partner.”
“You’re a tough audience, Abigail. When she dumped me—for a college freshman, football captain—she dumped me hard. I’m talking kick-in-the-balls, fist-in-the-teeth hard.”
“I don’t understand why someone chooses to hurt a previous partner before moving on to another. I’m sorry she chose to.”
“I got over it, or figured I had. Then I moved to Little Rock, did ten years. When I came back, the woman in question was in the process of shedding husband number two.”
“I see.”
He realized how it all sounded, how he made Sylbie sound—all from his perspective. “She’s not as hard- hearted as I’m making her, but I’m still a little pissed off, and that colors it. So when I came back, took the job here, I was busy for the first couple months. Settling in, and my father wasn’t well.”
“I’m sorry. I hope he’s better.”
“He is, thanks. He’s good. A little while back, Sylbie and I revisited the past, we’ll say.”
“You had sex with her.”
“I did, a time or two. A couple weeks ago, we had an encore. But it just wasn’t there for me.” He studied his wine with a frown. “Maybe you can’t go back.”
“Why would you, if what was back was a mistake?”
“Good point. But, you know, sex. I decided I had to resist yet another repeat performance, and I’d have to tell her—which I should have done straight out instead of evading, avoiding. This afternoon, she … well, what she did was have the guy who runs the shop where she has some of her art displayed, and where she works part-time, call me down there. Officially.”
His conversational style, Abigail thought, was like his mother’s. Personal, rambling. Fascinating. “He reported a crime?”
“A dispute, which required my intervention. Instead, she’s there alone, with the idea we’ll make some use of the back room.”
“To have sex?”
“Yeah. I’m reasonably sure that was the plan, particularly since when I didn’t jump on that idea, she dropped her dress. She just”—he flicked out a hand—“dropped it, and she’s standing there in her skin and red shoes.”
“She’s confident, and was probably certain of your agreement.”
“Confident on some levels, and I didn’t agree. I was …”
“You said it was awkward and uncomfortable.”
“It was all that. Not that I didn’t …”
“You were aroused. It’s natural.”
“Like a reflex. But mostly? It just pissed me off. I was on duty, for God’s sake, and she sweet-talked an easy mark to call me down.”
Abigail considered it a fascinating example of human dynamics and miscommunication. “It appears she might not fully understand how seriously you take your duties.”
“I’m not a horny teenager. I’m the chief of the goddamn police.”
The spike of his temper, and the guilt so clearly wrapped around it, added another level of interest. “You’re still angry with her, and with yourself for the natural reflex.”
“I guess I am. I had to tell her I didn’t want her—partly because of ground I already covered here, partly because, for Christ’s sake, she didn’t show an ounce of respect for either of us. Another part was knowing I was going to have to slap poor Grover back for making the call, scare the shit out of him so he didn’t pull a stunt like that again.”
“That’s several parts.”
“And I’ve got one more. I realized when I was looking at this beautiful, naked woman I’d once loved the way you love when you’re sixteen, I didn’t want her for all the reasons I just said. And because I want you.”
She turned away, stirred the soup again. It was fitting, she supposed, as he stirred something in her.
“I said I wouldn’t have sex with you. Do you think I said that to pique your interest?”
“No. I think you say just what’s on your mind, except what you’ve got behind locked doors in there. But I figure you wouldn’t have brought it up if you hadn’t had some level of want in there yourself.”
She turned back, remained standing across the counter from him. “It was probably unwise for you to come here when you’re still a little angry and most likely experiencing some residual arousal from this incident.”
“God, I like the way you talk. And you’re right, it wasn’t the smartest move.”
“If I reconsidered because—”
She broke off when he lifted a hand. “Do me a favor? Don’t reconsider right yet. If you changed your mind on it, I’d be hard-pressed to pass it up. If you didn’t, well, I’d just be depressed. I didn’t come by for sex, though, like I said, hard-pressed. Let’s just take it off the table for tonight. I’d be willing to settle for some of that soup, some conversation.”
She didn’t want to like him, didn’t want to find herself engaged by a man—a police officer—who talked his way past her guard and sat in her kitchen, drawing out her interest with a personal story.
Logically, she should tell him to go. But she didn’t want to, and wondered what would happen if she did something just a little foolish.
“I planned to watch a movie with dinner.”
“I like movies.”
“I was going to watch
He let out a long, long sigh. “I probably deserve that.”
When she smiled, it seemed to him the whole room lit up.
“Actually, I was going to watch
“I should’ve brought you more flowers.”
He discovered she was a damn good cook, and that he liked raspberry vinaigrette just fine. He also learned she watched a movie with quiet intensity—no chatter.
That was fine with him, especially since the dog appeared accustomed enough to his presence to curl up and sleep at Abigail’s feet. Though Brooks had no doubt if he made the wrong move, Bert would be up, alert, and have him pinned with those unblinking eyes, if not the teeth.
He relaxed himself. Good food, a good movie, a simmering fire and a quiet woman. When the credits rolled, she rose to gather the dishes.
As expected, the dog came to attention, shot Brooks a look that said: I’m watching you, buddy.
“I’ll take care of that.”
“No. I have my own way.”
“I’ll help you take them back, then.” He stacked bowls before she could decline. “You turned my mood around, Abigail,” he said as they walked back to the kitchen.
“I’m glad I could help.” She set dishes on the counter, turned to him. “You should go now.”
He had to laugh. “Okay. Listen, why don’t I pay you back for the mood changer. Take you out to dinner.”
“We just had dinner.”
“Some other time.”
“I don’t go out to dinner.”
“Ever?”
“As a rule, I’m more comfortable here.”
“I’ll bring dinner, then. I’m very skilled at picking up pizza.”
She liked pizza. “It’s not necessary.”
“Neither was letting me have soup and Bruce Willis. Consider it balancing the scales. I bet you like things nice and balanced.”
“I’m not good company.”
“You’re wrong about that. I’ll call you.”
“I haven’t given you any contact numbers.”
“Abigail.” He brushed a finger down her cheek, a gesture so casually intimate her pulse scrambled. “I’m a
