Chapter 6
Ten minutes later, Taryn was swaying in her seat to the final notes of “What I Like About You” by the Romantics, while Rick was probably mourning the loss of his hearing. Singing to window-rattling music always lifted her mood.
She pulled off the expressway, behind a semi-truck, and headed toward a small cluster of buildings that included a gas station and a big-box warehouse. She aimed the car for an uninteresting looking little brown restaurant at the end of the mini mall that promised, according to their signage, the best fried chicken in the state.
Her stomach rumbled happily. “I need food,” she said and lowered the volume. “I hope you like chicken.”
“I love chicken,” Rick replied and stretched his back with a groan. The poor guy was probably stiff from sitting in Jane Clark’s cramped antique chair. He’d looked pretty funny trying to keep the spindly thing from tipping over.
It was sort of fun to see him uncomfortable after his comments about Hunter. As if the trooper was any of his business. She pulled into the parking lot and found an open spot.
Yes, focus on something other than the emotions he’d dredged up from their previous conversation. She didn’t want to think of Tim, The One, in her life. If her ex hadn’t suddenly decided to become her texting friend, she might actually get over the hurt he’d caused and forget him.
“Good. I’m buying.” Stopping in a parking space, she collected her laptop and notepad, and led the way inside.
“Do you ever stop working?” Rick asked, as they waited at the hostess stand. There was censure in his tone. This was odd for a man who had spent five solid years undercover.
“I can rest when I’m dead.”
The restaurant smelled of fried food and cinnamon potpourri. The tables and chairs were solid wood, shellacked to a shiny sheen, and scarred up to give the place a down-home country kitchen feel. A middle-aged woman wearing a long beige-and-pink floral peasant dress hurried around a lunch buffet and headed toward them.
“Two for lunch?”
“Yes, please.” Taryn didn’t care about the atmosphere as long as the food was good. Those mini sandwiches at the Clark house hadn’t lasted long. Her stomach was scraping her spine.
The hostess led them to a corner table and Taryn spread her things out, ignoring Rick in favor of keeping her sanity, and fired up her laptop. With him in close proximity, concentrating on work was better that staring into his pretty gray eyes and feeling all warm and dopey.
Their waitress brought menus and water glasses. The woman stared openly at Rick, like he was covered in chocolate syrup and sprinkles and she had a craving for both.
“I’ll give you a few minutes to decide your order,” the woman said. To Rick. There was some hair twirling.
“No thanks. I’m ready to order. I’ll have the special and a chocolate milkshake,” Taryn said and pointed at the folded card on the table without touching the menu. She turned back to her laptop and signed in. The screen saver popped up of a boat marooned on a beach in some far-off tropical island.
Someday she’d hit that beach, or one just like it, when she had time for a real vacation.
“I’ll have the special, too. And a Coke. Thank you.” Rick leaned back on the hard bench seat and stretched an arm along the back. She felt him staring, leaving her unsteady on her feet, like a case of vertigo, but worse. Thankfully, she was sitting down.
“I hope you don’t expect me to converse with you. I have something to take care of,” she said and reached for her notebook and pencil. Keeping her hands busy and away from her own hair meant no twirling for her. The man was a menace to her vow to avoid any sort of bad boy.
“Of course you do.”
She sent him an impatient glance. “I’m working on finding that storage locker. You should appreciate my dedication.”
“I’d appreciate lunch without an open laptop in my face.”
He did have a very nice face. Even when scowling.
Damn the attraction she had for the guy. Even Hunter the law enforcement god didn’t compare. Rick was rough-edged and tough, but also had the ability to make her laugh. When he looked at her, she felt off-kilter.
Get it together, Taryn, she scolded herself. Rick was trouble. She didn’t need trouble.
“I have to work our clues before they get cold,” she said tightly. “Not entertain you with amusing chatter.”
“I’ve been amused enough today just watching you drive.”
She glared. “Ha. You’re so funny. By the way, I’ve already proven I’m a good driver. I’ve never had an accident that I’ve caused. I bet you can’t say that.”
He chuckled. “I’ll keep that in mind, Danica Patrick.”
“Thanks. I’ll take that as a compliment.” She shoved her bag across the table and reached to click open a file. “I have a paperback thriller in there if you get bored.”
Minutes ticked by and their drinks came. Without turning away from the file, she stuffed the straw into the thick shake and tried to pretend that she didn’t know he was staring. And she did know. The weight of his attention spanned from her head to her toes, and in all her good parts along the way.
A lobotomy was the only way to get him out of her head.
More minutes ticked by. Finally, she lost her patience and lifted her eyes to his face. “Must you stare?”
“I’m bored.”
“I told you I have a book you can read.”
“Thanks, but I’d rather talk.”
Her eyes narrowed. His crossed arms and set expression showed that he wasn’t about to be put off. So she sighed and closed her laptop.
“Okay, Silva. What do you want to talk about?”
His eyes widened, as if he’d just been given the keys to her secret candy stash. She quickly added the caveat, “Anything within reason. I’m not answering questions that are too personal.”
That should keep him coloring within the lines.
“Okay.” He tapped his palms on the table. The wheels in his brain started turning. What would he come up with?
“I understand you were a pro football cheerleader.”
Figures he’d lead with that, Taryn thought. All men found that fantasy-worthy. He’s just another guy with a hard-on for cheerleaders. He’d probably Googled her last night and now had old photos of her bent-over butt or barely covered breasts as his screen saver.
This knowledge would make it easier to deal with him on an impersonal level. She couldn’t stand a shallow man. “See, you’re a typical male. Every man I meet wants to know if I still have my uniform and if I’ll model it for him. You men are all alike.”
“Do you still have your uniform?” He held up his hands in surrender at her frown. “I’m kidding. Geez. Get over yourself. What I wanted to know is how you got into that business. You don’t look like a pom-pom waver.”
Huh. “And what does a pom-pom waver look like?” She crossed her arms, matching his, and silently dared him to insult her.
One side of his mouth curled up. “Oh, I don’t know. Perky?”
Despite wanting to kick him under the table, and realizing that maybe he wasn’t shallow after all, she shook her head and smiled evilly. “You think I’m not perky?”
“You are perky’s brooding Goth sister.”
She snort-laughed. “I’m offended. I am neither Goth nor brooding. I used to kick butt on the sidelines. I was the cheerleader who got thrown in the air and always stuck my landings. Had I not gotten fired, I’d probably still be riling up the crowds at the games. It was a fun gig.”
She’d been damn good at her job. Short-lived as it was.
“I still don’t see it,” Rick said. “Maybe you should model the uniform for me. Wave a pom-pom. Do a cheer.”
Sigh.
“That’s because you don’t know me.” She uncrossed her arms and disregarded his effort to tweak her temper. He did like to mess with her. “Ask me something else and we’ll see if your preconceived notions match with reality.”
“How did you get into cheerleading?”
“A high school friend dragged me to tryouts. We both thought cheering would help us nerds attract guys.”
“Did it work?”
“What do you think?” she said with a sexy hair flip.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” He took a sip of Coke and paused, as the waitress brought their food and left. He tore off a piece of fried chicken with his fork. “Next question. Why were you fired?”
“My boss groped me and I Maced him. My lawsuit is still slogging through the courts.”
“Would you like me to beat him up?”
“My friend Jess already has dibs.”
“I have bigger fists.”
“She’s scarier.”
Rick shrugged, leaving the offer open.
They ate in silence for several minutes. The sign outside hadn’t lied. The food was really good. She shook some salt on her potatoes and waited for the grilling to continue.
After another gulp of Coke, he fired off questions in rapid succession. “What’s your favorite color?”
“Black,” she said and stabbed her fork into a small mound of buttered corn. He made a face. “Ha. Gotcha. It’s red.”
“Your favorite food?”
“Apple pie with a crumble top.” At his brow lift, she explained. “My mom makes the best crusts.”
“Favorite pet?”
“Tasmanian devil.”
That stopped him. “First, I don’t think it’s legal to own one and I’ve heard that they stink like an outhouse.”
“Oh, then I’ll change my favorite to an anaconda.”
“You are not normal.”
“So I’ve been told.”
He leaned his elbows on the table and bent his arms. He had very nicely muscled arms. Better than Hunter. Hunter was well built, but over the top. Rick likely got his build from carrying car parts around. Or women into his man cave for ravishing. Probably the latter, she figured.
“My turn,” Taryn said. “What do you do when you’re not arresting drug dealers and chasing con men?”
“I ride my bike, get into fights, and eat raw meat.”
“Sounds fun. Anything else?”
“I like to play tickle monster.” At her questioning glance, he said, “My niece is four and she loves when the tickle monster chases her around the house.”
Awww.Tarynimaginedhim, all six-plus feet of tattoos and muscle, racing after a giggling four-year-old and giving tickles. She pictured his little niece on his back in a kiddie carrier and wearing a tiny pink or black helmet, as he roared down US-23 on his Triumph toward grandma’s house.
Nope. The image didn’t fit the man in front of her. Bikes were too dangerous for babies. Rick was too dangerous for everything else.
“I bet she’s adorable,” she said. He was adorable while talking about the girl. This topic was pushing her onto thin ice. She needed to get back to safer ground.
“Becca is the best.” He whipped out his phone and scrolled through his pictures. “Here we are last week during tea party day at her house. They live in Montana so I don’t see them often.”
Don’t look! She was already crossing a line with him by getting personal and imagining him naked.
Danger ahead! Abort! Abort!
She looked. The selfie showed a smiling little girl wearing a pink boa and smeared red lipstick, clutched cheek to cheek with Rick, who wore a purple barrette clinging to a few strands of his cropped hair, as she pressed a kiss on his unshaven cheek.
The pair was the cutest thing. There was some internal melting. Some going gooey. Damn.
Get a grip, Taryn. “She loves you.”
“I love her.” He clicked off. “My sister, Sarah, thought she couldn’t have kids. Becca was her miracle.”
Taryn nodded. Their eyes met. She felt her emotions slide out of whack. Since Tim dumped her for Gloria, she hadn’t felt more than casual interest in men, and had only slept with one since she’d moved out of their house: Dave the race car driver, and that was never meant to be long-term.
Worse, she’d only known this guy a few hours. What was with all this hormonal craziness? She was too young for menopause and too old for raging teenage emotions. So what was the explanation for wanting to see him naked?
Pure visceral attraction, she suspected.
She hated feeling out of control. Tim had been her first real love. She’d thought they were forever. He’d thought they had an open marriage. She didn’t remember agreeing to that in their wedding vows.
Perhaps it was time to cut to the chase and get Rick to stop looking, well, like he was interested in seeing her without clothes. Men usually ran off when confronted by brutal honesty about relationship and emotional stuff. If she couldn’t control her attraction, let him think sleeping with her would be a serious train wreck.
So she let him have it with both barrels. “My ex-husband seduced our maid. In our bed. I caught them in the act,” she blurted out. Her face flamed. Was it too late to take that all back? There was something to be said about too much honesty.
Nope. Too late.
“Wow.” He sat back, stunned. “That’s way beyond favorite colors.”
She gathered her things and threw money on the table.
“That’s why I don’t date and don’t have emotional attachments, and why I’m giving up men forever. Even you and your sexy tattoos are off the radar.” Okay, giving up men wasn’t true. She liked sex. She was just avoiding relationships and heartbreak like a communicable rash. Rick wasn’t the kind of man for the former and certainly would cause the latter.
Yep, she was right to lay out her marital misery. He should be ready to run now.
“Shit,” he said.
Taryn bolted for the door. By the time he caught up, she’d dumped half of her stuff onto the backseat of the Olds. And she felt less triumphant than she’d expected after the emotional blast. She’d wanted to warn him off. Not make him think she was a flake. Or emotionally stunted.
Instead he moved up behind her. She froze.
Rick leaned one hand on the roof of the car and bent around to look into her face. The expected panic wasn’t there. Rather a mix of anger and concern.
“The maid? That’s cold.” He put his other hand on the open door frame and trapped her. His warm scent roiled around in her senses and made her forget almost everything else but him.
She bit her lip. Hell, it looked like he might not flee. Darn. Admitting to her husband cheating was the best ammo she had to scare him off. That meant she’d have to find another way to get a grip on this stupid attraction.
He shifted slightly. He was very close. Too close. “He didn’t deserve you.”
She dropped her notebook onto the seat and turned to face him. “You don’t know me well enough to make that determination. I was probably a crappy wife.”
“Maybe,” he said, clearly attempting to distract her. “I can’t judge. I don’t know anything about your marriage, but you still didn’t deserve to be cheated on.”
“Um, thanks. I think.” She hadn’t been a crappy wife, just a naive one. She had that in common with Rick’s mother and Mrs. Clark. Tim was a podiatrist and not a con man, but he’d betrayed her nonetheless. And the betrayal still hurt.
“I thought love and sex and devotion were enough to keep my husband happy,” she said. “He wanted to do other women. How could I compete with that?”
He reached out to touch her face. His rough fingertips scraped her skin, but not in a bad way. Next to him, she felt very feminine.
Images of him using those hands on her naked body crept in. She forced them back out. Lust didn’t last. Eventually, she’d fall for him and then he’d move on, or cheat, and she didn’t want another Tim in her life.
“You shouldn’t have to compete for your own husband,” he said. “That guy’s an ass.”
There was no argument to that statement. “I don’t want to talk about him anymore. He’s Gloria’s problem now. They’re made for each other.”
“What shall we talk about then?” he said and slid his fingertip along her jaw and his eyes locked onto her mouth. “I know. I’d like to discuss the part where you’ve been thinking dirty thoughts about me.”