The Crush Part 43

She had discovered a yellowed candle in a drawer and had placed it on a saucer in the center of the table to create a romantic atmosphere and help obscure the ugliness of his kitchen. But the only thing the candlelight really enhanced and made look good was Rennie.

When her hair was loose, like now, she had a habit of combing her fingers through it. She wasn't even conscious of doing it, but he was conscious of it because he liked watching it sift through her fingers and fall back onto her shoulders. Liquid moonlight, he thought, and wondered when he'd become a poet.

The candlelight deepened the triangular shadow at the base of her throat and the cleft between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

Throughout the evening he had tried to ignore the shape they gave the fitted black knit top, but some things were beyond human endurance, and for him, that was one.

The meal had been satisfying and tasty. His stomach was full, but another hunger gnawed at him. He should have known better than to kiss her again. It had been unnecessary.

It had been overkill. Their little sunset stroll in the surf would have been just as romantic a scene without the kiss. The only thing it had accomplished was to make him want her with an ache that was d.a.m.n near killing him.

She drained the wine from her juice gla.s.s and looked across at him. "You're staring."

"I'm trying to get my fill."

"Your fill?"

"Of you," he said. "Of looking at you. Because once this is over, however it comes down, you're going to return to your life, and I'm not going to be in it. Am I, Rennie?"

Slowly, she shook her head no.

"That's why I'm staring."

She pushed back her chair and picked up her place setting, but as she pa.s.sed him on her way to the sink he reached out and caught her arm.

"Relax, Rennie. You may get lucky. Lozada could kill me."

She yanked her arm free, carried the dishes to the sink, and set them down hard. "That was a horrible thing to say."

'You'd care?"

"Of course I'd care!"

"Oh, right, right. You're in the lifesaving business, aren't you? Which I find odd . . . since you court death."

She laughed shortly. "I court death?"

"All the time. You're reckless. You take unnecessary risks."

"What in the h.e.l.l are you talking about?"

"No alarm system in either of your houses. Downright

foolish for a woman who lives alone. Riding bareback and jumping fences.

Dangerous no matter how skilled an equestrian you are. Going to places in the world where every day is a field day to the Grim Reaper. You flirt with him, Rennie."

"You've had too much wine."

He stood and joined her near the sink. "You don't live life, Rennie, you defy it."

'You're either drunk or crazy."

"No, I'm right. Self-sufficient Rennie, that's you. No friends or confidantes. No socializing. No nothing except those G.o.dd.a.m.n invisible walls you erect every time someone gets too close.

"You even keep your patients at arm's length. Isn't that why you chose surgery over another field of medicine? Because your patients are unconscious? You can treat them, heal them, without any emotional involvement on your part."

Peterson asked into the earpiece, "Hey, Threadgill, everything all right in there?"

"He's famous for losing it," Thigpen said.

"I'd like to know what he's saying to her," the policewoman said. "I don't like his stance."

Wick ignored them. 'You shower affection on your horses. You turn to mush over a puppy dog. You mourn a wild animal you were forced to put down. But if you make skin contact with another human being, you either ignore it or run from it."

"That's not true."

"Oh, it's not?"

"No."

"Prove it."

He bent over the table and blew out the candle, pitching the kitchen into darkness. He yanked out the earpiece, then, curving an arm around her waist, pulled her against him.

"Wick, no."

"Prove me wrong." His lips hovered above hers, giving her an opportunity to protest again. When she didn't, he

kissed her. Tempering his anger, he gently rubbed her lips apart then went seeking her tongue with his. When they touched, he deepened the kiss. He fit himself into the vee of her thighs.

She pulled her mouth free and turned her face away.

"Wick . . ."

He trailed kisses down the column of her throat, lightly nipping her skin with his teeth.

She placed her hands on his shoulders and dug her fingers in. "Please."

"I could say the same thing, Rennie."

He lowered his head and kissed the swell of her breast above her neckline.

"No." She pushed him hard.

Wick's arms fell to his sides. He backed away from her.

Their harsh breathing soughed through the darkness. He heard Peterson cursing him through the earpiece where it dangled on his chest.

He tried to keep his anger in check, but arousal had fueled it and there was no putting it down yet. With a distinct edge, he said, "I just don't get it."

"What don't you get?"

"Why you keep saying no."

"I have the option of saying no."

A growl of frustration rose out of his throat. "It's so G.o.dd.a.m.n good, Rennie. What's not to like?"

"I do like it."

Thinking he hadn't heard her correctly, he reached for the wall switch and turned on the lights. "What?"

She blinked against the sudden glare, then met his bewildered gaze. She said huskily, "I never said I didn't like it."

He stared at her with such profound incomprehension

that it didn't even register with him that a cell phone was ringing until she asked, "Is that yours?"

He groped for the phone clipped to his waistband and then shook his head. "Must be yours."

She went to get her phone. Wick reinserted the earpiece and caught the tail end of a blistering condemnation.

He switched on the microphone. "Calm down, Peterson. We're fine."

"What's going on, Threadgill?"

"Nothing. A little electrical problem when we tried to turn on the lights. A fuse or something."

"Everything's all right?"

"Yeah, I'm about to wash the dishes and Rennie's talking on her--"

He broke off when he turned and read the expression on her face. "Hold on, guys. Someone just called her on her cell."

She was holding on to the small phone with both hands. She listened for possibly fifteen seconds more, then slowly lowered it and disconnected.

"Lozada?" Wick asked. She nodded. "Son of a--what did he say?"

"He's here."

"He told you that?"

She raised her hand to her throat in a subconsciously self-protective gesture. "He didn't have to. He let me know that he had seen us."

"Are you guys getting this?" Wick asked into the mike.

After receiving acknowledgments through the earpiece, he motioned for Rennie to proceed.

"He said that I should wear black more often. That it was a good color for me. He asked if you could cook a decent steak."

"He's that close?"

"Apparently."

"What else?"

She looked at him meaningfully, with appeal. Slowly he raised his hand and switched off the mike. There would be h.e.l.l to pay later, but he was more concerned about Rennie than he was about having the Galveston PD miffed at him.

"They're raising b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l in my ear, but they can't hear you. Go ahead. Tell me what he said."

"He said . . . vulgar things. About you and me. Us. Together."

"Like the things he said earlier today?"

"Worse. He said that before I... before I..." She crossed her arms over her middle and hugged her elbows.

"Paraphrasing, he said that before I become too enamored of you, I should ask how you f.u.c.ked up the investigation of your brother's murder."

"She was too embarra.s.sed to give it to me word for word. I imagine it was awfully crude."

Oren was so tired his eyeb.a.l.l.s hurt. He ma.s.saged them as he listened to Wick's account of Lozada's most recent contact with them.

"He brought up the investigation of Joe's murder and how I botched it because, like earlier today when he lied about Rennie and him being lovers, he's trying to cause a rift between us."

"Is it working?"

"Not in that sense, but we're both a little frayed around the edges. She's in the shower now. Her second since we got here. She's clean, I'll give her that."