MAKE ME A MATCH (Running Wild) (20 page)

Tomorrow morning she’d manufacture a call from work, insisting she had to go back early. Anna and Bruno could take over, after all, there were two of them, while she was outnumbered. She wouldn’t have to see the boys again until maybe Thanksgiving. She might be able to extend it to Christmas if she volunteered to work the holiday.

After half an hour, the boys, still bare butt naked, came to find her. They stood in front of her, long lashes, round stomachs with belly buttons poked out, rosy, curly-topped angels. Well, she wasn’t about to believe in the innocence of children, not ever again.

“Aunt Sophie, we’re really sorry for what we did,” Simon began.

‘You oughta be,” she snarled. The vodka was helping her to be strong. “I try to be a good auntie to you guys. I take you swimming and to McDonald’s, and this is how you treat me?”

“We ’pologize,” they chorused. “We’ll never flood your house again, honest. We won’t put water on the fireplace, either.”

They wouldn’t, she knew that. They’d just think up something else so diabolical no sane human would ever be able to second-guess it or them.

Tomorrow they were going to Anna’s. Poor, poor Anna.

“Get some pajamas on and get to bed.”

“Rocky said we’re such good helpers we can go with him tomorrow, all day. He’s gonna show us how to dig holes in the ground for pipes to go through where people poop. But only if you say it’s okay. Please say it’s okay, Auntie Sophie?”

“Rocky says he’ll get us hats like his,” Ian added. “Please, Auntie Sophereeno?”

Auntie Sophereeno
? She hardened her heart against Ian’s charm.

Think Evian. Think carpets.

“I’ll talk to Rocky about it.” Tempting as it was, she was going to have to warn him about them, which meant the trip was off. They kissed her, and she hardened her heart against their soft little lips, their velvety skin, their milky breath.

“Bed.” They scampered off, and she went to find Rocky.

The bathroom was pristine, the hall carpet only slightly damp, and he was loading wet towels into the washing machine.

“Rocky, I forgot there for a while, but they also poured water on the gas fireplace, and now the pilot light is out. Is that dangerous? Is the whole complex going to blow up?”

He grinned. He had that great grin. “Nope. I can relight it for you.” He followed her into the den and started wiping the water out of the fireplace.

She went in to check on the boys. They were both in one twin bed, sound asleep, curled up like puppies, duvet on the floor. She picked it up and tucked them in, and against her better judgment, bent and kissed them.

Karen was gone, and give the devil his due, Rocky was here, in her condo, and it was because of them. When she got back to the den, he had the fireplace dry and lit.

“I don’t know how to thank you.” She knew how she’d like to, though. Being around him sent her hormones into overdrive.

“Would you like a drink? I’m having vodka and orange juice, but there’s beer in the fridge.”

“Vodka sounds good.” He sat down on the sofa. He’d taken his cap off, and his hair was smashed down on the sides and sticking up on the top; it always made something inside of her go mushy, the way his hair looked. His arms were bare to the shoulder; he had the best biceps. And she knew by the way his jeans fit that his pecs and abs were just as spectacular. He had a hole in his sock, so his two middle toes stuck out. He even had great toes, extra long and only a little hairy. She knew there was no truth to that thing about men’s thumbs and the size of their cocks, but maybe toes? She’d never really researched that theory.

He looked so reliable and kind and sexy and succulent. And shy. Why did he have to be so darned shy?

Knowing it was nuts, she’d asked Anna to do their combined charts, hers and Rocky’s, and her sister had said they were totally compatible. But then, Anna would say that anyhow.

“I’ve tried to come on to him,” Sophie had confessed. “But he never picks up the ball and runs with it. I figure maybe he just isn’t attracted to me.”

“Going by this,” Anna said, tapping the chart, “he ought to be, but he’s got this asteroid in his chart that makes him feel really insecure about himself. Remember, he was dyslexic in school, that would make it worse. ”

“So what can I do?” She knew she was in a bad way when she ended up asking Anna for advice.

“You could visualize the two of you together, see it and feel it and really believe in it.”

She’d done that alone in bed quite a lot. “Anything else?”

Anna had looked thoughtful. “You could find a defining moment, get him drunk and just out-and-out jump his bones. Guys sometimes need the direct approach.”

Sophie was full of courage in her role as physician, but in her personal life she’d always been way less than brazen. She’d always been too scared to really come on to Rocky. What if she didn’t turn him on? What if he couldn’t get a hard-on and she ended up so embarrassed she wanted to die? She’d have to quit her job and leave Vancouver forever.

Which, she realized, pouring orange juice and a husky slug of vodka into his glass, meant never seeing Simon and Ian again, except maybe at weddings and funerals. Right this minute, that held a certain appeal. She added more vodka to his glass and refreshed her own.

When she handed him his drink, she sat down beside him.

“The boys said you asked them to come with you tomorrow. I’ve got to tell you, they’re bad news.”

“Not much they can get into where I’m taking them. I’ve got a ditch to dig. I thought I’d give them each shovels, they’d get a kick out of it. Thing is, we’d be gone most of the day, but I’ll make sure they eat good and stuff like that. You don’t mind, do you?”

Mind? She wanted to get on her knees and thank him. She wanted to get on her knees between his knees and—she took another hefty swallow.

“I’m at my wit’s end with those two, Rocky.” Her voice wobbled. “I’m just not good with kids, which I never realized before now. I always thought I was, but the kids I see are sick or hurt.” She felt tears slip down her cheeks, and part of her realized she was more than a little hammered from the vodka. It always made her cry.

“I guess every woman dreams of having kids of her own someday, but now I figure I’d better not try. There’ve been times these past couple of days when I should have been arrested…” she gulped and shame and snot overwhelmed her.

He handed her a handkerchief—who but Rocky had cloth handkerchiefs these days? She blew her nose hard and wondered what to do with the damned tiring, and finally tucked it down the side of the sofa cushion.

“Don’t be so tough on yourself, Sophie. You’re first rate at whatever you do.”

She wiped away tears and decided he deserved to know the very worst about her before she started to take her clothes off.

“We were in the car yesterday, on Broadway, after this disaster in the Safeway? You know how busy that street is, and they were fighting, punching each other, and I told them three times to knock it off. They didn’t, so I stopped the car and told them to get out, that they could walk home. And they were scared and they started to cry, and I still made them get out, and then I pretended I was going to drive away. They were really crying when I finally let them back in the car.” She sniffled and found another tissue in the pocket of her sweats. “Rocky, they’re five and three. It was rush hour, there’s perverts around. I’m supposed to be an adult, taking care of them.”

He nodded and thought for a minute. “So did they stop fighting?”

She nodded and blew her nose again.

“So it worked, don’t sweat it. I remember once my dad did the same thing to me and my cousin, only he actually drove away. We were out in Surrey, miles from home. He didn’t come back for ten minutes.”

“Didn’t it give you nightmares?”

Rocky laughed and shook his head. “We knew we deserved it. And we knew Dad would come back.”

His arm was along the back of the sofa, behind her, but not touching. Even with a stuffy nose from bawling she was aware of his smell, clean male sweat. She wanted to press her nose into his armpit and lick.

“Simon and Ian would never dare do these crazy things if they didn’t feel really secure with you, Sophie. You’re a person kids can rely on. Eric always says you’re the levelheaded one in the family.”

Good old reliable, levelheaded Sophie. God, she was sick of that rep.

“And being an ER doctor, I figure that must take nerves like iron.” He took another slug of his drink. His voice was coming from deep in his chest. She wanted to put her forehead there, feel the curly hairs that showed under the neck of his tee tickle her nose. God, she loved hairy men.

“I’ve always really admired you, Sophie. I’d never have the brains to even get into med school, never mind be an ER doc.”

Brains. Damn it all, she had really nice tits. Why didn’t he zone in and admire those for once? There had to be a way to get him thinking in the right direction, short of ripping off her clothes and starting in on his.

“Rocky, remember when Eric got that first big contract and we went out to celebrate, and we had too much to drink and you kissed me?”

Long pause. Her heart sank. He’d forgotten, but he was too much of a gentleman to say so.

“Yeah.” He sounded as if he was getting laryngitis. “Yeah, I remember that, all right. Real well.” Maybe this was what Anna would call that defining moment.

I’m not playing hard to get; I’m playing hard to hurt

Sophie’s heart had developed a tachycardial rhythm, and even her solar plexus was jumpy.

“So why didn’t you ever do it again?” You adorable godamned harebrained idiot ?

“I wanted to. Lots of times.” He sighed. “But I’ve got that dyslexia thing, so I can’t read too well. I’d think a lot about asking you out, and then try to figure out what we’d talk about, you know, you a doctor and me a plumber. It didn’t seem to fit.”

Jesus. “We could talk about my job, your job, the situation in Lithuania, whether the Lions are going to win the trophy. My sisters, my nephews, your cousins. Plumbing, surgery, athlete’s foot. The time your dad dumped you and your cousin in Surrey. For cripes sake, Rocky, I don’t sit around and discuss War and Peace. I’ve never even read the damned thing.” She heaved in a breath and bared her soul. “Rocky Hutton, don’t you want to have sex with me? Don’t you want to get naked with me? Am I fooling myself about this feeling I get every time I’m around you?

Am I going to go through the rest of my life wondering why you keep running away from me?” Oh God, she was really shaking now, so hard the ice was rattling her glass.

He took it away from her and set it on the side table. His arm came down around her shoulders, and man, he was strong. She was pulled so tight against him she couldn’t breathe. Or maybe that was for another reason.

He was kissing her, hot and deep and open mouthed and frantic, and inside her something was saying, Yes, yes, more, more, faster, faster, and he must have heard it, because then he was pulling her into his lap, and there was nothing shy about him at all. His lovely rough hands found their way under her top and she heard his breath hiss out when he found out she wasn’t wearing a bra. She couldn’t wait until he found out she wasn’t wearing panties either.

She remembered that he was the world’s most thorough kisser. He slanted her jaw with one hand. He outlined her mouth with his tongue. He nibbled and gently bit and paid attention to that vulnerable place on her neck and the lobes of her ears and her jaw line.

She still couldn’t wait until he found out she wasn’t wearing panties, but by the slow way he lifted her top and then touched her nipples and then licked them—god, the man could lick—and then finally got around to pulling it over her head and off, she figured she might as well help him out a little with the panty thing or the kids would be getting up before they got to third base. And she wanted third base so much she felt nearly sick with wanting.

She put her hands on the waistband of the sweats and shinnied out of them, and the sound that came out of him was gratifying. Either that or he needed the Heimlich maneuver.

His lips were close to her ear, his voice hoarse with lust.

“Do the boys wake up much during the night?”

She shook her head.

“Does your bedroom door have a lock?”

Finally, finally, they were getting somewhere.

“On the inside of the door.”

He picked her up and headed down the hall, one arm under her knees, the other around her back. She squealed a little and locked an arm around his neck. Nobody had picked her up since she was maybe five.

Bless those boys. Flooding the place had been such a good idea. And tomorrow he was taking them out, which meant he’d have to bring them back. She’d make dinner, and the kids would be tired from shoveling, and—and she was on the bed, and he was locking the door, and stripping off his clothes. The bed lamp was on, and she had her first really clear look at his naked body.

Oh, my. That toe business was definitely a theory worth pursuing.

Wednesday morning, Eric said, “Henry, what sort of things should you watch out for when you’re thinking of buying a business?”

Eric had never bought a business. Junk Busters had just sort of developed, so he wasn’t all that confident about advising Tessa.

Henry was chewing on something, but he managed to talk around it.

“Gotta be real careful, boss, can’t trust anybody. Gotta do research, find out what other similar businesses are worth, whether the financial situation is viable, if the amount quoted for goodwill is realistic. And also whether the owner’s screwed around with the financial statements.” He reached into a can and pulled out something that looked like a testicle without skin. “Want a lichee nut?”

“Nope, thanks anyhow.” Eric knew how Tessa felt about her boss. She was fiercely loyal and trusted the woman implicitly. But ever since he’d heard about the kind of husband this Clara had, Eric had wondered how a woman with intelligence and integrity could live with such a sleaze ball for so long. There wasn’t a hope in hell Tessa would do any of the things Henry had suggested, but Henry would, with a vengeance.

His round face lit up when Eric asked.

“Leave it to me, boss.”

Eric was glad to. He’d been on the phone with the police department’s stolen car detail for over an hour again this morning. There was still no sign of his beloved Volks, and they didn’t seem to be too disturbed.

“Quite an old car,” the desk clerk said. “Probably get dumped in some ravine; that’s what happens to those old clunkers.”

Eric had felt enraged, but he was scared to holler at the guy because then nothing at all might get done.

And now to top it off he had to go and clean out the sump hole where Jimmy Nicols had been living. He’d promised Karen, and he wasn’t exactly looking forward to it. He was beginning to wonder if he’d ever get free of the damned man. Every time he turned around it seemed something else came up. Nicols was almost more trouble dead than he’d been alive.

Fletcher was dealing with the paperwork. He’d offered to go do it, but Fletch already did way more than his share.

Jimmy had been living in a rundown apartment hotel in New Westminster, a good forty-minute drive from Vancouver. All the dump trucks were out, so after a fair amount of hassle, Eric managed to talk Gladys into loaning him her red Caddie.

“No having sex in my car, boss,” she warned. “I can smell if you do.”

“God, Gladys, what do you take me for? And Tessa’s at work anyway.” He tried to feel perjured, but he had to admit that if Tessa wasn’t working, he’d love to take her along, and he knew of this place beside the ocean where they could park, and the backseat of the Caddie was roomy.

That reminded him of the first time he’d had sex with Tessa. He’d been an idiot, but he’d sure had good taste.

He loaded up a pile of empty boxes, and the drive didn’t take any time at all with that fantasy about Tessa going on in his head. Also, the Caddie drove like a dream. If the van didn’t turn up, maybe he’d consider getting something less than twenty years old for a change.

He had letters from Karen and Fletcher, and a death certificate, but the super let him in without questioning anything.

The room smelled stale and sour, but it was surprisingly neat. There was a small kitchen area with a hotplate and fridge, dishes washed and stacked to dry. The bed was made up, and when he opened the closet Jimmy’s clothing hung in orderly rows.

“So, even psychos are tidy,” Eric muttered. He started loading the clothing in boxes. He finished the closet and yanked open the top dresser drawer. A framed photo lay on top of stacks of underwear and socks, a shot of Karen cradling a newborn Ian, with Simon standing beside them, holding his new brother’s tiny hand. Tucked into the corner of the frame was a smaller snap of Karen and Jimmy when they got married. Karen looked radiant, young and so vulnerable. Eric’s gut clenched.

“Too bad you didn’t appreciate what you had, you stupid idiot,” he mumbled at Jimmy’s image. He put the photo in the small box he’d set aside for anything that Karen might want.

In the bottom drawer was a shoebox with pay stubs and bills and receipts. Eric flipped through them. No bankbooks with nice fat deposits, dream on. Well, Fletcher had asked him for stuff like this.  He’d let the lawyer sort through it.

It was a relief to load the last box into the car, and then dump all but the two small boxes at the local Salvation Army.

Back at the office, Gladys went flying out to examine the car, no doubt sniffing at the seats like a beagle.

“Tessa oughta phone this lady and talk to her,” Henry said, handing Eric a page from a yellow scratch pad. “Mary Jo Louie used to work for Synchronicity, might be interesting to know what she’s got to say.”

“How did you get her name and number?”

Henry winked. “I got friends in low places, boss, you don’t wanna know.”

“Right.” Eric stuck the paper in his pocket and forgot about it until that evening when he and Tessa were on his couch, watching Hannibal.

Tessa had chosen it. She’d read the book, and they’d both seen the movie before, but it scared her anyway, so she was nearly sitting on top of him. She had on a flimsy little red top, it was hot out, so no bra, and her nipples showed clearly through the cotton. And those shorts, wasn’t there a city ordinance against shorts that flared out like that, so he could see up the legs when she curled them under her like this?

It was hot in here and getting hotter. He could feel heat building up inside him. He had to hold her close when the worst scenes were on. What else could a gentleman do when wild pigs were chasing the heroine?

Her fingers were laced with his. The light from the lamp he’d made out of a muffler picked out auburn highlights in her wild dark curls, and she was all soft, intriguing curves, cheekbones and throat and breasts and hips. She was so damned…..female.

After a while the film ended, and he remembered the paper Henry had given him. He dragged it out and gave it to her.

“This is the woman who worked at Synchronicity before you did. It might be a good idea to call her and just talk.”

“Why would I want to do that? Clara told me this”—she glanced at the paper—“this Mary Jo Louie wasn’t even honest. Clara had to fire her.”

“But that’s just Clara’s word. If you’re buying the business, you want to know as much about it and its history as you can find out. Former employees maybe know things you should know. This is not the time to blindly trust anybody, Tess.”

“But I know Clara. I do trust her; her word is good enough for me. I’d feel as if I was sneaking behind her back, listening to someone badmouth her.”

Eric sighed. Why were women like this? “You don’t have to believe Louie. But what would it hurt to give her a call?”

“I’ll think about it.” She shrugged and stuck the paper in the pocket of her shorts. Then she snuggled even closer and started telling him why she wasn’t happy with the way the video depicted the book.

He, on the other hand, was entirely happy with the way things were going, wasn’t he? They’d spent last night at her place and now she’d come over to his, mostly because he had no car. They’d screwed their brains out, sure, but they also talked. They talked a lot, so he felt better about things. Didn’t he?

“In the book, she falls in love with him,” she was complaining now. “They go off together and live happily ever after in France or someplace. Why can’t movies stick to the book version?”

“Starling falls in love with Doctor Lecter?  I’d forgotten that, if I ever knew.” He whistled, noting the way his breath made strands of her silky hair lift and settle. “There’s hope for all of us if she falls for Hannibal.”

“It’s like King Kong, the Vampire Lestat, or the Hunchback of Notre Dame. It’s that delicious helpless feeling that appeals to women. Those guys are powerful and dangerous and vulnerable, and that’s what we like. They’re heroes, women want heroes.”

Heroes, huh?
“I can do dangerous,” he growled, pinning her to the sofa and nipping at her neck. “I can carry you up to a bell tower, and suck your blood. I can even fry up some brains if you want me to.” He’d felt all week as if his own brains were fried.

“Yeah, but you can’t do commitment, Eric. Lecter took Sterling off to Europe to spend the rest

of his life with her. King Kong would have married Fay Wray if it had been humanly possible, although how that would have gone sexually boggles the mind. And the vampire made the lady his forever by turning her into a vampire too.”

Commitment. Oh, shit, that again. Now was when he ought to go get them something really cold.

“But that’s okay,” she added. “I know this is strictly short term, and we’re both in it just for the sex.”

That stung. “Hey, that’s sort of jaded, isn’t it?” It also reminded him a little too much of Nema. “There’s more to this than just sex, Tess,” he said, slipping his hand down her back, feeling her vertebrae. There shouldn’t be anything sexy about bones, but on her there was.

“Oh yeah? What, exactly?”

He couldn’t answer because she was kissing him, her clever tongue stroking and sliding, and now she was in his lap, and his other hand had somehow accidentally slipped up under the leg of her shorts, and she was slick and wet and fiery hot under the crotch of those panties.

Nema, think Nema. Think exploited. Think dignity. Think self-respect. Think compromised
.

Oh, fuck. Think condoms.