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“I can understand why. I’m sure you’re very good at what you do.” He propped himself on his elbow so he was gazing down at her. “I’ve never completely gotten over you. You know that, don’t you?”
She had to call it the way she saw it, not the way she wanted it to be. “It’s not me you can’t get over. It’s your guilt about Dean.”
“I know the difference, and you’re the only woman I’ve never been able to forget.”
As she gazed into his eyes, he dropped his head and kissed her again. Her mouth grew soft and giving under his. But when she felt his hand slip between her legs, she remembered Jack’s feelings for her always began and ended in his pants. She rolled out from under him and stood up. “I meant what I said. I don’t do this anymore.”
“You expect me to believe you’ve given up sex?”
“Only with rockers.” She walked over to the step to turn off the music and gather up her things. “I’ve had three long-term relationships since I’ve been sober. A cop, a television producer, and the photographer who got me involved with Heart Gallery. All great guys, and none of them sang a note. Not even karaoke.”
Through the darkness, she saw his softly mocking smile as he rose to his feet. “Poor April. Depriving yourself of all that hot rocker love.”
“Respecting myself. Probably more than you’ve been doing.”
“I know this’ll disappoint you, April, but I stopped being a player years ago. I’ve gotten used to having real relationships.” He picked up the blanket and carried it over to her. “That’s the one thing you and I have never tried. Maybe it’s time we gave it a shot.”
She was so stunned she simply stared at him. He pressed the blanket into her hands, brushed her cheek with a kiss, and left her alone.
At seven the next morning, Dean pulled up behind Nita’s house. He hated knowing he’d hurt Blue yesterday. The only reason he’d shut her out was so he didn’t have to deal with everyone’s questions. How could he explain her to his friends when he couldn’t explain her to himself? He knew how to relate to women as friends or as lovers, but not as both.
A dove flew up from Nita’s birdbath as he made his way to her back door. He let himself in without knocking. Nita sat at the kitchen table in her big blond wig and a garish floral robe. “I’m calling the police,” she said, with more annoyance than anger. “I’m having you arrested for breaking and entering.”
He leaned down to scratch a comatose Tango behind the ears. “Can I have some coffee first?”
“It’s barely seven o’clock. You should have knocked.”
“Didn’t feel like it. Just like you don’t feel like knocking when you come to my house.”
“Liar. I always knock. And Blue is still asleep, so go away and don’t bother her.”
He filled two mugs with Nita’s inky coffee. “What’s she doing in bed this late?”
“I’m sure that’s not any of your business.” Her indignation finally bubbled to the surface, and she stabbed her index finger toward him, a magenta-painted bullet to his head. “You’re breaking her heart. And you don’t even care.”
“Blue’s mad, not heartbroken.” He sidestepped Tango. “Leave us alone for a while.”
Her chair squeaked as she pushed back from the table. “A word of advice, Mr. Hotshot. If I was you, I’d take a look at what she’s keeping under her bathroom sink.”
Ignoring her, he headed upstairs.
Blue wasn’t entirely surprised to hear Dean talking to Nita downstairs. The sun streamed through the balcony doors as she finished zipping up her jeans. She hadn’t been able to deal with him coming over the railing, so she’d slept in the bedroom next to Nita’s. Now he intended to charm his way back into her good graces. Lots of luck.
As she sat on the side of the bed to pull on her sandals, he appeared in the doorway. Blond, hunky, irresistible. She yanked on a sandal strap. “I have a million errands to run before Nita’s party tomorrow, and I don’t want to do this now.”
He set a mug on her bedside table. “I know you’re pissed.”
Pissed was only one part of it, the part that wasn’t hiding secrets. “Later, Deanna. Real men avoid these kinds of discussions.”
“Cut the crap.” His field commander’s voice always took her aback. “Yesterday wasn’t personal. Not in the way you think.”
“It sure felt personal.”
“You think I was embarrassed to introduce you to my friends because of your crappy clothes and generally shitty disposition, but that couldn’t be further from the truth.”
She shot up from the side of the bed. “Don’t waste your breath. I’m not the kind of woman your friends expect Malibu Dean to hang with, and you didn’t want to field all the questions.”
“Do you really think I’m that small-minded?”
