Can't Take My Eyes Off Of You (v1.2) (17 page)

Shelby had been thinking the same thing. Since she was now Brandy’s roommate, and Gary still lived with his mother, the two had not really been alone in several days. And, considering the look Brandy got on her face when she talked about the foot massage, she had a feeling she might be as welcome in the apartment right now as an infestation of cockroaches. “That sounds good,” she said, easing away from him as the pickup stopped. “It is a nice night for a walk.”

The quartet, now two sets of two, walked up the stairs, Brandy and Gary heading to 2C, Quinn opening the door to 2B and waiting for Shelby to precede him into the small apartment. She did, first looking at him shyly—that was shyly, wasn’t it? Not slyly?

He stepped inside, flipped on the light, and got ready to hear Shelby laugh. She didn’t disappoint him.

“Quinn, there’s ruffles
everywhere,
“she exclaimed, walking around the small living room-kitchen combination. “And lace doilies… and… and all the flowers on the couch. And what’s this?” she asked, picking up a pink lace-and-ruffled thing from the kitchen counter, exposing the utilitarian toaster beneath it

“A toaster cozy,” Quinn said. “Mrs. Brichta made it herself. Since she comes in to clean, I’m afraid to put it away, as it might hurt her. Or make her mad,” he added reflectively, and probably more honestly. “There’s another one in the bathroom, stuck over an extra roll of toilet tissue. It has a plastic duck glued to the top of it. Very charming.”

Shelby sat down on the couch—purple flowers against a pink background—and laughed. “Oh, Quinn. However do you
work
in all of this?”

“It isn’t easy. Now wait here, and I’ll be back in a minute.”

Shelby did as he said, amusing herself by walking around the room, touching doilies, doing her best to admire the prints of large-eyed children on the walls. And then she saw the table in front of the windows covered in frilly priscilla curtains. On it was a portable computer—and several manila files, all of them looking very official.

Quinn’s notes for his book, she thought, looking toward the closed bedroom door, her bottom lip tucked between her teeth, then looking at the piles of folders again.

What harm could it do? It wasn’t as if he were writing about state secrets or anything like that. Besides, she might learn something about East Wapaneken from his notes, as he seemed to be quite good at researching the small town.

She was just reaching for the top folder when Quinn opened the door to the bedroom.

Three seconds later she was in his arms, and he was kissing her. Kissing her, and moving her away from the table, closer to the couch.

Shelby was lost in the quickness of it, the shock of awareness that struck her, slammed straight through her, left her with knees too weak to stand and with no reason to, either. She allowed him to push her back on the couch, slid her arms around his waist, and kissed him back for all she was worth.

She kissed him hard, kissed him long, kissed him because she’d die, just die, if she couldn’t kiss him, taste him, feel his mouth against hers, his body aligned with hers.

What had begun as the quickest diversion he could think of had immediately turned into a clear and present danger Quinn recognized but didn’t quite know how to fight. She was in his arms, alive and eager and wanting, and he suddenly wanted her more than he had believed he could ever want anyone.

His mouth slanted against hers, his teasing tongue sought and gained entry, his body fit against hers as if they both had been formed for this single purpose. His hand found her breast and he thrilled as she arched against him, allowing him the liberty.

And then, like a dose of cold water, like a full-body dunking in the water hole, Quinn was hit with an unexpected flash of conscience. Damned inconvenient, that flash of conscience.

How could he do this? How could he kiss her, touch her? Make love to her…

She was living a lie. He was living a lie.

He would not, could not, be a part of her adventure.

He could not tell her the truth, even if she told all her truths to him.

This wouldn’t work. Couldn’t work. She’d only end up hating him. And he didn’t want that. He’d seen her beautiful brown eyes blank, he’d seen them flash in quickly tamped-down anger, he’d seen them dancing in delight

He didn’t think he could survive seeing them fill with hurt, disillusionment, all the pain his truths would give her.

And so he slowly pulled away and looked into her questioning brown eyes gone soft with passion. Kissed her one single, last time, and then helped her to her feet. “Sorry,” he said as she smoothed her sweater, suddenly realized he was withdrawing, and withdrew herself, looking down at the floor, anywhere but at him. “I didn’t mean to get carried away.”

“No,” she said, nodding, still avoiding his eyes. “Neither did I. Probably all that hot competition on the golf course, huh? It was bound to explode somehow. Well…”

“I guess you don’t want to take that walk now?”

She nodded again, wishing her eyes weren’t filling with silly, stupid tears. “No, I guess not. It is late, isn’t it? And… and I do have to work tomorrow. So I guess I’ll be going…”

“Yeah, going,” Quinn said, walking her to the door. “Don’t forget to knock first when you get next door.”

Shelby smiled sadly. She blinked back her tears, then looked up at him, looked deeply into his shadowy gray eyes. “Yes, I’d better do that, hadn’t I? Well, thank you, Quinn. I had a really nice—”

“Oh, hell,” he interrupted, pulling her against him for one last kiss, holding her close for long moments until she began to relax in his arms. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asked, speaking against her hair.

“Tomorrow. Yes. Yes, that would be nice,” she told him, then slipped out the open door, leaving him very much alone with his guilty conscience.

He closed the door after watching to make sure she got inside 2C safely, then walked across the room and picked up the top file folder.
Taite, Shelby,
it read.
Classification: Nontypical bodyguard detail.

He loaded all the folder, all the folders, into his attache case, then locked it, shoved it under the couch.

That was close. That had been way too close.

He went to the kitchen, pulled a long-neck beer out of the refrigerator, and, avoiding the couch, slouched in the huge, overstuffed brown chair that sported doilies on each arm and the headrest He picked up the clicker, planning to watch television, then put it down again.

It was going to be just him and his conscience.

And it was going to be a long night…

Shelby followed Brandy into the living room after closing the door on Quinn, who had stood in the hall until her friend answered her knock.

“Brandy, I’m so sorry to be back so soon. I didn’t mean to, but—” She stopped in the middle of the living room and looked around. “Where’s Gary?”

“Who knows; who cares?” Brandy said, falling into a chair, folding her arms across her belly. She had worn a peasant dress of blue and white flowers that evening, and it blossomed around her now like a giant mushroom. “I never want to see him
again!”

Shelby looked back toward the door, toward Quinn’s apartment. She thought about her own problems, which were almost more confusing than daunting, and then looked at her friend. Brandy was keeping her chin up, but that chin was wobbling, and she was blinking away tears.

“Ah, Brandy, what happened?” she asked, kneeling in front of the chair.

“Nothing.
Everything.
It… it’s
Mama,”
she all but snarled.
“Mama
told Gary tonight that she’d forgotten to tell him she’s signed up for a cruise the weekend of our wedding. That she signed up and gave a nonrefundable deposit months ago, before we set this date. And that… that great big, stupid, dumb
doofus
bought it. He actually bought that idiotic story a two-year-old could see through, for crying out loud.” She all but flung her head against the back of the chair. “I can’t believe it, Shelley. She keeps
doing
this, and Gary still can’t see what she’s doing.”

Shelby was at a loss. What could anyone say to a woman who had been both engaged and left at the altar—at least figuratively—more than a half dozen times in the past twelve years? “I think I saw some wine coolers in the refrigerator,” she said at last, standing up and heading for the kitchen.

She was back a few moments later, having decided that, tonight, glasses weren’t exactly de rigueur. “Here you go, black cherry. Drink up, Brandy, and so will I. I think we both deserve it. To men— may they all go straight to hell.”

Brandy lifted her head from the back of the chair, so that a second yet still adorable chin formed beneath her jaw. “You too? What? You two seemed to be getting along like gangbusters. Is there something in the air around here? What happened?”

“What happened?” Shelby said, sitting down on the carpet, leaning her back against the front of the couch. “I don’t know, Brandy. I honest-to-God don’t know. He came out of nowhere, kissed me—practically mugged me—then tossed me out. He
apologized,
Brandy, which is just about the worst insult I can think of, and then he kissed me again and said he’d see me tomorrow.” She lifted the bottle and took a long drink. “I highly doubt
that.”

“Oh, brouier…” Brandy slipped to the floor and leaned her back against the chair. She took another long drink. “He didn’t… I mean… he didn’t
that,
did he?”

Shelby lifted her bottle, eyed the level of wine cooler left, and decided that, no, she couldn’t be drunk. “He didn’t
what,
Brandy?”

“You know—
that.
You said he darn near mugged you, didn’t you?”

“Oh. No, Brandy, we didn’t make love, if that’s what you’re asking. More’s the pity,” she added almost under her breath, lifting the bottle to her mouth once more.

Brandy giggled. “Good kisser, huh?”

Shelby nodded. “My toes are still tingling.”

“But he stopped. He was a gentleman.”

“I’m not sure what he was. I just know that one moment we were kissing and the next I was getting the ‘Here’s your hat, what’s your hurry’ routine. What’s wrong with me, Brandy? Parker doesn’t want to go to bed with me. Quinn just about threw me out. Damn it, Brandy, I want another wine cooler.”

“It’s not you,” Brandy called after her. “It’s the men. It’s
always
the men. Trust me on this; Gary has made me an expert. I’ll take another black cherry. Oh, shit, the phone. You know who that is, don’t you? That’s Gar, trying to apologize while he’s telling me at the same time that Mama didn’t mean any harm.” She struggled to her feet, almost tripping over her hem. “Well, I’m going to tell him—”

Shelby ran back into the living room and put her hand on the phone that sat on the coffee table, blocking Brandy’s way. “No,” she said, shaking her head. “Don’t answer it, Brandy. Let the machine take it. Let him stew tonight. He deserves it.”

“But—but it’s
Gary,”
Brandy said in confusion. “He always calls first after we have a fight. I always answer. And then, damn it, I forgive him, the dope. It… it’s what we
do,
Shelley.”

“Not tonight it isn’t,” Shelby told her sternly. “It’s about time you stop doing what’s expected, and do the unexpected. Maybe that will shock him into understanding you’re more important than his mother’s cruise. Now, the machine’s picking up. How do we turn up the volume so we can hear him?”

Brandy hit the volume control, then slumped against the chair once more, wrapping her arms around her knees as she stared at the machine.

“… so please leave a message after the beep,” her own voice was saying.

“Brandy?” Gary’s voice came through loud and clear, so loud that Shelby turned down the volume a few notches. “Brandy, baby, I know you’re there. Come on, baby, pick up.” There was a pause while Gary waited, while Shelby kept her hand on the phone as she stared warningly at Brandy. “I know you’re mad, babe, and I don’t blame you. But she showed me the tickets. They’re for the same weekend we planned on, honest. And she’s part of a group from her church, so if she cancels they lose their rate… or something like that. She’s sorry; she really is. She even cried. Honest, babe, she’s just sick about—”

Brandy had leaned forward and turned off the volume.
“She’s
sick? I think
I’m
going to be sick,” she muttered, leaning back once more and closing her eyes, “It’s the same old same old, Shelley. She’s going to keep doing this until the day she croaks, and I’m going to go down the aisle behind my damn walker. But, man, am I ever going to dance on that old lady’s grave!”

“At least you’ve got someone who wants to marry you, even if he’s got the mother from hell,” Shelby said, making healthy inroads on her second wine cooler.

“What do you mean? You’ve got Parker, right? He wants to marry you.”

“Does he, Brandy? Does he really? How am I supposed to tell?”

“Well… I dunno. When you make love?”

Shelby choked on a mouthful of wine cooler. “Make… make
love?
Brandy, we haven’t made love. I mean, I got closer to making love with Quinn tonight than I’ve gotten with Parker in two years.”

Brandy looked down the neck of her bottle. “Well, that’s depressing.”

Shelby looked over at her friend and gave a weak laugh. “Yes. Yes, it is, isn’t it? Would you like another wine cooler? I know I would. My ears are starting to buzz. I think I want to keep going until my teeth are numb.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Brandy agreed, stumbling to her feet “And I’ll get us some munchies. No sense getting drunk without some munchies, right? It’s why I wear these damn fool dresses. They hide the fact that munchies and me go way back.”

Together they gathered a four-pack of wine coolers, a bowl of pretzels and potato chips, and an unopened box of cheese crackers—economy size.

Returning to the living room, Brandy picked up the clicker and turned on the television, keeping the volume low as an old B-movie came onto the screen. “Bet it’s something sappy and stupid,” she said, pointing to the television screen. “Just what we need right now.”