Personal Assets (Texas Nights) (15 page)

A red stain crept from the collar of her shirt and colored her cheeks. “If you would give me time to explain—”

“Forget it. I’m not real interested in your explanations about you and me at the moment, but I do want to know why my mom called you last night.”

“You know I can’t tell you that. If she discusses it with you, that’s fine. I made a mistake, but I won’t compound it.”

“Why couldn’t you be a child psychologist or a school counselor or something?” Then all this craziness with his mom and her dad wouldn’t exist.

“Because I’m tired of being a good girl. Looks like I picked the wrong man to be bad with, though.” She ducked under his outstretched arm and bolted down the hall.

Exhaustion sat on the back of his neck, and he hung his head. What she hadn’t taken out of him with their world-altering sex a few hours ago, she’d just stolen with her clinical view of their relationship and her refusal to discuss his mom. The whole thing smacked of exploitation.

And wasn’t he the biggest damn hypocrite in the world? They were using each other in so many ways, she’d need more than a legal pad to list them all.

Regardless, he should get dressed and at least walk her to her car. Being pissed off and hurt and confused didn’t excuse bad manners. He turned toward the hall, but she was already barreling out with her jeans on, underwear in hand and hair flying. She rushed by, hitting his arm and knocking him slightly off balance, and dove under the coffee table to pat around for her sexy shoes. Before he could make it across the room, she’d already scooped up her bag and papers and hustled for the door.

It slammed behind her, and his pin-the-tail poster slid to the floor.

He stepped onto the porch in time to see her headlights fade.

For a relationship she’d wanted to be simple and fun, they’d sure done a hell of a job turning it into a big old tar pit of secrets and half-truths. Maybe she’d been serious when she said she wanted nothing more than sex with him. Well, with what they’d done with each other over the past two nights, she should have enough research to keep her stocked with workshop material for years.

Jackasses and the women who made fools of them.

Maybe he’d been an idiot to even flirt with the idea that Allie might be the woman he was looking for. Jesus, he should’ve listened to his initial gut reaction to stay clear of her. Then he wouldn’t feel so damn torn up about doing the right thing. For Allie. For his mom. For the whole freaking community.

His insides cramped at the thought that his and Allie’s short-lived relationship might have already circled the drain. That was what he got for getting his hopes up for a long shot. Even so, he couldn’t afford to avoid her. If he wanted to bag this Chikkalo Bill’s deal for Shelbyville, then he damn well had to keep tabs on that woman.

* * *

Geez, three in the morning, and Allie was pawing past the limeade and salmon burgers in her freezer with the desperation of a heroin addict looking to score. She shoved aside a bag of green peas, and the tightness in her chest released.

Good, it was still there.

Just needed to make sure. It wasn’t like she had to have it. She could stop any time she wanted.

She closed the door, but her hand stayed curled around the freezer handle.

Don’t do it.
Her arm disobeyed her brain’s order and yanked the door so hard it bounced off the wall, leaving a divot in the Sheetrock. Who needed Prozac when a girl could get Pillsbury without a prescription? A spoonful or two wouldn’t hurt anything. Ignoring the chastising voice in her head, Allie snatched out half a package of frozen peanut butter cookie dough and pulled open her silverware drawer.

Screw teaspoons, she needed a utensil that could get the job done. She slammed the drawer and grabbed a plastic serving spoon. She stabbed at the package, but barely scored a dime-sized bit of the frozen dough.

Not enough to calm a flea, much less a woman wearing a shapeless tank top and flannel pants after hands-down the best sex of her life. A normal woman would’ve still been naked in her lover’s bed. But Allie? No, she was standing in her kitchen nuking cookie dough. Because what she’d thought she wanted and what Cameron’s lovemaking made her want were such different things she wasn’t sure how to reconcile them.

She’d expected it to be fun and light and wholly physical. It had certainly been physical, but the experience had evoked feelings Allie hadn’t been prepared for. Feelings of completion and surrender and trust.

Why hadn’t she remembered the rules of the game—simple sex and a little friendship? No complicated emotions, no commitment, no one gets hurt. After all, she’d been the one to write them. And she’d been the one on the verge of breaking them.

She dug in and let the sugar and peanut butter dissolve on her tongue. But she could OD on the stuff and it wouldn’t block out the memory of being in Cameron’s arms. And then in his sights.

After they’d collapsed from rock-my-world sex, he’d encircled her waist with one warm arm and spooned against her bare backside. A charming snuffle came from the vicinity of her neck and Allie couldn’t help but smile. He’d cringe if he knew he was hugging her like his personal teddy bear.

Who would’ve guessed the man was a snuggler?

She was tempted to snuggle right back, but her synapses crackled and snapped, overwhelmed from too much physical and emotional stimuli. Normal people rolled over and slept after that kind of sexual experience, but adrenaline scorched through her system. She tried to relax against Cameron’s chest, molding her body to the curve of his. His skin radiated heat, a human electric blanket.

As comfortable and secure as she felt with him wrapped around her, she couldn’t ignore her bout of mental indigestion. Her brain’s off switch malfunctioned, allowing emotion and information—about Cameron, his mom, her dad’s ultimatum—to float around up there.

She should’ve slipped from under his arm, found her underwear and run like crazy. Instead she’d tugged, wiggled and a stuck a perfect butt-in-the-air gymnastic landing. She’d grabbed her notebook and pen and parked herself at his dining table.

Complete mistake.

Now, her spoon hit the metal staple at the bottom of the package.
Crud.
She scraped out the last of the dough, contemplated turning the package inside out and licking it.

Wouldn’t that be a new all-time low?

But not lower than she’d felt when Cameron stomped all over her fragile feelings. What was her real mistake—making love with him or making notes about making love with him?

Yeah, he deserved to be pissed at finding her at his kitchen table dissecting their relationship on a legal pad. How could he understand her compulsion to assign everything a proper place in her mind? He couldn’t, because she wasn’t willing to confess how moving their lovemaking had been for her.

When she asked why he’d been at the bank, he’d deflected her question, but his face had lost some of its ruddy color. Guilt? Deception? Whatever his expression had indicated, it made her stomach ache.

But she had bigger problems than Cameron Wright. She was in jeopardy of losing everything, even her best friend, if she couldn’t find a solution to her money problem. She was $20,000 poorer after giving Mr. Williams a down payment on the building Red Light and Personal Assets now rented. The rest of the loan funds had been used to purchase inventory for Roxanne’s store. If Allie couldn’t get her hands on some cash, both businesses were headed straight for the toilet.

She tossed the dough wrapper and stared at the freezer. Two more tubes were wedged behind the green peas. She could just...

No, she’d already been weak enough. Instead, she scrounged in a drawer for a notepad and plopped into a chair.

The page was still blank when the sun began to rise, which meant it was time to round up her posse.

Chapter Twelve

One benefit of Allie’s work was she knew when she was in over her head, and she was treading emotional water all over the place right now. She’d run into Charlie Pfeiffer this morning and found out Cameron was at the bank yesterday to discuss his new role as EcDev committee chair.

Cameron. Her dad. Could Cameron and her dad be colluding to shut down her business?

Okay, maybe
colluding
was a little much. But they were playing a little too close to the same side.

At least she still had the objectivity to realize she couldn’t handle either the situation with Cameron or the one with her father without her friends. She couldn’t wait for people to recognize her life had flown out of control and call an intervention, so she called her own. Roxanne and Eden would help her figure out how to swim, rather than sink into the black abyss she’d made of her life.

If her clients realized she couldn’t solve her own life and relationship problems, they would abandon her practice. Which would mean less money. Less money would make repaying the bank even tougher. She had to keep a lid on her problems.

Her shallow breaths sawed in and out. Allie brutally shut off her overactive brain before her thoughts could send her into a full-blown panic attack.

She could handle this. She
would
handle this.

She had to tell Roxanne about the financial noose her dad had slipped over her head. Time was ticking away with increased speed every minute she couldn’t come up with a workable solution. Her relationship problems with Cameron would just have to wait.

The front door of Personal Assets whooshed open, and Allie mentally shelved her sex life.

“I brought comfort food.” Eden muscled overflowing sacks and boxes into the conference room.

Although she loved her friend’s cooking, Allie sent a quick prayer to the culinary gods requesting
real
comfort food. Mac and cheese, cream gravy, biscuits. Eden was a creative chef, often inventing her own to-die-for dishes. But today, Allie needed traditional Southern cooking, not tofu sushi or eggplant au gratin or wheatgrass waffles.

She grabbed a box and two sacks and set them on the conference table. “Can’t wait to see what you cooked.”

“I slipped in one new recipe, but figured Roxanne could be the taste-tester.” Eden unloaded the feast onto the table and dug through a bag labeled with Paradise Garden’s logo. Allie smiled when she pulled out delicate, mismatched china plates, linen napkins and sterling silverware.

Only Eden.

Allie settled into a leather chair the color of a well-ridden saddle while Eden fussed over the tableware placement and food presentation. She’d learned not to get in the middle of Eden’s tablescaping. She’d only get shooed away if she tried.

Eden’s outfit was similar to the one she’d worn the day Allie met her. Allie looked closer. No, those khaki overalls and beat-up Uggs were
exactly
what Eden had on the day they met near the Piggly Wiggly deli case.

Horrified by a grocery that didn’t stock Himalayan sea salt and a population that didn’t know any salt besides the kind that came in a round blue box existed, Eden had decided to stay in Shelbyville, start a café and save the townspeople from themselves. Even though she’d become a friend by the time she opened Paradise Garden, Eden hadn’t opened up to Allie and Roxanne about her past. Allie would stake her degrees that her newest friend had secrets. Doozies, if she had to guess. She wanted to probe, but as a friend rather than Eden’s counselor, that wasn’t her role.

Now, she was asking Eden and Roxanne to be her sounding boards. Thank God she didn’t have to face her problems alone. Surely three strong, smart women could brainstorm a solution to keep Personal Assets and Red Light Lingerie in business.

With a gust of sticky evening air, the front door opened again. Roxanne blew into the conference room, her high-heeled sandals tapping like little machine guns, and dropped into the chair opposite Allie.

Roxanne eyed Allie’s silk shirt, checked out her hair and settled on her face. “You didn’t answer your phone this weekend. I called several times.”

Allie studied the Pavolaria print of a half-dressed Gypsy woman over her friend’s shoulder. “I was busy.”

Roxanne grinned. “Busy or getting busy?”

Eden’s head popped up at Roxanne’s comment, and she set out three crystal goblets. “What’s going on here?”

“I think that’s for Allie to share.” Roxanne reached for the glasses and a bottle of merlot that had magically appeared. She asked Eden, “Girl, what did we ever do without you?”

“Starve and stay sober?”

“Amen, sister.” Roxanne poured generously, scooted a glass to Allie and placed the other in front of an empty chair for Eden. “What’s in all the containers?

“A few simple dishes.”

Allie’s nose twitched at the rich scent of home cooking as her friend piled food onto three plates. Fried chicken, a creamy cheesy pasta, fat green beans and jalapeño cornbread. Along with those tempting dishes was a beautiful little pastry wrapped in phyllo. Oh, yum, the guinea pig recipe.

“Please tell me those have chocolate inside them,” Allie begged.

Eden smiled. “I always bring chocolate for emergencies.”

Had she sounded that panicked when she called them? Probably. Either that or she’d sounded high on cookie dough.

By unspoken agreement, they spent several minutes paying appropriate homage to Eden’s picnic. The clink of china, silver and crystal was interrupted only by husky moans that would have convinced an eavesdropper Personal Assets was hosting an orgy.

“My taste buds just orgasmed,” Roxanne mumbled around a mouthful of pastry. “What’s in this?”

“Why do you want to know? It’s not like you’ll run to the grocery store for the ingredients and make it yourself.”

Roxanne had no interest in using any kitchen appliances other than her coffeemaker and microwave, which she claimed to use only to heat foods that could be eaten off another person’s body.

“True.” Roxanne licked her spoon. “Why should I cook when you’ll do it for me?”

“I brought port, but maybe we should save it until after Allie tells us her bad news.” Eden stacked the plates and utensils, leaving the wineglasses for Roxanne to refill.