IT WAS HER. HE KNEW IT.
So much for trying to avoid her.
Eli chuckled low, the sound rife with irony and dread, then brought the bottle to his lips once again. He was drinking Southern Comfort—appropriate, considering that was the only form of relief he was likely to get during this godforsaken week from hell. That must have been why Carl had left it for him—he must have anticipated that Eli would have to self-medicate.
Water sloshed against the side of the tub and splashed onto the back porch as he deliberately shifted into a more relaxed position. It didn’t matter that he was wound tighter than a two-dollar watch, that the mere thought of Shelby sent a bolt of heat directly into his groin.
Perception, naturally, was key.
How did he know it was her who’d pulled into the driveway? From the back porch, no less? The particular sound of her car door? The crunch of a light-footed person across the gravel? Those keen senses honed by years of specialized military training?
He snorted.
Nothing that sophisticated, unfortunately. It was the tightening of his gut, the prickling of his skin across the nape of his neck, the slight hesitation from the moment the car motor turned off until the driver decided to exit the vehicle. As though she was steeling herself, preparing to face him.
That’s what had given her away.
“I’m back here,” he called, before she could mount the front porch steps. He might as well get this over with, Eli thought. He’d known a reckoning was coming, that she wouldn’t be ignored.
That’s why he’d started drinking the minute he’d gotten here.
She hesitated once again, then resumed movement and changed direction. Eli closed his eyes and prayed that she’d be in something other than that damned dress she’d had on earlier today. It was short and...flouncy. Not the least bit inappropriate—this was Willow Haven, after all—but somehow managed to be sexy as hell all the same. It hugged her curvy frame, showcased her healthy tan and moved when she did. The hem fluttered just so with every swing of her hips, a silent “take me” with each step she took.
It was infuriatingly, unnervingly hot.
And of all the women in the world...her? Really?
Still?
A startled “Oh,” made him open his eyes, his gaze instinctively shifting toward the direction of the sound.
He mentally swore. Just his luck—she was still wearing it.
Pale green eyes rounded in surprise, her lush mouth mimicking the action. As if he needed another reason to look at her lips. Sheesh. It had been hell avoiding her at dinner, watching her plump mouth slide around her fork. It was fascinating to watch a woman who loved the taste of food eat, Eli thought. She didn’t just push it around on her plate, torn between what she should have versus what she wanted. She savored. Enjoyed.
It was hot.
“Evening, Shelby,” he drawled, taking another pull from the bottle in his hand. The light from the back porch illuminated her achingly familiar face, while dusk settled over the lake and a hum of crickets sang in the background.
She blinked, her gaze sliding gratifyingly down his bare chest. It would have slid farther, he was sure, had the water not gotten in her way. She swallowed a couple of times, blinking a few more. “You’re naked,” she said hollowly.
He grinned at her, the alcohol making his smile loose and easy. “It’s called bathing. I highly recommend it.”
A flash of anger lit her gaze, painting color on her cheeks. “I’m familiar with the practice, smart ass.” She gestured awkwardly. “I just don’t know why you’re doing it on the back porch.”
He shrugged, unconcerned, and took another pull from the bottle. “It’s where the tub is.”
“There’s a shower inside,” she said tightly. “Could you get out of there? I need to talk to you, remember?” she prodded tightly. So much for the hesitancy he’d noted earlier, Eli thought. He should have known that it wouldn’t last, should have realized that deliberately avoiding her wouldn’t put her off, but would, conversely, make her that much more determined.
Whether it was her imperious put-upon tone—as though she were the one being imposed upon—or the circumstances surrounding this unholy relationship and even unholier attraction, he couldn’t say, but he did exactly what she asked him to do.
He shrugged lazily, set the bottle aside, then stood. Water sloshed over the sides and sluiced down his body. He pushed his hair back from his face, careful to flex his biceps in the process.
He arched a deliberate brow. “Anything for you, Shelby. Happy now?”
She blinked wide, inhaled some garbled little sound between a squeak, a gasp and a choke, which he found intensely gratifying, then snatched the towel he’d brought out with him from a nearby chair and hurled it at him.
“I’m going inside,” she announced, looking everywhere but at him. “I’ll wait for you in the living room.”
Eli took his time drying off, then anchored the towel loosely around his hips before following her in. The alcohol had worked wonders for his mood, but very little for the tension creeping back into his belly. Awareness, warm and potent, coiled through his stomach, then advanced lower, circling and settling into his groin. He gritted his teeth.
This was why he’d been avoiding her, Eli thought. Because simply by virtue of breathing in close proximity to him, she spun him tight. Made him want to lift the hair off the nape of her neck and press his lips against the hollow, slide his tongue along her jaw, dip it into the delicate shell of her ear then flip her skirt up over her lovely ass, bend her over and bury himself in her sweet, tight heat. He wanted to lose himself inside of her, wanted to hold on to her and forget about everything else.
But there would be no forgetting, he knew. He could not let that happen.
Rather than put on clothes, which he knew was what she expected, Eli sauntered into the living room and dropped heavily into a chair, the bottle dangling loosely from his fingers. More to torment her than himself, because in coming here she’d forced the confrontation. He could have miserably gone on avoiding her, had she simply left things alone. He broodily considered her, took in the straight line of her back, the tense set of her small shoulders. Despite the bravado, she was ill-at-ease. Nervous. His lips slid into a droll grin.
No doubt it would pass.
Cool air from the ceiling fan swirled over him, lowering the temperature of his heated skin. Having wandered over to the mantel to inspect pictures, she turned when she heard him and arched a brow, her gaze dropping deliberately to the towel, then finding his once more. “Wouldn’t you like to go put on a pair of pants?” she asked, her voice flinty.
He shrugged. “I’m comfortable.”
She swallowed, her green gaze lingering briefly on his chest. “I’m not.”
Good. “Was there something you wanted, Shelby?”
A stutter of air leaked out of her lungs, her eyes fixated on the bulge building beneath the towel, then she blinked and gave herself a little shake. Girding her loins, he thought, while his own felt as if they’d been cast into hell.
She crossed her arms over her chest, inadvertently plumping her breasts. His dick stirred. “Your help, as a matter of fact, but we’ll get to that in a minute.”
Eli frowned. His help? Help with what?
She bit her lip, paused, piquing his curiosity. “Listen, Eli, I know that my behavior at Micah’s service was...less than warm,” she said haltingly. “And I’m sorry for that. I was a coward and I didn’t want to face you, not after what happened at the anniversary party and then the breakup.” She twisted the cord of her purse nervously around her fingers, tightening until her knuckles turned white. “Guilt is a powerful thing, but it’s no excuse for rudeness.” She hesitated, her gaze tangling with his, her chin firming. “That said, I did come over as soon as you arrived today and asked to speak with you later. I wouldn’t have asked if it hadn’t been important. Then you bailed. And Sally noticed.”
Shit.
“She’d noticed the tension between us at the service, as well, and now she’s worried. I’ll own what happened at the service, but you sneaking away tonight without so much as a ‘Hi, how’ve you been?’ That’s on you, chief.”
Much as he’d love to argue with her, Eli knew she was right and he felt like an ass. In trying to control his rampant lust for Shelby, he’d inadvertently caused Sally worry and anything that heaped more stress onto Micah’s mother was just not cool. He swore under his breath, then passed a hand over his face, suddenly very weary.
“I’m sorry,” he said with a sigh. He looked up and caught her gaze. “That was not my intention.”
“And just exactly what was your intention?”
To avoid you. But he couldn’t very well say that, could he? Still, she knew. He could tell. Her eyes glittered knowingly and the slightest curve of her mouth suggested he hadn’t fooled her at all.
“To get through this,” he finally told her, which was the truth, if not all of it. “With my sanity intact,” he added with a significant grimace. He lifted the bottle to his lips for another pull, winced when the alcohol burned his throat.
Shelby studied him for a moment, her keen gaze holding his, looking for hidden meanings and untold secrets. It unnerved him, that stare. He always got the feeling she was peeking right into his head, plucking the thoughts from the so-called safety of his mind. No one had ever been able to do that. Not any foster family, close friends or even old lovers.
He’d been safe...until her. That’s what made her so dangerous.
“Keeping your sanity presumes your sane,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “Which is debatable.” She paused, her humor fading, and sent him another measured look, one that made him slightly nervous. “As for getting through this, that’s where I need your help.”
So she’d said, and from the suddenly anxious line furrowing her brow and the grim set of her mouth, she was definitely concerned about something. That was rare enough that his antennae twitched. In his experience, Shelby was a lot of things, but Chicken Little wasn’t one of them. She was quick to laugh, quick to cry, quick to anger and quick to forgive. Her feelings, whatever they were, hovered at the ready just beneath the surface. It was one of the things he loved about her. Whatever her response, it was always genuine.
And she was genuinely worried.
He silently offered her the bottle—his peace offering—which she took with a grateful quirk of her lips, then settled onto the couch with a sigh. She picked her end, the one closest to him, where she’d always sat when he visited. Her gardenia scent drifted to him, familiar and stirring.
“What’s wrong, Shelby?”
She smiled sadly. “A better question is what’s right.”
“That bad?”
She looked up at him, her expression grave. “Pretty bad.”
A finger of unease slid down his spine and he arched a brow, silently encouraging her to go on.
He watched her set her shoulders, steel herself then release a small breath. “I’ve been getting anonymous letters since the week after Micah’s funeral.”
He blinked, stunned. What the hell? All senses on alert, Eli leaned forward. “Letters? What kind of letters?”
“Vague, cryptic letters. I hadn’t planned on coming out here tonight, so I didn’t bring them, but they’re just weird.”
“What do they say?”
She pushed a hand through her hair. “Things like ‘I saw you. I know what you did. I’m going to tell.’ And ‘It wasn’t the gun that killed him, it was you. I’m going to tell. How can you live with yourself, knowing what you did? I’m going to tell.’”
Eli felt his eyes widen as shock detonated through him.
“But this last one was the worst,” she continued. She swallowed, the muscles working in her slim throat. Her troubled gaze found his.”‘You deserve to die,’ it said. ‘It should be you beneath that heavy dirt.’”
Jesus. Ordinarily Eli considered himself a pretty good problem solver, but at the moment he didn’t know where to start. He was stunned, reeling. I know what you did? I’m going to tell? It wasn’t the gun that killed him, it was you? You deserve to die? Heavy dirt?
What in the name of all that was holy did this person see and, more importantly, who were they going to tell? Definitely cryptic. Definitely disturbing. His gaze swung to Shelby, whose hand trembled around the bottle. And definitely wrong.
“Have you contacted the authorities?”
She shook her head. “At first I just thought it was someone who was angry at me for calling off the engagement. I was rattled, but not too concerned. But as time has worn on and the letters keep coming...” She lifted her shoulders in helpless shrug. “I don’t know what, if anything, they saw, and I don’t know who they’re going to tell. But I can’t risk too much poking around because I don’t want to look guilty of anything and I don’t want Carl and Sally to be further hurt.”
He completely understood, but she couldn’t let this go on. She needed to go to the police, which is exactly what he told her. “I’ll help in any way I can while I’m here, but this is a matter for the police. You need to report this.”
She winced and he inexplicably braced himself. Clearly, there was more. “I agree,” she said. “But it’s too late now.”
“Too late? Why?”
“Because Katrina Nolan came by to see me this afternoon just before I closed and she said that she has a source in Mosul who insisted that, despite the official report, Micah’s gun didn’t misfire while he was cleaning it, that he killed himself. Because of me,” she added, her voice cracking.
Nausea and anger boiled up through him and he pushed to his feet. “Shelby, that’s—”
“She’s working for the local paper, she smells a scandal and she hates me.” Another small shrug. “If I go to the police now and tell them that I’ve been getting these letters, she’ll find out and she’ll dig deeper.”
His eyewitness account stood, but there had definitely been talk—there always was—and, depending on who her source was, this had the potential to get really ugly. And hurtful for the Hollands.
All that lying, all that insistence and his refusal to change his story would be for nothing if she brought that shit here and stirred it up. It would ruin everything, Eli realized, the worst case scenario running through his head. It would devastate the Hollands, taint Micah’s service, spoil the memorial gazebo and everything it would stand for. And for what? A story? From a bitter, jealous woman who couldn’t stand that she’d never been first in Micah’s heart?
He remembered Katrina. She was one of the in-between girls Micah had dated—translate: disposable—when he and Shelby had initially split. He’d never liked Katrina. She was hard...and sneaky. A bitch.
And to think he’d imagined his biggest problem was going to be controlling himself around Shelby.
“We can’t afford to let her dig, Eli,” she said. “We can’t let her find out the truth.”
The truth? His head swiveled slowly to face her, another blow of dread landing in his suddenly tense belly. Her gaze was sad when it met his.
Sad...and knowing.
Bloody hell. She knew. Of course she knew. And he was a bastard because it was a terrible relief to know that he wasn’t the only one, that he could share the burden.
“The truth?” he asked, not because he needed confirmation, but because it was expected. Because this scene had to play out. Because, while she did need his help, she also needed to share the weight of the secret.
She recognized the ploy for what it was, chided him with her gaze. “You know the truth.”
Yes, he did. But how did she? How could she possibly know?
“He wrote to me,” she confessed in answer to his unspoken question. “He was afraid that I’d blame myself and he didn’t want me to think that it was my fault.” Tears welled in her eyes and she picked at a loose thread on the couch, then lifted her shoulder in a slight shrug. “That was Micah. Protecting me, loving me, thinking of me...till the very end.”
Yes, he had, Eli thought. Shelby had a way of inspiring that sort of devotion. He ought to know...because he was half in love with her himself.