Dead End (20 page)

Where he could make sure she wasn
’
t vulnerable?
Reb looked for signs that he was joking. His serious, fabulous face showed he really didn’t know just how vulnerable she was, to say nothing of what might happen to her resolve if she was staying in his home. “I have to be strong,” she told him. “People expect it of me.”

“You know I can’t let you stay here alone, don’t you?” he asked. “You and Gaston will be with me until I’m certain there’s no more danger.”

He didn’t know what he said. “You’re very kind, but I must remain in town in case I’m needed. My patients rely on me to be here for them. It’s a rare night when I’m not called out.”

“I noticed. They take advantage of you.” He mouthed,
Sorry,
and said, “You can be called out at my place and I’ll drive you where you have to go.”

“Too far. It would take too long to get where I had to go. But thanks.”

“So you usually go on that motorbike? Even in the middle of the night?”

“Yes.”

“Not anymore, you don’t. Next time a thug decides to rearrange your wheels, you could be riding them.”

“This is a waste of time. I’m very grateful for your concern, even if it does come from left field. I’m careful—I look after myself.”

He got up, and pulled her to her feet. “You are a gutsy woman, brave, and sometimes you’re an ass.”

Marc had never been one to sugarcoat his feelings, but he could be going a little far this time.

“Hear me?” He held her hands firmly. “All this wait-and-see, and trying to tell yourself this will all go away if you just carry on business as usual—it’s irrational.”

“You don’t know that,” she told him and wished she weren’t wearing something so flimsy. She felt exposed. “We can all find trouble if we look for it. What’s wrong with the idea of not looking for it.”

“You and I don’t have to look for it, it already found us—or am I imagining things?” His steady gaze made her want to look elsewhere.

“It went away before,” she said, and could have kicked herself for sounding so simplistic. “And there’s something else: what if the flurry around me now is meant to divert attention from what’s really happening? I could be a decoy.”

“You could be right,” he said. “I hope you are. But if this guy really is your rubber killer, he’s reminding you what he’s capable of and how easy it would be to get to you.”

To Reb’s disgust, she trembled, and when she tried to hold herself rigid, her teeth chattered loud enough for her to hear them.

“What can he want from me? There haven’t been any notes—just a steady campaign to scare me.”

“Damn it all,” Marc said suddenly. “No one is going to do this to you, not without going through me. From now on, until this is over, the shadow you see on the wall will be mine.”

She took his hands to her lips and kissed his knuckles, each one, carefully. Turning his palms up, she brushed her lips against first one, then the other. Then Reb let him go and turned to walk away.

Before she’d taken her first step, Marc caught her about the waist and planted her in front of him again. When they were growing up he had seemed so big and strong. Then, at Tulane, she’d seen that he wasn’t only tall, broad, and physically powerful—he was also handsome in a way that turned heads. Now, in his thirties, she would describe him as imposing, a virile man in every way. And his looks had only become more striking. She’d already seen how the heads still turned.

He was staring into her face, but she wouldn’t look back.

“You think you can kiss my hands like that and walk away without a word?” he said.

“There isn’t anything to say,” Reb told him. “The last person I expected to see back in Toussaint was you. Sometimes you have a way of making me like you so much. Your loyalty shakes me. It makes me feel close to you.”

He took a step backward, and they both heard something crunch under a heel. Marc grimaced and picked up Reb’s flattened pen. “Sorry about that.” He offered it to her, but she wrinkled her nose and put her hands behind her back.

“Trouble brought me here.” The pen missed the wastepaper basket.
“
Damn,
I’m losing my touch. Your trouble makes what I intend to do more difficult.”

“I’m sure it does,” Reb told him. “You never expected to see me at all, let alone discover I’m involved in what you came for.”

He pulled her closer and gathered her hair at the nape of her neck. “You could say that. But I’m managing to adjust—and like it.”

“Finding Amy and establishing that she is who I say she is will be the simplest part. Tracking down her killer will be hell. When this town senses an outside threat to one of its people, it turns inward on itself. Loyalty is a good thing, but if it’s not reasoned through, it can be dangerous. My family is already disliked in Toussaint, and most of the people who live in the town won’t believe I’m not here to interfere in their lives.”

“They’ll get over it. I’m planting positive seeds wherever I can. But you can’t walk around telling your theory about what happened at St. Cecil’s to anyone who will listen.”

“Try me.” He stroked her sides with his fingertips, and she felt like telling him he had a week or so to stop.

“I don’t want to try you,” she told him. “How many people already know what happened at Pappy’s when we were there? Every word will be spread all over. Just this once, would you humor me and be careful, please?”

He looked downward and said, “The only good part of all this is that we met again.”

Reb flushed. Could she believe the things he said—about the two of them? When she’d first seen him at Cyrus’s house, her heart had thumped so hard she’d wanted to sit down where she was. And each time they’d been together since his return she’d felt the same shock. Yet she didn’t want him to go away again. If he told her right now that he’d decided he wanted nothing further to do with the town, or with her, and that he’d decided not to continue his search for his sister, Reb wasn’t sure just how long it would take for her to get over him.

“Did you hear what I said?” he asked.

She crossed the robe more firmly around her and made much of tying the sash into a bow.

“Damn it, Reb.”

“I heard what you said. Thank you, Marc.”

“Thank you, hm? Like, thank you, but don’t expect me to change my opinion of you? Is that it?”

“It’s not the way you make it sound.” If Gaston rolled on his side he might fall off the desk. “Excuse me,” she said and went to the dog. She lifted him and put him in a comfy chair. He wiggled a little, but didn’t wake up.

“A dog’s life, huh?” Marc said. “Would you consider taking in a second one. He’s housebroken and follows commands most of the time. Of course, we wouldn’t be signing any long-term contracts. Thirty days’ notice of the intent to sever relations—on either side—should do it.” He’d followed her and stood behind her while she looked down at Gaston. “My requirements can easily be spelled out. Food is good. Walking in a park is great. I’d prefer it if you waived the bit about going outside to relieve myself. Your neighbors might complain.”

Reb crossed her arms tightly and kept her back to him. “Just how big would this dog be?” He was making a joke out of this, so why did his “thirty days’ notice” tighten her throat?

A single finger, slowly running the length of her spine, caused her eyes to close.

“Pretty big,” Marc said, and his voice sounded different. “About six foot two standing on his hind legs. Probably a hundred eighty-five pounds. And if you rub his belly and kiss his nose, he’ll follow you anywhere.”

He put an arm around her waist and eased her to lean against him.

He bent to settle his face against her neck. His breath shifted her hair, and she felt the roughness of his beard on her skin.

“Marc,” Reb said softly. “I’m not going to lie and say I don’t want this, but we don’t have a past together. We won’t have a future, either. Even mentioning one is ridiculous. You’ll do whatever you came to Toussaint to do, then you’ll go back to New Orleans and keep on designing beautiful buildings.”

“I can work well wherever I am. My plans are up in the air.”

In other words, he might or might not be around long, and the risk of both hurting and embarrassing herself shouldn’t get in the way of his need—no matter how temporary. Marc needed a woman, and she was convenient. He liked her, she knew that. She was also a challenge to him, and Marc Girard had a history of wanting whatever seemed out of reach.

He spun her around and kissed her jaw as if he hadn’t heard a word she’d told him. Lightly enough to singe her nerves, Marc stroked her from jaw to décolletage—and let his hand rest there.

She pushed the fingers of her left hand through his hair. It sprang into place again as her touch passed.

“We’re both involved in the same struggle,” he said and crossed his arms behind her back. “The people who are after you will have my name on their list by now. Doesn’t it make sense for us to stick together?”

She couldn’t pretend she wouldn’t enjoy having someone close to rely on, or that the only person she truly wanted with her wasn’t Marc. But neither could she accept his offer. It would be easy to do, but some of her reasons for not doing so wouldn’t be understood by Marc. She lived in a little town where she was relied upon not just to treat ills but to be an available listener. Now would be a bad time to jump into bed with a man so many of the locals distrusted. Not that anytime in the foreseeable future would be a good time.

“I’m not trying to rush sex with you,” Marc said, and Reb chuckled.

“You’re laughing at me,” he said, sounding aggrieved. He eased away from her—the minutest distance—and settled a strong but gentle hand at either side of her face.

He was going to kiss her.
Or he would if she didn’t stop him.

“Reb.” Marc placed his cheek against hers. She heard him swallow, and breathe none too steadily. “Can we work together on this?”

Her very physical responses to him disturbed Reb. If it were possible to blush inside one’s head and body, she’d be sure that’s what was happening to her now. And the region of her heart ached. There were other sensations that were one hundred percent sexual. She burned with wanting Marc.

He watched his own fingers in her hair. “Did you ever get close to being married, Reb?”

“No. I’ve had boyfriends. One or two of them…well…The past needs to stay where it is—past. We move on, or we do if we’re healthy.”

“Maybe I’m not healthy,” he told her with a naughty-boy grin. “I have a past, and no matter what you say, you’re a part of it. For that I’m grateful. I’m not saying I’ve lived like a monk, just that things never turned out for a long-term commitment. Probably my fault.” She wanted to respond, but any step she took now could turn her life into a maze, not that it didn’t already seem too complicated.

Reb had never knowingly hurt someone, but if Marc meant even part of what he’d said to her, she’d have to put distance between them. Her life was in Toussaint, but Marc would never live here again. There was no point in starting something.

“We don’t have important memories together.”

His lips parted, and she was pretty sure she wouldn’t like what he intended to say. “We could start changing that.” Only the dimpled smile saved the comment from sounding oily. “Maybe we started already. There’s no way to see the future, but it’s likely to come just the same. When it does, even you won’t be able to say there’s nothing between us that’s worth remembering.”

Reb plucked at his shirtsleeves. He concentrated on her mouth and began closing the gap between them. The tanned skin on his face drew tight over sharp bones. His dark eyes gleamed.

“Are we going to help each other?” she asked.

“Only seems sensible to me, cher.”

“Me, too. I think. But that means we can’t be too close—unless we’ve got somethin’ urgent to share, or somethin’ interesting relating to what we hope to do. Sex and business don’t mix.”

“The hell they don’t,” Marc said “Relax. We’re not doin’ anything more than keeping each other company on a lonely night.”
Company
had a whole heap of meanings.

Wind picked up and turned into a manic noisemaker. Just that suddenly, the windows rattled in their frames and a whistling set up through the trees.

Marc caught the flicker of Reb’s eyes as her attention switched from him to the weather, and bought him a few seconds to regroup. He was almost sure she was going to ask him to go home.

“You need to get home.”

He saw a new career ahead of him: Marc Girard, Clairvoyant.

“I don’t want to go.” Some risks were worth taking. “But if you really don’t want me with you, just say the word.”

She said, “That’s not fair.”

Marc kissed the corners of her mouth, slowly. Reb squeezed her eyes shut and he parted her lips with his tongue. He ran a fleeting path just inside and felt a subtle change in her. She was responding to him.

Marc nibbled her bottom lip and sucked lightly. The already dim room grew darker, didn’t it? Changing the angle of his face, he opened both of their mouths wide. He reached, and she met him. The moment was wild, then desperate. For an instant he paused, his mouth almost relaxed on hers, catching his breath, but she didn’t allow him more than that moment.

He lost track of how long they’d been kissing. However long, he wasn’t ready for it to be over.

Raising his head, Marc looked down at her. “Want to stop?” he asked.

“No,” she told him, and she sounded certain.

“What then?”

“Surprise me,” she said and wrinkled her nose. “My stomach just flipped. That was a stupid thing to tell you.”

“I kind of liked it,” he said, leaning to openly size up her body. “Maybe that’s because I’m a man.”

Reb laughed aloud.

“Laugh away, cher.” With one smooth motion, he untied her robe and pushed it from her shoulders and arms. “There are differences between the male and female mind.”

Reb choked and asked, “Is there a punchline to these revelations?” She folded her arms over her breasts.

“There is.”

She plucked at the neck of her nightgown. Suddenly the signals she sent weren’t so clear.