But the wild-haired thing had crawled back under her desk. So he felt free to give his attention to the furious woman in his arms.

She swung her hair back from her face. “Why?”

“Because I want to know why the hell I'm getting frostbite just by looking into your eyes.”

“You know,” she said, “for a smart guy, you're pretty stupid.”

“Enlighten me.”

“Fine.” She planted both hands on his chest and shoved. He didn't budge an inch. Huffing out a breath, she gave that up and snapped, “You want to know why I'm mad? Think about it, Paul. Last night? At your mother's?”

“Yeah?”

She actually growled, which Paul considered a real
hint of danger. Hell, she sounded meaner than the little dog had.

“You practically had your hand up my crotch at the dinner table.”

He remembered. Hell, he could almost feel her damp heat now. He hadn't been able to keep from touching her. Feeling her warmth. Even the threat of his mother sitting at the head of the table hadn't been enough to make him keep his hands to himself.

“Then Nick started talking and you pulled away so far, you might as well have been in New York.”

He scrubbed one hand across the back of his neck. True. “Yeah, well, everyone started talking and—”

“Not everyone,” she interrupted. “Just Nick. Then your mother starts in on the happy couple routine and you pull even further away. What's the deal here, Paul?”

“You're pissed because I stopped touching you even though we both agreed that we should stop?” Hell. Wasn't the best defense a good offense?

“I'm pissed because of
why
you stopped.” She shoved at him again, and this time he moved enough to let her scrape through, brushing her body against his, just enough to set it on fire. “Nick talks, you pull back. Mama gives me that orange blossom/June wedding look and you practically disappear.”

“It's complicated.”

“No, it's not,” she said hotly, shooting him a look that should have killed him. “It's simple. I figured it all out just a while ago.”

“Is that right?”

“Oh, yeah. You don't really want me. You just wanted to know that you could get Nick's old girlfriend in the sack.”

A red haze colored the edges of his vision and Paul had to squint just to keep her in focus. His blood boiled and a temper like she'd never seen before bubbled in his guts, churning until he wanted to shout, just to let some of it out.

But Stevie was still talking. Still going on, her voice rattling in the tiny office, her words bulleting into his body like a shotgun blast, peppering his skin. Thunder roared in his ears and he had to struggle to hear her. But damn it, he wasn't going to miss a single word of it.

“Congratulations, stud,” she said with a sneer. “You finally managed to one-up your brother. Feel better now? Feel good? You managed to screw me
and
Nick at the same time. Good for you. Now get out.”

She turned her back on him and pretended to stare out the tiny window at the small square of blue sky overhead. But Paul wasn't fooled. Her shoulders were so tight, her body was practically humming. Her words still echoed in the room, slamming into him again and again and feeding the rage that swam through his bloodstream at such a pace he could hardly breathe.

“You finished?” he asked.

She nodded sharply.

“Good.” He grabbed her, spun her around in his grasp, and then pulled her tight against him. Her head fell back, her hair spilling loosely, brushing across his hands as he held her shoulders in a grip that she'd never get out of. “My turn.”

“You don't get a turn.”

“Wrong.” His gaze locked on hers for one long minute, then slipped past her eyes to slide across her cheeks, her nose, her mouth. Every damn thing about her fascinated him. Even her vicious temper and ridiculous ideas. Damn it, if he had any sense at all, he'd be rushing out of this tiny room and letting her think whatever the hell she wanted to think. At least then, it would be over. He could stop thinking about her. Stop dreaming about her. But he couldn't do it. Couldn't walk away like this.