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Camille narrowed her eyes. "Probably won't or definitely won't?"
Sighing, Willow rolled her eyes. "Definitely won't." But even as she spoke the words, a little something wilted and died inside her.
Her cousin's shoulders fell with obvious relief, but she still sucked her bottom lip in between her teeth as if troubled. "You seriously don't think he's the one? You're not just saying that to make me feel better, are you?"
Willow choked on a laugh. "Dear Lord, no! Trust me, Camy. Deputy Raith Malloy is most definitely not the one for me." Good God, she hoped not. Heaven help her if she ended up falling for a stubborn, arrogant selfpossessed jerk like Malloy. An arrogant jerk who made her heart race and her pulse leap and could wheedle her into a heated debate that had her feeling more alive in his company than she'd ever felt in anyone else's.
"Oh, thank goodness," Camille sighed, letting out a relieved breath. "Because Dylan really despises him. He actually asked me to come and talk some sense into you today."
"He did?" Willow's lips curved. "He was that worried about me, huh? How sweet. Maybe Dylan was supposed to be my Prince Charming."
Her cousin frowned. "Don't even go there."
Willow laughed. "Oh, stop. Dylan would never leave you. And don't worry about Malloy either. He and I won't be happening again."
"Knock on wood," Camille retorted.
"Knock on anything you like, honey. Last night was a onetime fluke. A very pleasant, mind-blowing, erotic fluke, one I won't be forgetting any time soon. But it won't be repeated." Camille stared at her so strangely she actually squirmed. "What?" she asked a little defensively.
"Was it really that good?" Camille asked softly.
Willow almost moaned as the memories caused gooseflesh to prickle her arms. "It was better," she murmured in a husky, nostalgic voice.
"Then maybe he might just be—"
Thank God the phone rang at that very moment, interrupting them, because Willow had this horrible premonition her friend might actually suggest Deputy Raith Malloy was her soul mate.
She eagerly answered. "Goode and Wilson." Due to the sudden racing in her pulse, she barely managed to keep her voice professional. "Willow DeVane speaking."
"You were attacked by one of your clients?" The incredulous voice of her brother exploded through the fiber optic wires, making her wince and pull the phone an inch from her ear. Yes, the entire family definitely knew about what had happened at the jail. But for once in her life, she was more willing to listen to a lecture from Chase than hear preposterous remarks from her best friend.
She waved Camille from the office so she could pay attention to her brother's ranting and raving.
Ten
The Dexter County Theatre, located on MacArthur Avenue, hosted an assortment of events all year around. Typically, local musical talent would provide a concert in the auditorium. But when a traveling theatre advertised their performance of Hairspray, Camille had begged to go.
Dylan hadn't been able to say no to his miserably pregnant wife. But when Camille asked Willow to accompany them, her good friend hadn't been so accommodating. Willow loved spending time with her cousin. But whenever Dylan was around, she always felt like a third wheel. It wasn't so bad in private, when she went over to their place or they came to hers. But in public, it was a lot more prevalent, and she didn't like to play three's a crowd.
Originally, she'd talked Cole in coming as well, as in a double date kind of thing. But DiAngelo wasn't very reliable these days. The first time he'd asked her out, he'd come on strong and been attentive, always willing to escort her to this affair or that. Then he gradually grew to learn it would take him a lot more than a couple of dates to get into her pants, and he'd slowly been backing off, not wanting to put that much commitment into their occasional dat
es. Willow couldn't blame him. She didn't want it that serious between them either. She did miss the public companionship he gave her, though.
Now, as the play let out and a horde of people surged toward the exit, she looked like a pathetic third wheel, especially with Dylan taking Camille's elbow and keeping her steady as person after person bumped into them.
They'd just cleared the door from the main arena when a man in front of them took a big step back to avoid running into someone else and backed into Camille's stomach with enough impact to make her gasp. Willow feared Dylan was going to commit murder. But he merely pushed the guy forward again, making the stranger spin around to glare until he caught sight of the pregnant woman he'd rammed and immediately transformed his rude comment into an apology.
Willow enjoyed the little by-play. She always found it amusing when Dylan went into protective mode. And the poor man was about to blow with the crowd crushing in around them. He put his arm around Camille to muffle the impact of anyone else colliding into her. Willow shook her head.
"You okay?" Dylan asked his wife.
Camille nodded and rubbed a hand over her stomach. "I'm fine. But now I have to go to the bathroom." Her gaze strayed Willow's way.
"Oh, hell no," Willow said. She'd never been the type to group potty. Tonight, the line to the lady's room especially turned her off. "I'm staying here and waiting with Dylan," she stated, standing firm, even when Dylan gave her a scowl for deserting his wife in her time of need. But she refused to budge. The crammed, perfume-infested ladies' room was the last place she wanted to be.
Dylan shifted closer to her as Camille moved to the back of the line. "Wouldn't have killed you to go with her."
"If you want her to have some company, you go with her."
