Hold Me Close(13)

“Ah, shit, Effie. Don’t be like that.” Bill got up, too, and came around the bed to grip her by the upper arms, though loosely enough she’d have no trouble getting free if she wanted to.

“It’s late,” she said. “I’m sure you have to work in the morning. And I have things I need to do, too.”

She had a commission to work on. Laundry. Her tires needed to be rotated, she’d almost forgotten about that appointment, and then she had to get over to her mom’s house to pick up Polly.

“Sure. Fine.” Bill let her go. Stepped back. Naked, his belly and chest still glistening with sweat, he bent to grab his T-shirt and cleaned himself off before tossing the shirt in the direction of a pile of laundry on the floor.

“God forbid you should put it in a basket,” she murmured.

Bill snorted soft laughter. “The hell do you care? I don’t see you offering to do my wash for me.”

“Does that mean you have to live like a pig?” Effie buttoned the shirtdress to her throat and smoothed the skirt over her bare ass. It was going to be cold outside without her nylons, but they’d been shredded within a few minutes of her arrival here.

Bill frowned again, harder this time. “You have a mouth on you. You know that?”

“So I’ve been told.” Effie shrugged and turned away. Bill caught her arm again, a little harder this time. Surprised, she faced him. “Hey.”

His grip loosened, but he didn’t let her go. He pulled her closer. Shit. Was he going to kiss her?

“No?” he said when she turned her face at the last second so that his lips brushed her cheek.

Effie said nothing. It was such a f*cking cliché. She usually didn’t even care about kissing in that way, except right now when he wanted it from her, and she didn’t want to give it.

“You come over here and f*ck around with me,” Bill said into her ear. “You won’t sleep over. You won’t let me kiss you. You don’t let me get anywhere f*cking close to you, do you?”

Effie shrugged out of his grasp. “Don’t.”

Bill sighed and scrubbed at his short, pale hair. “Go, then. I guess I’ll see you the next time you have an itch that needs to be scratched.”

He slammed the door to his apartment behind her, which made her want to thump her fist on it until he opened it again. He wasn’t being fair. This was the way it worked with them. He should’ve been used to it by now. She’d needed and wanted him to get her off, but he hadn’t. She’d wasted her time and his. She’d hurt his feelings and hadn’t meant to.

Shit. Effie sighed and didn’t knock on the door. In her car, she watched Bill’s silhouette in the window. He would stand there until she drove away, so he could be sure she left instead of, what, being murdered in her car in the parking lot? Effie laughed without humor, hating the bitter taste.

Backing up, she pulled out into the street. In her rearview mirror, she watched the golden square of light from his window turn into darkness. Then she drove home.





chapter seven

“How was he?”

She wasn’t startled. Didn’t scream. She’d known Heath was waiting for her the second she came into the kitchen and saw the back door was slightly open. You’d think she’d be smarter about it, take a baseball bat or something to protect herself in case it was a serial killer who’d happened to pick her house out of all the ones lined up along this suburban street. You’d think she’d have been more careful about locking her doors, the way her mother had urged her over and over again to be.

When the worst had already happened to you, everything else seemed a lot less dangerous.

“None of your business.” Effie went to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of water, listening for the sound of the crack as she broke the sealed lid before she drank greedily.

Her stomach rumbled. Mitchell had taken her to a Chinese place for dinner, and there’d been no way for her to eat any of that jumbled-together sort of food. Nor any good way to explain to him why she couldn’t have anything touching each other on the plate. Not without sounding like a lunatic. She’d gone to Bill with a different sort of appetite and he’d left her hungry, too. She pulled out a block of sliced cheese and took a piece. She offered one to Heath. He refused.

“Dammit, Effie.”

She turned and leaned against the counter. Heath wore all black. Ancient jeans, ragged at the hems. A black hoodie over a black T-shirt. He’d left his shoes by the door, and he wore no socks. She had to look away from his bare, long toes—his feet killed her with their perfection. His arms stuck out a few inches below the sleeves. Heath had a hard time finding clothes that fit him. Legs and arms and torso too long. At six-five he was gangly, even now as a man when he’d filled out with muscle.

Thinking of his body, Effie swallowed hard and drank more water. Her thighs rubbed together, slick from her earlier, unsated arousal. Her lower abdomen still felt crampy.

“Where did he take you?”

“Jade Garden.” She chewed slowly. Swallowed. Washed down the rest of the cheese with a swig of water, then another.

Heath let out a short, sharp bark of mocking laughter. “No wonder you’re hungry now.”

“He was a nice guy,” Effie said mildly. “He’s a software engineer. He makes good money. He smelled nice. He wears glasses.”