Covers rustled from the other bed as Nell turned to face her. "You and Jared have a fight?"
"He holds something back, Nell. Every time we:you know:do it."What are you, nine years old? "When we make love. Or maybe screw is a better word, because that's the thing-he sort of controls me with killer orgasms while holding something of himself back until the last possible moment. And God forbid he should allow himself even that unless he's already taken care of me several times." Rolling over, she turned on the little lamp attached to the nightstand between them, blinking against the sudden light. She eyed her friend. "I know that doesn't sound like something to complain about. You probably think I'm a whiner."
"No, no, I get it. Killer orgasms are nothing to sneeze at, and a guy who can deal them out in multiples-well, you should maybe hang on to him. All the same, if he's using sex to control you-"
"Exactly." Then she frowned. "I don't want you to get the wrong idea about him, though. J's not one of those I'm-gonna-cut-you-off-from-all-your-friends-so-I-can-direct-your-every-move kinda control freaks. It's more like:his father was really awful. He treated Jared like shit and one night when the old man got in his face, J shoved him and his dad fell and hit his head. Jared thought he'd killed him for sure, and he panicked and ran. That's how he ended up on the Denver streets where we met. That same night his father was murdered and for quite a while J believed he was the one who'd done it."
"Holy shit, Peej."
"Yeah. Plus his being the prime suspect was apparently what people remembered even after someone else was convicted of the crime. So what do you wanna bet the night he pushed his father in anger was about the last time he allowed himself to really lose control?"
"So what are you going to do?"
"God, there's the million-dollar question." She scrubbed at her face with both hands.Happy now? You won.
You won.
You won.
His words kept repeating in her head. And they hurt just as much as they had the first time. She felt as if she'd never be happy again, because what she felt for him didn't have a damn thing to do with competition. Never had, never would. And dammit, even if J didn't have the same feelings for her that she had for him, he ought to at least know her well enough to understand that.
"I don't know. But I've gotta figure something out. And soon. We sure can't go on this way."
THEY COULDN'T GO ONthis way, Jared thought the next day. P.J. was polite and friendly toward him, but distant.
God, so distant, and it was driving him nuts.
It shouldn't. Her stepping back should have come as a huge relief, since he'd always known their time together was finite anyway. Yet relieved was not the word that came to mind.
He shoved aside the one that did. It was too frigging emotional and besides, he didn't have time for it now. "Marvin, you got a minute?"
The driver looked up from the map he was studying at the galley table. "Sure thing, Mr. Hamilton."
"I sure wish you'd call me Jared." But he knew it was a losing proposition since both he and P.J. had tried more than once to get Marvin to call them by their first names.
"I know. I'm sorry. I thought I could but I'm just too old school, I guess. Early training taught me never to treat my employers informally."
"Which, technically speaking, I'm not. But never mind, that's not what I want to talk to you about." Glancing at Hank and Nell, who were seated on the bench seat a few feet away wrangling over the finer points of her new song, he tipped his head toward the bus door. "Would you mind stepping outside with me for a minute?"
The driver followed him off the bus, but the minute they cleared the stairs Marvin cleared his throat nervously. "Am I in trouble, Mr. H? Over the other night?"
"No-hell, no. You did an exceptional job in a lousy situation." Opening the luggage hatch, he pulled out a couple of lawn chairs and carried them over to the shady side of the bus where he snapped them open and set them up. It was breathlessly hot, with humidity to match, but it was the best he could do. "Have a seat."
Marvin perched on the edge of his chair, his hands gripping his knees.
Jared shook his head. "Relax. Look, I heard from the sheriff from the other night's episode and I just want to give you a heads-up. Lay out your options."
"What do you mean?"
"I think you and I both realized right away that Luther Menks was behind running you off the road."
"Yes, sir, that's what I assumed."
"Me, too. And while the sheriff needed more proof than our word, he just confirmed it. Menks is a real loose cannon, which means something similar could happen again. And that puts you at risk. So I want to give you the option of going or staying. I want you to know that, whatever you decide, I'll give you the best reference I can put to paper. You've gone above and beyond the call of duty for us already."
Marvin straightened in his seat. "Oh, I'm sticking, sir. And if he tries it again, then he'll be the one who's run off the road."
"I'm glad you're staying. You've been professional and reliable and I'd have hated to see you go."
The driver's shoulders had a proud set. "It's my job, sir."
"And you're a pro, no doubt about it." He hesitated, then gave the other man a crooked smile. "Now if I could only get you to call me by my first name."
NELL SAT AT THE GALLEYtable, her feet up on the chair across from her and a cold beer and a bowl of pretzels shoved aside on the tabletop as she worked at putting the final touches on her new song. Muttering to herself, she squinted to decipher her handwriting on the notes she'd scribbled during a brainstorming session with Hank yesterday.
"Hey, there."
She looked up to see Eddie standing hip-shot at the end of the table. For a brief moment, her heart did the pitty-pat thing it'd been trained to do at the sight of him.
Then it remembered it had been there, done that and settled down. She shot him a smile made wry by her own Pavlovian conditioning. "Hey, yourself."
Scooping a couple of pretzels from the bowl, he tossed them in his mouth and tipped his chin to indicate the music score spread out in front of her. "You still working on your song?"
"Yep. It's almost done."
"What's it about?"
She hesitated to tell him, because the day he'd pitched in to help them go through P.J.'s fan letters she'd seen a different side of him. And since then he'd actually been around more and didn't seem quite as shallow as usual. Then she shrugged and told the truth. "It's about a faithless womanizer."
"Huh. A jerk, I suppose."
"No, just clueless and not real deep."
Grabbing the chair nearest him, he swung it around, propped his boot on its seat and leaned to brace his elbow on his raised knee. Then he caught her in the crosshairs of the Eddie Special, a look she'd watched him bestow on countless women over the years, a killer combination of a crooked aw-shucks grin, a knowingly raised eyebrow and laser-beam eye contact designed to make a woman feel as though she was the only female he saw. "So," he murmured. "I couldn't help but notice the other night that you're way more built than I ever imagined."
Mouth dropping open, she simply stared at him for a second before touching a fingertip to her jaw to make sure it wasn't sagging like a halfwit's. Finding it where it belonged, she said, "Well, hmm, thanks."I guess. "And I noticed you wear your hat real well." She managed not to laugh out loud, but really. What an inane conversation.
"So, you wanna go out with me sometime?"
For a single suspended moment temptation sang a siren song in her veins. Okay, it was shallow-she knew it was shallow. But hell's bells, she'd spent what seemed like half a lifetime nursing a crush on this guy. So you'd just have to excuse her if for a few satisfying seconds triumph bloomed at the opportunity to fulfill those foolish dreams-should she so desire.