The Great Escape (Wynette, Texas #7)(51)

“It’ll only hurt for a minute.”

She gave a hiss of outrage as he began running his hands down her body. “Don’t you dare touch me!”

“Give it a rest.” He whipped a pack of Skittles from her other pocket, then grabbed the Tic Tacs for good measure. “Compassion’s for losers. Isn’t that what you always say on TV?”

“I’m not paying you seventy-five thousand dollars to lecture me!”

Seventy-five thousand dollars? Lucy couldn’t believe it. She wondered what her parents had paid, then thought of her thousand-dollar bribe and what a laugh-fest that must have given him.

“Not a lecture,” he said. “An observation.” Apparently his stomach had reached its limit because he shoved the Skittles in his own pocket along with the chocolate wrappers, then closed her suitcases. “I’ll carry these upstairs for you.”

“Don’t bother!” She grabbed them away and hauled them up the stairs.

“Seen enough?” Panda said, his back still turned to the door where Lucy lurked.

“Still trying to absorb it all,” she replied. “The two of you are a real riot.”

He briefly inspected the spot once occupied by the baker’s rack. “You can leave anytime you want. As a matter of fact, why haven’t you?”

Because this was her house. “Because I’m still punishing myself for my bad judgment in people.” She disappeared back into the kitchen.

It was only four o’clock, but she hadn’t eaten since breakfast, so she heated up a skillet, added some oil, and tossed in one of the pork chops she’d picked up in town. It would have tasted better on the grill, but she’d thrown that rusty mess out last week.

The pork chop had just begun to sizzle nicely when Panda, still dressed in his businessman’s attire, shot into the kitchen. He grabbed a towel, wrapped it around the handle of the skillet, and stalked out the back door.

“Hey!” She raced after him as he strode across the yard. “Bring back my pork chop!”

He flipped open the lid of the garbage can next to the garage, flicked his wrist, and sent her pork chop tumbling to its death. “No cooking unless it’s something Temple can eat, too.”

“No cooking? What do you mean, no cooking!”

“The smell was going through the house. She’s supposedly doing a cleanse, and you’re not going to torture her.”

“Me! You gulped down a thousand calories in front of her!”

“Natural consequences. What you’re doing is different.”

She threw up her hands. “I don’t believe you!”

His mouth twisted. “Maybe you’d better call Mommy and have her send in the SEALs to protect you.”

Had she really kissed this man? Let him—let him—do that? Viper was beyond pissed, and she pointed a chipped charcoal fingernail right in his face. “You,” she said, “are going to pay.” And off she went.



HE WAS ALREADY PAYING. JUST being near her again was torture. He still remembered his first sight of her. The night of the rehearsal dinner. She’d been standing at Ted’s side in a ladylike blue-green dress, her shiny hair many shades lighter than it was now. All he could think about was how impeccably matched the two of them were, the perfect all-American couple. It wasn’t until almost two weeks later, the night at Caddo Lake when she’d finally called her family, that he’d realized she truly wasn’t going back to Ted. Stupid.

You weren’t that good anyway.

What a fricking lie. He was the one who’d been inept—rushed, clumsy, out of control. Lucy had been giving and natural, with none of that phony porn star posturing women seemed to believe they needed to bring to the bedroom.

He’d counted on her taking off as soon as she saw that he’d come back, but instead of jumping on the ferry the way she should have, she’d decided to cook pork chops in his kitchen. Now he had two problem women on his hands, both of whom wanted to use his house as their hideaway. One of them was a demanding pain in the ass, but he’d handled Temple before, and he could do it again. The other was a different kind of pain in the ass, and the way he most wanted to handle her was naked.

He pushed images of a naked Lucy from his mind so he could concentrate on the job at hand. This was the last place he wanted to be, but Temple was paying him a lot of money to babysit her, and she had refused to negotiate the location. He wished he hadn’t told her about the house, but he’d never imagined she’d insist on coming here, just as he never imagined her thirty pounds overweight and on the verge of ruining her career. He liked jobs that kept him on the move, jobs where there was at least the potential for a little excitement. This was a shit job, but it was also a highly lucrative one. Besides, Temple had been his first big client, and he owed her.

They’d met not long after he’d taken over the agency when her publisher had hired him for a routine security job at a Chicago bookstore where she was doing a signing. A twitchy-looking guy in the crowd had caught his attention. Panda had kept a close eye on him, and before the night was over, had stopped him from leaping over a row of chairs to carve up Temple’s face. From then on, whenever Temple needed security, she insisted he provide it. Thanks to her, he’d attracted other well-heeled clients, and his business had grown to the point where he’d been able to rent the Lake Shore Drive apartment he seldom slept in, buy this house, and put his mother in the best Alzheimer’s facility in Illinois.