Sighs Matter Page 13

  “You didn’t see anybody? Any cars maybe?”

  She brightened at that. “Oh, yes. Now that you mention it, it does seem rather odd that such a broken-down old place, all dark and gloomy like, had, let’s see . . .” Her voice trailed off as she closed her eyes. Her fingers moved in front of her as though she were ticking off numbers. “Three. Three cars. No, wait. Two cars and a big SUV-looking thing.”

  Taylor and Claire locked gazes.

  “What color was the SUV?” Taylor’s heart sped up. Black. She would say black. He knew she would.

  “Black.”

  Claire cleared her throat. “Aunt Sadie, the SUV that bumped me off the road was black.”

  Sadie’s eyes widened in alarm.

  “. . . alrighty then . . . well alrighty then . . .”

  “Shut up, Hitch.”

  Taylor scrubbed his jaw with his knuckles. “Claire was in your truck when she was hit, but the driver had to have known it wasn’t you behind the wheel, if not before, then certainly afterward, when he took her purse.”

  None of this made any kind of sense. If Mortimer was behind Claire’s attack, why? If it was the partner, what was his motive for scaring Claire? Why Claire? Why not Sadie?

  “Could you find the place again?” he said. “The road with the gate?”

  Sadie considered this while Hitch nibbled gently at her ear.

  “Honestly, I doubt it. We’d been driving all over the place and it was nearly dark as it was. I slept most of the way back. I’m sorry, Detective McKennitt. I’m not much help.”

  “. . . Detective McKennitt . . . bastard . . .”

  “Shut up, Hitch.” Sadie smiled at Taylor, a flirty little grin that put a sparkle in her eye and must have set the boys’ hearts to racing a long time ago.

  Ignoring the frigging bird, he said, “On the contrary, ma’am. You’ve been a great deal of help.”

  He closed the notebook he’d been scribbling in and tucked it into his inside jacket pocket. “Have you heard from Mortimer since you broke your engagement?”

  “No.”

  “Do you think he’ll give up, or will he persist?”

  Sadie pursed her lips. “I don’t know. I was very angry, and he knows it. I gave him back his ring.”

  “Okay, look, I don’t want you to call him, but if he should initiate contact, could you try to find out where that place was he took you in the country?”

  She perked right up at that. “You mean, spy for you?”

  Across the room, Claire’s smile died. “Taylor, no,” she protested, her voice thick with alarm. “You can’t ask Aunt Sadie to do something so dangerous.”

  “If I thought there was any risk,” he assured her, “I wouldn’t ask.” Turning to Sadie, he said, “I don’t want you going anywhere with him. This is just if he calls and you can find a way to work it into the conversation. Your asking a lot of questions could arouse his suspicions.”

  Sadie clapped her hands together like a kid at a birthday party. “Oh, a new role! God, it’s been so long.” Her eyes narrowed and her voice lowered at least two octaves. “I know just how I’ll play it,” she emoted. “I’ll get you what you need, Detective. You can count on me.”

  Taylor sent her a stern look. “We appreciate your cooperation, ma’am, but I want you to exercise extreme caution. If he calls, try to get him to talk about that place. Any information you can get out of him will be of great help.”

  “And if he doesn’t call?”

  Taylor’s mouth flattened. “We’ll find some other way. Don’t initiate contact, ma’am. Promise?”

  Sadie grinned. “I . . . promise.”

  Chapter 12

  Juvenile

  Child-sized river in Egypt.

  “So,” Claire said, her hands shoved deep into her pockets. “Now that you’ve done your good deed for today, you’ll be taking off, hmm?”

  Taylor’s eyes snapped at her remark. “What in the hell does that mean?”

  She flicked a glance at Aunt Sadie, who was deep into some private kind of stand-up routine with Hitch over by the window.

  Keeping her voice low, Claire said, “Didn’t you see how she responded when you asked for her help? She thinks this is like a movie role. Dammit, Taylor, I’m going to have to watch her every second to make sure she doesn’t do something risky. It’s not like I don’t already have enough to worry about—”

  “I’m old, not deaf,” Sadie sang lightly, causing both Taylor and Claire to look her way.

  “. . . not deaf . . . Detective McKennitt . . . bastard . . .”

  “Shut up, Hitch,” Sadie admonished as she turned to Claire. “Don’t worry dear. I’ll be good.”

  Her eyes held a sparkle that unnerved Claire more than a little.

  Urging Hitch up to her shoulder, Sadie said, “I’m going to my room now. I need to work a bit more on my memoirs. I’m stuck on my brief affair with . . . oh, never mind. You’re too young to remember him.” She slid a shrewd glance between Claire and Taylor, standing toe-to-toe, obviously ready to do battle. With a sly smile and the arch of a brow, she tilted her head as though confiding to the bird. “Fasten your seat belt. It’s going to be a bumpy night.”

  As Sadie and Hitch disappeared up the stairs, the parrot muttered something about a failure to communicate.

  Unwilling to let her concerns go unanswered, Claire curled her fingers around Taylor’s forearm.

  “I adore Aunt Sadie,” she whispered. “If any harm comes to her because of this thing with Mort, I’ll hold you personally responsible. And I mean it.”

  For a moment, Taylor only stared down into her eyes, then he placed his hand over hers. “Claire. I’d die before I’d see any harm come to her. Or you. And I mean it.”

  They stood like that for a long time, long enough for Claire to realize something had shifted between them. The dynamics of their relationship had changed, solidified in some subtle way. She’d dropped her guard so briefly, yet it had given Taylor enough time to move past her defenses and into her life, into her thoughts, maybe even into her heart. She wanted to shove him back out again, resist her feelings for him, but she was weary from the struggle.

  “What time is it?” she said, easing her hand from his arm. “I need to eat something.”

  In the cozy kitchen, they prepared and ate dinner together. Taylor talked about himself, his brother, their parents, what it was like growing up in Seattle. As he spoke, she watched him by the light of the candles she’d lit and placed on the table. During the day, Taylor’s eyes were like twin blue flames, hot with intelligence and interest. Now, as they reflected the candles’ glow, they smoldered like a banked fire. It would take only the softest breath to make them ignite.

  As they cleared the dishes, he said, “I noticed a little basketball court out behind the garage. Do you play?”

  Setting a clean glass on the shelf, Claire closed the cupboard door. “Grandpa put it in for Zach and me when we were kids. We’d play after dinner on summer evenings.”

  “What a coincidence. This is after dinner on a summer evening.”

  “I haven’t played for years.”

  Closing the silverware drawer, he narrowed one eye on her. “Then it’s time you got a refresher.”

  “Some other time,” she said, as she hung the damp dish towel to dry. “I’m really not very athletic. I’d probably break something.”

  Despite her protests, he took her by the wrist and urged her out the back door, dragging her around the house to the small basketball court. “Got a ball?”

  It took a few minutes, but they found it in the garage. It looked more like a doughy brown pillow, but they pumped it up, and were back on the court a few minutes later.

  Claire toed off her shoes. Beneath her bare feet, the short grass in the yard felt cool and damp, a contrast to the warmth of the smooth cement of the court. Although night had fallen, light from the back porch poured onto the yard, casting Taylor’s handsome features in sharp contrasts and angles. From t
he open bedroom window above, she could hear Hitch begging HAL to open the pod bay doors.

  “As you may recall,” Taylor said, picking up the ball and twirling it on his thumb. “You try to throw the ball through the hoop, and I stop you. Then I throw the ball through the hoop while you try and stop me.”

  She raised a brow. “It sounds like you always succeed and I always fail.”

  “Well,” he said with exaggerated shyness. “I am taller than you, stronger, very athletic, faster, and I do have a few trophies from college—”

  “Oh, really,” she said flatly. “Trophies.”

  He shrugged and smiled as though he was apologizing in advance for cleaning her clock.

  While he was busy congratulating himself on his assumed victory, Claire grabbed the ball from his relaxed fingers, spun around, arched her arm toward the basket, and lobbed the ball through the hoop.

  “Two points,” she stated.

  Taylor stood gaping at her. “Hey! You didn’t give me a chance to—”

  She bent and scooped up the ball, but as she went to throw, he stopped talking and blocked her. She ducked under his outstretched arm, and lobbed in another one.

  “Two points,” she huffed. “Puts me up four.”

  Flashing him a smile, she saw the fire light in his eyes as he came after her. But she twirled around, stepped back, jumped and threw, and in it went.

  “Two points. Six, zer—”

  “I can add,” he snapped.

  Claire retrieved the ball, dribbling it away from him. Before she could get another one off, he snatched it away, turned and shot, and missed.

  “Those trophies you have,” she laughed, recovering the ball, bouncing it on the cement, “were for varsity hopscotch, right?”

  Another lob, another score.

  “Eight, zip,” she sang.

  “Basketball is about more than scoring,” he growled. “There’s strategy, and rules. This game does have rules, you know. Anybody can score poi— Hey!”

  While he’d stood complaining, Claire turned, arched her arm, and lobbed in another one.

  Suddenly, what felt like a steel band wrapped around her waist, lifting her off the ground.

  “Personal foul!” she squeaked as he held her against his body. Though she squirmed and struggled, he held on tight. With his free hand, he bounced the ball, shot, and scored.

  “Now we’re even,” he panted, laughing, still lugging her around.

  “Even?” she choked, wrapping her arms around his neck to keep from falling. “I’m clearly ahead. Clearly the superior player.”

  He tossed the ball and scored two more points. “Now I’m ahead.”

  “No you’re not,” she croaked. “I thought you said you could add!”

  “Hey now,” he said, his voice very matter-of-fact. “I’m handicapped by carrying around a luscious babe, so I get double points.”

  “No you don’t,” she growled. “I was winning fair and square and you—”

  “My, my, my,” he drawled, looking into her eyes. “You really hate losing, don’t you.”

  Yes. “I can be a gracious loser, when I actually lose.”

  He let her slide down his body until her feet touched the court once more. One arm still encircled her waist, while he held the ball against his hip with the other hand.

  Claire pressed herself to him, letting her breasts rub against his chest as she moved her palms across the flat of his belly. Beneath her fingers, his muscles tightened.

  “You really hate losing, too, don’t you, Detective,” she whispered suggestively. He swallowed. Those blue eyes went all sleepy. He lowered his head to kiss her.

  She swooped in. Grabbing the ball, she spun away and tossed in another perfect basket, clapped her hands and laughed.

  Her arms out, fingers splayed, she went to capture the ball just as Taylor moved to block her. As they collided, her fingers smashed into the solid wall of his chest. The little finger of her left hand bent backward, and Claire let out a yelp. Gasping, she clutched her injured hand to her chest.

  “Ouch, owie, owie, owie, damn!”

  “Claire?” Taylor let the ball drop as he gently curled his fingers around her hand, tenderly prying it away from her chest. “Let me see.”

  She felt the tears well up in her eyes. Her little finger hurt like hell and it was all his fault. Damn him for being so smug. Trophies. Really. Men were so competitive.

  “I won,” she said as he took her injured hand into his warm palm. The finger had already begun to throb.

  “Can you wiggle it?”

  She did.

  Lifting her hand to his mouth, he placed a soft kiss on the swollen distal phalanx. “I’m sorry your wimpy little finger got hurt when it smashed into my big manly chest.”

  Her jaw went slack. “You call that an apology?”

  Shrugging, he said, “Well, if you’d let me keep my points . . .” Before she could elbow him in the gut, he reached up and cupped her cheek.

  “Claire,” he whispered, looking deeply into her eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. You going to be okay?” In his hand, hers felt warm and safe.

  Examining the tender digit, she said, “The interphalangeal joint’s a bit swollen, but I don’t think the phalange is fractured.” She looked up at him. “I won, you know.”

  His arm around her waist, he smiled sadly down at her. “If it makes you happy to delude yourself into thinking you won, then I concede. But if we’d played longer, I would have beaten the pants off you.” His eyes took on that smoky quality again. “Figuratively speaking, of course. Let’s get you inside and put some ice on that finger, Dr. Hoops.” He smirked. “Or would that be Dr. Oops?”

  Between the ice, the gauze bandage wrap, and the ibuprofen, Claire felt comfortable. The swelling wasn’t that bad, and the sprain seemed minor. Mostly, she was embarrassed she’d injured herself during a silly backyard basketball game.

  God, men were so competitive.

  She sat in the living room, watching the weather report, her hand resting on her stomach. The kitchen door swung closed, and a moment later Taylor settled down beside her on the couch.

  Evening had mellowed into a soft summer night, and a breeze wafted through the open windows, brushing Claire’s cheeks. Even though her finger still throbbed, she felt more content than she had in years. Being with Taylor like this was familiar, even fun, and very, very appealing.

  He slid his arm around her shoulders. “This wouldn’t have happened if you’d acknowledged my athletic superiority and let me keep my points. You are so competitive.” He sent her a wry smile, and when she raised her chin to tear into him, he kissed her.

  And she forgot al-l-l about tearing into him, verbally anyway.

  The moment his lips touched hers, desire flared deep inside her. He pulled back and looked into her eyes, then kissed her once more, cupping her breast in his palm.

  “You’re cheating again,” she accused against his mouth. “Don’t know how to play fair, do you . . . mmm?”

  His tongue slipped inside her mouth, touching hers, coaxing. Easing her arms around his neck, she kissed him back, letting him do with his hands whatever he wanted.

  And what he apparently wanted was to get her naked.

  In seconds her blouse was open, her bra unclasped, and Taylor’s warm, wet mouth was on her, licking, suckling. She felt her head spin as hard need took hold of her.

  “Tell me what you like,” he whispered as he bit the lobe of her ear. “Tell me what you want.” His thumb rubbed her nipple, flicking it, sending a frisson of sensation throughout her body.

  “Listen to me,” she panted. “Please. I have to tell you . . .”

  He pulled away, but said nothing, apparently waiting for the blood to return to his brain so he could comprehend that she was speaking. Finally, “What?”

  “I had fun with you today,” she said, her voice low and husky. “I enjoy your company—”

  “Same here.”

  “B
ut . . .”

  He eyed her. “But we’re not going to have sex,” he finished for her. “Are we?”

  Irritation and desire heated her blood and she smacked his shoulder. “This is about more than sex!”

  He let out a sigh. “Well that confirms it. We’re definitely not having sex.” The look on his face was one of frustrated resignation.

  “Not until we talk about it.”

  His lips quirked. “So we are going to have sex, but not until you talk it to death first.”

  “My God. You make open, honest, adult communication sound so—”

  “It’s okay. I pressured you. My bad.”

  “Taylor,” she pleaded. “This is about more than sex. If I sleep with you again, I . . . God, I hate to admit this, but I’ll fall for you. I like you way too much as it is, and I know myself well enough to know that making love with you would push me over the edge.”

  His mouth flattened. “Hmm. That would be terrible. I can see your dilemma.”

  “No, you don’t understand!”

  “Why in the hell are you so pissed? You’re off the hook. No sex.” Letting his gaze drop to her bare chest, he stared at her a long time, then murmured, “Sorry. You’re on the hook again.”

  As his lips closed over one sensitive nipple, Claire let her head fall back, and she softly gasped. It had been too long since she’d made love, and her body was screaming for release. She felt her muscles tighten as desire warmed her to the core, making it difficult to push him away.

  But she did.

  “Okay, fine,” he panted, resting his forehead against hers. “No sex. I get it. But you’re sending me mixed messages here, Claire. You always have, and I need to know why. I think it’s time you told me the truth.”

  Taylor moved away from her, distancing himself from her body, mentally preparing himself for whatever she had to say. His own body was practically convulsing with sexual energy, but he wasn’t fool enough to think this conversation would have a gratifying outcome . . . no pun intended.

  Women. They had to talk everything into the frigging ground. This was probably going to be about her needs versus his needs, her job versus his job, how a relationship between a busy doctor and a busy cop could never possibly work. Hell, he thought, they liked each other. A lot. Why couldn’t they just sort of go with that and see where it led?