Careless Rapture (10 page)

She ignored him and walked into the room.
“Have you eaten?” When he didn’t reply, she nodded. “No? Me
neither. We can order in.”

He leaned against the door and shook his
head, confused. “Wait, wait. What do you mean ‘we?’ What are you
doing here?”

“Have you found anything on my case?”

“No. You gave it to us only a week ago. Don’t
worry, you’ll get your invisible man.”

“I know. I was just asking.” She looked at
the cage in the corner. “Hi, Laura.” The bird chirped. She turned
to Clay. “That’s not why I came.”

“Am I supposed to guess or are you going to
tell me?”

She tossed her portfolio down and stepped out
of her high heels. “I just came to visit.”

His brows shot up. “With me?”

“Does someone else live here?” She opened the
fridge, grabbed a beer, and took a long swallow. “Mmm, this is
good.” She licked her lips then set the can down on the large gray
trunk he used as a coffee table. “I just need to talk and you’re
easy to talk to. I used to visit my brothers, but with them being
family men now, it’s just not appropriate. I thought since you’re
around . . .” She shrugged. “Do you want to talk about your day
first or—” She held up a hand. “Actually, I think we should order
dinner first.”

“I don’t usually have visitors,” he said
stupidly. He wished his mind would function so he would have
something clever to say like 'Get out' or 'Stay the hell away from
me.' Unfortunately, a part of him wanted her there despite the fact
that she was dangerous to him. He never thought an elf could be
dangerous, but she was. There was something too fay, too mercurial
about her. Something he couldn’t grasp. He didn’t like things he
couldn’t understand, especially women. Especially this woman who
could hold his interest even when he didn’t want her to. Of course
there was the other part of him that just wanted to strip her naked
and have sex with her. That made her dangerous, too.

“I know you don’t usually have visitors. You
need a change.” She grabbed a phone book. “What are you in the mood
for?”

Clay watched as her skirt inched up her legs
as she sat on the couch. She had nice legs even though they were
short.

“Clay?”

He glanced up. “What?”

“What are you in the mood for?”

She needed to ask?
He shoved his hands
in his pockets. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Why not? We had fun at the wedding.”

He turned away, dragging a hand down his
face. He was still trying to recover from the wedding and not
kissing her. If he wasn’t careful, tonight he would succeed.

“I want to make it up to you, all right?”

He rubbed his fist against his palm.
Tell
her to leave. Tell her to leave.
He looked at her. Then again,
if his imp was up for a night of mischief, so was he. “Fine, then
you’ll pay.”

Jackie shook her
head. “No. We’ll split.”

He folded his arms.

“You’re a big guy,” she protested, measuring
him from head to toe. “I’m sure you eat a lot more than me.”

“Probably.”

“Actually, I’ve seen you eat. You’ll likely
order two meals.”

He walked to the door. “Wow, look at that!
It’s still open. You can just walk out and disappear.”

She sighed, resigned. “Okay, I’ll pay.”

He closed the door. “I want Italian.”

“Chinese.”

“I’m sorry. Didn’t you ask me what I was in
the mood for?”

“That was before I was paying.”

“I want Italian.”

“But you’re having Chinese,” she said
firmly.

“Do I need to clarify what the phrase ‘make
it up to you’ means?”

“I’m paying for dinner.”

He rested a hand on his chest. “I’m offering
you both my company and my place. The least you can do is pay for a
meal I want to eat.”

Jackie shook her head.

“Funny how this door keeps swinging
open.”

She kissed her teeth, annoyed. “Fine, you’ll
get Italian.”

“Actually, I think I want Mexican.”

“Clay!”

He laughed. “Italian’s fine.” He handed her a
menu.

Jackie placed the order then picked up her
drink. Clay took it from her.

“Hey!”

“This is my beer,” he explained. “Yours is
the one with the lipstick.”

She grabbed her drink and took a sip. “So
tell me about your day.”

He sat, sinking into the couch. “No.”

She shrugged. “Then. I’ll tell you about my
day.” She tucked her feet underneath her. “Last week I found out
that our generous funder had died and his family had stopped all
future donations. Well, obviously this is a perfect time to panic,
but I refused. Patty, our secretary, came up with a ridiculous way
to make money. . . Are you listening to me?” she asked when Clay
flipped to another channel.

He grunted. “Sure, every word.”

She doubted it, but continued anyway. “So I
think of contacting previous contributors and encouraging them to
donate again. I made an appointment with Payton Winstead. Well,
today I discovered he and our former president, Latisha, had a far
cozier relationship than I expected. When he touched my leg--”

Clay stopped with the beer to his lips. “He
did what?”

“Touched my leg. Although
touched
sounds pretty tame. More like groped and I—”

“What was his name again?”

“Payton Winstead.

He rested his head back and groaned. “Why am
I not surprised?”

“About what?”

He turned to her. “That it was you.”

“Me? What about me?”

“You gave him our name.” When she looked
blank, he said, “Did you somehow mention Hodder Investigations when
you were with him?”

“I had to,” she said without apology. “He was
getting a little out of hand. I told him I worked undercover for
you and that he was being taped.”

“You’re an excellent actress. He called and
threatened us.”

She grimaced. “Oh, no.”

“Fortunately my partner is admirably
unscrupulous and, well . . . let’s just say you gave me and my
partner a nice bonus today.”

“Then you should pay for dinner.”

“You weren’t doing me any favors. You could
have had us screwed. At least we don’t have to worry about any tape
popping up.” He grinned despite himself. “Very clever, by the
way.”

“Thank you.” She folded her arms,
pleased.

His smile faded. “What’s this?”

She glanced at her arm, lifting her sleeve
higher to see the bruise. “I told you he got out of hand.”

His voice hardened. “He grabbed you?”

“No, he groped me. Weren’t you
listening?”

Clay sat forward. “You got this from him
groping you?”

She shook her head. “This isn’t from the
groping. He got upset with what I did.”

“What did you do?”

“I grabbed his balls.”

Clay nodded. “If I’d been there, he wouldn’t
have them. So what happened next?”

“He wouldn’t let me leave and...You’re
getting upset.”

“I’m not upset,” he said in a quiet tone. His
voice belied his eyes where shadows gathered, turning his eyes
almost black and so cold she shivered.

“It’s no big deal.”

“What happened next?”

Jackie looked away, unable to meet his eyes.
“He wouldn’t let me leave so I made up the story about being
undercover.”

Clay grabbed a pad and pen. “What’s his
address?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Fine.” He tossed the pad down and twirled
the pen. “I can find out myself.”

“Oh, leave him alone. He didn’t have much to
grab.” She wanted to make light of the situation, to show she was
in control. She didn’t need his protection, though a part of her
was comforted by it. His presence made the memory less threatening.
“I’m all right now.”

“Hmm.” Clay returned his attention to the TV.
Jackie resisted the urge to lean against him He was the kind of man
that invited that response. You felt you could trust him. She stood
up, suddenly restless, and walked around on the hardwood floor. She
glanced at the green patterned rug that barely matched the green
couch, walked up to the framed poster of a Cezanne landscape. On
close inspection she realized it was a puzzle, as was the Gauguin
on the other wall. She caught sight of an unfinished puzzle in the
corner.

She turned to him. “You’re a puzzle
fanatic.”

“I’m not a fanatic.”

“Why frame them?”

“I like the picture and since I can’t afford
the real thing, this is my alternative.”

She raised a brow. “What’s the picture in
your bedroom?”

“
Attack of the 50 Foot Woman
.”

“Really?”

He grinned. “I enjoyed putting that
together.”

“I’m sure you did.”

“I flip it over to a van Gogh when I have
company.”

“You’re a sly one. I should be nervous.”

He sent her a glance that made her entire
body tingle. “Yes, you should be.”

She walked to a shelf and saw a green stuffed
animal. She picked it up. “Is this supposed to be a dead
parrot?”

“It’s not dead, it’s just resting.”

She frowned, confused. “What?”

“I guess you’re not a Python fan.”

“This is a parrot.”

“No, I—” He caught her grin and knew she was
teasing. “Cute.”

“I know.” She curtsied. “Thank you.”

Someone knocked on the door. Clay crossed his
legs at the ankles, settling farther into the couch. “When you pay,
don’t forget the tip.”

Jackie shot him a glare. “You’re
obnoxious.”

He clicked his tongue. “Name-calling isn’t
nice, little girl.”

She playfully hit him. He grabbed her wrist.
She stiffened, fear leaping into her eyes. He let go. “It’s okay,”
he said gently. “I was just teasing you.”

“Sorry.” She laughed without humor. “I guess
I’m still jittery.” The person knocked again. “Just a minute,” she
called. She grabbed her handbag, then answered.

Clay watched her pay the deliveryman,
wondering what he would do to make Winstead pay. Some men just had
to learn to keep their hands to themselves.

“Let’s sit down to eat,” Jackie said, closing
the door with her hip.

He glanced around him. “I am sitting.”

“At the table.”

He turned to her. “Why?”

“Because I want to talk and I hate talking to
the side of a man’s head while he watches TV.”

“Set the table and call me when you’re
ready.”

“Are you being overtly annoying or just
performing for my pleasure?”

“If this gives you pleasure, I can be a lot
worse.”

“I can imagine,” she muttered as she searched
through his kitchen for the dishes. After setting the table, she
said, “Dinner is ready.”

He sat and noticed she’d given him the
ineffective plastic knife and fork while she had steel ones. He
just smiled and got his own utensils.

“Why did you become an investigator?” she
asked, digging into her chicken penne pasta.

“I sort of fell into it.”

“How?”

“It’s a long and dull story.”

“That’s okay, I—”

“Are you satisfied with your work?” he
interrupted, not wanting to discuss his past.

“What do you mean?”

“Do you think you do any good?”

She thought for a moment. “Depends on the
day. Depends on the person. Some people make progress, which makes
you feel hopeful; others keep failing and make you wonder if it’s
worth it. But I’m not in the business to give up on them even when
they give up on themselves.” She rested her chin in her hand “Why?
Are you not satisfied with yours?”

Not always, but did it matter? A job was a
job. Gabby was dead. So were a lot of other women and many more
would follow every day. Like the senator’s niece who still hadn’t
been found, despite her parents’ pleas and the police search. Some
bastard had killed her and didn’t care. Life was a lot easier for
those who didn’t care. He frowned down at his linguini. “It’s
fine.”

“This is my philosophy,” Jackie said. “Do a
job well, that’s the only thing you can control.” She frowned. “I
really hate it when you smile like that.”

“I can’t help it if I find you amusing.”

“I was being serious.”

“I know. That’s what’s amusing. Your
optimistic view of life.”

“There is nothing wrong with optimism.”

“If you can afford it.”

“The last time I checked, it was free.”

“For you.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Life somehow works for you. I know you have
been touched by tragedy and I would never disregard the level of
your suffering, but somehow you were born with a light inside you
that is so strong nothing could diminish it. Whereas I--” Clay felt
as though he’d always lived in darkness. Like a moth he was drawn
to her light, drawn to the promise of warmth, but he wondered if
maybe her light would be too bright and he’d burn his wings. Or
perhaps his darkness was too fierce for her and would destroy her
light. He looked at his food. “Thanks for dinner.”

To his relief she let the topic drop. “You’re
welcome.”

Once they’d finished eating, she stood and
cleared the dishes.

“Thanks for washing up,” he said

Jackie placed the dishes in the sink next to
the other dishes soaking there. “I wasn’t planning on washing
them.”

Clay pointed. “There’s an apron somewhere in
the cupboard. Wouldn’t want you to get your blouse wet.”

“You can’t force me to wash.”

“Sure I can.”

“I’ll break all your dishes.”

Clay rested back and folded his arms. “And
pay for each one with your sweet little behind.”

“You’d probably like that.”

“Yeah, and so would you. How many times have
you tempted a man to throw you over his knee?”

“Turn around and I’ll show you.”

He did, expecting a crude gesture. Instead
she sprayed him with the hose.

She laughed. “Just one.”

Clay stood, soaking wet. “You will regret
that,” he said, his voice soft with mock threat. He came toward
her.