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“I will. Goodbye.” She turned to get into the car.
“Elle?”
She came back around.
There was no valid reason for him to detain her further except that he didn’t want to say goodbye. He didn’t want to see her drifting away from him like one of her storybook clouds.
She stood very still, her expression inquisitive. And here he was, known for his elocution, unable to vocalize anything. Words would have sounded hollow, anyway. So he did what felt right. He pulled her into an embrace.
There was a split second of surprise and resistance on her part; then she seemed to wilt into compliance. He drew her closer, so close that in order for them to retain their balance, they had to shuffle their feet forward until his were separated only wide enough to bracket hers between them.
Their bodies aligned. Contours shifted to fit into shallow depressions. Then they settled.
Her arms curved under his to encircle his waist. His hands moved in tandem up and down her back; then one slid under her ponytail and molded itself around her nape, while the other stayed in the dip above her hips. And stayed longer. And pressed, securing her front against his where it counted. And from that meeting place, a fever spread.
He lowered his head and placed his lips against the pulse that beat in her temple. He whispered gruffly, “What I have to live with, Elle, is that the bullet I survived killed the love of your life.”
Chapter 13
No sooner had the front door swung shut behind Calder than Shauna appeared, coming from the direction of the bedrooms. “There you are. I was beginning to think you’d lost your way.”
She was wearing a slinky lounging outfit. It was in the style of a track suit, except that it was made of silk and clung so well that it was evident she was wearing nothing underneath.
She linked her arms around his neck and kissed him. He returned the kiss but kept it short and didn’t go back for seconds. He released her and shrugged off his jacket. “Something smells good.”
“It could be me.” She struck a pin-up girl pose. “Is it an exotic floral scent?”
“More like an Italian kitchen.”
“Oh, then it’s Stella’s lasagna. It’s in the warming drawer. But if this new fragrance I’m wearing doesn’t enchant you, as it’s guaranteed to do, I’ll demand a four-hundred-and-fifty-dollar refund from Neiman’s.”
“Don’t get a refund. It’s nice.”
“Thank you. But this proves the adage about the way to a man’s heart. Would you like a drink before dinner? I can pour you a bourbon, or if you’d rather go straight to the Brunello, it’s already decanted.”
“Let me think about it. I’m going to wash up.” He hooked his jacket on his index finger, slung it over his shoulder, and headed across the living area.
“Calder, what thehell?”
He stopped and turned around. It was clear from her tone and stern expression that she was good and pissed because he hadn’t responded to the seduction scene she’d staged: the do-me-now outfit, candles scattered throughout the room, romantic music emanating from concealed speakers.
He said, “I see you’ve gone to a lot of trouble. I appreciate the effort. I do. But I’m just—”
“Just what? As you know, I detest lasagna. It’s fattening peasant food. But I asked Stella to make it because it’s one of your favorites.”
She pinched up the flimsy fabric of her top, then let it go with a snap. “I don’t much care for this outfit, either, but you gave it to me for Christmas because you said you got a boner just thinking about getting me out of it. I dabbed my erogenous zones with that frigging expensive perfume. All this in the hope of sparking some response from you. And you turn your back and walk away. For the love of God, Calder! What is wrong with you?”
He huffed a bitter sound and lowered his head, shaking it. “You mean besides cheating death?”
She threw her head back and looked up at the ceiling. “I know, I know. You got shot. I didn’t. Because it didn’t happen to me, I can’t empathize with what you’re going through, mentally and emotionally.”
Even though her words dripped sarcasm, he said, “Thank you,” then turned and resumed his original course.
But she didn’t give up that easily. She strode over, hooked her hand in his right elbow, and yanked him around. “It’s been two months. How long before you’re normal again?”
“Is there a countdown?”
“Let me rephrase. Are youevergoing to be normal again?”
