Читать книгу Your Mouth Drives Me Crazy - HelenKay Dimon - Страница 9

Copper. Out on the beach Kane had wondered. Looking at the mystery woman standing on his bath mat, now he knew. Her hair fell in loose copper-colored curls around her shoulders, drying as he watched. Those green eyes were the color of the grass in spring. The brightness a perfect opposite to her creamy pink-hued skin.

Lovely and delicate. A beautiful woman.

Except for the lying. She had not uttered a single truthful sentence since he dumped her in the shower and forced her out of her fake slumber.

His robe dwarfed her petite frame, making her look sweet and vulnerable. After talking with her for five minutes, he knew that was a sham, too. This woman could hold her own.

Now he had to see if she could tell the truth.

“I’m ready when you are,” he said.

She clenched the robe even tighter against her breasts. “You can look somewhere else. I’m not interested.”

It took a few seconds for her comment to settle in. When the words hit him, so did a twinge of guilt. The woman likely suffered from something, even if that something was her own stupidity. No wonder she expected the worst from him.

“I’m not offering,” he said, hoping to ease her concern.

“Keep it that way, or I strangle you with this belt.” She twirled the material a bit.

He wondered if she realized the move looked more like a striptease than a threat. The direction of his thoughts confirmed what he already knew—three months was too long to go without a woman. He’d started seeing sexual overtones everywhere, even from a nearly drowned woman.

He exhaled for emphasis. “Look, Trixie, we have a problem.”

“Trixie?”

“Do you prefer Fern?”

“To what?” She stopped twirling the belt.

“I don’t know. Mabel?”

“Who?”

“Or is it Bertha?”

A flush settled over her cheeks. “I don’t even know what we’re talking about.”

Somehow he didn’t believe that either. He’d been in law enforcement in some form or another since turning twenty-one. That amounted to fifteen years of intuition and experience. During his time with the Drug Enforcement Agency he’d seen everything. Tracked down money and drugs. Dodged bullets and knives. Hell, he’d broken unbreakable perps. Same with his current position with the police department.

This lady put on a good front, but she was playing some sort of game just like the rest of them. He just had to figure out which one.

“We’re still working on your name,” he said as he towel dried his hair. “I see you as a Gertrude.”

She clenched her teeth together so hard his gums ached in sympathy. A lot of anger brewed under the surface with this one. He filed that information away for later.

“I told you I don’t remember my name. Why don’t you believe me?”

He threw the balled-up towel on the counter. “Maybe because you’re lying.”

She gasped.

Her acting needed some work, but he appreciated the effort. “Don’t get me wrong. You’re doing a convincing job, but the I-don’t-remember thing is getting old.”

She waved her hand in the air in a dismissive gesture, one that came very close to giving him the finger. When she did it a second time, he figured she was giving him the finger.

“Think whatever you want,” she said as she curled her bare toes into his bath mat.

He couldn’t figure out if she was cold or trying to hide her shocking pink nail polish. “Right. The amnesia. Any other disease or afflictions you’re pretending to have? Just so I’m prepared.”

The stain on her cheeks deepened. “For a supposed police officer you don’t seem all that concerned about the fact I nearly drowned.”

That thought sobered him. Despite everything else, trouble barked at her heels. “If you tell me how you got in the water, I can help. I can’t do anything until you level with me.”

“I have.”

“Look, Fern—”

She lost some of her cool and started shouting. Even stomped one of those bare feet against the small carpet square. “Stop calling me that.”

“It could be your name.”

“It’s not.”

Tweaking her temper came easy. “You’re saying you know what your name isn’t?”

“That’s right.”

He’d received medical training. Knew how to identify injuries. “Did you read that in a book?”

“When?”

“Whenever you dreamed up this story.”

“I was too busy drinking in buckets of saltwater and swimming for my life to read or dream anything.”

“Touché.” He grabbed his shield off the counter. “Let’s go.”

“I’m done showering, thanks.”

“To my bedroom.” He reached for her elbow.

She backed away and evaded his grasp. “Look, I’m not—”

“Not for that.” The thought of a mutual and hot “that” had been hovering at the back of his mind ever since he stepped into the shower and felt her soft skin pressing against him.

Not about her. About any woman. Now that she’d brought the idea out into the open, he wouldn’t be able to block it again until he found a woman to scratch that itch. Preferably one who could tell the truth for more than three minutes at a time.

“We’re going to change,” he said.

“If by that you mean change into someone less annoying, I’m all for it.” She motioned for him to go first.

He figured the biting remarks were a defense mechanism. Either that or her entire personality consisted of sarcasm. “You need to stay in my line of sight.”

“I’m still not interested,” she grumbled.

“Me either.”

“Right.” She shot a bug-eyed glance at his zipper.

As far as he was concerned, she needed to keep his pants out of this. And stop looking. That type of encouragement he did not need.

He exhaled again to let her know his frustration, hoping this time she would get the hint. “I’m in wet jeans. Not comfortable. I need to get out of them and into something else so we can figure out what to do with you.”

“You’re not doing anything with me.”

“I’m going to gag you in a minute.” This time he caught her elbow before she could move away. “Since you strike me as a runner, you’re coming with me.”

He started to guide her down the short hallway. After two steps, her sharp intake of breath stopped him. “What’s wrong now?”

She leaned down to rub her leg through the robe. “You make it sound as if I complain all the time.”

“That’s been my experience so far.”

“Yeah, well, my knee hurts. Pain makes me grumpy.”

Damn, she was hurt. “What happened?”

“I don’t know.”

He watched her massage her leg. “How can you not know?”

This time she was the one who sighed. “I was in that water for heaven knows how long. Maybe an animal bit me.”

“Animal?”

“Fish? Mammal? Big-toothed water predator? Whatever crawls around in the water.”

“Since you still have a leg, we can rule out shark. Not sure what crawling creatures you’re referring to, but let me see.” He dropped to his knees to inspect the injury. His fingertips barely touched the robe before she snapped the terry cloth back and away from his hands.

“I don’t think so.” She said a few other words, all profane and none in sentence form.

“What has gotten into you?”

“You.”

This would teach him to rescue a woman in need. “What did I do?”

“Stand up. Now.” She grabbed the edges of the robe and pulled the material tight against her legs in a big bunch. One hand clamped against the material at her breasts; the other held the wad around her knees. The contortion shielded every inch of bare skin except her neck, calves and feet.

The lack of trust irked him. “I’m a professional.”

“Uh-huh. Get up.”

“I’m trying to help you.”

“Nice try.” She waved a finger—this time not her middle one—in his face.

“You could have a serious injury. Something that requires immediate attention.” He doubted that. More likely a sprain, but he should check it out to be sure. Maybe get her to a clinic or the emergency room.

“You’ve seen and felt enough. No more freebies. Thanks anyway.” A dull red stained her cheekbones.

“What if—”

“No.”

He blew out a breath. “I’ve seen you naked.”

“That’s my point. Show-and-tell hour is over.”

She stayed calm when he saw her without clothes on and went wacky when he touched her knee. Women were bizarre creatures. Not exactly news to him, but still.

“Fine. You win.” He held up his hands in surrender because conceding proved to be the easiest choice.

“Good.”

“For now.” He jumped to his feet and guided her down the rest of the short hallway to his bedroom. To keep the damage to a minimum, he balanced most of her weight on his arm.

Not that there was much to her. She probably clocked in at five-six or-seven and a hundred twenty pounds. Slim and small boned despite having some height on her. But at six-two he towered over her. The vantage point gave him a front-row view of the smooth skin at the tops of her breasts. The lawman in him looked away, but the man part snuck a peek or two.

As they walked through the doorway he tried to see the room through her eyes. Probably best described as practical and sparse. Nothing special or fancy about the mattress and frame on the floor or the oak dresser and nightstand.

He was a simple man with simple tastes. The room reflected his no-nonsense view of life. Getting tied to material objects went against his personal philosophy. The land, family and hard work mattered. It had taken losing almost all of his family for him to realize that fundamental truth.

Trade winds blew through the open window, cooling the two-bedroom house and filling the room with the scent of white ginger. Like everywhere else on Kauai, flowers bloomed in colorful disarray right under his window despite his tendency to ignore them. His front lawn consisted mostly of sand. Low maintenance for a man who rarely spent time at home.

Make that a man who used to rarely spend time at home. Right now he spent all of his time at home or on the beach or over on Oahu visiting his nephew at college.

Six days of vacation left. Today he’d found a woman. He could hardly wait to see what washed up on shore tomorrow.

“You could have left me in the bathroom,” she said as she came to a halt in the middle of the room. “It’s not as if I have anywhere to go.”

He set her down on the edge of the bed and turned to search through his dresser drawer. “A very rational argument.”

“Then?” She massaged her knee.

He made a mental note to double check the injury and wrap up her leg later. “No.”

“Why not?”

He almost chuckled at the disbelief in her voice. “For starters, I don’t trust you.”

“You’re not exactly Mr. Sunshine yourself. Working on that bedside manner of yours wouldn’t be a waste of your time.”

“I’m not a doctor.”

“So you treat all crime victims this way?”

He caught the slip. “What crime?”

The color seeped from her cheeks. “Huh?”

Now he was getting somewhere. “You. Victim. Crime. Those were all your words.”

“Well, I…ummm, since I washed up—”

This time he did smile. Couldn’t help it. She flipped from sassy to flustered in a second. If she balled her fists together any tighter on her lap, she might break a finger or two.

“Still waiting on a full sentence, Fern.”

Her toes curled again. This time, she buried the tops in the carpet just under the bed. “My name’s not Fern.”

“Right.”

“I’d know if that were my name.”

He kept his hands low behind his back to hide his surprise from her. If he lifted his palm, she’d be able to see him in the mirror set above the chest of drawers. “Try again on the victim issue.”

He could actually see her mind working and waited for the next lie. Instead, calm washed over her. She sat up straight, clear-eyed and ready for verbal battle, as if she’d made some internal decision.

For some reason the change in her demeanor made him nervous as hell.

She shrugged. “I just figured if I was in the water, I must have been there by nefarious means,” she said.

“Nefarious?”

“It means—”

He held up a palm. “You don’t need to whip out the dictionary. I know what the word means. My point was that you could have been in the water for any number of innocent reasons, like swimming or boating.”

“Naked?”

“Maybe you were skinny dipping?”

“I doubt it.”

“You immediately assume something bad happened.” So had he. An occupational hazard. Consistent with his life experience, too.

“I’m a pessimist.” She looked him right in the eye when she said that.

“Not my Fern.”

Those clenched hands now held fistsful of his comforter on either side of her legs. “If you call me that one more time, I’ll…”

“What?”

“Something.”

“Good comeback.” He pulled out the handcuffs from behind his back. The metal clanked against the wood.

“What are those for?”

He dangled the cuffs in front of her face. “Insurance.”

“No way. I’m outta here.” She bolted from the bed.

He was ready for her. He looped one arm around her waist and pulled her back tight against his chest. He could smell his shampoo in her soft hair. His soap on her skin.

“Let me go!”

He held her still with one arm. “Can’t.”

“Of course you can.” She squirmed and pushed against his hand.

He got his confirmation when her body fit snug against him. He needed a woman. Not this woman. One less temperamental and not water-logged. One night. Sex. Cleared head. Move on.

“Stop before you hurt yourself,” he said as he blocked a shot to his temple.

“You mean, before you hurt me.”

“Never going to happen.” He grabbed both of her forearms, careful not to hurt her, and set her back down on the bed.

Before she could protest, he slipped one end of the handcuffs over her wrist. The other end snapped against the mattress frame with a click. The move forced her to lean on her left forearm low to the bed. Not the most comfortable position ever, but it would last only a few minutes.

“What are you doing?” She sounded more angry than scared.

“Holding you steady so I can change my clothes.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Almost never.”

“This is ridiculous. Let me out of these.” She rattled the cuffs, causing metal to screech against metal.

“Would you prefer I strip down in front of you?” he asked.

“I’d prefer you show a little common sense.” The heat stayed in her voice, but the clanking stopped.

“That would require me to drive you to the hospital and have you checked out. After all that poking and prodding, if you still insisted you couldn’t remember anything, I’d take photos and send them out over the wire to see if anyone had reported you missing. Contact the FBI for assistance. Put your face on the television and in the computer. Those things.”

“Sounds like typical male overkill.”

“Standard procedure.” As if he had a plan for this sort of thing. Since beautiful naked women tended to walk through the front door rather than wash in with the waves, he didn’t. “Just like putting you in jail would be if I found you were in that kind of trouble.”

“Jail?” Her voice actually squeaked.

“But if I knew your name…”

She rolled her eyes. “Fine. It’s Fern. Can I go now?”

“And miss your sparkling conversation? I don’t think so.”

“I am going to have your ass on a plate for this.”

“We can talk about my ass when I get back.” He winked, then disappeared into the bathroom.