Читать книгу Undercover Passion - Melinda Di Lorenzo - Страница 14

Chapter 3

As Liz lifted the last dish in the pile and started to scrub, a knot of worry made her stomach ache. It’d been surprisingly easy to bury the earlier frightening events. Between Harley’s ease with small talk and Teegan’s nonstop chatter, the intruder and his knife had fallen miraculously to the back of her mind. But dinner had gone by quickly, and now the dread of being alone crept up a little more with each passing second. Even dragging the meal out to include pie and ice cream hadn’t slowed things down enough. In a few moments, the last drops of soapy water would be dry. The big dark-haired man—who’d taken a break from drying duty to read Teegan a noisy story in the other room—would probably yawn, thank her for dinner and be on his way. And while he might then be stationed directly across the hall, it wasn’t the same as having him just a holler away.

So tell him what happened, urged a little voice in her head. It might make him stay.

But she shook off the thought. The thug in her shop had said it clear as day. Mentioning his strange and violent query about the painting would endanger her daughter. And until she had time to think it through, she didn’t want to be reckless about a single thing. Liz needed to weigh her options. And she didn’t need to involve an innocent bystander. She couldn’t. Because she was sure that—like any reasonable person—Harley would want to call the police.

The little voice piped up again. Because that’s what makes sense.

And under normal circumstances, that would be true. Crime equaled calling the cops.

But what would you tell them? That a man who didn’t rob you expressed an aggressive interest in a painting while making vague threats?

Liz shook her head to herself. The breaking and entering was enough to warrant a police visit. Logically, she knew that. And if they took it seriously, it might earn her some round-the-clock protection. But the idea that it might backfire was enough to make her hesitate. What if they didn’t take it seriously enough? What if they just took their notes and called it a night?

She thought she was probably better to sit on her hands for a bit. Keep Teegan out of sight. Maybe even ask the two part-time employees she had if they wanted to do some extra work, then head out of town for a couple of days. Pay a visit to some friends down in Freemont City. Whatever it took to convince herself that the shop below was safe.

You could call Garibaldi, instead.

That thought gave her pause. After all, the painting in question was his. And so was the building that housed her shop and her apartment. So, if something funky was up, he might want to know. And he certainly had more than his fair share of influence in the town, so if anyone could guarantee her and Teegan’s safety...

Liz shook her head again. He was probably too entrenched in Whispering Woods politics to move subtly.

Frustration and fear battled in her head. She’d always been critical of the call-the-cops or don’t-call-the-cops moment in movies. Involving the authorities seemed like a given. But now that she was in the thick of that exact moment, she understood. Just that tickle of doubt was enough to make her think twice. A move in either direction could result in disaster. Her stomach roiled at the thought of making the wrong decision.

Liz didn’t realize how vigorously she was scrubbing the plate in her hands until Harley’s teasing voice carried over her shoulder.

“Hey,” he said. “Careful with that thing, or it might not make it to the cupboard in one piece.”

His nearness wasn’t quite enough to ease her tension, and she had to force a laugh. “Just being thorough.”

“Thoroughness like that could clean the shellac right off.” He stepped closer and grabbed the tea towel from the counter. “And besides that. I’m waiting.”

“You’re that excited to dry a dish?”

“To dry the final dish. Unless you want to keep washing it.”

Liz stilled her hands, which had started to scrub again all on their own. “Okay. Maybe I’m going a bit overboard.”

“Just a bit,” he joked. “Now hand it over before I call Teegan for backup.”

“Right. She’s always so eager to help with the cleaning.”

“You’re underestimating my ability to bribe.”

“Ah. Is that the trick, oh, ye of no kids?”

“Hey. I might not have kids, but I know what worked for my mom.”

“Yeah, right. I bet you were a naturally well-behaved little boy.”

“You think?” He tugged at a piece of his shaggy hair. “That’s not the usual rep an artist like me goes for.”

“I don’t think there’s much that’s usual about you.” As soon as she said it, she realized how it sounded, and she quickly added, “After all, you volunteered to both wash and dry.”

He chuckled. “Okay. So I might’ve been a Goody Two-shoes. In the most masculine way possible, of course.”

“Of course.”

“But that doesn’t mean I won’t call that little angel of yours in here and offer her a pile of sugar in exchange for coercing you into giving me the plate.”

With an exaggerated sigh, Liz dipped the dish to rinse it, then held it out. As Harley reached for the plate, though, Liz lost her grip, and it slipped from her hands and plummeted toward the tile. Knowing she wouldn’t be quick enough to grab it before it hit, she braced herself for the shatter. But Harley moved like lightning. He bent low, shot out a hand and snagged the plate just before it hit the ground. And for some inexplicable reason, the slick move made Liz’s throat constrict, and unexpected tears pricked at her eyes.

Maybe it was his easy grace. Or the fact that he was able to sweep in and avert a minor disaster while she decided before it even happened that there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it. It was a stupid analogy for the situation with the man who’d held her at knifepoint. But it fit, nevertheless. And as Harley stood, brandished the plate and grinned triumphantly at her, Liz thought she might actually cry. Something she hadn’t let herself do in years. Something she didn’t want to do now, if she could avoid it.

Harley picked up on it, too. Or some of it, anyway.

“Don’t look so sad,” he said to her. “I saved the plate.”

Liz swallowed. “I know.”

“So I’m gonna guess that something more than the plate is making you make that face.” He gestured to the table. “You wanna sit?”

“I feel like I should be making that offer to you.”

“We can both sit. I hid five bucks in Teegan’s room and told her I’d double it if she found it in no less than ten minutes and no more than twenty.”

In spite of the watery feel in her eyes, Liz laughed. “For real?”

“Yep. Figured you might want some recovery time.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and set it down. “Even set a timer.”

She eyed the countdown clock—it had just rounded the three-minute mark—and sank into the chair. “You’re a magician.”

“Superhero is what I was going for,” he joked.

“Either way, I don’t know what I would’ve done without you tonight.” She blushed as soon as she said it, but it didn’t seem to faze Harley.

“Probably the same thing you always do. Be an extraordinarily competent mom.”

“Or a mom with one less plate, a pile of dishes and no time to rest her feet.”

“Okay. I guess I am indispensable. I’m adding this to my résumé.”

Liz laughed again, and the urge to tell him about her confrontation with the man in the shop reared up once more. He was just so easy to talk to. And it didn’t help when Harley’s hand slid across the table to clasp her own. Shots of warmth—both attraction and comfort—sparked up through her palm and arm, then settled in her chest. She lifted her gaze to meet Harley’s, and she found him staring back, concern playing out through his brown eyes.

Harley gave Liz’s hand a reassuring squeeze. He knew that from a professional perspective, he should probably pull away. Hand-holding with a person of interest wasn’t exactly police protocol. From a human perspective, though, he was sure that the physical contact was what the pretty brunette needed.

And it’s not exactly unenjoyable, either, is it?

He shoved aside the snarky question in favor of studying Liz’s posture. It had become closed off, all of the relaxation that had built up over the course of the meal slipping away. Harley suspected that her earlier apparent fear had wormed its way back in. He also thought she might be fighting an internal battle. If she was on the edge of telling him the truth—or even a small piece of it—he didn’t want to spoil it by breaking contact. In hopes of getting her to talk about whatever it was that had rattled her, Harley had deliberately bought them some one-on-one time by keeping Teegan occupied. What he needed to do now was to use it effectively. To get her to trust him and open up even more. If that meant some literal hand-holding, then so be it. So, instead of pulling away, he ran his thumb over the back of her hand.

“Hey.” His voice came out a little huskier than he’d meant it to, and he had to clear his throat before adding, “My head might look thick, but I can tell something’s bothering you.”

Her eyes, which had been focused on their clasped hands, flicked up to rove over his face. “Your head’s not thick.”

He feigned surprise. “It’s not? Well. That’s going to be a big shock to my brother. He’s been telling people for years just how thick it is.”

Liz laughed, her shoulders loosening visibly. “Let me guess. An older brother?”

Harley nodded, wondering if he should feel less comfortable with telling her a few true details about his life. But who was to say that Harley-the-artist and Harley-the-detective didn’t have things in common?

“Not even two years between us,” he told her. “Thinks he’s pretty smart, though.”

“Well, trust me. If he’s calling you thickheaded, he’s not the smart one.” She blushed. “Sorry.”

“What for? Complimenting me?”

“For insulting your brother.”

He shrugged. “Don’t worry. He can’t hear you.”

“I know,” Liz said ruefully. “And that makes it worse. I’m talking behind his back, and I’ve never even met him.”

“Feel free to send him an apologetic email. He likes that kind of thing.”

She started to laugh, but the sound cut off as quickly as it had come. Her expression sobered, and she bit her lip, hesitation clear on her face.

“Harley?”

“Yes?”

“I—” She stopped, then pulled her hand away and shook her head.

Harley quashed a stab of regret at the loss of contact, flexed his fingers and made himself smile. “You what?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Nothing usually means something.”

“Says who?” Her reply had a forced lightness to it, and Harley responded in kind.

“Every man since the dawn of time,” he teased. “And just FYI, I have it on good authority that I’m an excellent secret-keeper. I mean, have I even once mentioned that secret stash of chocolate-chip cookies in Teegan’s sock drawer?”

“She has a—” Liz groaned. “Ha ha. Very funny.”

“Made you laugh, though, didn’t it?”

“You realize that saying ‘ha ha’ doesn’t count as a laugh, right?”

“No?”

She smiled. “Afraid not.”

“Hmm,” he replied. “I guess it’s an imperfect talent. I’ll keep working on it.”

“On the other side of things...you’re pretty good at the rest of this stuff.”

“That’s great.” He leaned forward and, in a conspiratorial whisper, added, “But you’re going to have to define ‘this stuff.’”

Her smile widened. “Talking. Listening. Making me say ‘ha ha’ and generally distracting me.”

“In that case, I’m happy to help. Even if I don’t know what it is I’m distracting you from.”

She opened her mouth, and Harley expected to hear another denial, but instead she let out a vague affirmation that sounded like a sigh. “Yes.”

It’s a step in the right direction, Harley thought to himself, while out loud he stated, “You know, not too long ago, some woman I know told me I’m a good listener.”

She smiled. “Some woman, huh?”

“Mmm. You may have seen her around. Has a noisy kid. Owns an art shop. Pretty blue eyes.” The last bit slipped out before Harley could stop it, but she blushed in response, and he was glad—just this once—that his mouth was working faster than his brain. “Anyway. This woman. She’d probably tell you it’s okay to use me as a sounding board.”

“This woman might be right, but she might not have the whole story.”

“Try me.”

Liz’s mouth worked for a second, like she was trying to find a way around his words. “You know, Mr. Maxwell, I get the feeling that you could charm your way into anything.”

It was Harley’s turn to laugh. “Well, Ms. James, if my brother could hear that, he’d be even more shocked than if he heard you say I wasn’t thickheaded.”

“He doesn’t think you’re charming?”

“I’m pretty sure he thinks I’m still an awkward kid, doodling in a notebook.”

It was a bit of an exaggeration. Harley knew that Brayden appreciated his talents, and also took advantage of them whenever needed. But he couldn’t very well tell Liz that he’d morphed from doodler into detective, so he just offered a grin and let her doubtfully sweep her gaze over his chest and shoulders.

“You know what?” she said after a second. “I just can’t picture it.”

“What? My doodling?”

“You, being awkward.”

“Perfect. I’ve got you fooled. My work here is done.” He pretended to stand, and Liz’s face abruptly crumpled.

Under other circumstances, her obvious distress at the thought of his leaving would’ve been a huge fan to his ego. Right then, it just deepened his concern. He dropped back into the chair and slid it closer to Liz, then reached out with the intention of putting his hands on her wrists and offering a word of comfort. Instead, she leaned into his chest, and his only choice was to either push her away or wrap his arms around her. He picked the latter without even thinking about it. As she clung to him without any sign of letting go, her body shook a little, and he knew she had to be crying.

Automatically, Harley’s hands started to move in a soothing circle over her back. “It’s all right. I’m not going anywhere.”

When she answered, it was without pulling away, and her words were small and muffled. “I’m scared.”

The statement tugged at him. “I can see that.”

She held tightly for a few more seconds before finally easing back. Harley couldn’t help but note that she didn’t pull away fully—their knees still touched, and the tiniest move would propel her into his arms once more. He could also see the streak of tears down her face, enhanced by the transfer of clay from his shirt, and it took real effort to keep from reaching up to brush them away in a too-intimate gesture. In the end, she beat him to it. She lifted up her thumb to wipe at the damp spot she’d left on his clothes.

“Sorry about that.” There was a mix of regret and frustration in the apology.

“Don’t be sorry,” he said back. “It’s probably cleaner now than it was before. I should be thanking you.”

“Thank the woman you barely know for literally crying onto your shoulder? That’s gotta be a new one.”

“I know you at least a little.” He gave her knee a squeeze.

“Well enough to let me sob on you?”

“I know that you work hard, make a killer beef stew and care more than anything about your kid. I’d say that’s all the prerequisites needed for sobbing.”

“Ah. If that’s the measure, then I guess I’m okay.” Her hand came up to rest on the back of his, and she spread her fingers over his knuckles. “It’s not even that I don’t want to tell you what’s upsetting me. I can’t.”

The feel of her skin moving over his was distracting. “Can’t?”

“Sounds crazy, right? It feels crazy.” Her hand slid up his arm, and he wondered if she was even aware that she was touching him.

He swallowed, trying to focus on their conversation. “It’s only crazy if you believe that the can’t comes as a result of someone casting a magic spell on you, preventing you from spilling your guts.”

“I actually wish it were that straightforward. An evil spell would explain so much.” The tips of her fingers had reached the crook of his elbow, and she looked down as if just noticing their placement, then started to jerk them away.

Harley reflexively brought up his hand to grab hers and stop it from slipping away. For a second, they sat still, both their gazes fixed on their locked palms. Then—also together—they lowered their hands to rest together on the table beside them.

“Can I ask you something, Harley?” Liz asked softly.

“Definitely,” Harley agreed.

“If you thought—even for a second—that me telling you what I’m worried about might backfire and hurt Teegan, would you still want to know?”

He didn’t even have to think about it. “No.”

Liz’s eyes lifted to his. “That was a pretty quick answer.”

“What kind of man would I be if I thought endangering a kid was the way to go?”

“Not the kind I’d want to have over for dinner, I think.”

Unconsciously, Harley inched forward. “It’d be terrible to have missed that beef stew.”

Liz’s free hand came up to the outside of his thigh. “And the dishwashing.”

Their faces were inches apart now, and detective-Harley was urging artist-Harley to put some space between them. But artist-Harley was too interested in studying the little flecks of gray in Liz’s otherwise blue eyes. They were tiny. Unnoticeable, until he’d gotten this close. Just like the floral scent he’d observed earlier. He inhaled and wondered what else he might’ve been missing by keeping a professional distance for the last ten days. The warmth of her lips, maybe?

No. Not maybe. Definitely.

He could definitely feel the heat of her mouth now.

His detective side was fighting a losing battle.

He leaned forward. So did Liz. Harley heard her breath catch and saw her lids drop just a heartbeat before his eyes closed, too. He bent in, anticipating the soft, sweet taste of her kiss.

And for a moment, he had it.

Delicate heat.

A burst of need.

A desire to deepen it.

Then, as quickly as it started, the kiss was ripped away by an explosive bang that rocked the room and sent Liz flying from her chair.