Tempt Me Tonight (31 page)

Crap
. Like once before with Joe, wrong little word.

In the following days, Trish fell into a comfortable routine. Working in the diner through the day and seeing Joe at night. And there was fun, and there was sex, but there was no more serious talk, for which Trish was thankful.

On Monday, they had an impromptu dinner at Debbie and Kenny’s, where Joe regaled their friends with tales of burned lasagna, glossing over—of course—what exactly had distracted him from keeping an eye on the oven. But he provided the rest of his cupcakes for dessert and Debbie’s boys went wild. It also gave him the opportunity to repeatedly ask Trish if
she
wanted a cupcake, and finally she admitted she did, and they left. For old times’ sake, they’d driven Joe’s Trans Am that night, and they found themselves “having cupcakes” in the same car where they’d shared so much passion in high school.

On Tuesday, she rented a movie and took it to his place. More cupcakes afterward—both kinds.

On Wednesday, another dinner at her parents’ house, sans Monopoly—instead, Joe let Trish’s father show him a new fishing pole, which led the two men out to the little pond behind the barn for a bit of just-before-dark fishing. Joe caught a small blue gill and Trish’s dad tried not to act miffed, stating that it was clearly the reel and his hand-tied lure that had made it happen. No cupcakes that night, either kind.

In between diner detail and passion with Joe, she kept up with e-mail from her office and read over some discovery relating to the Richie Melbourne case—the police report and the grand jury testimony. The trial was only a few weeks away and she needed to keep fresh on the facts. There was no word yet from their
DNA
expert, except that he was backed up with work, so she continued basing her strategy on what she strongly suspected: Richie’s
DNA
wouldn’t show up on those cups but a third party’s would—likely Dane Eldridge—and Richie would be a big step closer to freedom.

Although she couldn’t deny the sudden strangeness of preparing for a trial, thrusting herself back into high-powered-attorney mode, at least in her mind. She feared it would seem almost odd to suddenly find herself back in her loft, putting on her panty hose and suits, going into the office, and to court.

She would have liked to look forward to it—that was often how she felt as a vacation drew to a close, as if the change of pace had been nice but that getting back to work would be energizing. Now she stood in her old bedroom putting on the casual tan linen suit she’d brought home just in case she was called back to Indy on some legal emergency—it was Thursday, and she was ready to meet Marjorie and Jeremiah for their day in court. And she
was
energized by the task, ready to very tactfully but decisively show this farce of a judge the error of his ways. Yet at the same time, the suit felt oddly binding, her panty hose stifling, and the thought of going back to her
real
job made her feel…ugh, a little sick.

It was about Joe.

She hated admitting that to herself, but it would just be silly to deny it.

She might have sworn up and down to him—and herself—that she was keeping this light and uncomplicated. She might have insisted to herself that a bunch of crazy, silent professions of love meant nothing. But she knew now exactly what she’d known the first moment she’d impaled herself on his powerful erection: She loved the guy.

She sighed, then sat down on the bed, feeling light-headed.

Yeesh. She loved the guy? Really?

Yep, really.

But she still couldn’t
tell
the guy, or
stay with
the guy.

Because she had a life in Indy, a whole world, an existence she’d worked hard for. And also because what she’d told him the other night was true—love aside, she just didn’t think she could risk her heart to him again.

Of course, maybe the fact that she loved him pretty much meant she was way past risk. Leaving him was going to be…hard. More than hard. Quite possibly misery-inducing.

And yet she couldn’t help thinking that if you didn’t trust someone, they couldn’t hurt you. And if she left willingly, it meant
he
could never leave
her.
She’d gone to his house that first night to take control—and she supposed she’d sort of
lost
control soon after, in a big way. But she retained a bit of it still. And as long as she
kept
that bit of control and made the right decisions…well, leaving him might be horrible, but at least it would be
her
decision and he could never wound her again.

Checking the little clock next to the bed, she saw she had a few minutes to spare, so she booted up her laptop on the old wooden desk where she’d once done homework and written long, passionate notes to Joe telling him how much she adored him. Her e-mail contained several messages from coworkers asking for her input or advice on case-related issues. She scanned them quickly but would have to wait until later to answer.

And then—
blip
—another new message appeared that very instant, from Kent. She clicked to open it.

Hey stranger—word on the street is that the partner announcement will be made sooner rather than later, and I’m betting on you, kid. I know you thought your leave of absence might hurt your chances, but I think the opposite is happening. Everywhere I go, I hear your name—people miss your expertise around here. And of course, some of us just plain miss you. Any ETA? I have discovered that Burrito Bob’s has a surprisingly tasty margarita, so happy hour is on me your first day back. I promise not to get you drunk and take advantage of you—maybe.

Trish just sat staring at the screen, stunned. She barely knew which part to absorb first. The partner part—or the sexual innuendo part. She and Kent hadn’t quite worked
up
to sexual innuendo yet. Until now, suddenly. When she wasn’t particularly in the mood to think about sex with anyone but Joe.

She blew out a big whoosh of breath and tried to think how to answer.

Under normal circumstances, she’d have been happy. About the partner part.
And
the sexual innuendo part. But she felt so disconnected from her life at the firm right now that the partner part felt…weirdly distant, like it was news meant for someone else—for that woman who lived in her loft and wore expensive pumps and five-hundred-dollar suits. And now that she was sleeping with Joe almost every night, flirtation with Kent didn’t seem as easy.

But that was crazy. It wasn’t like this Joe thing was gonna last. She’d made that perfectly clear—to both of them. She’d be going back to the city as soon as she finished her diner spruce-up project. Wouldn’t she?

Of course she would.

Of course she would.

But she wasn’t going to think about that anymore right now. No, right now she was going to go save a little dog from a big one.

Joe had been under the hood of a 2001 Mercedes E320 for an hour and had finally found the problem—one of the six coils was bad. An easy fix now that he knew what was wrong. He’d just wiped off his hands and dropped the hood, then headed to the office to order the part for next-day delivery, when the phone on his desk rang. “Ramsey’s Auto Repair. This is Joe.”

“Hey, it’s me.”

Carissa. He let his voice soften. “What’s up, Care Bear?”

He waited for her to scold him for the nickname, but instead she said, “I bought my dress for the dance.” She sounded giddy and nervous, and he still couldn’t help wondering when he’d blinked and missed her turning into a teenager.

Still, he was pleased that she’d called to tell him. “Find one you like?”

“Uh-huh. In fact…”

“Yeah?”

“Well, I’m over at the Waffle House—my friend Taylor’s mom dropped me off. And I have the dress with me ’cause I forgot and left it in Taylor’s car last night after her mom took us shopping, so I was thinking…maybe you could give me a ride home, ’cause Mom is working ’til eight and I don’t feel like sticking around. But I could maybe…show you the dress first…if you wanted to see it.”

Damn, she wanted to show him her dress. It twisted his heart up a little.

He glanced toward the digital clock on the corner of the messy desk, finding he had to lift a stray invoice just to read it. Four-thirty. Earlier than he liked to knock off, especially given the way paperwork was building up around here lately, but…“Give me twenty minutes. I need to order a part and do a few other things, but then I’ll head over. Hell, I’ll even buy you dinner while we’re there.”

When he walked through the door shortly before five, half the booths were filled and the counter was busy. That suited him fine, since it meant he got off with only a quick wave toward Bev before settling into a booth across from Carissa, where she sat bent over a math book. “Homework, huh?”

She looked up. “Algebra sucks.”

“Yeah, that’s how I remember it.”

But then she smiled, clearly recalling why he was there. “I’ll go put on my dress.” Most girls might not feel comfortable changing in a restaurant bathroom or doing a fashion show in front of everyone eating their waffles and eggs and hamburgers, but Carissa had practically grown up in the place, so she merrily grabbed up the plastic sack from the seat beside her and scurried off to the restroom just a few steps away.

Just then, Bev appeared beside him. “Something to drink?”

“Coke,” he said, barely glancing up.

“Thanks—about the dress. It meant the world to her to get to go shopping with her girlfriend. They drove over to Columbus after school yesterday.”

He nodded shortly. “You know I’m glad to help out.”

She looked like she was about to say more, but fortunately that’s when Floyd called, “Order up!” and drew her away.

A few minutes later, the ladies’ room door opened and Carissa strolled out looking like—oh hell—a much older girl. The slinky red dress sported a deep-cut halter neck and a too-short hem. He didn’t think he’d ever heard her sound happier than when she said, “What do you think?”

Joe couldn’t help feeling a little sick to his stomach—but he knew he had to be careful here. So he kept it simple. “You look…great, honey.”
Too
great.

“You took too long to answer,” she pointed out. Quick on the draw, his Care Bear.

He let out a heavy breath. “Guess I’m just…surprised.”

“By?”

“Uh…how much older you look.”

Her eyes lit up. “Really?”

Shit. He’d totally forgotten that thirteen-year-old girls
wanted
to look older. “Yeah, really.”

Her face dropped slightly. “You don’t like it.”

Aw, damn. “Sit down a minute, honey.”
And quit giving the truckers at the counter an eyeful.

Her eyes drooped softly as she plopped into the booth.

“I’m not lying about you looking good in the dress, Care. Any guy would be tripping over himself to get next to you in that dress.”

She widened her eyes expectantly. “Well, isn’t that what I want? To make boys trip over themselves?”

He wasn’t sure how to answer, so he still kept it simple—but real. “I just want you to be careful. This is your first dance, your first date. What it comes down to is…” He sighed, ran a hand back through his hair. “This dress makes me nervous.”

Her arms were crossed and her gaze had dropped to his chest. “So you don’t want me to wear it.”

“It’s not my decision,” he replied, then tried to speak more gently. “But…if you wanted to look at some other dresses, I’d even take you shopping. When’s this dance of yours?”

“Saturday night.”

Today was Thursday. Hell. “I thought it was the Fall Fling—it’s still August.”

Her eyes widened. “Look, I didn’t schedule it—I’m just trying to survive my first date without freaking out.”

So she was freaking out—and he’d picked on her dress. Smooth, Ramsey, real smooth. Still, something in his gut told him he couldn’t let her wear that. “What are you doing after school tomorrow?”

She raised her eyes. “Shopping for a dress, I’m guessing.”

“Good guess.”

“Here ya go,” Bev said, lowering two plates of food in front of Joe and Carissa. Her heart beat too fast, though, because Butch sat in a booth at the far end of the counter. He’d never before happened in when Carissa was here and it made Bev nervous. She didn’t like to think of those two parts of her life—the purest and, well…the least pure—rubbing up against each other.

“Joe’s taking me shopping tomorrow after school, so I won’t be home,” her daughter said.

Bev drew back slightly. Joe hung out with Carissa here and at the garage, and he’d taken her places when she was younger—but never shopping. “What for?”

Carissa glanced at Joe, then back to her, and spoke quietly. “He thinks I should get a different dress.”

“Why?” Carissa was still wearing the red one and looked incredible in it. Beverly had almost envied her daughter when she’d seen it a little while ago—she’d never gone to any big-deal dances in school except one prom, and then she’d worn a hand-me-down dress from a cousin that she’d not gotten to choose.

Joe spoke up, drawing her attention. “I just thought this one might be…a little too mature.”

Beverly caught the pointed look in Joe’s eyes, then glanced back to the halter dress—and her mind reeled.

Oh God, she was a horrible mother!
Of course
that dress was too showy for Carissa! She was only thirteen.

Although at thirteen Beverly had been making out with boys, close to losing her virginity already. She’d never been popular or had many friends, and she’d been lonely—both at school and home. But boys had liked her because she had boobs and a butt, and she’d loved the way it felt—being liked.

Yet Carissa was totally different—Beverly would be shocked to find out her daughter had even been kissed. Carissa had lots of girlfriends, but she was far more nervous around boys than Bev had ever been—and maybe that was a good thing.

So why hadn’t she seen how inappropriate that dress was?

Hell, maybe
she
wanted to be going to
her
first dance, looking pretty, attracting boys. But she didn’t want Carissa to attract the same kind of boys she had—boys who invited you into their backseats instead of out on dates.