A Deadly Reunion (12 page)

“What am I wrong about?”

“I’m not flirting with you—” I began.

He snorted.

“Because I want to feel in control,” I
continued quickly.

Then I turned.

I didn’t add another word. I didn’t explain
myself, and I sure as hell didn’t give him a chance to see my
expression.

My cheeks were all hot, my jaw was
deliberately set hard, and if you’d had a stethoscope, you would
have heard how quick my heart beat.

He’d just gotten under my skin.

Snap. It had happened that quickly.

I didn’t go in for belligerent, and I
certainly didn’t like my men to have as much emotional baggage as
Denver appeared to be lugging around.

But you can’t help these things.

Taking long and deliberate breaths, I moved
into the bathroom to get my toothbrush and shampoo.

I didn’t expect him to follow. I figured he
would just hang out around the door, thinking moody thoughts and
looking darkly emotional as usual.

I was wrong.

He was right behind me.

Suddenly aware of the sound of his breath, I
compulsively hooked my hair behind my ears as I leaned into the
bath to pluck up my soap.

I didn’t turn to face him. I felt a little
like I was trying to hide from him, which was somewhat dumb
considering he was right there. But I didn’t want to face him; I
wanted to get a handle on my expression first.

I wanted to remain aloof here. I needed to
put distance between us because the last thing I wanted was to make
a move on Denver only to be rejected. Or worse – he could accept me
with open arms and... complicate the hell out of my already
complicated life.

“Are you checking for chainsaw-wielding
men?” I tried as I faced the sink and grabbed up my toothbrush.

“No, I’m looking for confusing women who say
exactly what they think, but try to hide exactly what they
mean.”

I pursed my lips together and blew air out
of them slowly.

“I’m pretty sure there isn’t one of those in
here,” I managed as a quick flight of nerves rushed through my
gut.

Realizing I could hardly keep my back to him
forever as I pottered around the bathroom, I turned sharply to walk
past.

He didn’t stop me.

But he sure as heck stared at me as I walked
by.

He didn’t offer me a smoldering look, and
neither did he appear ready to laugh at my silly attempts to flirt
with him.

He looked... oh Christ, he looked all
mixed up – confused and apprehensive and expectant and nervous and
desirous all at once.

It sent another spike of nerves traveling
like a bullet down my back.

I was no stranger to passion. I wrote about
it for a living, after all.

Yet there’s something you have to
distinguish between passion and romance. In one, you’re in control;
in the other, you aren’t.

Hormones, imagination, lust, and simple
fucking bad decisions combine to create a perfect storm.

I didn’t have the time or luxury of getting
involved with Denver Scott. All you needed was to take a simple
look at the guy to realize a long-term, fulfilling relationship was
not on the cards.

He had issues, and he clearly didn’t intend
to deal with them any time soon. He would spend his time pulling
you close or pushing you away depending on his mood. There’d be no
stability and reliability; there’d be volatile arguments,
passionate make ups, multiple break ups, and a whole lot of up and
down.

Yep. I knew my rules; I couldn’t get
involved with a man like Denver.

Plus, I hated the guy, right? He was a
jerk.

I patted my stomach as my nerves settled
there like fire, sparking away as they sent tingles up my arms and
down my legs.

For Christ’s sake, I was about to have
dinner with his brother; I had to get out of this motel room before
I did something seriously indiscreet and mind-blowingly stupid.

He followed me into the main room.

Again I played the pathetic game of not
looking at the guy and hiding behind my hair when I could.

So what if I’d spent all of high school
idealizing the man? Who cared that I had begged and wished for the
chance to be with him? That was all ancient history.

I had moved on. I now had the experience and
wisdom to see Denver for what he was: just an ordinary guy with
issues. One I knew better than to get involved with.

“Patti,” he said my name in a husky
voice.

It sent shivers shooting through my stomach.
I twitched back as I tried to chase them away.

No. No. No.

Get out of the room, I suddenly commanded
myself.

“Patti?”

Turn around and leave, I begged my
unresponsive legs.

“Patti?”

“Yes?”

I did something stupid, really stupid; I
turned to face him.

“The room’s clear.” He was on the other side
of the bed.

“I can see that,” I swallowed through my
words.

“No ax men, no chainsaws, just the two of
us.”

....

Oh dear.

He was right.

Suddenly I was struck with the thought that
chainsaws and suicidal nutters with axes and swords would be better
than being stuck alone in a motel room with Denver Scott.

He didn’t move.

He kept standing there on the other side of
the bed.

Denver Scott had changed. He wasn’t the
dreamy kid from high school anymore. He had foils and problems, and
he had lost a great deal of his shine.

He was gritty, a little broken around the
edges, and he was standing in my motel room not making the first
move.

I had my bag in my hand; I’d been stuffing
clothes in it moments before, continuing my desperate attempt to
ignore him.

Though his body was as stiff as a plank, his
eyes drew me in.

There was no doubting what he was thinking
and what he wanted.

But I had to the make the first move.

....

Did I want him? Could I do this right
now?

Yes, and yes.

I dropped the bag on the bed, and it bounced
a little before falling on its side.

Denver didn’t drop his gaze to look at it,
and neither did I.

I walked around the bed.

I can’t say it was the most coordinated of
moves, but it didn’t need to be.

Despite my best attempts, it looked like I
would have to call ahead and cancel Vietnamese.

I reached him, and he reached out to me.

At first it was slow, hesitant even.

He was obviously waiting until I made my
intentions crystal clear.

So I did.

I pushed into him gradually, one hell of a
trapped breath making my chest tight and hard.

If I’d been slow, he was fast. He ran his
hands up my back with an electric energy that made me shiver.

I think I almost whimpered as I pulled him
into a kiss.

Then someone knocked at the door.

Insistently.

Loudly.

And they did not go away.

He pulled away from me, though one of his
hands lingered over my back, the most tantalizing of rushes
escaping over my skin.

Then the person behind the door started to
wail.

“Patti, Patti? Oh god, Patti, are you
there?”

Nancy.

Shit. It was Nancy.

“Patti, you have to come quickly.
Something’s happened. There’s been another murder.”

I had a moment where I looked at Denver.

Just a flicker of a second where our eyes
met.

Cheeks pale, body stiff, I couldn’t believe
what I was hearing.

“Patti?” Nancy beat my door again, probably
kicking the bottom of it with one of her devilishly pointed
heels.

Denver moved past me. He rushed up to the
door and answered it quickly. Though I couldn’t see his face, I
knew he would be glancing every which way to ensure there was no
immediate danger.

“Denver?” Nancy’s voice pitched up with
surprise. “Have you switched rooms with Patti?”

“No,” he answered simply. “Now what do you
mean?”

“What are you doing in her room?”

“Nancy, who has been murdered? What’s
happened?” Denver thrust the door further open, and I saw Nancy in
full.

She saw me too.

In fact, she looked up with the quickest and
most snapped of moves.

Something passed between us in that moment,
and it wasn’t mutual appreciation or friendship.

For a second she just stood there, her lips
locked into the stiffest of smiles. Then she turned her full
attention back to Denver.

“Oh god,” her voice drew on in a nauseated
drawl, “Denver, it’s horrible.”

“Nancy,” he took a step forward and faced
her directly, his head darting down as his eyes widened in focused
interest, “tell me what happened. Who’s dead?”

“At the school. They found the body on the
steps. Oh god, I can’t believe this is happening to our reunion
class.”

“Reunion class?” Denver kept his attention
firmly locked on Nancy. For all his flaws, he sure as hell knew how
to do his job. From the way he handled himself, to the look of his
locked shoulders and tensed jaw, he appeared ready to take on
anything.

It was distracting.

For all the wrong reasons. Because, hello,
if Nancy was right, someone else had just been murdered. Though I
wouldn’t put it past Nancy to lie just to get attention, storming
in on Denver screaming about murder would be over-the-top even for
her.

I swallowed, loudly and carefully. I didn’t
know what to say or do.

Instead I watched Denver, intently. I wasn’t
just checking out the line of his muscles under his shirt; I was
getting deliberately lost in how calm he looked in the face of such
a serious and horrendous situation.

“Do they know who was murdered?” Denver
asked patiently, yet his voice had a strong edge to it. Firm enough
to let Nancy know he needed her to answer, but not hard enough to
scare the already hysterical woman into crying.

“Hank. Oh god. It was Hank Reaver,” Nancy
managed through a sob.

Hank Reaver...? Who the hell was
that?

While I would freely admit that my memory
wasn’t the best when it came to my high school classmates, I would
have remembered a name like that. Hank Reaver sounded like he
belonged in a movie or an action book.

Well, now he was dead.

I felt cold all over. It was a marked and
obvious change from the hot itch that had escaped over my skin
seconds before Nancy had interrupted me.

Those thoughts and that passion were miles
away now.

Nausea pulling down at my gut and sending a
freezing shiver running up my spine, I forced a breath and took a
step forward.

My small move broke Denver’s fixed
attention, and he flicked his gaze over to me. Though he remained
where he was and didn’t turn around, I could see him staring at me
out of the corner of his eyes.

He still looked confused. But it was barely
a flicker, and a dying one too.

He was in control. Though he looked shocked,
he also appeared ready to do whatever he had to do to make things
right.

I started to suck on my teeth. An old habit
from high school, I often did it when nerves beset me. Heck, in a
couple of seconds I’d likely be cracking out the old thumbnails for
some much needed chewing too.

“Okay,” Denver slowly turned his attention
back to Nancy. As he did, he took a labored breath that pushed his
chest hard against his jacket.

For a woman who prided herself on her
ability to control her lust, I could not look away.

“Denver, god, I knew I had to come to see
you. If anyone can deal with this, it’s you.” Nancy suddenly thrust
herself forward and right at Denver.

Again she just forced herself into his arms
by barreling into his chest like a wrestler in mid throw.

Denver stumbled and held his arms out wide
and stiff, never letting them close around the tight leopard print
of her dress.

She hung off his neck, smooshing her chest
into his and practically nuzzling his neck like a long-time
lover.

Again I found myself prudishly eyeing them
as I tutted under my breath. If I’d had a nana-cardigan and pearls,
I would be thumbing the beads as I neatened my sweater and shot
them a disapproving look. Please, children, while this was a motel,
it was always polite to close the door first.

“
Ah, Nancy?” Denver still had his arms held
out as wide as he could. The look on his face matched the frozen
awkwardness of his move perfectly: peaked eyebrows, smooth, pale
cheeks, and lips pressed tight over a clenched jaw. “Ah...” he
swallowed, his neck muscles as tight as a coiled spring.

He clearly didn’t know how to tell her to
fucking get off him, so I cleared my throat and took a step
forward. I inserted myself right beside them, blinking up into
Nancy’s eyes as her face was nestled on Denver’s chest. “Who is
Hank Reaver? I don’t remember that name from class. Are they sure
he went to Wetlake High?”

While I really wanted to insert a crowbar
between Nancy and Denver to pry them apart, I settled for just
standing there and blasting away with my questions like a nutter
with a shotgun.

It half worked, and Nancy at least lifted
her face off Denver’s chest. She turned her attention on me. Though
she had tears streaking down her cheeks, that was the extent of her
emotional display. There were no pools of mascara smearing
underneath her eyes; god knows a girl like Nancy wore falsies.
Neither was there any hint of true remorse or loss flickering
through her gaze.

It was sure as hell cold though.

I took a moment to stare back at her and
then unconsciously found myself stepping a little close to
Denver.

I wasn’t the kind of girl who thought she
needed a man to protect her. I believed women could do anything men
could do. From hard labor to fighting, women were capable of
everything, should they have the desire and resources to try.