Death By a Dark Horse

mother never tells you about. The kind that makes the rest of the world disappear…

'I'm glad you found a way to occupy yourself this evening.' The voice cracked through my consciousness like a shot.

Paul and I broke apart with an abruptness that made me reel.

'Jonathan,' I said, gulping air. He didn't look very glad to see me.

'This must be Paul.'

Should I introduce them? 'Uh, yes. Paul, this is Jonathan.'

'So I gather,' Paul said. He sounded pretty unfriendly as well.

We were no longer attached to each other and were, in fact, standing several feet apart.

'What are you doing here?' I asked, still shocked and breathless.

'I came to talk to you, but you weren't home. I thought I'd walk around downtown a bit before I tried again. I can see there's no point in asking what you're doing.' He was really angry. His nostrils flared. 'I was planning on surprising you.'

'I'm surprised.'

'I meant surprising you in a pleasant way,' he said, glowering.

He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a little black box. My heart stopped, and not in a pleasant way. I glanced at Paul. His eyes were fixed on the awful thing. Jonathan flicked it open and three-quarters of Paul's annual salary leered back at us. Jonathan, the peacock in Armani, was strutting his enormous tail feathers like this was some kind of a courtship smackdown. I was beyond humiliated.

'I should go,' Paul said. He wheeled and started to walk away.

'No – Paul, wait!' I made a grab for his arm.

He jerked his arm out of my reach and gave me a look so cold I froze in shock.

'I am not accustomed to taking another man's girlfriend.' His eyes were narrow with anger, but his tone was emotionless.

'I am not his girlfriend.' My tone was emphatic. 'I'm -'

'Thea! How can you say that?' Jonathan said, his jaw slack. The indecent display of his virility still lay exposed in his hand.

Paul glanced at Jonathan then turned on me, his voice low and even. 'You led me to believe you broke up with him.'

Guilt took aim and got me dead on. 'No! I mean -'

'You can't have it both ways.'

'Well, of course she hasn't broken up with me.' Jonathan sneered the words at Paul, but Paul's critical gaze remained on me.

I didn't even glance at Jonathan. 'Yes – no. No. You don't understand. I -'

'I understand perfectly. You've been playing me ever since I drove you home last weekend.'

'What? I've been what?' How did he come up with that notion? This was ridiculous. 'How can you -? I don't 'play' with people!'

'Thea, explain yourself.' Jonathan snapped the box shut and stuffed it back into his pocket. His hand closed on my arm, but I twisted out of his grip.

It took every ounce of self-control I had to block out Jonathan and maintain my focus on Paul, who was obviously suffering from a huge dose of egotistical misinformation. 'You can't possibly believe -'

'I certainly can believe you've been maneuvering me ever since I met you,' Paul accused, and nudged me right over the edge.

'You are out of your freaking mind.' I leaned into the words. 'The only thing I'm guilty of is being gullible. You've been playing Mr. Macho-rescue-the-poor-helpless-little-woman-I'll-bet-I-can-seduce-her-before-the-weekend- macho-guy, and I bought your whole sorry act!'

'All right. You want to discuss this now? How about you stop pretending -'

'Pretending?' I shrieked. My jaw went slack, then tightened to the point I could barely form words. 'You, you, you – I'll tell you what you can do with -'

'Now listen here -'Jonathan stabbed a finger at the air.

'Stay out of this,' I roared at him. 'You've caused enough trouble already!'

'Thea, control yourself,' Jonathan snapped. 'You owe me an explanation. You owe me.'

'I think you owe an explanation to him and me,' Paul said. His jaw was so tight I thought he'd break a bone.

'I do? The drinks, the walk, the, the, it was your idea.'

'Yeah? My idea? That's not exactly -'

'This is all my fault, I suppose? I just led you along by the, the nose? Men! You can't get past your hormones, can you? Oh, it's so easy to stick someone else with the responsibility – then you can do any damn thing you want!'

'Hey, I'm the offended party here!' Jonathan whined at high volume, darting left then right to get past Paul who somehow was able to keep his back to him.

'You want to talk lack of control, woman? You couldn't keep your hands off me!'

It was obvious Paul meant there to be no mistaking who was the target of his anger. Fine by me. I itched to hand back whatever he threw at me.

'You think you're so damn irresistible? Well I've got news for you, Paul Hudson. I don't have any problem resisting your sorry-ass passes.'

His lips curled and he took half a step toward me. 'Is that what you call what happened? Resisting?'

I rose up to my full five-feet two, panting with rage, and pushed my chin at him. Paul's eyes widened and he lowered his chin.

'Thea!' Jonathan yelped.

'Damn right,' I snarled.

'Fine by me. I'm leaving.' He stalked off toward his car.

'Not before I do!' I shouted to his back and swung a fist through the air. At least I had the presence of mind to stalk off in the opposite direction.

'Thea!' Jonathan called after me. 'You can't leave! Not again! Not after all I've done for you!'

I rounded on him, beyond furious. 'I can't ever recall you doing anything for me that wasn't specifically for your benefit.'

His parting comment, to my back, had something to do with me having 'no idea.' Oh, I had an idea, all right. In fact, I had more than an idea. I had the whole concept, theory, and model down in a flash. He was a manipulating, selfish bastard who couldn't see beyond the end of his own nose. If I never saw him again, it would be too soon.

By the time I covered the scant mile to my home I'd walked off most of my anger and felt miserable. Miserable and ashamed of myself. I'd never had such a childish shouting match as this with anyone, except possibly my sister. I'd never been so humiliated. I dug my keys out of the bottom of my purse and let myself inside. My house, so calm and orderly, stood in stark contrast to my emotional state.

In my bedroom, the clothes I'd tried on and discarded earlier lay scattered on the bed. A missed omen of what a mess this evening would turn out to be. Sighing, I picked up each sweater, blouse, and pair of slacks. Slowly, deliberately, as if my actions could do the same for my jumbled feelings, I put them away. As I closed my bureau drawer I caught sight of my face in the mirror. I looked terrible. The purple bruises along my jaw stood out like neon lights against my pallor. Mascara smudged my face under my red, puffy eyes from where I'd rubbed tears away. My lipstick was long gone. My green irises glowed like beacons. I'd seen more attractive traffic lights.

I sat on the edge of my bed and contemplated the huge mess my life had become. But each time my eyes closed I tumbled into the memory of every touch, taste and scent that was Paul. I covered my ears, trying to block the sound of his voice, his breathing, his gentle moan in my mouth. He overwhelmed every sense in a way I never imagined possible. Pure, honest emotion propelled me into his arms tonight. I thought he was my friend. I wanted him for my lover. I believed he felt the same. How dare he turn that emotion into something I was so ashamed of?

Groaning, I collapsed across my bed, and stared at the ceiling. Damn him! He said unforgivable things to me. Wasn't he smart enough to see through Jonathan's posturing? How could he be so mean and insensitive? Jonathan,