Trouble Me: A Rosewood Novel (3 page)

“Thanks. I have condoms of my own.” He stretched out his hand to return the prophylactics.

Scott crossed his arms over his chest. “Yeah, and they’re probably in an unopened box in your medicine cabinet. You’re supposed to use them, not collect them. Seriously, Rob, the guys and I think—hell, even Uncle Joe agrees—you need to blow off some steam. And other bodily fluids.”

“You know, I don’t often wish I served on a different police force than my father, uncle, and older brother, as well as every other meddlesome cop in Warburg.”

“Meddlesome?” Scott grinned. “That’s harsh, Rob.
We just love you and damned well want you to loosen up. I saw you pull over Mrs. Crawford the other day.”

“She was speeding.”

“For Christ’s sake, Mrs. Crawford is Warburg’s head librarian. Mom ran into her at choir practice. She was practically in tears, mortified that she’d broken the law by driving five miles an hour too fast.” Scott shook his head. “Nailing nice old biddies with speeding tickets indicates that you are in serious need of an intervention.” Grabbing another handful of condoms from his locker, he shoved the packets into the breast pocket of Rob’s button-down shirt. “Okay, now you’re ready to lock ’n’ load.”

“Lock ’n’ load? No wonder your girlfriends don’t stick around for longer than a month.”

“And that’s just fine by me,” he replied, unrepentant. “Variety is the spice of life. Which is exactly what you need. Unbend a bit, little brother, and go find yourself a woman.” A rare solemnity came over his features, banishing his teasing grin. “It’s been five years since you lost Becky, Rob. We know you loved her—we all did. But it’s time to turn the corner. For your sake as well as Hayley’s.”

Five years that could have been five minutes, so large was the gaping hole in his heart, so fresh the pain. But he really didn’t want to talk about Becky with anyone, not even his brother. He stared into Scott’s pale-blue eyes and let the silence stretch.

Scott was wise enough to refrain from pursuing the topic. “Drive safe, and remember to unbend a little.”

“Don’t let Hayley cross the street without holding your hand,” he’d said in reply. On the way out of the locker room, he’d stopped to drop the condoms into the trash bin and found a certain grim satisfaction in Scott’s pained sigh.

The ice cubes rattled against the glass as Rob took another
sip of his bourbon. Thanks to the storm, it looked as if he wouldn’t be testing his family’s displeasure by defying their edict and returning early. It didn’t mean, however, that he was going to start cruising the bar.

Unbend a little
. Scott’s comment still nettled.

What his brother failed to recognize was that Rob had always been a straight arrow. How could he not be when he had his older brothers’ accomplishments to live up to—not just Scott’s but Aaron’s? Aaron worked for the commonwealth’s attorney in Richmond. If their achievements weren’t enough of a benchmark, both his father and his uncle had served as Warburg’s chief of police. Uncle Joe was on his second term.

Since Becky’s death, Rob’s world had narrowed to raising his little daughter and working. What else was there? He’d gone out on a few dates in the last year, mainly to get his family off his back. But the women, every one of whom had been pretty, interesting, and accomplished, had left him unmoved. If he couldn’t feel a damned thing inside, why bother entering into a relationship?

The fact was that, though he loved his mother and his sister, only two women really mattered: One was the sweetest, funniest six—God, make that nearly seven-year-old in the world. The second had been lying in Warburg’s cemetery for five long years. Christ, he missed Becky’s laugh, her smile … her love.

He knew Emma and the other members of his family had a point. It’d be good for him to start dating and let a woman into his and Hayley’s lives. But he couldn’t believe he’d ever find one as wonderful, as sweet and kind and loving, as Becky had been. For his daughter’s sake he’d try—just not tonight.

With the storm blasting Norfolk, the hotel’s bar was doing a brisk business, but Rob wasn’t inclined to mingle or approach any of the women sitting at the black
lacquered tables, leaning back against the red suede banquettes, or swaying to the music on the dance floor beneath a twinkling mirrored ball. His bourbon was fine company.

He drained his glass. Setting the tumbler on the counter, he glanced over at the bartender to order a second drink. An exercise in futility. The guy’s gaze was riveted on the bar’s entrance. Whoever had just walked in must be pretty fantastic. Since it was clear Rob wasn’t going to be getting another bourbon anytime soon, he decided to take a look himself.

Magnetic
was the first word that came to his mind; within seconds she’d drawn every male eye in the bar to her.
Trouble
was the second. A woman who looked like this, slim and yet curvy in all the right places, with sun-streaked hair that fell past her shoulders in thick waves, and with a walk that was bold yet carried sensual promise in each step, could only cause mayhem. White jeans encased legs long enough to put a smile on most men’s faces. Thanks to the high-heeled, silver-strapped sandals she sported, those legs were even longer. A corner of Rob’s brain registered the fact that it was likely they’d be as long as his—definitely long enough to make a man’s mouth go dry.

The top she wore, some sort of printed tank, wasn’t terribly revealing. She didn’t need to flaunt her charms. Hinting was all that was required. And, yes, underneath the patterned fabric she was deliciously rounded exactly where it mattered, and as lithe as a young cat everywhere else. Every guy in the bar was doubtless thinking how much he’d like to stroke her until she purred.

In the wrong place, a woman this hot could start a riot.

The dynamite package only got more explosive as she neared and Rob took in the lushness of her lips and the high slash of her cheekbones. Passion and drama.
The subdued lighting made it difficult to determine the color of her eyes, but he figured they must be light, probably blue.

Becky’s eyes had been brown and as large and innocent as a doe’s. The thought had him turning away. But not before he’d noted that the woman was heading toward one of the empty bar stools. The bartender, recovering enough wits to realize that he was about to get caught ogling her, managed to drag his gaze away long enough for Rob to signal for another round.

It was Rob’s second nature, as a cop, to listen and observe. And, despite his previous indifference to the women in the bar, he found himself studying this one. Her outfit was sexy but not overtly so; she’d entered the bar alone but didn’t appear to be on the prowl. After ordering a Tom Collins with an easy smile for the bartender, she’d begun nibbling on the Japanese rice crackers without sparing so much as a glance at the other patrons. Of course, with looks like hers, she didn’t need to check anybody out. The men would come to her, unable to resist.

And not too far from the dance floor, there was a large table of guys. He thought they might be with the other conference—something to do with pharmaceuticals—that was being held at the hotel. One of them had already mustered the courage to approach, while the others around the table monitored his success, their expressions a mix of glee and envy.

This was going to be interesting.

T
HESE RICE
cracker things were addictive, Jade decided. They had a nice little wasabi martial-arts kick. When she got to Rosewood she’d have to get some for Jordan. If she was super-clever, she might even manage to tempt Margot into sampling one or two. Margot’s self-discipline when it came to steering clear of any foodstuff that wasn’t blue-ribbon health-certified was prodigious. Jade planned to someday exert a little self-discipline in that area too, but until then, gorging on junk food and watching Margot freak out was a lot of fun. Travis wasn’t the only one who could get Margot’s heart thumping, though obviously his approach was a little more involved.

Content, she popped another cracker into her mouth and then took a sip of her Tom Collins, which was deliciously tart. The bartender had added extra lemon, as she’d requested. Amazing what a good drink and a decent bowl of crackers could do for a body, she thought with a smile of satisfaction, as she raised her glass and took another slow sip of her cocktail.

It was then that she noticed a guy standing about four inches from her elbow. She kept the glass to her lips, hoping he’d place his order and wander off. When he didn’t, she realized he wanted to talk. Her first impulse was to sit there and chugalug her drink, because she didn’t want to deal with anyone right now. But getting blitzed would be stupid.

With a sigh, she lowered her glass, reaching for more of those crackers as she did—the bartender was doing a great job keeping the bowl full for her. Nice of him to be so useful.

She couldn’t say the same about the guy standing next to her. From the corner of her eye, she’d seen that he was staring at her with annoying gob-smacked wonder, as if he was Adam and God had just fashioned her. Sorry to disappoint, but Jade had no intention of being his Eve. She redirected her gaze to the row of brandies lining the wall opposite her and began reading their labels. It was never too early to think of Christmas. Owen might enjoy a really fine brandy as a present.

“Hi, can I buy you a drink?”

The guy was definitely lacking in perception. She held up her glass. It was three-quarters full. “No, thanks.”

“How about a dance?”

“I’m kind of tired.”

“Well, how about I take this seat here and we can kick back and relax? Get to know each other.”

Jade had a sudden wish for her mom’s engagement ring, which she’d inherited. It was a big, flashy hunk of rock. Very much an “I’m taken” ring, and so like her dad to have bought it for the woman he loved. And though Jade hated the hypocrisy of what it was supposed to have symbolized, given her mother’s infidelity, she sometimes slipped it on her left hand when she didn’t want men hitting on her.

Of course, the ring was at Rosewood. She wasn’t going to risk having such an expensive bauble lost or ripped off from the dorm in which she’d been lodged down in Florida. She might need to sell it one day.

She couldn’t believe it, but the guy was
still
standing by her elbow. Had he no pride? “You know, I’m really not interested in company.”

“Really?”

She managed not to roll her eyes. “Really.” For good measure, she shoved about four crackers in her mouth at once and chewed busily. If he suggested any more nifty ideas about what they could do together, she’d make sure to give him a cracker-coated toothy smile. A neat trick she’d picked up from her nephew Max. The kid could do a Goldfish-encrusted grin like nobody’s business.

Luckily, the guy got the message and left. Unluckily, another one appeared by her side a minute later—and by then she’d already washed the crackers down with a sip of her drink. Bad timing. One gunk-filled smile would have sent him scurrying away from the bar.

The second guy was hardly more imaginative than the last, performing the same song and dance as his predecessor about buying her a drink. Then, as if this might wow her, he told her how pretty her eyes were.

“They’re, like, so green.”

And so is grass
, she replied silently.

Did men who were total strangers actually think she was going to be wowed if they complimented her looks? She wasn’t that shallow. What she’d like was for a man who truly knew her to still believe she was beautiful. That would take some doing.

Of course, being attractive to the opposite sex had its uses. Jade wasn’t above using her looks to her advantage when she was interested in a guy. After all, a woman had her needs. But if she had to rank abilities, she’d place being able to whistle piercingly through her teeth or being able to do forty really good push-ups in a row far higher than possessing the requisite physical charms to appeal to a man.

Right now her interest in appealing to the male species, especially the ones who seemed to be migrating toward the bar, was in the negative integers.

She managed to rid herself of the second hoverer with
a “Listen, I’m not in the mood to talk tonight. Do you mind?”

His retreat allowed her to take a few sips of her Tom Collins in blessed peace.

By the time number three made his way to her side, any atom of goodwill on Jade’s part had evaporated, particularly since she’d realized that all the guys hitting on her came from one central, obnoxious source: a large table packed with alcohol-fueled morons. They must be holding some kind of competition to see who could land her, as though they were contestants on the Fishing Network and she was some juicy bass.

What was worse was that people were starting to notice.

She stiffened on the stool when number four swaggered over. Like his gait, the rest of him was more determined and aggressive than his previous drinking buddies had been. He doubtless believed himself a serious ladies’ man; she smelled his cologne before he’d gotten within five feet of her. With a quick sidelong glance, she saw a black shirt that was unbuttoned one too many buttons, revealing a sun-baked chest adorned with gold chains. Nearly blinded by the flash of his toothy smile, she decided she’d seen more than enough. She turned her head to stare at the selection of vodkas lining another section of the wall.