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Ignoring him, she kicked off her sandals, pulled on her scuffed black biker boots, and headed downstairs.
“That’s just juvenile,” he said as he took in her footwear.
“Are you ready to go or not?”
“I don’t think I’ve ever met a woman more afraid of being female. When you see that shrink—”
“Don’t start. It’s my turn to drive.” She held out her hand, palm up, and nearly choked as he passed over the keys without arguing.
“I understand,” he said. “You need to assert your masculinity.”
He’d scored way too many verbal hits today, but she was so entranced with the idea of driving the Vanquish that she let this one pass.
The car performed like a dream. She’d watched him maneuver the paddles on the transmission, and he only winced a couple of times before she got the hang of shifting gears. “Head for town,” he said as they reached the highway. “Before we eat, I want to pay an unfriendly call on Nita Garrison.”
“Now?”
“You don’t seriously believe I’m going to let her get away with this? Not my style, Bluebell.”
“I could be missing something, but I don’t think I’m exactly the best person to go see Nita Garrison with you.”
“Which is why you’re waiting in the car while I charm the old bat.” Without warning, he reached over and started playing with her earlobe. Her ears were incredibly sensitive, and she nearly drove off the road. Just as she opened her mouth to tell him to keep his hands to himself, he slipped something into the tiny hole. She glanced into the rearview mirror. A purple droplet winked at her.
“It’s all in the accessories,” he said. “I’ll do the other one when we stop.”
“You bought earrings for me?”
“Had to. I was afraid you’d show up wearing lug nuts.”
Suddenly, she had her own fashion stylist, and it wasn’t April. She wondered if he saw the connection. His contradictions added to her fascination. A man with such over-the-top masculinity shouldn’t love beautiful things so much. He should only love sweaty things. She hated when people refused to fit into pigeonholes. It made life murky.
“Unfortunately, those aren’t real stones,” he said. “My shopping options were limited.”
Real or not, she loved them.
Nita Garrison’s stately home sat on a shady street two blocks from the downtown area. Built of the same tan crab orchard stone as the bank and the Catholic church, it had a low, hipped roof and a formidable, Italianate facade. Stone pediments topped nine large, double-hung windows—four on the ground floor and five above, with the one in the middle wider than the rest. The grounds were almost too well maintained, with severely delineated beds of ruthlessly trimmed shrubbery.
Blue pulled up in front. “Cozy as a penitentiary.”
“I stopped by earlier, but she wasn’t home.” His arm brushed the back of her neck and his opposite thumb grazed her cheek as he slipped the other earring in her lobe. She shivered. It felt more intimate than sex. She forced herself to break the spell. “I’ll share if you want to wear them for part of the evening.”
Instead of returning her volley, he rubbed the earring and her lobe gently between his fingers. “Very nice.”
She was about to expire from lust when he let her go. He opened the door and stepped out, then leaned down to peer back in at her. “This car had better be sitting here when I come out.”
She tugged on the purple earring. “I wasn’t going to strand you. Just a quick spin around the block to keep from getting bored.”
“Or not.” He shot her with the old index finger pistol.
She leaned back in the comfortable seat and watched him walk up the path to the front door. A curtain fluttered in a corner window. He pressed the bell and waited. When no one answered, he pressed it again. Still nothing. He rapped on the door with his knuckles. She frowned. Nita Garrison wouldn’t take well to that. Had he forgotten Blue’s arrest four days ago?
He came back down the front steps, but her relief was short-lived because, instead of giving up, he took off around the side of the house. Just because Nita was elderly and female, he thought he could badger her. She’d probably already summoned her private police force. Garrison wasn’t Chicago. Garrison was the stuff of Yankee nightmares, a small southern town with its own set of rules. Dean would end up in jail, and Blue would never get her dinner. She was struck by an equally alarming thought. They’d impound his beautiful car.
She jumped out. If she didn’t stop him, the Vanquish would end up in one of those police auctions. He was so used to his famous name unlocking every door that he thought he was invincible. He’d completely underestimated this woman’s authority.
She followed a brick path around the side of the house and found him peering in a window. “Don’t do that!”
“She’s in there,” he said. “I can smell the brimstone.”
