Plum Girl (Romance) (39 page)

"What?"

"Good luck," Peach said, smiling, and headed out the door, passing Dominick on her way. "Later, Dominick. Thanks again!" The door thudded closed, and left Lonnie standing in silence with the object of every emotion coursing through her.

"Well, my laptop's over there," she said, motioning toward the small table by the front window. Dominick just nodded and moved past her.

"Mind if I take off my coat?" he asked.

"No, of course not." They were acting like strangers.
This sucks.
She bit hard on her lower lip to keep from crying. Or screaming at him.

Lonnie went over to her bed, climbed on it, and sat cross-legged, feeling awkward. Suddenly she had a memory of Dominick holding her in that very spot, beneath the puffy comforter, pressing their bare bodies together and kissing her cheek softly as they drifted closer and closer to sleep. Great, now her bed—happily celibate right along with her, for years—held only memories of sex with Dominick.

She'd just have to buy a new bed; it was that simple.

"You got anything to drink?" Dominick called over his shoulder. "That is, if it's no trouble. I forgot to bring my own tap water with me."

Smart-ass.
"Really, I think I can get you a drink without too much drama," she said coolly, and went to the kitchen sink. "Are you sure you just want water?" she called out, and stuck her head in the half fridge. "We have diet Cherry Coke, too. Um... and, what's this? Oh yeah, some V8. It looks sort of old, though, and Peach put it in a pitcher. I'm not sure why."

"Water's fine," he said, suddenly right next to her. She almost jumped, not expecting his low, purring voice so close, and not expecting his beautiful body so close, either.
Relax. Relax,
she told herself, and closed the refrigerator door. She avoided his eyes—black, potent, and dangerously magnetic—and turned to take a glass out of the cupboard. Her heart was racing, and she was determined not to let it show.

She stood at the sink, filling a wine goblet with water, when she felt Dominick's arms slide around her, encircling her waist. He tightened them and pressed his chest against her back. "I'm sorry," he whispered in her ear, and hugged her closer.

She struggled for the breath she'd need to formulate an appropriate response. After all, it wasn't as if she was just going to fall right into his arms again.

She was still angry with him. Wasn't she? She wasn't so sure when she almost immediately sagged limply against him and let her head drop back so his lips were grazing her neck. He nudged her hair aside with his nose, and kissed her slowly, sweetly, applying just enough wet suction to provoke an instant hot flash.

She shut her eyes and let a moan escape, while he worked her neck and grew hard against her. Instinctively, she rubbed herself against his groin, and her breath came up shorter. "Dominick," she whispered, as his tongue trailed down her neck, and his lips sucked her skin. "I... I'm sorry, too."

She pushed hard against his erection—which grew even bigger—and he let out a strained groan, right before pressing them both toward the sink. Desperately aroused, as his palms found her breasts, Lonnie used every ounce of restraint she had to turn in his arms and pull back from him. "Wait a minute," she said, trying to get her voice back. "We can't just start making out like nothing's happened."
Although, why we can't, I have no idea,
she thought, as she looked up at his rugged five o'clock shadow and heavy-lidded, jet-black eyes.
Okay, get it together.

He plowed his fingers through his hair and sighed. "Lonnie... I'm sorry I was such an asshole. Hell, when I say something stupid, call me on it, yell at me, but don't let it be the end of everything."

"But... I..." He reached for her again, and she kept him at bay with her arms. "Wait. We need to clear everything up. About Terry—"

"Forget Terry," he interrupted. "I know there was nothing between you. I mean, I know what you told me, and I believe you."

She hadn't been prepared for that. "But you said—"

"I didn't mean it. I'm sorry. I was jealous. I don't have a better excuse than that." She started mulling it over, and he added, "I don't want to lose you after I just found you. Can't we move on from here? Can't we start over?"

She smiled slowly. "Well, which one do you want? To move forward, or to go back?"

"Both, as long as you're mine again."

The oven timer dinged, and Lonnie moved past him to check on Peach's brownies. He moved toward her, but she opened the oven door so that it served as a barrier between them. She glanced down at the brownies. They were still gooey-liquid-brown, so she shut the oven door again. There went her barrier. Then she noticed that Peach had the oven set at 200 degrees, when brownies cooked at around 375. At that rate, they'd be done by sunup the next day. God, when she got her hands on that little con artist...

"Look, Lonnie," Dominick said, "if you want to forget all about us because of that one fight, then maybe its for the best anyway, because I'm not perfect. I say a lot of stupid things. So if that's the way—"

"No, it isn't that!" she said, and sealed the space between them. "I want to be with you, but only if you trust me."

"I know I shouldn't have acted so possessive," he said sincerely. "I swear, its not even like me. I don't know what's happened to me since I met you."

"I know, the same thing happened to me! I don't even know how, but it did. That's why every time I see the red-haired girl from your office on the elevator, I just want to shake her skinny, gorgeous bones. I want to tell her to stay away,
you're mine."

"Who, Mo?" he asked, grinning.

"So then you admit she's skinny and gorgeous?" Lonnie said, pointing at him accusatorily, but with a smile behind her eyes.

"It was the red-haired part," he said calmly, and smiling confidently, he moved a few inches closer.

She held up her hand to stop him from getting too close. "My point is, the possessive thing is only okay if you trust the other person—"

"I do." He moved closer in spite of her hand.

"I mean it, Dominick. You have to trust me."

"I swear to you I do. You're the sweetest girl I've ever met. I trust you."

"And respect me."

He cocked his head to the side. "C'mon, Lonnie, you
know
I do."

"Uh... yeah," she said, and when he looked bothered by her doubt, she gloated. "See, how do you like it?"

He pulled her into his arms, and she rested her cheek on his chest and added on a sigh, "I don't know how this is all going to work out but—"

"We'll figure it out somehow," Dominick said quietly, not willing to break the moment by thinking about the future. Not now. He grinned. "And, just so we're clear, this reverses your breaking up with me the other night?"

"Well, that was sort of an accident anyway." She giggled, and hugged him tighter. "But then when I never heard from you—"

"I called you Tuesday, but you never called me back."

"What?" She lifted her head to look at him.

"Yeah, I talked to some woman and left a message."

She thought for a second. "Oh, damn. I was out of the office Tuesday and Wednesday."

"You were?"

"Yeah, for my interviews, remember? I told you that."

"Oh, I forgot, I've been such a mess."

She smiled. "Anyway, I never got the message because my mortal enemy was covering my desk."

"How do
you
have a mortal enemy?" he asked, smiling.

"I don't know. It just sort of happened."

"I'm crazy about you," he said. "Promise you'll never accidentally break up with me again."

She slid her hands up his chest, clutched his shirt, kissed him so deeply she lost herself, and when she finally came up for air, she felt only half lucid in the most liberating and extraordinary way. "We should probably stop this now, before Peach comes home."

He grinned, caught her lower lip in his mouth, kissed her again, and said, "I have a feeling your sister's not coming back for a while." Their mouths moved on each other passionately, deliberately, with arousing suction and wet heat. Finally, Dominick pulled his head back and looked dazed when he spoke. "Listen—not that it makes any difference—but I had no idea about this whole setup. I swear."

"I believe you."

"Did you think I did?"

"No. I doubted it, but I was hoping maybe..."

"If it helps any, I only agreed to fix her laptop because I thought it would make you feel guilty about not calling me."

"It's
my
laptop," she teased and leaned into him again, loving the feel of his solid, strong body. Suddenly, he hitched her up. She locked her legs around him, and he walked them over to her bed, kissing and nuzzling her throat on the way.

When he set her down on the puffy comforter, she looked into his eyes, and he decided to try again. "I love you," he said softly.

She didn't hesitate for one second. "I love
you,"
she whispered. "I love you so much." Within seconds they were lying together, exchanging soft words about their future, and melding their bodies into one beautiful tangle of lust, love, bliss, and life.

Chapter 29

At 12:30, as B.J. stepped onto the elevator, Lonnie pushed away from her desk and headed down the hall. She'd decided to wait until he went to lunch before she ransacked his office. She just hoped that the folder he'd stolen from Bette was still around so she could figure out what he'd been after.

She looked around to make sure nobody was watching as she opened his door, and walked into his office. Shutting the door behind her, she thought,
Make this fast.

She riffled through the papers and notebooks on his desk, careful not to make a mess, and uncovered nothing of particular interest. Then she looked in a big desk drawer that was unlocked, and found only discarded pink phone slips and a mountain of protein bars. In his top desk drawer was the usual top-drawer fare: pens, pencils, and assorted crap.

Hmm.
She looked around the room, surveying her options, and spotted what could very well be the mother lode: the gray filing cabinet by the window. Scurrying from his desk to the window, she pulled on one of the filing drawers. All she got was frustrating resistance. It was locked, which, in all honesty, she could've predicted. She yanked more violently for another two seconds, and then came up with a different strategy.

Darting back over to B.J.'s desk, she opened that top drawer again. She frantically pushed aside pencils, pens, floppy disks, and boxes of staples, until she came across a set of tiny keys. Thank God people were predictable.

The third key she tried opened the filing cabinet.

And she got lucky. The second drawer—which appeared to be on eye level for both her and B.J.—contained the blue folder. It must have been crumpled just enough to fit, because it sprang forward a little when the drawer opened. She pulled it out and read the tab. P-FLYNN. Bette regularly referred to her "p-files"—or personnel files—so this had to be B.J.'s.

She had to hurry, because for all she knew B.J. would pick up something for lunch and come right back. Racing against the clock, Lonnie opened the folder and scanned the contents. Since B.J. had only been with the firm for a year, there wasn't much there. Two performance evaluation reports, and a salary increase evaluation. She focused her attention on B.J.'s performance reports. One report was dated June 30th of that year, and the other was dated December 31st.

December 31st!
That was just a couple of weeks ago. Lonnie glanced at the bottom of each page; both reports were signed by Twit. Should she risk taking the time to read the comments on B.J.'s evaluation? If she took the folder, B.J. would realize it was missing, and that might send him into a panic. At this point, she didn't know what he was capable of, and she'd rather not find out.

She was about to stuff his p-file back in the drawer, when something on the June 30th report caught her eye. In the margin, there was a handwritten notation that read "PNH." It wasn't Twit's handwriting, either. She checked the December report. "PNH" was written on that one, too, and preceded by two asterisks.

PNH.
What did that mean?

She heard someone in the hallway. Lonnie stuck the reports back inside the folder, and crammed the whole file into the open drawer. Kneeing it shut, she headed for the door.

It opened before she got to it. She froze.

"What are you doing in my office?"

She flinched at the sight before her. B.J. was standing in the doorway with his hands balled into furious fists, and his face was a cross of shock and fury. Lonnie's own face went from creamy peach to beet red, as she struggled to explain herself out of this awkward situation. "Oh, B.J., I... I was just... looking for you." She gulped and reminded herself not to tip her hand. There was no reason that B.J. had to know she suspected him of a lot more than a Napoleon complex. "I was just wondering if you had a three-hole punch," she said weakly.

"Stay
out
of my stuff," he growled, squinting his eyes menacingly.

"Okay, well," she began, walking to the door backward, "like I said, I just needed a stapler—I mean, a three-hole punch. Well, both, actually. Okay, so... see ya later!" She completed the frenetic departure with a coy little wave that was hopelessly out of place, but she didn't care. She just wanted to get out of there.

It wasn't until she got back to her desk and fell into her chair with palpable relief, that she wondered how bizarre life must be if she was this scared of B.J.

* * *

"So, how's the Twit?"

Lonnie switched the phone to her other ear, before she stated the obvious. "Annoying, neurotic, afflicted by a profound God complex, the usual," she said. "This morning he told me to measure his office when I get a 'free moment.' I mean, a
moment
? He's crazy."

"Why do you have to measure his office?" Peach asked.

"Because he's decided to get new wallpaper. According to the fax he just sent out, he's settled on Regal Platinum."