Flirting With Disaster (10 page)

Lauren sprang up from the couch. “You’re here!” she called out, rushing forward to give Veronica Chandler a hug. “Everyone, this is Veronica. Of the infamous
Dear Veronica
page.”

Sophie gasped. “Oh, my God, I was in your column! You wrote about me!”

The blonde’s eyes widened. Isabelle could imagine the stories flashing through her brain. She’d been writing the advice column for only a year, but there’d been some doozies.

Isabelle tried to keep the grin off her face. “Sophie is the one who had a fling with her stepbrother.”

Sophie howled with laughter. “That’s a lie. I was the man-eating whore who corrupted that poor woman’s son with free sex.”

“Oh,” Veronica said. Then, “Oh!” more brightly. Her surprise slowly faded into a small frown of worry. “I hope I didn’t say anything terrible about you.”

“No, you were great,” Sophie said with a wave of her hand. “I was cheering you on.”

A small smile turned the girl’s mouth up. “So was it true?”

“That I corrupted him with free sex? Absolutely. Every chance I got. Damn, that man is gorgeous.”

“I’m glad it worked out.”

Sophie’s gaze slid to Tom, and her eyebrows rose in question. Isabelle touched his shoulder. “This is Deputy Marshal Duncan. He’s here to watch over Veronica.”

Veronica cringed. “It’s not that big a deal.”

“It’s a pretty big deal,” Sophie said, looking Tom up and down. “And definitely the most adventurous girls’ night
in
we’ve ever had. Marshal, did you bring your pj’s?”

“I did not,” he said drily, but Isabelle could see red high on his cheeks. He could pretend to be all “Just doing my job, ma’am,” but he was paying attention to everything.

Isabelle leaned a little closer and spoke low. “Can I interest you in a sangria? It’s going to be a long night without it, in case you can’t already tell.”

“No, thanks. I’m just going to head out and talk with Mary for a minute. One of us will be back.”

Judging by the deepening red of his face, it would be
Mary
. Tom probably wasn’t used to a roomful of drunk women willing to talk about
anything
. Too bad for him. He was going to miss all the fun.

CHAPTER NINE

T
OM
SPOKE
BEFORE
he got even halfway to Mary’s car. “We have to trade places. You go inside.”

“What?” she bit out. “What are we even doing here? Veronica’s request to come to this party should’ve been turned down flat. Or hell, the most she needs is an escort to the door. Nobody is coming to invade the sorority house, Tom.”

Tom was a bit taken aback by her anger. “It’s not a sorority house. Did you meet the women? Jill’s really nice and—”

“Did you assign me to this bullshit protection because I’m female?”

Tom blinked and shook his head. “What are you talking about?
I’m
here.”

“Yes, you are.” She crossed her arms and looked him up and down. “And that makes even less sense. Are you fucking her?”

“What?” His face flamed. “Who?”

“That Isabelle. She called you
Tom
. Well, so did the other one, but I don’t think you’re her type.”

“I’m not fucking anyone,” he snapped.

“Then what the hell are we doing here? The truth!”

Tom took a deep breath and let it out slowly, hoping to expel some of his frustration and guilt, too. He glanced back toward the house, but no one was listening. In fact, the music leaking from inside was louder than it had been earlier.

“Shit,” he muttered, turning back to find Mary watching him through narrowed eyes. “I need discretion here, Mary. This isn’t official.”

“
What
isn’t official?”

He spared one more look for the cabin, hearing the snow squeak and crunch under his feet when he shifted. “When I first showed up, Isabelle West seemed...not nervous, exactly. Hostile. Jaded. Enough so that I looked into it.”

Mary’s eyebrows flew up. “A fugitive?”

“No. I’ve checked. It’s not that. There’s nothing there, honestly, but I’ve got a hunch, and I figure they’ll be talking tonight.”

“Are you sure you’re not just confused? She likes you.”

“You’ve always trusted my hunches.”

“Yes, but I also know how you are about playing savior. She doesn’t seem like a person who wants or needs help.”

“Look, I just wanted the chance to follow up.” He shrugged the tension from his shoulders. “And it’s possible I don’t mind that she might like me.”

“Oh,” she said, looking a little more open now. She glanced toward the cabin with curiosity instead of resentment. “Well, then.” She smiled toward the sound of the women laughing. “Tom Duncan has a crush.”

“That’s not what this is about.”

She didn’t look convinced.

“I mean, I was checking her out before I was interested in her. And I can’t move on either way until I’m sure about her.”

Mary nodded solemnly. “Well, you’d better get in there, then.”

He cleared his throat. “I thought, um... It’s girls’ night. I thought maybe you could be the one...”

“Me? Hang out with a bunch of drunk mountain women I’ve never met? No way. This is all you. I’ve got nothing in common with any of them.”

He wanted to say “But I thought you might like Jill,” but he was evolved enough to know that
She’s a lesbian, too!
wasn’t a reasonable introduction. Still, he really
liked
Jill. And Mary had spent all of last year caught up in a drama-filled relationship with a thirty-year-old who’d jerked her around. She needed someone nicer. More stable. Someone kind and open enough to see past Mary’s formidable defenses.

But that would go over almost as well as
She’s a lesbian, too
, so Tom kept his mouth shut. Plus, girls’ night intimidation aside, he really should be the one listening in. Still...they were already talking about sex.

Then again, they were already talking about sex.

“Fine,” he conceded. “I’ll take it.”

“Good. I already made the rounds. No tracks anywhere. I’ll take a drive up the road to those summer cabins, just to scope it out, and let you know when I’m back so you don’t shoot me through a window.”

“I’ll do my best not to.” Tom squared his shoulders and faced Isabelle’s cabin. The curtains had been drawn at his insistence, but he could still see the shadows of the women as they moved around the room. One of them was dancing to the faint thump of the music, and he suspected it was Isabelle.

His initial impression of her had been of a guarded person. Reserved. But that had been so wrong. Distrustful of strangers, maybe, and of law enforcement definitely, but she wasn’t reserved. She was...free. Bold. And honest about everything except her past.

And judging by what she’d been saying when he walked in, she was also fond of penises. He really couldn’t overlook such an important aspect of her personality.

Tom was a guy who normally walked the straight and narrow, even if he had to fight his baser impulses to do it. He knew how important that was. Knew what the risks of giving in to a mistake were.

But what if giving in to the attraction meant that he could help Isabelle? What if he could get her to trust him? Still...baser impulses had a way of convincing people they were doing the right thing when they weren’t. He’d have to proceed with caution.

That in itself was problematic, because Isabelle didn’t seem to know much about caution. Look at the way she’d leaned into his kiss. The way she’d teased him. The way she’d dared him to do it again.

The woman was dangerous. Like a drug that could get into his veins and pull him deep under. A drug that smelled good and tasted even better.

Damn. He wanted it. Wanted her. Bad.

No. Tonight he needed to concentrate less on her cleavage and more on eavesdropping when her guard was down.

A good plan. But when he stepped inside the cabin again, Isabelle was slipping off the sweater that had kept her mostly hidden, and now it wasn’t only cleavage. It was her arms, pale and so much softer than his. Her shoulders, strong from so many hours holding a brush at delicate angles. And her neck, naked and bare with the way she’d pulled her hair up again.

That was another thing he liked about her: the careless way she twisted her hair off her neck, exposing her vulnerable spine to his gaze. He liked looking at the careful steps of the bones as they descended to her back.

Tonight she wore a necklace that wound around before dipping all the way down to the rise of her breasts, resting just where he wanted to press his mouth.

Damn it.

“I thought you were supposed to be watching Veronica,” Jill said from his side.

“She seems fine,” he said without looking at her, but when Jill held a tray of little pastries out to him, he turned to face her before taking one. “She likes being out here in the woods,” he said. “Isabelle.”

“She’s comfortable with solitude.”

“Is that what it is?”

Jill studied him for a moment before walking away to set the pastries on the living room table. The other women pounced on the food, but Jill returned to his side. He fought the urge to shift under her direct gaze. “What do you think it is?” she finally asked.

“I think she doesn’t trust people.”

“True. But people aren’t very trustworthy, are they?”

He didn’t flinch at that, but he wanted to. “I’m the wrong guy to ask. I encounter a lot of bad people, so I’d definitely say no. But is there something more specific? Something I should know?”

Her surprise seemed genuine. “About Isabelle? You’d have to ask her.”

“You never have?”

Jill shook her head. “Life is hard. I’m a black gay woman who was born in the South a long time ago. I’ve been hurt by more people in my life than I’ve been helped. By people I
loved
. If I had to guess, I’d say the people Isabelle loved hurt her, too.”

Tom nodded and glanced toward the window, wanting to look away, but the curtains closed him off from distraction. “It’s always the people you love, isn’t it? Otherwise it wouldn’t hurt.”

She touched his arm. “Ask her if you want. But if she won’t tell you, leave it be. She didn’t come to the mountains to be poked at.”

He nodded, and she smiled.

“I mean, I’m not saying that a little poking wouldn’t be nice, but that’s another thing you’d have to ask her about.”

His face went hot immediately, and when Jill laughed in delight, it only got hotter.

“You’re cute, Tom. You know that?”

“Yeah, I heard that earlier,” he muttered.

“Jill!” Isabelle called out. “What are you doing to our friendly neighborhood marshal? He’s beet red.”

“I was telling him how cute his ass is. Isn’t it cute?”

Tom did his best to ignore the roar of hoots and catcalls that filled the room. Amazing that so few women could make so much noise. He tried not to turn his back on them as he edged toward the kitchen. “I’ll just give the perimeter another check,” he muttered.

“I’ll check your perimeter,” Isabelle offered.

He shook his head and escaped to the kitchen. Jill followed and pushed a bowl of guacamole toward him. “Are you sure you don’t want some sangria? You look like you need it.”

“It’s my first girls’ night,” he said, regretfully waving off the pitcher of sangria.

“You’re not going to hide in here all night, are you?”

He would, but the information he wanted was all in the other room with Isabelle. “I’m just doing a sweep.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

He made it quick, though, giving the women just enough time to start relaxing into their booze, checking the same places he’d checked the day before, lingering for a moment in Isabelle’s bedroom, just in case he’d missed a photo or a letter or memento. He wouldn’t dig through her dresser, but if she’d left out a picture of her parents or a postcard from somewhere far away... Yeah, it didn’t matter. He still felt like shit as he switched off the light and headed back out to the main area of the cabin.

When he hesitated at the doors to her studio, he told himself it was because he didn’t want to switch on the lights and illuminate the entire wall of windows to anyone who could be watching outside. Except that was no real reason to hesitate. It was simple enough to not turn on the lights. The full moon and the snow on the ground meant he had plenty of visibility; it was only that he wanted the comfort of the lights.

But there was one advantage to stepping into the room when it was still dark. The paintings were only vague impressions of lines and darkness, and the photographs weren’t visible at all.

Tom pretended the easels were landscape paintings and walked toward the silver shapes of the windows. He flipped on the porch light and frowned. Nothing. She’d forgotten to replace the bulb. Or someone had unscrewed it. Tom scanned the moonlit porch and stairway, waiting a moment before he opened the door. The bulb was screwed in tight and was dark with burnt dust. He retrieved it and ducked back inside.

“Isabelle,” he said when he reached the living room. She heard him over the music and looked up, her mouth pursed around a strawberry. He held up the bulb.

“Oh, shit,” she said, swallowing the fruit, which left behind a delicious sheen of wetness on her mouth. “I forgot.”

“You?” Lauren drawled. “Forget something? That seems unlikely.”

“Shut up. I have things on my mind.”

“You’re an
artist
!” Lauren shouted, and the women collapsed into laughter as if they’d said it a hundred times.

“That’s right,” Isabelle said, standing up and looking tall in her boots and tight leggings, her neck stretching up to that upswept hair. “Veronica understands, don’t you? She and I have bigger things on our minds than lightbulbs. Or dinner reservations. Or bills.”

“I just write an advice column,” Veronica said.

Isabelle stepped over her legs and headed for Tom. “Nonsense. You’re a wordsmith. And a painter of the human soul.”

Veronica’s mouth fell open in shock. She shook her head. But when the other two women collapsed against her, laughing, she forced a smile. “If you say so.”

“I do,” Isabelle said with a wink.

Veronica had seemed nervous on the way over, and Tom had assumed it was about the threats in the latest letter, but she hadn’t relaxed since. She was still very much on guard. He caught her eye and mouthed “Okay?”

She immediately nodded and took another sip of sangria, so Tom felt okay leaving her alone. He followed Isabelle into the kitchen. She grabbed a new bulb while Jill checked something in the oven.

“Should be ready in fifteen minutes,” Jill said.

Isabelle held up the lightbulb. “Well, hopefully we’ll be back before then.”

“Not if you show him that painting.”

Isabelle smiled in his direction. “I told you he hates my paintings.”

“Not this one.”

Aware he was being left out of the joke, Tom frowned as he followed Isabelle into the dark room. “What was that about?”

“Jill is trying to get me into trouble. Or, actually...” She paused in the darkness and turned to look at him. “Maybe she’s trying to get
you
into trouble.”

“How so?”

She shrugged and headed straight toward the French doors, not hesitating for a second in the dimness.

“Let me,” he said, hurrying behind her to check the deck area before she opened the door.

“I’m perfectly capable of replacing a light.”

“Just not in a timely manner?”

“Definitely not in a timely manner.” She opened the door, letting cold air pour in as she leaned outside. “But we can’t all be by-the-book lawmen, can we? Some of us are free spirits.”

She was only joking, but Tom wanted to say
yes
. Yes, because of her laugh and the way her shoulders curved into a smooth slide of skin all the way down to plump breasts, and he was standing over her, behind her, and he could see down her shirt to the roundness of her from this angle. The softness.

And the easy way she moved through this house in the woods that was hers alone. And the way a lock of her hair had escaped its knot to trace over the skin of her neck just where he wanted to kiss her.

She was his opposite in every way. Pale and soft and curved. Amused by everything. Unconcerned by things she couldn’t control. Happy to take what she wanted, whether it was him or a glass of wine or a moment to dance around the living room.