Page 7 of Edge of Ruin (The Edge Trilogy #3)

Chapter Five

Vivi

I opened to Jack Kendrick’s knock. He’d shaved, and combed his wet hair back off his face, which was even more striking now that I could see the stark, lean angles of his jaw, his chin. And those eyebrows, wow.

I suddenly wondered how long I’d been staring.

At the grocery checkout stand in Pebble River, we eyed each other’s choices with furtive curiosity.

I had gone for the fruits and veggies mostly, stuff from the health food section.

He was more classic in his tastes, and definitely a carnivore, but most of his groceries were real food, not empty junk.

Which did not surprise me, when I looked at his amazing body. Which I did, at every opportunity.

In the parking lot, he turned to me as soon as he started up the engine. “Let’s get some food,” he said.

“Didn’t we just?”

“I mean a restaurant. You like Mexican?”

“Uh, yes,” I admitted, and suddenly, the idea of a plate of steaming, cheese- smothered enchiladas took me by storm. Oh my God, yes.

The meal went smoothly enough, at first. He started by asking me for a rundown of the security situation, so I munched on the freshly fried tortilla chips with fabulous fresh salsa and pico de gallo , and regaled him with the long and harrowing tale of Lucia’s death, the gift of the necklaces, the abductions of my two sisters, and the evil Ulf Haupt and his demonic minion, John.

Both of whom were convinced that the D’Onofrio sisters could reveal the whereabouts of these mysterious lost sketches, whatever they were, if sufficiently terrified or tortured.

I took off my necklace and showed it to him, the last of the trio that Lucia had given to us.

He squinted at it for a while, from every angle, and handed it back, shaking his head.

“Un-fucking-believable,” was his laconic comment.

“Tell me about it,” I agreed, fervently.

Then he started asking questions about me.

I told him about studying art in New York, and about my brief and dizzying burst of artistic success when I signed the contract with Brian’s gallery.

I did not mention my personal relationship with Brian, or why I had broken the contract and run.

In fact, I started glossing over more and more details as I went.

That cool, assessing look in his eyes shut me up.

It was as if he thought he knew something about me.

Or rather, like he’d already made up his mind.

“So, you just left everything you built when it was all going so well, and ran off into the sunset to find yourself?” he asked.

My chin went up as I bristled. “I suppose you could say that, if you were being unkind. I didn’t like the way the gallery management was pushing me around. I decided I’d do better on the road, on the crafts fair circuit, developing my own designs. With nobody breathing down my neck.”

“I guess you must hate that more than anything.”

I frowned at him, confused. “Excuse me? Hate what?”

“Having someone breathing down your neck,” he specified.

I chewed on that for a thoughtful minute. “Depends on the person,” I said. “And what they want from me.”

“Doesn’t it always,” he said. “Did you break any hearts when you ran?”

My belly clenched. Yikes. His hidden agenda was rearing its horned, fanged head, big-time. “That sounds like a trick question,” I said. “Extremely personal, too.”

“Sorry,” he said, sounding anything but. “Just wondering.”

I stared down at my half-eaten enchiladas. My appetite was swiftly fading.

“So you did leave someone,” he said.

My teeth clenched. “I broke up with the man I was seeing before I left, but I had damn good reason.”

“Yeah? What was that?”

Well, actually, I found out that he was the devil, I wanted to say, but didn’t, it being none of his damn business. Besides, I didn’t want him to think I was a total shit magnet, considering my current problems. “I’m not sure I like your tone,” I said.

He lifted his shoulders. “I didn’t mean to offend.”

“You have no right to judge me, you know,” I told him.

“I’m not judging.”

The fuck he wasn’t. From there, the conversation went swiftly downhill. I did my part, but his responses were terse monosyllables. And his shuttered, glittering stare was starting to unnerve me.

I took a fortifying swallow of my margarita and stared him straight in the eye. “Look, Mr. Kendrick?—”

“Call me Jack.”

“Okay, Jack. Just tell me what’s on your mind, okay?”

His eyebrow tilted up. “What do you mean?”

I shoved my hair back. “I mean, how you seem to be judging me for things you know nothing about. I mean, how uncomfortable you seem to be with me.”

“Is that all?”

I waved my fork. “What else would I be talking about?”

“I thought you might be talking about the fact that I’m attracted to you,” he said. “I figured you might have noticed. It’s kind of hard to miss.”

My fork clattered loudly down onto my plate. “Ah … actually …”

“But since you brought it up,” he continued, “I might as well just be honest. You’re right.

I am uncomfortable, for two reasons. The fact that I’m attracted to you is one of those reasons.

And the other reason—and I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings—is that you are not the type of woman I want to be attracted to. That puts me in a bad place.”

My jaw dropped. “My type?” I repeated. “What type is that? Are you one of those meatheads who think that girls with tattoos are automatically promiscuous?”

He waved that away. “No, that’s not the issue. I’m talking about living in a van, moving around all the time, getting bored easily, leaving things half done. I don’t want to get involved with someone who’s just passing through. It’s a waste of time.”

Anger burned in my stomach. “Hold on. Did I invite you to get sexually involved with me without me noticing it? Or did you just assume that my type is sexually available to everyone?”

Jack took a slow, swallow of beer, stalling. “No. You didn’t. And I don’t.”

“So, you want to nail me, but you think I’m scum, and you don’t want me around lowering your property value.”

He frowned. “Don’t put words in my mouth. I didn’t say ‘scum.’”

“I call it how I feel it,” I retorted. “You know what? I bet you just want me to get so pissed off, I just pack up and leave, right? And simplify your life. Is that the plan?”

He forked up a bite of his steak fajita. “That would be my plan, if it weren’t for this danger issue,” he said, reluctantly. “It does sound like you’ve got one hell of a security problem. But I don’t?—”

“Let me make a revolutionary suggestion,” I announced. “Get this, Kendrick. I know this idea might shock you to your toes, but how about if we just don’t have sex?”

He covered his mouth with his napkin to smother a laugh, his eyes darting around the restaurant. “Uh?—”

“It’s the perfect solution,” I went on. “Amazing in its simplicity. You don’t have to fuck me, if it would be so upsetting to you.

Aren’t you relieved? Isn’t that just an incredible load off your mind?

Just ignore me, okay? It’ll be easy. I’ll just stay the hell out of your way and do my own thing. ”

He looked alarmed. “And what exactly is your thing?”

I shrugged. “Living my life. Playing with my dog. Making my art. Duncan mentioned that you have a studio in the barn, but I’ll understand if you don’t want me to use the space. The apartment will do nicely for now.”

Jack rose, bumping the table and knocking over the empty beer bottle. A fork fell to the floor. The restaurant went silent. A waitress froze in position, holding her trays of food. Jack cursed softly. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Fine.” I got up and began digging for my wallet.

“I’ve got the check,” he said.

I swept past him, elbowing him out of my way at the cash register. “I’d rather die than let you pay for my meal,” I hissed.

I sat as far from him as possible in the truck. After he pulled into the driveway, I climbed out without a word, slammed the door, and reached for my groceries.

He tried to take the bags from me. I jerked them away.

He yanked them right back. “Let me.”

Oh, to hell with it. I followed the crunch of his boots on the gravel through the darkness and followed him up the stairs, still fuming.

He opened my door with his own key, flipped on the lights, and set my shopping bags on the kitchen counter. We gazed at each other as Edna leaped and danced and wagged her enthusiastic greeting.

“Good night,” I said to him, pointedly.

“Where are you going to sleep?” he asked.

I opened and closed her mouth. “Wha—what?” I forced out.

“There’s no bed here. Where are you going to sleep?”

“Ah,” I murmured, blushing.

There was a fleeting hint of a smile in his eyes. “I wasn’t suggesting my own bed.”

“I didn’t think you were,” I lied, my blush deepening. “I’m sleeping in my sleeping bag. It was hooked to my backpack. See?”

“Just a sleeping bag? On the bare floor?” He sounded shocked.

“I’m used to roughing it.”

He frowned, ruffling Edna’s ears. “No one sleeps on a bare floor in my place,” he said. “I don’t care what you’re used to.”

“Well, I appreciate the sentiment, but strictly speaking, it’s not your place. I’ll be paying rent. Which means it’s my place. You’re not obligated to treat me like a guest.”

He turned and stalked out the door, disappearing into the dense darkness. I shut the door behind him, exhaling a deep sigh of relief.

My battle tension dissipated, leaving me exhausted.

I opened the sliding doors and let the fragrant night air into the room.

Then I put away my groceries in the big, clean kitchen.

That bright, clean, empty fridge just soothed my soul.

So much space for everything. It felt strange, after the van, and my sisters’ microscopic New York apartments.

Their wretched little half-refrigerators.

Though Fate had decreed that both of their new boyfriends have absolute top-shelf, chef’s kiss kitchens. That random little detail made me obscurely happy.

Then I lit one of my scented candles and some sandalwood incense, turned out the overhead light, and sat down cross-legged on my sleeping bag.

The graceful, empty room flickering with candlelight soothed me.

It felt strange and lovely, to have the door open to the night.

To let my senses open and soften, to listen to frogs and insects singing their sweet night songs.

I’d been so paranoid and wound up tight these last few weeks. But here, oddly, I felt almost safe.

From Snake Eyes and Haupt, anyway. If not from my own sex-starved stupidity.

A sense of his presence jolted my nerves into a state of alert. I jumped to my feet as he pushed open the mosquito screen with his boot and stepped through the sliding glass doors. He carried a rolled-up futon without apparent effort, a feather pillow wedged beneath his muscular arm.

“Knock next time,” I said sharply. “I’d appreciate it.”

He gazed over the futon, looking aggrieved. “Of course I would, under normal circumstances,” he said. “My hands were full.” He unfolded it onto the floor, tossed the pillow on top.

“For the record,” I persisted, “in the future, I prefer that you not barge in on me like that. Whether your hands are full or not.”

The condescending, dismissive gesture he made with his shoulders made me tense. “You’re not taking me seriously,” I said tightly. “It’s bugging me. Do we understand each other?”

“Yes, absolutely. Don’t worry, I heard you.” His eyes swept the room until they found my sleeping bag. “Will that keep you warm enough?”

“It always has before,” I assured him. “The futon wasn’t necessary, but thanks, anyway. It’s very kind of you.”

“The incense smells good.” His eyes followed the thin stream of smoke that undulated sensuously from the tiny bronze censer.

“Yes, it does,” I agreed. “It’s my favorite scent.”

A heavy silence fell. “Ah ... thanks for the futon,” I said again. “Very kind of you.”

I had intended the words to be a dismissal, but my voice emerged so husky and low and tentative, the phrase sounded almost inviting.

I tried to think of something else to say, but after a couple minutes of strugging, I abandoned the effort.

I was too damned tired. It felt false. And this guy wasn’t interested in social chatter anyhow.

Nor did he seem to be made uncomfortable by silence.

He just stood there like a mountain in my bedroom.

As dense as granite. An unidentifiable emotion burned from his shadowed eyes.

He wasn’t leaving this place until he was damned good and ready.

So I just stood there and quietly bore the weight of the silence in the flickering dimness, until it became something more than silence.

It was anticipation, taut and aching with things that longed to be said.

A breeze wafted through the door and put out a candle, casting the room into deeper shadow.

I took matches from my pocket and turned to relight it … then froze, realizing that he was right behind me.

“Excuse me. Didn’t mean to startle you. I was just looking at this.

” He gestured at my back with his fingertip, indicating my sun tattoo without touching me.

“I caught a glimpse of it while you were paying for your dinner, but I couldn’t tell what it was under all your hair.

” He studied the small circle with radiating lines.

“A sun,” he said. “Does it have some special meaning? Like the flower?”

“Yes,” I said. “It’s in memorium. For a friend I lost some years ago.”

His hand dropped. “I’m sorry.”

I nodded and turned to face him. It took all my nerve to raise my eyes to his, and when I finally managed it, the smoldering hunger in his gaze stole my breath.

“Do you have any other tattoos?” he asked.

I lifted my chin, straightened my spine.

He had no right to do this, when I was all alone in the dark with him.

Throwing those hot, intense sexual vibes at me, when I felt so vulnerable and tempted.

“That’s for me to know, and for you to wonder about.

” I aimed for a crisp, dismissive tone. Insofar as I could, with no breath to back it up.

The breathlessness once again made my words sound flirtatious. God help me.

Sure enough, he didn’t look dismissed. He looked like he was wondering what else was written on my naked body, as I had just freely invited him to do. Who could blame him? He was wondering so damn hard, I could feel it against my skin.

If he made a move on me now, I wouldn’t have the force of will to push him away. I was gooey to the core. I was sopping wet for him. One featherlight push, and down I would fall, right onto my back. Take me. Right now.

After all my uppity pronouncements. All my fighting words.

“Good night.” He turned and headed out the door.

I stood for a moment, looking at the black rectangle, wide open to the fragrant, noisy forest outside.

The candlelit room suddenly seemed terribly empty.