Her Special Charm (12 page)

He knew the futility of arguing with her. He was a quick study. “Your influence, I suppose?”

She shook her head, not about to take the credit for something he'd already possessed. “No, you did it before I met you, otherwise, you would have never placed that ad in the newspaper about my cameo.” She fingered it, making sure it was still there. It was a habit she'd gotten into from the moment she'd put it on. “And then we would have never met.”

“Don't make me get wistful.”

She laughed. He hadn't even come close to sounding gruff. “Can't fool me, Detective Munro. I see right through that bulletproof vest of yours.”

“Right, forgot you're clairvoyant.” Good thing she
wasn't really a mind reader, because he could have gotten slapped for what he was thinking right now.

She was deadly serious in her protest. “Not clairvoyant, just able to see into your soul once in a while.”

He decided to challenge her. In his book, clairvoyants, even beautiful ones, were just another form of fortune tellers. He didn't believe in either. “Okay, what's the view like from there now?”

Her eyes held his for a moment and, had he been superstitious, he would have said that she really was delving into his mind. “You don't want to like me, but you do.”

Her words took his breath away. Because they were dead on target. He decided to push her away, once and for all. For both their good. “Lust,” he corrected tersely, “the word is
lust
.”

If he meant to ruffle her or send her running, he failed miserably. “That's in there, too. But not by itself.”

“You don't know what you're talking about.” He kept staring at her. Maybe she would respond to the truth. “Look, I've got nothing to offer. I couldn't help the three people who meant something in my life. I wouldn't admit to myself what was happening to Tommy until it was too late and as for my ex, she always said I loved my job better than I did her.” The shrug was indifferent. Helpless. Just the way he felt whenever these memories returned to him. Because he could do nothing to change either of the circumstances.

“Truth is,” he told Constance, saying something out loud that he had never even allowed himself to think be
fore, “I was hiding out. I figured if I wasn't around, I couldn't screw up. But I did anyway.” His expression turned deadly serious. What did it take to make this woman back off? To send her running for the hills? Or at least away from him? “Is this the kind of person you want to get mixed up with?”

She could almost feel his pain. That was the curse of being too sensitive, of being able to pick up a vibration. It wasn't just a clever nightclub routine on her part. It was true.

“You have your tenses confused, Detective. I already am ‘mixed up' with you. Don't worry, James,” she added quickly, “I won't ask anything of you that you can't deliver.”

The look on his face was dark. “You already have.”

“But you've delivered, so it doesn't really count now, does it?”

She was light, he was dark. She was hopeful, he knew the world to be devoid of hope. He was better off letting her go.

“Look, Constance—”

Whatever words he was going to offer never made it to the starting gate. Anchoring her hands on either of his shoulders, Constance rose up on her toes to press her lips against his.

The kiss unraveled his thought process to the point that he lost all sense of direction. All sense of purpose except that he needed to savor this kiss if he was going to make it to the end of the day.

Her lips felt like warm honey, pouring into his veins.
Soothing him at the same time that they somehow managed to set him on fire. It was a kiss he wanted to go on forever. But he knew it wouldn't. That made him feel too vulnerable. And he couldn't have that.

“Damn,” he murmured, still holding her in his arms, “but you argue dirty.”

The expression on her face told him that she had no regrets. “Best way to win. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got a carnival to put to bed.”

He looked around and saw the same volunteers she did. “Doesn't look like you have much help.”

She tried to make the best of it. “People don't like signing up for the clean-up crew. There's something exciting about putting it all together and something sad about dismantling it.” She raised her eyes to his and because she could sense what he was about to say, said it before him. “Kind of like a relationship, yes, I know.”

“You really are clairvoyant.”

She held up her thumb and forefinger, a space of an inch between them. “Just a little.”

Well, clairvoyant or not, she was still just one woman and there was a lot to do here. “I suppose you'd like help.”

She grinned. “You've got the sight, too.” And then she turned her eyes to his, disarming him completely. “I'd love it.”

As far as he knew, men and women were created with free will. His had been taken from him and placed in storage. At least as far as his dealings with her were concerned. With a sigh, he went to take apart the stand he'd built less than five hours ago.

 

James had meant to go home once everything was dismantled and put away. Again, he was guilty of miscalculation. If his batting average had boasted these numbers in his job, he would have been back patrolling a beat or looking for work outside the field.

But then, somewhere in the back of his mind, he'd known. Known that when everything had been packed away and the school yard once more returned to its former identity, he wouldn't be going his own way. He'd be going hers.

“Where's your car parked?” He looked around but didn't see anything in the vicinity that he would have guessed belonged to her.

“In the parking garage near my apartment.” He looked at her and she elaborated further. “I caught a ride here.”

He scanned the yard; they were alone. “So, where is this ride of yours?”

“They went home,” she said quite simply, slipping her purse strap on her shoulder.

He wasn't going to let himself get roped in immediately. He made her work for it. “How did you expect to get home?”

Her smile was pure innocence, and he found it utterly irresistible.

“I thought you might take me there.”

“You were that sure I was coming? That I'd stay?”

“Let's just say I had a feeling.”

“And if I got a call and had to leave?”

“But you didn't, did you?” And then, because he continued looking at her and he liked logic, she added, “There are still lots of cabs around here this time of the day.”

It wasn't day, it was almost evening. Twilight was just around the corner. He frowned. “This isn't Park Avenue and you're not superwoman. Things happen to attractive women in this part of the city. Hell, they happen to downright ugly people, too.”

Rather than argue the point, she commented on the part of his words he'd tossed in carelessly. “Nobody's ugly, James. Everyone's got something attractive about them.”

“You really believe that?” Even as he asked, he knew that she did. It was what made her Constance.

“It's what gets me through the day.”

“Anyone ever tell you that you're thinking is off?”

“No, but I suspect you might try while you're taking me home.”

James sighed and began to help her pick up the tool chest she'd brought with her. He didn't like the way she had his number. No one ever had before, except Eli. James sighed. It put him at a definite disadvantage.

“W
hy don't we stop at your place first?”

The suggestion came out of the blue. For a moment, he thought he imagined it as he was pulling his car away from the curb.

James glanced at Constance before looking back on the street. The light ahead was turning red and he swore under his breath. You missed one, you missed them all. Seemed to be his luck today.

“Stop at my place? Why?”

She watched the muscle in his jaw tighten and wondered if he thought she was propositioning him. Or if he was reacting to what he presumed was just another invasion of his space. The explanation was a great deal simpler.

“Because I kept you out a lot longer than you figured and Stanley might have to go.”

He'd forgotten about the dog. First time that had ever happened. He felt a sting of guilt and then remembered that he wasn't the only one in this position. “What about your dog?”

She smiled. Her puppy was well taken care of. “I knew this was going to be an all-day thing so I left Felicia with a friend. I said if it got to be too late, I'd just pick her up in the morning.”

He stepped on the gas, racing to reach the intersection before the amber light went red. At this rate, the trip would take twice as long. “And he was okay with this?”

It amused her that James just assumed that her friend was a male.

“She,”
Constance purposely emphasized, “has two little girls and they were more than okay with it. They were in heaven.”

James frowned, thinking. It would be better for him if he just dropped her off at her apartment. But his place was first and although Stanley had never once had an accident since the dog had been initially housebroken, there could always be a first time. Unable to withstand an assault of mournful brown eyes, he'd been feeding the dog a lot of cold cuts lately. If Stanley got sick…

“Okay,” he agreed. “I'll make a five-minute pit stop at my place.”

She studied his profile. It was positively rigid. Mountains had more flexibility. She knew she was right about
his feelings of invasion. “I can stay in the car if you'd be more comfortable.”

Damn the woman, why was she always so accommodating? It made him feel guilty for thinking the way he did. “No, it's hot. Wouldn't want you melting all over the passenger seat.”

“Thank you.” When he glanced in her direction, she smiled at him as if she'd known all along it was going to turn out this way.

He muttered something under his breath and kept on driving.

 

Stanley was at the door, close to bolting the second they opened it.

“Guess he does have to go,” James said grudgingly. The woman was right again. But the next second, the German shepherd was bestowing a sloppy greeting on Constance. She would have fallen to the floor if James hadn't reacted quickly and grabbed her. He drew his hands away the second she was steady. He nodded toward the dog. “Sorry about that.”

“Never apologize for a display of genuine affection.”

James felt it was safer not to reply. She had an answer for everything. Instead, he picked up the leash from the floor and held it out to the dog.

“C'mon, Stanley, let's get this over with.” The dog trotted over to him and slipped his head through the loop James had formed with the leash. James glanced at her. “You can stay here until I get back.”

She didn't feel like being alone just yet. All after
noon, as she'd been working, she was also struggling to keep loneliness at bay. A loneliness that periodically crept out of a dark cave and tried to capture her.

She needed help in lifting her spirits.

Constance stuck her hands into her back pockets, her expression appealing as she said, “If that's just a suggestion instead of an order, I'd like to come along.”

Rocking back on her heels, she glanced around the apartment. The shambles begged for some kind of organization. If he left her here alone, she'd have to start cleaning in order to keep back her loneliness. She had a hunch he wouldn't be too happy about that.

Blowing out a breath, James recognized her offer for what it was—the best alternative. Left to her own devices, she'd undoubtedly clean his apartment and he'd probably never find anything again.

He jerked his head toward the door, silently indicating his choice. With a soft laugh, she fell into place beside him.

After riding down the elevator, they took to the street with the dog between them, the leash taut because Stanley was eager to cover every inch of ground ahead of him.

A walk. Nothing more, just a walk with a dog and a woman at dusk. It was probably one of the simplest acts in the world and yet damn if it didn't feel right to him. As if this were what had been missing from his life.

Normal.

The word shimmered before him like a heretofore unreachable prize. There had been a time when he would have given anything to have an average, normal life, but that hope had faded along with his childhood.
And now, out of the blue, here was a woman whom he would have called anything but average, creating the illusion for him.

It was an illusion, wasn't it?

He didn't know.

“So, what did you do today, Stanley?” she asked the dog just before they came to the corner.

The animal looked over his shoulder at her, as if contemplating an answer.

The Walk sign lit up and they hurried across. “You're one of those people who thinks dogs understand us when they talk to them, aren't you?”

The way he said it, it sounded almost like an accusation. Didn't he believe in anything?

“They do understand us. It's like with a baby. If you talk to them enough, they wind up learning the language.” And then she smiled knowingly. “I don't suppose that was ever your problem, talking a lot.”

He didn't like the way she just took things for granted about him. He especially didn't like the fact that she was right. “You always butt into people's lives and start rearranging things?”

Stanley pulled them to a small clump of green shoots arranged in a tiny area where a square of concrete had been removed. She hurried to keep up. “Never really thought about it. That could be your problem, you know. You overthink things.”

The look he gave her couldn't be defined as friendly. “My only problem, as I see it, stands about five-four and has blond hair.”

Very slowly, Constance shook her head from side to side, her eyes never leaving his. “That's not your problem.”

Standing back while Stanley investigated previous visitors to the small square, James watched her. Behind Constance, the moon was beginning to take its place in the sky, casting probing silver fingers through the gathering night. He tried not to notice that there were things going on inside of him, reactions occurring that shouldn't be. But were.

A lot she knew, he thought.

 

The moment James walked across the threshold into his apartment, he knew.

Knew he wasn't driving her home tonight.

He couldn't struggle any longer against this need that had been his steady, tormenting companion since he'd first kissed her. He wasn't going to bed, to lie awake wanting her.

Not tonight.

Tonight he'd stop being strong, stop pretending he was a man of iron and allow himself to be made of flesh and blood. Turning, he looked into her eyes and saw that she knew it, too.

Holding his breath, telling himself he was insane, he reached behind her and closed the door. The movement brought him close to her. So close he could feel her breath on his chest. Could taste her desire.

Or was that just his engulfing them both?

Everything felt tangled up, especially him.

He moistened his dry lips, searching for his resolve. His control. He went on searching. “I should take you home.”

There was no conviction behind his words.

She was afraid to breathe, afraid that what was shimmering before her would be pulled away, like some prize on an invisible string. “You are home,” she told him quietly.

“You know what I mean.”

“Maybe better than you,” she murmured.

He didn't doubt it. She seemed to be one step ahead of him all the time.

“You're in my head.” It was both an accusation and a description. Because she'd been in his head almost constantly of late. Appearing before him like some kind of mirage. Making him ache. Driving him crazy. Just how much was a man supposed to take and still continue living his life?

Hope flared all through her. Constance glanced up into his eyes. “Am I, James? Am I really?”

“Yeah.” His tone wasn't friendly. He was fighting for his life. “And I wish you'd get out.”

Let me in, James. Let me in.
She didn't move back. She hardly took a breath. Afraid of chasing away the moment. Chasing away the promise. “I'm not responsible for what you're thinking.”

He didn't know about that. “Yes, you are. You're some kind of witch, a beautiful blond, Southern witch who's cast some kind of spell over me. And I don't like it,” he insisted. He felt as if he were fighting for his san
ity. “I don't like thinking about you all the time.” He decided to tell her exactly what was on his mind. Hoping it would scare her away. Because God knew he didn't have the strength to push her away. “Wondering what it would be like to have you, to peel those clothes off you a little at a time and run my hands over your body.”

She could almost feel them on her and the excitement that generated heated her body. “Hands-on experience is always the best,” she counseled, her voice low, husky, shredding the last of his self-control so that he had nothing to hold on to.

He tried one last time to save himself. And her. He nodded toward the door. “I won't stop you if you wanted to leave.”

She didn't even look. The door was a million miles away. “I'm not leaving.”

Unable to hold back any longer, he took her into his arms, his body heating to a temperature he was certain would incinerate him within a few moments. Putting him out of his agony.

“Then this is on your head.”

Her heart already hammered wildly beneath the thin cotton tank top. Like James, she was afraid of what was ahead of them, of her. But she recognized it as a good fear. A fear that made her risk herself. A fear that told her if all went well, there would be a reward far greater than she'd anticipated.

“Yes,” she told him, “it is.”

Maybe she didn't understand, hadn't understood him earlier when he'd told her that he had nothing to offer
her. That three of the four people who had ever mattered to him were either dead, or disillusioned and gone.

“Constance—”

She didn't want to talk anymore. Constance pressed her body against his. “James, if you don't kiss me now, I swear I'm going to explode.”

It was exactly the way he felt.

“Can't have that.”

Without another word, James brought his mouth down to hers.

Until he did, he hadn't realized the full extent of just how much he'd wanted to kiss her. Everything came together in that single moment in time. Almost as if he became another person. Someone lighter, someone happy even.

His mouth slanted over hers again and again, each time James lost himself a little more. And found himself renewed. He could feel his need for her, his need to make love with her, coursing through his veins. Hardening his body. Desire sent a rhythm pulsing through him that only seemed to increase.

Finding the snap at the top of her jeans, just below her belly button, he flicked it apart with his thumb and forefinger. For the time being, he resisted the temptation to slip his hand between the thicker material and her underwear. To touch her tantalizing skin.

Instead, he slid her jeans down her taut, slender hips. He felt her wiggle ever so slightly between his palms, sending his pulse soaring.

The scrap of material she wore was a thong, and this
information registered in the distant recesses of his brain, setting the rest of him on fire. James pressed her against himself, absorbing her heat into his body, feeling weak and powerful at the same time.

He was afraid that if he gave in to the appetites churning inside of him, he would hurt her. Yet he wanted to go fast in order to satisfy this huge, gnawing hunger that ravaged him. But he knew that would frighten her. It damn well scared the hell out of him. He was just barely able to hang on to his own courage as he pushed forward.

When she placed his hands on either side of her hips and guided them down along her body, taking her thong down along with them, he thought he was pretty damn sure he was going to swallow his own tongue.

The next moment, breathing hard, Constance was stripping away his T-shirt. Her long, cool fingers slid along his belly as she worked the snap open on his jeans.

It came undone. Her eyes met his, but he couldn't read them. His gut tightened as she urgently tugged away the denim material from his hips and down his thighs. He kicked his jeans aside. His briefs followed.

The next moment, molding her against himself, they both tumbled onto his sofa.

She was still wearing her tank top and bra and it was all he could do not to tear them off her. Steadying his hands as best he could, he pulled off one, unclasped the other.

And then she was naked.

As naked as he was. As naked as the desire that beat wildly in his chest.

He kissed her again, hard, as if his very life hung in the balance. All the while his hands roamed over her, touching her, exploring her. He brought his mouth down to kiss every newly freed inch of her. Like a man who had been on a hunger strike and had suddenly been locked in a restaurant overnight, he wanted to be everywhere at once, sampling everything.

He wanted to have her and still hold off. It wasn't easy.

The latter, he knew, would provide more pleasure for her, so he did his best to rein himself in. Because it wasn't just about him. This was about her. About Constance. She had brought him to this place with her mouth that was so quick to laugh and her eyes that saw right through him. Right into him.