Serendipity (Southern Comfort) (17 page)

She’d saved a man’s life.

And while it pretty much sucked that she couldn’t play finders keepers with this particular man, it was still nice to know that he was around.

Setting the water to parboil, Ava climbed into the shower and let the heat ease some of her tension. 

The goon had slashed the tire on her car.  Petty, she admitted, slicking the heavy mass of her hair back from her face. 

Petty, and pretty damn effective at keeping her on edge.  Her clinic, her car – the two material possessions she gave a damn about – so points to the goon for hitting her where she would hurt.  But a business, a vehicle, hardly mattered compared to the people for whom she cared. 

Lou Ellen had been threatened last night.  So far Katie’d been left alone, but Ava couldn’t count on that lasting.  And now, now despite every effort on her part to discourage him, Jordan had joined the mix.

The big idiot.

After tonight, whatever she had to do – be it rudeness, lies, or actual physical violence – she had to make it clear to him that this dinner was a one shot deal.  No more wavering back and forth, getting plowed under by his will.  It was time to be that sensible, intelligent woman and stick to her damn decisions. 

Leaning her hands against the wall, Ava watched the red and white tiles blur as shampoo stung her eyes. Not shampoo, she realized.  She had yet to wash her hair.  To her horror, she felt her throat swell up, and realized those were tears.

Maybe she wasn’t handling the whole thing quite as well as she thought.

It sucked being caught in a web that wasn’t of your own spinning.  And it sucked finding a man you really liked, only to have to cut him loose lest he get caught up in the web with you.

Blinking hard, Ava grabbed a bottle, squeezed the fruity shower gel onto a sponge.  Worked up some anger with the lather, because it sat easier than tears.  Damn Carlos.  Damn him for so thoroughly screwing with her life.

She didn’t need this right now.  She had enough trouble, as it stood – nearly six and a half feet of which was currently standing in her kitchen.

Making something that was starting to smell awfully good.

Shutting off the water, Ava grabbed a towel, headed into her bedroom.  She picked out a sturdy bra, a pair of
simple
white cotton panties. And then hesitated when she noticed the bright red silk lying next to them. 

It was stupid, she told herself, as
she gently refolded the cotton
. Ran her fingers over the silk.  She was a sensible, intelligent woman.  There was no point in entertaining even the briefest of lascivious fantasies.

But she pulled the sexy lingerie out of her drawer, anyway.  It would make her feel better to know she had it on under her clothes.  She might have to get rid of the man, but it didn’t mean she wasn’t one hundred percent woman.

She threw on an innocuous looking red T-shirt – trying to pretend that neither the shirt nor the underwear had anything to do with the fact that Jordan told her it was her color – a comfortable pair of jeans, and decided to forgo footwear.  She was in her own home, after all.  And she hadn’t invited him here, damn it. 

Leaving her hair loose and damp, she slicked some gloss over her lips.  That was it as far as makeup.   If he didn’t like it, well he could leave.  Big, pushy man.  She padded through the living room, and heard him talking to One-eyed Jack.

“Yeah, I see you over there pretending not to like me.  You’ve got that whole beady-eyed thing going on, just like your mama. She pretends not to like me, too. Well guess what, I’m onto you – both of you – so you can save yourself the effort.”  There was a short pause, during which Jordan obviously bribed Jack with some kind of food, because she could hear the cat’s usual growls.  Followed by his purr.  “Uh-huh, just as I thought.  I feed you, and you’re all over me. Now let’s see if that works with
her
.”

The mad Ava had managed to work up dissolved faster than lather. 

The man talked to cats.  He offered to make vegetarian lasagna – and damn it, actually seemed to know how.  He had a weak spot for stray dogs.  He willingly spent the night on a rickety old cot and was terrified of needles – but let her sew him up anyway. 

He’d brought her a cactus.

Jordan Wellington wasn’t just the kind of man women fell in love with.  He was the kind of man she could fall in love with.

“Shit,” she whispered, for what felt like the thousandth time.  That was exactly what she was stepping into.  A deep, deep pile
of it
.

With the knowledge that she was perched on the edge of a very big cliff – and that despite all the back peddling and arm
-
windmilling and localized panic, was very likely to lose her balance – she walked into the kitchen and straight into Jordan’s arms.

Pleased, clearly surprised, he smiled when she tilted her head back.  “See, I told you the wine would relax you.”

“It’s good wine.”  She moved out of his arms to pour another glass.  “You have excellent taste.”

“I do indeed.”  Jordan lifted his own glass toward her.  “Especially in women.”

Ava felt the warmth of that all the way down to her toes.  “That smells wonderful,” she gestured toward where the lasagna bubbled and baked in the oven.  She glanced around, noting the candles burning on her small wrought iron table, the tossed salad and basket of warm bread already in place. The white cloth napkins which he’d apparently brought with him. 

The man was nothing if not thorough.

“Why don’t we get started on the salad?” Jordan gestured her toward the table, pulled out her chair.  “The lasagna should be ready in about twenty minutes. In the meantime, you can tell me about your day.”

She did.  And while she enjoyed what she had to admit was a very skillfully prepared portion of lasagna, found herself telling him a whole lot more.  She edited, occasionally fudged, but otherwise shared things she hadn’t even considered.  Maybe it was the wine going to her head, the candlelight, the excellent meal.  But he was incredibly easy to talk to. Actually, Ava was forced to admit, it had little to do with the trappings, and more because they just seemed to click.  That subtle, internal connection that allowed you to hear someone and think: yeah.  I get that.

They talked about everything from religion to literature – with him shuddering only mildly when she admitted a fondness for medical thrillers.  Childhood idols, sports teams followed.  Relationships. While he could claim nothing more serious than a six month stint in law school, Ava found herself describing her narrowly missed trip to the altar.

“So this Michael,” Jordan referred to her ex-fiancé as he gestured with his water glass.  Since her tiny dining set hadn’t been designed with someone of his size in mind, he stretched his yard of leg out to the side.  “Is he still hanging around?”

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean, has he been giving you any trouble, wanting to get back together, anything like that?”

Ava folded her napkin and laid it next to her empty plate.  “I haven’t seen or spoken with Michael in over a year now.  Closer to two.”  She angled her head.  “And besides, he’s the one who dumped me.  Why would he want to hang around?”

“Maybe he realized he was a complete idiot.”

Ava smiled a little ruefully.  “Well, as flattering as that is to hear, I can assure you that as far as Michael is concerned, it was more like good riddance.  But anyway.  Why do you ask?”

JORDAN
considered how best to address the question.  He’d noticed Ava’s reticence after they’d been followed the previous night.  Her nerves when they’d discovered her flat tire. All the other strange occurrences that indicated someone had her running scared. 

Although scared wasn’t really the word he’d use to describe Ava.  She seemed nervous.  More than a little ticked off.  Edgy, certainly, but cautious. 

And maybe it was his ego talking, but he also thought her situation had a lot to do with why she kept pushing him away.

“I’m not blind Ava.”  Straightforward.  Straightforward was the way to handle this, since he knew damn well she’d already lied when he’d asked her about the tire.  “Nor am I stupid.  Someone’s giving you trouble.  Why, and what kind, I’m not sure, but the fact is that people who follow other people around, slash their tires, and God knows what else has happened that I’m not aware of, are dangerous.  It’s called stalking – and as you nearly accused me of it last night, I know you’re familiar with it – and there are laws against it.  If you’re having trouble, I’d like to help.  It would be no problem for me to get a restraining order put through, if you’ll tell me who’s doing this.”

Ava went still.

“Well.”  She sat her wineglass down, narrowed those big brown eyes on his.  “Aren’t you the perceptive one.” 

“Ava –” 

She held up a hand.  “Don’t.  Don’t run right over me like you do.  You’ve said your piece; give me a chance to say mine.  I won’t insult your intelligence by insinuating you’ve imagined the problem.”   

“Good.”

Her chin came up in defense.  “First of all, I want you to know that I appreciate your concern, and the spirit in which it’s given.  You’re a good man.”

“Why don’t I like the sound of that?”

“You’re a good man,” she continued “who obviously tries to do the right thing.  And while I admit that there have been some… issues I’ve been dealing with lately, I can assure you that it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“Ava.  Do you know how many women say just that?  Before their loved one takes it too far one night, blackens their eye, breaks their ribs.  Maybe decides that he just won’t take no for an answer, and pulls out a gun.”

“Well, that’s mildly sexist –”

“It’s not sexist, it’s reality.  I’m a prosecutor, Ava.  I see it almost every day.”

She dipped her head in acknowledgement.  “I’m sure you do.  But that isn’t the case here.  Just trust me on this one, and leave well enough alone.  I like you, Jordan.  I really do.  And I understand that, being the good man that you are, you’re used to taking charge, looking for a solution, because that’s the only way you know to help.  But I’m pretty good at taking care of myself.  If I run into anything I think I can’t handle, I promise you’ll be the first person I call.  But unless I do, I’m going to have to ask you to step back.  If you can’t handle that, then there’s no point in this going any farther.”

Jordan assessed the cool-eyed woman staring back at him.  And thought of all the other women he’d known of who – yes – thought they could handle themselves. Women whose murders he’d prosecuted because they just didn’t think that their husband, or ex-boyfriend, or the guy in apartment 2-D was really anything for them to be overly concerned about.  Sure the guy might hit them when he was drunk, or follow them around while they ran errands, or look in their windows at night.

But it wasn’t something they couldn’t handle. 

And admitting that they couldn’t handle it, asking for help, telling others that they were frightened or had been abused, was something those women had been either too ashamed to do, or something they’d viewed as weakness.

And inevitably, they’d ended up a case file on his desk. 

“I teach self-defense.”

“What?”

“I don’t know if I’ve ever mentioned it, but I volunteer at the Y.  Basic self-defense for women.”

“That’s… noble of you.”  She eyed him warily over her wineglass.  “Is that supposed to be some kind of hint?”

“What would you do if a man – bigger than you
, s
tronger – had you in a chokehold, for example?”

“Is this before or after I kick his ass for patronizing me?”

“I’m not being patronizing; I’m being serious.  Come on.” He eased the glass from her hand, sat it on the table and stood.  “Just show me.  What would you do?”

TORN
between annoyance and amusement – oh, hell.  Who was she kidding?  She was thoroughly annoyed – Ava pushed her chair back from the table.  “Jordan, this isn’t necessary –”

“Humor me.”

  She nearly rolled her eyes.  Until he grabbed her, spun her around.  Locked his arms around her throat.  “What do you do?” he repeated.

“I throw up vegetable lasagna all over his nice shoes.”

“Ava.”  He tightened, just slightly.  “What do you do?”

His body was big.  His arm like warm steel. She grabbed it, pulled down hard.  Stepped one foot to the side, swung her hip out.  And throwing her weight into it, bent them both over.

“Very good,” he said from behind and above her.  “That’s the right place to start.  You’ve had some training.”

“I told you
,
you were being patronizing.”

“No, I’m being concerned.  Hit my knee.”

“What?”  All this heat was confusing.  She was supposed to be alarmed and afraid – or annoyed, at the very least.  Certainly not aroused.

“With your elbow.  Hit my knee with your elbow.  Ouch.  Okay, you got it.  See how it makes me loosen my hold?”

She angled her head, met his gaze.  Both of them upside down.  “Satisfied?”

“Hardly.  But,” he grimaced when she shot her arm backward again.  “Your elbow is sharp as hell.”