He nuzzled his face against my hand. “No. If I’m in a relationship, I assume I’m being overwhelmed by the other person’s feelings and that when I walk away, it will pass.”
“And you don’t act on it?” I watched his face.
“Never, if I’m with someone. If a woman I meet on the job is overcome by grateful desire and it gets me all charged up, I just go home that way.”
“Which means you rip your girlfriend’s clothes off as soon as you see her.”
A long breath escaped him. “Yeah. Sometimes it happens like that.”
“Well, you know what they say: It doesn’t matter where you prime the pump, as long as you quench your thirst at home.”
“So it wouldn’t bother you?” He’d lost his haunted air, thank God, and his mouth was doing some interesting things to my palm. Pleasurable chills ran through me.
“Offhand, I’d have to say no.” It was a trust issue to be sure, but not the kind that came from secrets, and there was undeniable appeal in knowing your desire would ratchet up your lover’s need.
Jesse’s other hand lit on my shoulder and pulled me toward him. His bitter chocolate gaze fixed on my mouth, but he wasn’t asking permission. He kissed me with the sweetest demand, pinning me up against the counter with his hips. My whole body thrummed in delicious response.
By the time the kettle whistled, I felt flushed. “Um. Give me a minute. You take the tea. I’ll be there presently.”
Jesse grinned at me. “I need a few too, sugar.”
“Why . . . oh. Right.”
Soon, we had the meal ready. He brought the tray of tea while I carried the sandwiches. “We need to talk to Augustus England,” I said as I came into the parlor with my arms full of plates. I’d mastered that trick during a stint as a waitress, but I didn’t like being slapped on the ass by strangers, so I never worked in restaurants thereafter. “He seems to have his fingers in a lot of pies, from newspaper to phone book, and his name came from a dead man, to boot. Thoughts?”
I passed out the peanut butter sandwiches with apple slices, feeling like a third grade teacher. Still, Chance and Shannon thanked me, so they must have been hungry. My ex didn’t meet my gaze, but for once, I didn’t feel guilty.
“We already decided that,” Chance said, tilting his head toward Shannon. “She also said it must’ve been her mom who left us the present outside. Shannon said she’s gotten really weird in the last few months, quiet and secretive and more—”
“Plastic,” Shannon put in. “There’s nothing real about her anymore. Or at least, if there is, I can’t see it. She . . . scares me.”
That was a hell of a thing to admit about your own mom. I hated to ask, but someone had to, and I doubted the guys would. “Has she ever—”
“No,” the girl said quickly. “I mean, other than the usual. She wants me to dress like her and let my hair go back to its natural brown. She wants me in pearls, and she wants me to stop being weird because, get this, it’s not safe.”
“It’s not safe to be different in Kilmer.” I repeated that idea, tested it, and decided it was true. Look at what happened to my mother, after all. I ate in thoughtful silence, more to fill my belly than because I wanted the campground food I’d prepared.
Shannon shook her head. “Not at all.”
“Jesse . . . what did you get from Sheriff Robinson?”
“He was annoyed but also frightened.”
That surprised me. “Of what?”
“Sorry. It’s not that specific. I never know why.”
We downed our tea in silence and then decided to call it a night. I gave Shannon my bed, such as it was, and the guys would sleep in the other two bedrooms. That left me on the couch. I sighed a little over that, but at least it was soft and sunken, not hard and lumpy. This flophouse-style arrangement better suited college students, I thought, not that I had ever been one.
Thunderclouds in Chance’s eyes said he wanted to fight with me, but it would have to keep.
Except it didn’t.
The Sweetest Thing
After the other two retired, Chance came back into the parlor. He sat down next to me on the sofa, wearing a determined look. I watched him warily, not sure what to expect. Wordlessly, he unscrewed the cap from the ointment his mother had made for my burns and then took my left hand in his.
I flinched a little as he covered the brand on my palm. It didn’t hurt as much as it should have, considering I’d taken the wound earlier today. The area tingled as the medicine started working. It didn’t prevent scarring, but it would stop infection and promote faster healing.
When he was done, he put the top back on and sat looking straight ahead. I had the terrible, dizzying feeling I’d hurt him worse than I knew. His features seemed tight, as if he struggled to restrain a plethora of emotions.
“You should have told me,” he said without looking at me.
I went on the attack. “Where? In the car? Or before you kissed me senseless? I wanted to get cleaned up before I settled in for a long talk. I was filthy. If you’d been out there in those woods with me, you’d understand.”
“Is that what this is about?” He shifted on the sofa to look at me, haunted. “How I never seem to be around when you need me most?”
“This had nothing to do with you.” I really meant it. “Your luck doesn’t even work here, Chance. Sometimes bad things happen, and there’s nothing you can do about it. I mean, damn. You went to jail so I wouldn’t have to. I wasn’t going to leave you there—I just needed leverage. Men like Robinson don’t respect women, and I didn’t know enough about the law to fling it around like Jesse did. And as for why I didn’t tell you sooner”—I shrugged—“there’s just no good moment for something like that.”
“I guess not,” he muttered. To my surprise, he didn’t take the argument any further. Instead, he pulled me into his arms and buried his face in my hair. “If Saldana hadn’t been with you, if he hadn’t known CPR . . .” He trailed off, unable to articulate it.
Well, I wouldn’t have gone into those woods alone, not even for Butch. But I rather liked his desperation. His hands sifted through my hair, finding the sensitive spots at the base of my skull.
“I found my mother’s necklace out there.”
He paused in stroking my hair. “So someone took it from the wreckage.”
“Someone or something.”
“What do you mean?”
I told him the whole story then from start to finish.
His frown turned into a ferocious scowl. “I really, really don’t like this, Corine. That thing recognized you.”
“I know.” I shuddered, just thinking about it. “But it tried to convince me it knew my mother, and that it meant me no harm. But it was so . . .” I trailed off, unable to find the word I wanted. “Evil” seemed simultaneously too small as well as too melodramatic.
“You must’ve been terrified.”
I acknowledged that by turning my face into his chest. I didn’t know what to make of the new Chance; the old one would’ve never accepted my motivations so readily. It would have been turned into a wedge to drive distance between us, mitigated only by sex—and even then, not real intimacy—just the physical facsimile of it.
“Let’s let Butch out and then turn in,” I murmured. “We have a lot to do tomorrow.”
In answer, he dropped a kiss on my temple, warming me all the way down to my toes. “Out you go, dog. But no funny stuff—and don’t even think about running off to the woods again. We will not come find you this time.”
The Chihuahua gave an indignant little yap, as if to say, Hey, I’m not an idiot. He trotted out into the yard, took care of business, and came right back in. A light rain had finally started, pattering on the roof. Butch gave himself a little shake as I closed the door behind him. Then I turned the bolt.