Undercover Love (The Women of Manatee Bay, Book 2) (13 page)

He couldn’t focus on the service, couldn’t enjoy the soft strains of classical music. Its cadence slid past him. It was Rachel who captured his attention, rather than the bride and groom. She sat toward the back, a beacon of loneliness. He’d never seen that about her. Why? Maybe he hadn’t looked hard enough, but he saw it now. The purse of her soft lips, the starch of her posture. A woman who tried to be an island.

Ask her again
.

A silent whisper in his soul. He swallowed tightly.
Are you sure, God?

Ask
.

Grant took a deep breath and studied Rachel. He wouldn’t deny the attraction he felt for her. If God was giving the go-ahead, Grant would pursue her just like King David pursued his family after they’d been kidnapped by the Amalekites.

Rachel’s gaze met his, and in the small sanctuary he thought he saw a flicker of pain shadow those emerald irises before they tightened into slits.

Grinning, Grant thumbed the pockets of his pants. Let her get riled up. He was in this to win it.

He winked at her.

***

As soon as the wedding party exited the sanctuary, Rachel shot up and squeezed into the aisle. She needed to get out of here.

Grant had winked at her.

Winked
.

It looked like Mr. Smooth intended to pull out the charm. And yet Thursday, he’d been annoyed with her. Distant. Didn’t he realize she couldn’t be captivated by something she didn’t trust? Something so unreliable as attraction? She weaved around a man paused in the aisle talking to a bridesmaid and beelined for the sanctuary doors.

Annette stepped in front of her. Blonde hair sleek and fashionable, it matched her fake smile. “Rachel,” she said in dulcet tones. “I need some help.”

Her fingers closed around Rachel’s wrist. “Some bratty kids popped the balloons.” She pulled Rachel into a pew. “Everyone’s busy with pictures. Can you help blow up some more?”

Rachel disentangled her arm from Annette’s clasp. “I’m sure you can find someone else.”

“But you’re here.” Annette smoothed her silk top.

Normally Rachel would say no, but then she caught sight of Grant striding toward her, a stubborn jut to his chin. Oh, no. A wedding was not the place to spurn his amorous intentions.

She grabbed Annette’s shoulder and pushed her out of the pew. “I’ll do it.”

They escaped the sanctuary before Grant could cut through the throng of people. Annette led her down a darkened hallway and opened a door to the left, revealing a tiny office that smelled strongly of cologne.

“The balloons are there.” Annette pointed to a chair covered with clothes, then turned and left.

Rachel stifled her sigh. How had she gotten into this? Oh, yeah. Running from Grant. She sifted through the unfolded pile of clothes and pulled out a baggie of royal purple and silver balloons. About fifteen total. This wouldn’t take long.

First, she folded faded jeans. Then a Salt Life t-shirt, which obviously belonged to someone who liked to fish. The monster grouper on the back of the shirt sneered at her. She placed the clothing in a neat little pile beside the folding chair.

Watching David and Mary Jane had been more depressing than she’d expected. Knowing they probably wouldn’t make it stifled hope. She shook her head. Sticking a balloon to her lips, she blew it up then snapped it into a knot. One down, fourteen to go. After she finished she’d go home, maybe eat some ice cream.

If there was any left. She picked up a silver balloon and fitted it to her lips. The carton had felt suspiciously light this morning when she’d battled the urge for a few bites. Maggie must have cleaned it out last night. The only cleaning she’d done so far.

Rachel tied her balloon and put it next to the other one. What was she going to do about Maggie? Getting justice for her by exposing the mayor wouldn’t bring back Maggie’s joy. It wouldn’t take the heartbreak she saw thinning Maggie’s lips, stooping her back.

And it certainly wouldn’t fix Rachel’s own unhappiness. After Scott slept with Maggie, Rachel had cut herself off from her sister. Now she didn’t know how to reconnect. How to fix the resentment lodged deep inside.

She’d almost finished with the balloons when a flutter of air brushed past her. Grant stepped inside the room, a crooked smile curving his lips. He shut the door behind him. “Need help?”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

She shrugged, trying to hide the traitorous skip of her pulse. “I’m almost done. Do you need something?”

“Just my clothes.” He pointed to the pile she’d folded and set on the floor.

She watched him come over and pick them up. “I didn’t realize you were a friend of the groom’s.”

“I was in his last wedding.” His eyebrows drew together. “I mean the first one.”

“I know what you meant.” She hesitated, wondering what had happened Thursday after she left the station. If he thought of that encounter now. “You survived Ms. Riccio,” she tried to say off-handedly.

“She’s not so bad.”

Rachel grunted. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“She’s defensive about that case. You get on her bad side.”

“I noticed.”

Grant grinned at her, cheek dimpling.

Rachel couldn’t help but return the smile. His hair had gotten disheveled somehow, probably from some flirt’s fingers, but she liked how it curled over his forehead. A flash of him, joking around at dinner, sparked through her.

It was all those dinners Katrina had begged her to go on that ruined Rachel’s pact to not fall for charmers. Being Alec’s friend, Grant had been there most of the time, telling stories, laughing.

Charming people.

He was generous and kind. Loyal to Alec and their city. He’d been the only policeman who actually cared when Lee was brought in on rape charges, though in the end, even he’d given up fighting for the truth.

Grant hunkered down beside her and grabbed a balloon. “You’re almost done but I can still help.”

She picked up another balloon, not willing to argue. “It was nice of you to agree to be in this wedding.”

His aftershave settled between them, warm and slightly exotic. No Big Red today. “Yeah, well, David begged me. It’s hard to resist him when he gets on a roll.”

“You’re telling me,” she said, thinking of how easily he’d convinced Mary Jane to stay.

“Hope they make it this time.”

“Me, too.” He must have heard the doubt in her voice because his brow arched but he didn’t say anything until his balloon was blown and tied closed.

Then he propped his elbows on his knees and stared at her. She finished blowing up her balloon, trying to ignore the intensity of his gaze.

No such luck. She faced him. “What?”

“You don’t believe a man can change.”

It took her a second to formulate an answer. She’d never noticed how long his eyelashes were, though the blue in his eyes had always reminded her of summer in the Florida Keys. She looked away. “I know people can change. Most don’t.”

“What happened to you? In school you were confident and kind. Now you’re—”

“Bitter?”

“I was going to say sad.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his head cock to the side.

“I’m not sad.” She wet her lips, screwing up the courage to look at him again. “Things happened. Forgiveness isn’t my strong point.” She chuckled, then grimaced at the emptiness of it in the little room.

“Brutally honest. I didn’t realize until recently that it was a quality of yours.”

He was looking at her with compassion in his eyes, admiration in his voice. That spot in her chest, the one she usually tried to ignore, warmed.

“Not many people consider it a quality.”

“Trust me, liars are a penny a dozen. But you . . .” He shifted closer to her. “Why won’t you go out to eat with me?”

“You’re a player, Grant.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, the whole city knows it.” She saw the way his eyes shadowed and she flinched. There was more to him than that. She’d seen his face change when no one was looking. It drew down, hardened into something painful to look at. Something vulnerable. Despite his crooked grin, there were secrets in him that he tried desperately to hide. But it didn’t change the fact that women were like clothes to him.

“The town is wrong. The women I date expect nothing more than a movie and dinner.”

She snorted. “Liz Moyer cried for a month when you didn’t call her back after your second date.”

“That was last year.”

“I know more stories.”

Because he looked so shocked, she rested a hand on his shoulder. “I know there’s more to you than fun and games, but I have a rule about not dating charmers.”

Light sparkled in his eyes, chasing the darkness away. “Are you admitting that I’m charming?”

“I guess.” She crinkled her face at him and picked up the last balloon.

“Good news for you, Miss McCormick. I’m redeemed now. No more flirting.” His teeth flashed.

Rachel flushed. When he acted like this, every wall she’d erected seemed to disappear. And he looked so earnest. So honest. Well, he was a cop. He probably had some sort of moral structure. Something that made her long to believe him. She stuck the balloon to her lips and heaved air into it, twirling the end of the latex into a knot.

“Friday night, Melting Pot?” With his head tilted to the side, he didn’t look so bad. Certainly nothing like Scott the weasel. Her stomach growled, urging her to say yes to his invitation. Sighing, she plopped her balloon on the floor. It half-floated, half-bounced over to a wall. As if it couldn’t decide what to do, just like her.

“I’m sorry, Grant. I need a reason to go out with you. Right now I have too many reasons to say no.”

“Doesn’t sound very nice, Rachel.”

She shrugged. “Hey, you want to date me. You should know I’m not a nice girl.”

He appeared to think her words over, then stood to his feet. “C’mon.” His hands reached down and without thinking she let him pull her up. “Why do you think you’re not nice?”

Talk about being put on the spot. “I was teasing.”

“I don’t think so.”

Belatedly, Rachel realized her hands still rested in his. She drew them away, flustered. How was she supposed to respond to that? Just like people knew he never dated a girl for long, everyone knew she played hardball. She made sure of it.

“Wow.” He grinned and patted her on the shoulder. “You actually don’t know what to say. I think that’s a first.” He crossed his arms and the lines at the corners of his eyes creased. “Just so you know, I only like nice girls. Saying the truth, being bold, you do it in love. The Bible tells us to do that.”

Rachel squirmed. “Using God’s word to rationalize my bad behavior?”

“No, you’re still on the hook for your shady snooping.”

“I told you I’m legit.”

“Sure.”

“I am. But thanks for trying to make me feel better.” A smile tugged at the corner of her lips and suddenly she felt like saying yes. Because she did feel better, thanks to him. God knew she didn’t want to hurt anyone. Acid truth just seemed to drip from her words before she could shut the faucet off.

“I’m not trying to make you feel better. Katrina wouldn’t be friends with you if you were mean-spirited.”

“Katrina would befriend the whole town,” she pointed out.

“So you need proof. I heard that Eric’s boy—”

“I’m not fishing for compliments.”

“You don’t like fishing, do you? How about snorkeling?”

“Love it, but only in the Keys.”

“The Keys are awesome.” He studied her, a crooked smile carving dimples into his clean-shaven cheeks.

Uncomfortable with the longevity of this silly conversation, she crossed the room to pick up some wayward balloons. He was far more persistent than she’d expected. Maybe going on one date wouldn’t hurt so bad. She plucked up two balloons near the wall and faced him.

“All I need is a reason," she found herself saying. "Just one and I’ll say yes.”

His thumbs pushed into the pockets of his tux. He leaned back on his heels, obviously thinking. Was it that hard? It wasn’t like she needed a lot of prodding to go out with him, but of course he didn’t know how she felt. The poor guy had been shot down by her twice already. She frowned. The balloons bobbed beside her.

Grant snapped his fingers, his concentration melting into a Brad Pitt kind of smile. “We both love jazz.”

“Excuse me?”

“Yeah, months ago at dinner I heard you tell Katrina you wanted to go to a Miles Davis concert.”

“He’s my favorite.” She tried to take in the fact he’d paid enough attention to know her music preferences.

“We have that in common.” He crossed the room to her, bending so his face leveled with hers. Her chest constricted. She could see pinpricks of yellow in his irises, could feel the warmth of his breath fluttering near her lips. “Friday night,” he said.

She nodded mutely as he straightened.

“Good.” He tugged at his collar and winked at her. He scooped his clothes off the floor and opened the door. “I’ve got to hit the reception but I’ll call you later.”

***

“He winks so much his eye should have a cramp.” Rachel tossed another silk skirt on the bed and continued rummaging through her closet. Grant had called Saturday night as promised and they’d set a date for the following Friday evening.

Tonight.

“Stop grumbling.” Maggie lounged on Rachel’s bed, blowing on her freshly painted fingernails. “If you don’t like the guy, why did you agree to the date?”

Rachel rolled her eyes. Almost a week later, and she still had no clue. Only that the feelings he evoked were irresistible. They swamped her logic and weakened her control. She slid a crisp black skirt off a hangar and held it up to her waist. “How about this one?”

“Too professional.” Maggie’s forehead wrinkled. “You’ve never been so fussy for a date. What’s up with you?”

“Nothing. I want to feel confident.”

“Do I know the guy? Ouch.” Maggie’s feet jerked off the ground and she scowled. A low grumbling came from beneath the bed. “Could you get rid of that cat? She hates me.”

Maggie the drama queen. Rachel couldn’t resist a chuckle. “Miss Priss doesn’t like your foot by her mouth.”

“How was I supposed to know where her mouth is? I really can’t handle this, Rachel.”

Rachel placed the black skirt on the bed and picked up shirts to be rehung. The cool silk draped over her hands. “Get your own apartment then.”

Maggie didn’t answer that, just kept blowing on her nails. Rachel’s jaw clenched. She was doing her sister a favor, not the other way around. She closed the closet door and then went to the bed. She sank into it, trying to push her annoyance aside.

“Why don’t you have a place to live?”

Maggie’s eyes lifted. Her chin trembled, a tell-tale sign she was upset. Rachel sighed. If she was going to be there for Maggie then she needed to set aside her bitterness over Scott and focus on trying to help her sister recover from the secret tearing her apart.

Rachel reached over and took Maggie’s hand, careful not to smudge her nail polish. “I know in the past I haven’t been there for you. But I want to be now.” Rachel swallowed hard, pushing her misgivings firmly to the side. “You’re welcome to stay here for as long as you need to.”

The green in Maggie’s eyes darkened and Rachel thought she saw a suspicious glint before Maggie pulled her hand away and leapt off the bed. Her sweatpants hugged her figure and Rachel felt some relief. At least Maggie had gained weight living here, even if she’d scarfed down all the ice cream to do it.

“Who’s your date?” Maggie crossed her arms and her face settled into a pixie mischievousness. “Is it Party Joe?”

“You mean Pastor Joe?”

“Whatever. He was more fun in high school. I can’t believe he’s a Christian now.” She said the word Christian as if it represented the lowest life form on the planet.

“Well, he is,” Rachel shot out. “And no, it’s not him. Why would you even ask that?”

“Mom said he likes you.” Maggie’s lips curved into a playful smile.

“He doesn’t.” Why did this keep coming up? He must have looked at her funny once. If this got around town it would be so embarrassing for Joe. He worked hard to keep his reputation unblemished and reputable.

Rachel hugged her ribs, gripping the sides of her shirt so she wouldn’t be tempted to throw anything. She’d talk to him soon. For now, the very idea needed to be nipped. And quick.

“Joe is just a friend. The guy I’m dating is far from pastoral.” She frowned. A little too far. Tonight’s date would be one of the riskiest moves she’d ever made.

Maggie rolled her eyes. “Spit it out. Who is he?”

“Grant Harkness.” Rachel crossed her legs, then jolted when Maggie’s rusty laugh burst through the room. Beneath the bed, Miss Priss yowled.

“What’s so funny,” Rachel snapped.

“Nothing. Just, well, he’s perfect for you.”

Was her sister crazy? “We both like jazz. That’s all there is to it,” she said coolly, knowing her face flushed tomato red. The problem was that she thought he was close to perfect too. When he’d acted like he hated her, she’d never foreseen a date. But now that it was actually going to happen in a few minutes she wasn’t sure what to feel, what to anticipate.

Maggie laughed again, sticking a hip out. “Oh, c’mon. You never dated someone just because you had music in common.”