scratchy as a new grooming brush. “What is that perfume you’re wearing? It’s driving me crazy.”
“You know I don’t wear perfume.”
He nibbled my ear lobe. A sharp current shot up my spine.
“You jerk,” I said, trying not to give in.
He lifted my chin and kissed me, deep and lingering, his big hands cupping my face. “ Como te quiero, mi corazon, ” he murmured. His thumbs stroked my cheeks as he kissed each comer of my mouth. The rough feel of his fingers caused my insides to swell and ache. I leaned into him, tantalized by his strength, the sureness of his touch, his gentleness. I wanted to stay mad. Nothing had been resolved. He’d danced around the issue with the finesse of a man experienced in avoiding touchy subjects.
“I’ll follow you home,” he said a short time later. He slipped his arms inside my jacket, fitting his hands around the small of my back, pulling me flush against him. Resting my head in the crook of his neck, I inhaled deeply, drawn to his warm, nighttime scent.
“I only live three blocks away. No bad guys between here and there.”
His hands tightened, drawing me closer. “I really think I should follow you home. Check the place out. Maybe tuck you in.”
I pulled out of his arms, shaky with desire. “Thanks, Chief, but right now, I think I’d be safer taking my chances with the bad guys.”
He reached over and traced the shape of my lips with his finger. “ Algún dia, querida. Soon.”
“Yes,” I promised and meant it.
When I reached my front porch, I wished I’d let him follow me home, if only to borrow the six-cell, police-issue flashlight he always carried in his old sky-blue Corvette. The new porch light installed by the landlord had some kind of an electrical malfunction that was costing me a fortune in light bulbs and had left me more than once fumbling in the night attempting to unlock my front door. In the chilly darkness, my keys dropped, jangling unnaturally loud, startling into silence the Great Horned Owl nesting in my oak tree. A branch creaked, and up high, foliage rustled as he took silent flight. The tree frog who had taken up residence underneath my bedroom window wasn’t so particular. Even when I dropped the keys a third time, muttering irritably to myself, his cheerful song continued to ring through the night. Then another sound caught my attention. One that wasn’t a part of the natural early morning symphony. The rumble of a car engine.
I moved back in the shadows of my porch and watched the white car creep slowly past my house. It was a standard issue rental car—the kind of Ford or Chevy stamped out by the millions wherever it is they build them these days. Nothing particularly sinister, but then again, not normal for after two A.M. on my little tree-lined side street. The car sped up once it passed my house. I stepped out from my hiding place in time to see it turn the comer, illuminated for a moment by the flickering street light at the end of the block. Distance kept me from seeing much, but one thing stood out. I pulled my jacket close around me as some emotion gripped my heart—curiosity, anticipation, fear?
It was the outline of a dark cowboy hat.
6
“WHAT IS THE good of you living in town when I have to hear everything third-hand from Gladys Flickner?” Somehow, over the phone lines, Dove’s voice managed to rattle my bedroom windows. Holding the receiver away from my ear, I slit open an eye and peered at the gray light of early morning seeping in around the window shade. A bright light flashed. Deep rumbling followed seconds later. Rain rapids flowed through the metal gutters. Mother Nature, not Gramma Dove. This time, anyway.
“Are you awake?” Dove asked.
“Debatable,” I muttered, sitting up. “I got in after two A.M. Did you really want me to call you then?”
“Do you have to ask? So, what happened? And while you’re talking, tell me who that cowboy was you danced with. You two looked quite fetching, I
“You know I don’t wear perfume.”
He nibbled my ear lobe. A sharp current shot up my spine.
“You jerk,” I said, trying not to give in.
He lifted my chin and kissed me, deep and lingering, his big hands cupping my face. “ Como te quiero, mi corazon, ” he murmured. His thumbs stroked my cheeks as he kissed each comer of my mouth. The rough feel of his fingers caused my insides to swell and ache. I leaned into him, tantalized by his strength, the sureness of his touch, his gentleness. I wanted to stay mad. Nothing had been resolved. He’d danced around the issue with the finesse of a man experienced in avoiding touchy subjects.
“I’ll follow you home,” he said a short time later. He slipped his arms inside my jacket, fitting his hands around the small of my back, pulling me flush against him. Resting my head in the crook of his neck, I inhaled deeply, drawn to his warm, nighttime scent.
“I only live three blocks away. No bad guys between here and there.”
His hands tightened, drawing me closer. “I really think I should follow you home. Check the place out. Maybe tuck you in.”
I pulled out of his arms, shaky with desire. “Thanks, Chief, but right now, I think I’d be safer taking my chances with the bad guys.”
He reached over and traced the shape of my lips with his finger. “ Algún dia, querida. Soon.”
“Yes,” I promised and meant it.
When I reached my front porch, I wished I’d let him follow me home, if only to borrow the six-cell, police-issue flashlight he always carried in his old sky-blue Corvette. The new porch light installed by the landlord had some kind of an electrical malfunction that was costing me a fortune in light bulbs and had left me more than once fumbling in the night attempting to unlock my front door. In the chilly darkness, my keys dropped, jangling unnaturally loud, startling into silence the Great Horned Owl nesting in my oak tree. A branch creaked, and up high, foliage rustled as he took silent flight. The tree frog who had taken up residence underneath my bedroom window wasn’t so particular. Even when I dropped the keys a third time, muttering irritably to myself, his cheerful song continued to ring through the night. Then another sound caught my attention. One that wasn’t a part of the natural early morning symphony. The rumble of a car engine.
I moved back in the shadows of my porch and watched the white car creep slowly past my house. It was a standard issue rental car—the kind of Ford or Chevy stamped out by the millions wherever it is they build them these days. Nothing particularly sinister, but then again, not normal for after two A.M. on my little tree-lined side street. The car sped up once it passed my house. I stepped out from my hiding place in time to see it turn the comer, illuminated for a moment by the flickering street light at the end of the block. Distance kept me from seeing much, but one thing stood out. I pulled my jacket close around me as some emotion gripped my heart—curiosity, anticipation, fear?
It was the outline of a dark cowboy hat.
6
“WHAT IS THE good of you living in town when I have to hear everything third-hand from Gladys Flickner?” Somehow, over the phone lines, Dove’s voice managed to rattle my bedroom windows. Holding the receiver away from my ear, I slit open an eye and peered at the gray light of early morning seeping in around the window shade. A bright light flashed. Deep rumbling followed seconds later. Rain rapids flowed through the metal gutters. Mother Nature, not Gramma Dove. This time, anyway.
“Are you awake?” Dove asked.
“Debatable,” I muttered, sitting up. “I got in after two A.M. Did you really want me to call you then?”
“Do you have to ask? So, what happened? And while you’re talking, tell me who that cowboy was you danced with. You two looked quite fetching, I
Similar Books
