Heroes Are My Weakness(58)

“She took off when I was five. I barely remember her.”

“Tell me about your wife? I saw a photo of her online. She was beautiful.”

“Beautiful and independent. Those are the women I’m attracted to.”

Qualities Annie knew little about.

“Kenley was also brilliant,” he said. “Off-the-chart smart. And ambitious. But what attracted me the most was that fierce independence.”

In the game of life, the score was clear. Kenley Harp, 4. Annie Hewitt, 0. Not that she was jealous of a dead woman, but she yearned to be fiercely independent, too. And possessing extreme beauty along with a megabrain wouldn’t hurt either.

If it had been anyone other than Theo, Annie would have changed the subject, but their relationship existed so far outside the borders of normalcy that she could say what she wanted. “If your wife had all those qualities, why did she kill herself?”

He took his time answering—nudging Hannibal away from the overturned wastebasket, checking the latch on the window. Finally, he said, “Because she wanted to punish me for making her miserable.”

His indifference fit perfectly with everything she’d once believed about him, but no longer quite rang true. She spoke lightly, “You make me miserable, too, but I’m not going to kill myself.”

“Reassuring. But unlike Kenley, your independence isn’t a false facade.”

She was trying to absorb that when he staged his own attack.

“Enough of this bullshit. Take off your clothes.”





Chapter Thirteen


TAKE OFF MY CLOTHES? You’re delusional.”

Theo stepped around the cat. “Am I? After last night, we don’t seem to have anything to lose. And you’ll be happy to know that your cottage is now fully stocked with condoms. Every room.”

He really was the devil. She looked around her bedroom. “You put condoms in here?”

He inclined his head. “The top drawer of your bedside table. Right next to your teddy bear.”

“That,” she said, “is a Beanie Baby collectible.”

“Apologies.” He was cool, easy, a man with nothing more complicated on his mind than seduction. “I also put them in the studio, the kitchen, the bathroom, and my pockets.” He let his eyes skim over her. “Although . . . Not everything I’m thinking about doing to you requires a condom.”

Her nerve endings sparked, and her imagination took off on a pornographic expedition just as he’d intended. She pulled herself back to reality. “You’re assuming an awful lot.”

“Like you said. There’s plenty of winter left.”

This was a bogus seduction, his pathetic attempt to put a stop to her questioning. Or maybe it wasn’t. She tightened the sash on her robe. “The thing about me is . . . Without some kind of emotional intimacy, I’m not interested.”

“Remind me of what kind of emotional intimacy we had last night . . . because you seemed very interested.”

“That whole episode was an alcohol-induced aberration.” Not completely true, and he didn’t look as though he was buying it, but it was true enough. Hannibal pawed at the trash basket again, threatening to turn it over, and she picked him up. “Knock it off and tell me why you came to Peregrine instead of going someplace more pleasant.”

His silky seductiveness vanished. “Stop prying. It has nothing to do with you.”

“If you want me to take off my clothes, it does.” She actually managed something close to a purr. Was she really trying to use sex as currency? She should be ashamed of herself, but since he wasn’t falling over laughing, she didn’t even flush. “Sex for honesty. That’s my offer.”

“You’re not serious.”

Not one bit. She stroked the cat between his ears. “I don’t like secrecy. If you want to see me naked, you’ll have to give me something in exchange.”

He glowered at her. “I don’t want to see you naked that badly.”

“Your loss.” Where had she gotten this confidence? This feistiness? Here she stood in all her messy glory, wearing too-big men’s pajamas, a ratty old bathrobe, and—not to forget—possibly pregnant. Yet she was acting as if she’d just sashayed down a Victoria’s Secret runway. “Hold your cat while I take care of our dearly departed friend,” she said.

“I’ll handle it.”

“Suit yourself.” She lifted the cat until they were nose to nose. “Come on, Hannibal. Your daddy has another corpse to get rid of.”

She swept from the room, cat in her arms, satisfaction warming her heart. She hadn’t learned much, but she’d somehow managed to even the playing field. As she set the cat down, she mulled over what he’d said about her independence not being a false facade. What if he were right? What if she weren’t as much of a wreck as she believed herself to be?

It was a new idea, but she’d been so beaten down lately that she automatically rejected it. Except . . . If it really was true, she’d have to readjust her whole view of herself.

“Backbone, Antoinette. That’s what you’re lacking. A sturdy backbone.”

No, Mother, she thought. Just because I’m not you doesn’t mean I don’t have plenty of backbone. I had enough to give you everything you needed before you died, didn’t I?