Flirting With Disaster (25 page)

“You can trust me,” he murmured.

“I don’t trust anyone,” she managed to say past her tears.

“I know that. Why would you? Everyone has let you down.”

“You haven’t,” she whispered, but then she was crying too hard to speak. To say that Patrick had dumped her for his reputation, and Tom had risked his career for her. To say that her father had run to save his own life, and Tom had stayed right there and protected her. That even after she’d been cruel to him, he’d been kind. She couldn’t say any of it. She could only cry harder when his arms tightened around her as if he’d never let her go.

“I missed you, too, Isabelle,” he said, the words warm against her temple. “I thought about you every day. I called Jill once. I even looked up Veronica’s column on the off chance that you’d written in to say, ‘A man I was dating arrested me, and I can’t stop thinking about him.’”

She laughed. An embarrassing, coughing sort of laugh that made her aware of how wet she’d gotten his shirt. “I actually presented her with that problem tonight. Really.”

“And what did she say?”

“She said I was being really stupid. She said I should call. I told her you probably never wanted to see me again.”

“Not true. I always want to see you. In fact, even if you’d kicked me out, I was going to try to buy that painting from you.”

“What painting?” she asked. Then said, “Oh,” when he drew back to frown down at her. “My boobs.”

“Yes. Exactly.”

She buried her wet face back in his shirt, and they laughed. They just laughed, as though everything was okay again. As though they could just pick up where they’d left off. As if they fit together easily and trusted each other, so everything would be fine. Why could she feel that way with him even when everything else was so scary?

“I could have mailed that box to you,” he said quietly. “But I couldn’t bear the thought of never seeing you again. Even if you were just going to tell me to go to hell, I wanted to see you while you did it.”

“Is that all you wanted?”

“No,” he said, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. “No, I wanted to tell you how sorry I was for lying. And I wanted you to say that we might have a chance.”

Her chest ached. The pain was awful. Hope hurt a lot worse than fear.

“I’m sorry for lying to you,” he said.

Isabelle fisted her hands in his shirt and held on for dear life. “We might have a chance,” she whispered.

She felt some of the tension leave his body, his muscles softening around her. She finally realized how good he smelled, how much she’d missed his skin. She didn’t want to let him go. “You must be tired,” she said. “Did you stop for dinner or anything?”

“Jill fed me.”

She nodded. “Do you...do you want to stay? Here?”

He stood straight, pulling away from her. “I thought maybe we’d take it slow this time.”

“Oh. Okay. Sure. Really?”

His sincere frown bloomed slowly into a smile. “No, not really.”

She made a little noise of relief, and then he kissed her. She’d forgotten his taste in the past few months, but she remembered it now. Every nerve in her body woke up and asked for more. But for once, she showed a little restraint. Isabelle pulled back and looked up into his eyes.

“If you stay,” she said, “it only means there’s a chance. I might not be able to do it. Trust...that’s not easy for me.”

“I know. I’m relieved that you’d even consider it. And I have my own issues. I have trouble letting things be. I want to
fix
them. And you don’t need fixing, Isabelle.”

She smiled at him. “That’s a generous assessment. But I’ll take it.”

“So I can stay? Just tonight? Just to see?”

In answer, she took his hand and led him toward her bedroom. She’d bought a new comforter and pillows, trying to turn it into a new bed, a bed he hadn’t been in, but now he’d be in this one, too. And maybe he’d stay.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

F
OR
ONCE
,
I
SABELLE
ignored the dessert that sat in front of her. She was a big fan of Jill’s chocolate torte, but what was making her happy tonight wasn’t the food; it was the company.

Lauren sat with her boyfriend, Jake, the very hot fire captain who was a little too good-natured to be hanging around this group. And Jill had set her hand on Mary’s arm as she leaned toward her in laughter. The two women hadn’t declared themselves a couple yet, but they sure looked comfortable together.

And there was Tom, of course, his hand on Isabelle’s knee under the table. She was very aware every time he moved, his fingers sliding over her skin. Two months into their new start, and her breath still caught every time he touched her. She wanted him more now than ever. A frightening thought.

His thumb brushed against her thigh. “Are you okay?” he asked, leaning closer. “You’re not eating your cake.”

She smiled at him and picked up her fork. “I guess I’m full of wine.” And sticky, scary love.

This was his third trip back to Jackson, and she’d gone to see him once for a long weekend that had somehow turned into five days. Next time she was having dinner at his sister’s, though he’d warned her that his sister was an even worse cook than he was. Thank God for Jill, or they’d starve to death out here in the forest.

It was starting to feel like a real relationship. A normal relationship with a future instead of a looming end date. Still, when she looked at his hand on her leg, she wanted to paint the image a hundred times so she could remember it when he was gone.

Lauren pushed back from the table. “We’d better get going. Jake is on duty at six tomorrow.”

“I’m fine,” he said. “It’s only 9:30.”

“Well, I wasn’t planning on getting dropped off with a kiss at the front door, so we need a couple hours of padding.”

Jake shook his head as if he were exasperated, but there was no missing the smile on his face when he ducked his head. “Let’s go, then.”

While they were thanking Jill for dinner and exchanging hugs and handshakes, Isabelle tipped her head toward the door. She was ready to go, too, and Jill and Mary probably wouldn’t hate some time alone.

Tom and Mary had both arrived in town only three hours before, setting up for another federal case. This one was low-key. More of a precaution; and it was only the two of them in town.

One more bite of cake and several hugs later, Isabelle and Tom were out the door and walking into the summer twilight. They walked slowly, fingers twined together, and Isabelle assumed that Tom was enjoying the cool midnight blue that settled over them just as much as she was, but when he cleared his throat, she realized his arm was tense.

“I was thinking...” he said. That was it.

Isabelle’s heart dropped. She knew what was coming. He was going to go. Of course he was. They’d given it a shot, and she wasn’t good at this. She nodded, pretending to agree.

“I hit retirement in a year,” Tom finally said. “It’s a ways off, but I was thinking that things are going pretty well.”

“At work?” she asked.

“No. With us.”

Her feet stopped moving for a moment, but she forced them quickly on, hoping he hadn’t noticed. But he’d definitely noticed that she hadn’t said a word. He glanced at her, trying to study her face, but she kept it blank.

“You’ve stopped giving me an out,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“You used to tell me I didn’t have to stay. After sex, you’d tell me I could leave if I wanted. Or you’d tell me I don’t have to stay at your place when I visit. Or that you could get a hotel room when you’re in Cheyenne. You finally stopped doing that. In Cheyenne, you asked if you could stay longer.”

“Oh. Was that...? Should I not have?”

“Isabelle.” He stopped and turned toward her, his hand sneaking into her hair, his mouth brushing a soft kiss over hers before he pulled away. “You’re so confident about everything. It kills me that you’re waiting for me to leave.”

Tears suddenly burned her eyes, her nose, her throat. She shook her head, trying to deny them.

“Do you want me to leave?” he asked softly.

She could barely speak. “No,” she managed to whisper, terrified as she said it. If he wanted to go, she wouldn’t stop him. You couldn’t stop a person from leaving.

“Good. Because I love you, and I’m going to stay, and if you didn’t want that, it would break me.”

One tear escaped her control and slipped down her face to his thumb, but she swallowed the rest of her tears. When she was sure she wouldn’t sob, she took a deep breath. “I love you, too. I want you to stay. With me.”

Everything inside her twisted up with terror that she’d said such a thing. But Tom just pressed another kiss to her mouth and smiled. He took her hand and they walked again as if she hadn’t just given voice to her most terrible hope.

“I hope you don’t regret saying that,” he said.

She did. She regretted it, but only because it was true.

Tom cleared his throat again. “Because I was thinking that I could retire in a year and move here. I can check into work at the sheriff’s department or maybe even the park service. They need a lot more law enforcement than you’d think.”

“Here?” she asked. “So we’d live together?”

“I’d get my own place. You’ve got your work. You need space.”

She did, but... It was easy with him around. Surprisingly easy. Sweet in a way she hadn’t expected. In a year...anything might be possible. But she couldn’t say that to him, could she? What if he didn’t want to move in? What if he was hoping she wouldn’t ask?

She looked at him, his face beautiful in the falling light, his eyes tight with worry when he glanced at her. What if she could just say what she wanted?

“It’s just an idea,” he said. “We’ve got a whole year to think about it.” He was giving her an out. He knew she’d been mapping out escape routes for fourteen years.

She didn’t want to escape from Tom. “I own quite a few acres, you know. I’ve always liked the idea of building a little studio.”

He frowned as if he didn’t understand.

“I could have my own space to paint. To be alone. But I’d only be a few feet away from the house.”

“Oh.”

They turned up her driveway, still strolling as if her heart hadn’t gone wild with panic.

“Bear might not approve,” Tom said, his tone still careful, but he was smiling now.

The panic slowly filtered from her blood, replaced with a relief that made her muscles ache. “He’ll have a year to get used to the idea,” she said.

“So will you.”

She wasn’t sure she needed a year. In fact, that seemed like an awfully long time. “I miss you when you’re gone,” she admitted.

“Yeah? I’m pretty lovesick when you’re not around, Isabelle.”

The twilight had erased the years from his face, and his smile was full of boyish chagrin. She could see what he must have looked like twenty years before. That sticky, scary love was a warm mess inside her.

“Come on,” she said, tugging him up the porch steps. “I have something that might make that better.”

“Oh?” The hopeful rise of his eyebrows made her laugh.

“It’s not a blow job. Not yet, anyway. Just come on.”

He didn’t balk when she led him toward her studio, which was good progress. He’d told her more about his brother’s death, about finding his body and being terrified but still unwilling to leave him alone. She warned him now when she was starting a new commission. He only needed the heads-up and he was fine, but she’d covered up her newest work, just in case.

She turned on the lights and led him to the far side of the room. “Here,” she said, picking up a canvas that she’d leaned against the wall. “I want you to have it. She can keep you company for the next year.”

He took her old self-portrait from her, his eyes looking over the nude lines of her body in a way that made her smile. “I can’t take this, Isabelle. You said you wanted it for when you’re eighty.”

“I have a new one,” she said, gesturing toward the very last easel.

Tom glanced up and froze. Then his head tilted a little to the side. She looked at the painting, too, wondering if he liked it. She hadn’t shown his face, just the edge of his jaw angled to kiss her neck.

She was posed the same in this painting as she had been in the old one, but now Tom was pressed to her back, the straighter line of his naked hip visible just past her curves, and his beautiful arm around her, one hand splayed just below her breast.

She’d worked for days on his hand and arm, making sure to get the muscles beneath his skin just right, along with every freckle and scar and glint of hair. She loved his hands. She loved them on her.

“I hope you don’t mind,” she said softly. “You didn’t volunteer as a model.”

“Mind?” He stepped closer, reaching out a hand, but then he dropped it as if he were afraid the paint was still wet. “It’s amazing.”

She smiled. “You like it.”

“I love it,” he said. “It’s the greatest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Really?”

He shot her an incredulous look. “Are you kidding me? I’m in a sexy nude painting. With
you
.”

She laughed as he pulled her into a hug. She laughed because anything seemed possible now, here, with him.

“Are you sure I can’t take the new one home?” he asked. “Not that I don’t love the first one.”

“No. If you want to see your hands on me, you have to come visit. That’s the deal.”

“It’s a good deal,” he murmured before he kissed her. This time his mouth lingered, tasting her for a little longer. “Thank you for trusting me with your painting.”

“It’s no big deal.” She smiled, trying to keep it light, but when his eyes grew serious, she looked away. His touch brought her face back to him.

“Thank you for trusting me.”

She took a deep breath. She wanted to say it was no big deal again. But it
was
a big deal. And he deserved more than a lie. “I love you,” she whispered. “Now come to bed and put your hands on me. And stay as long as you can. Please?”

He answered with his hands and mouth and heart. And Isabelle trusted all of them.

* * * * *