Paranoid(47)

“Hey, McVey,” she said, poking his shoulder. “Rise and shine.”

“Wha—?” He blinked his eyes open, stared up at her, and smiled widely, then, as the situation hit him, the grin disappeared. “Oh, Jesus.”

“Yeah. My thoughts exactly.”

Neither one of them had ever expected they’d wake up in the same bed again. But last night things had changed. She remembered kissing hot and hard, their tongues colliding as they’d fallen onto the couch. Her hands had slipped beneath his shirt to touch rock-hard muscles and she’d let go, wrapping her arms around him, feeling his hands on her buttocks. A zipper had hissed down and then suddenly he’d stopped. He’d wrapped his arms around her, held her close, and whispered into her mussed hair, “I don’t think I can do this, Kay.”

“What?” she’d murmured.

“You’d hate me forever.”

“I already do,” she’d teased and had kissed him again.

“No, that’s the problem. You don’t.”

“So you’re rejecting me?”

“Never.” He’d stared at her a second. “Go to bed, Kayleigh.”

He’d been right. She’d known it then just as she knew it now. Even though the effects of the drinks hadn’t worn off last night, the weight of his words had gotten through. “I don’t care,” she’d said, and she’d meant it then.

He’d groaned, held her tight, and carried her into her small bedroom. They’d tumbled together onto the covers and she’d thrown all caution to the wind, crossing a bridge she’d thought was long broken.

Now, as more light made its way into the room, his gaze locked with hers as he, too, remembered, one big hand rubbing the beard shadow of his jaw. A strong jaw. In a handsome face. That she’d once thought she’d loved. A long, long time ago.

Before Cade.

“What were we thinking?” he asked, raking stiff fingers through his hair.

“Thinking didn’t have much to do with it.”

“Seemed like the right idea last night.”

“Lots of things did.”

“Amen to that.” His eyes, deep set and intelligent, held questions that he didn’t voice. But he obviously noted that she’d pulled on her jeans and shirt and had picked up her jacket, found on a hook near the door. “Looks like you want to get going.”

“Lots to do. Big case.”

“Yeah.” He stood up then and she turned away as she caught a glimpse of his long legs and tight buttocks.

She felt a little catch in her throat. Which was just plain ludicrous. “I’ll be in the living room.” Was that even her voice—so breathy? What the hell was wrong with her?

As she walked into the living area, Kayleigh heard the metallic sound of a zipper. She went directly to the front door, where her bicycle was propped against the wall, to wait. When she turned and saw him, dressed and carrying the running shoes he’d kicked off with such force one had hit the closet door, causing it to rattle, she felt her throat go dry.

She had loved him and a bit of her heart cracked.

But she didn’t want to remember their short period together, so she pushed any memories far into a dark corner of her mind as he sat on the edge of the couch and tied the laces, then slapped his legs and stood. His hair was still rumpled, the edges of his mouth remaining hard as he said, “Okay. Let’s go get your car.”

“Good idea.”

Minutes later he was driving her through the awakening town, a handful of cars rolling down the streets, headlights and taillights glowing through the heavy mist oozing in from the sea.

“I could buy us coffee,” he said, nodding toward a kiosk where cars were collecting near the corkscrew ramp leading to the bridge that seemed to disappear into the mist.

“Maybe another time.”

But they both knew it would never happen.

“Okay.” He pulled into the near-empty parking lot of the riverfront mall and parked. As she reached for the door handle, he said, “It was good to see you again, Kayleigh.”

“Yeah. You too.” She stepped outside before she said anything further, anything she might regret. “Thanks.”

He, too, had gotten out of the car, letting it idle. “Bye.”

She managed a quick wave, and as she unlocked her car, she wondered what the hell she was doing. What she’d done. What she’d wanted to do. She and McVey were long over; that romantic ship had foundered before it had ever really set sail. So why did she still feel a distant yearning? Why the hell had she so willingly—no, make that so urgently—made love to him?

Before the thought took root, she turned on her wipers and glanced in the rearview mirror, but his image was clouded by the condensation on the window.

“A good thing,” she decided. She could only make out his silhouette as he leaned against his car, watching her drive off. She caught a glimpse of her own troubled eyes in the reflection. “God,” she told the woman staring back at her, “for a smart woman you’re an idiot when it comes to men.”

Forget Travis McVey.

Oh, and while you’re at it? Forget Cade Ryder, too.

*

The downtown block seemed as lifeless and tired as Rachel felt late Saturday morning as she strode toward the newspaper office, determined to straighten out one thing in her life.