Wild Ride: A Changing Gears Novel (4 page)

“Well,” Alex muttered, “this will be all over town within the hour.”

She knew she’d been heard when her companion said, “Is that a problem for you?”

“Hmm?” She turned onto the highway and then glanced his way.

“Is there a husband or significant other who won’t be too pleased we’re having lunch together?”

“If that were an issue, I’d hardly be here.” And if he were trying to gauge her marital status he was going to have to come right out and ask.
Which, rather surprisingly, he did.

“So, are you?”

“Am I what?”

“You’re too smart to play dumb. Are you married?”

“No.”

“Involved?”

She didn’t like the spurt of — something his line of questioning evoked. “No.”

A McDonald’s, Wendy’s, and Arby’s flashed by in a blur of primary colors and parking lots scattered with family vans.

“Why not?”

She laughed. She couldn’t help it. She laughed out loud and it felt good after all the dismal seriousness of the morning. “That’s a personal question.”

“They’re more interesting than impersonal ones.”

She shook her head and kept driving. A deep red highway sign announced that Delaney’s would be found at the next turnoff.

“Well?”

She pulled smoothly off the highway and into Delaney’s parking lot, pulled up close to the brown siding of the building and cut the engine before turning to him.

It hit her then, what a truly attractive man he was. Here in the close confines of the car her skin prickled as she found his blue eyes staring at her. His skin had the rugged look of someone who spends a lot of time outdoors. A couple of grooves tracked from his cheeks to a square jaw. His mouth was shockingly at odds with the rest of his face. It was sensual and belonged to a man who loved to talk, loved to eat exotic foods, a man who loved to kiss.

It was obvious he hadn’t simply been making idle conversation and she needed to be clear that she wasn’t interested. “Mr. Forbes—”

“Come on. We’ve faced each other over a corpse—I’m pretty sure that automatically puts people on a first-name basis. It’s Duncan.”

“Duncan. I have known you for less than a day. In that time I have not grown to like you particularly.”

He simply stared at her, waiting patiently for her answer. In spite of herself, her lips twitched. “Inside.”

As she’d hoped, Delaney’s was close to empty. They slid into one of the anonymous, high-backed red leather booths and she felt a little of the morning’s tension slide off her shoulders.

Harold, the owner and maitre d’, handed them menu folders in the same color—probably the same fabric—as the booths. It was that sort of place. Nothing ever changed. There was rice mixed with the salt in the shakers, six pages of menu items, including Greek, Italian, and recently some stir-fries, but everyone came to Delaney’s for the steaks.

“Steak sandwich,” she told Harold, not bothering to open her menu. “Medium rare, on sourdough. Blue cheese dressing on the salad.”

“Sounds good. I’ll have the same,” said her companion.

“Anything to drink?”

“Perrier and lime.”

Duncan Forbes opened the wine list. He ordered a bottle of something that sounded French and expensive.

“The bottle, sir?” Harold sounded impressed which confirmed her guess that the wine was expensive.

“Please. And bring two glasses.”

She smiled rigidly until Harold—who must be blissfully unaware of the morning’s discovery at the library since he hadn’t asked a thing—took their menus and disappeared. “I don’t usually drink wine at lunchtime,” she said.

“Neither do I. But there’s nothing usual about today. I think we both need a drink.” He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “God knows I do.”

Maybe it was that oblique admission that he was as shaken as she by their grisly discovery that made her shut up and let Harold place a wineglass in front of her.

“Nice day,” he said as he went through the business of uncorking the bottle.

She wanted to giggle so badly her throat tickled with it. Nice was not how she’d describe her day so far. Nice had nothing to do with dead bodies shot through the heart, with police teams, with wondering if she’d ever forget the sight of that gray, slack-skinned face that had stared sightlessly up at her.

Ever seen him before? Detective Remco had asked her as Duncan had.
Being a woman who was always careful with facts, and who believed passionately in the importance of careful research and the truth, she’d taken an extra minute to study the dead man’s face, but all her extra study only confirmed what she’d known at first glance. The man was a stranger.

“Having a day off?” Harold asked as he poured the wine.

A beat passed. If she told him the news it would end the relative peace of this place. “We’re just in for a late lunch,” she said. She watched the rich, red liquid fill the glass, deep and sparkly as garnets and decided there were times when a glass of wine at lunch was a very good idea.

She sipped and sipped again. “This tastes expensive.”

“You know wines?”

“I’m no oenophile, but I managed to graduate from wine in a box.”

He touched his glass to hers. “Drink up.” He watched until she’d downed more of the wine. “I’m still waiting for the answer to a very simple question. Is there a man in your life?”

Not since Grandpa died, she thought with a pang, wondering when she’d stop missing the man who’d taken the place of her father in many ways, who’d given her a stable home, who’d taught her about art and antiques, about history. They’d been friends and recently they’d become colleagues. But of course, Duncan Forbes wasn’t interested in her relationship with her ninety-two-year-old grandfather.

“No. I’m not involved with anyone. And, so we’re clear, I’m not interested in getting involved.”

Those blue, blue eyes studied her and she had to force herself not to lick her lips. God, he was gorgeous in that rumpled, intellectual way. There was a craggy line between his eyebrows as though he’d ruminated over plenty of thorny scholastic puzzles in his time. “Why not? Don’t you like men?”

His arrogance staggered her. And made her blunt. “I don’t like you.”

He didn’t beat his chest, storm out, or even look hurt. He sipped his wine, his gaze never leaving her face. “Maybe I’ll grow on you.”
Maybe she’d get gangrene.

Their food arrived and she could have kissed Harold for his timing. She sliced into her steak and found it as sizzlingly perfect as always.

Like her, Duncan ignored the salad and went for the meat. After an enormous bite which he demolished rapidly, he said, “You were right. This is great.”

“Best steaks in town.”

“Did you know him”

Him, today, could only refer to one person. The recently deceased.

Her brows pulled together. “I told you I didn’t know him. I never saw him before today.”

“Well, you told the police that.”

If he wasn’t careful, Duncan Forbes was going to wear his far-too-expensive wine all over his rumpled cream denim shirt. “I have no reason to lie to the police, or you, or anyone. I did not know that poor man.”

“Okay. Then why do you think somebody put him there for you to find?”

She shook her head. In the back of her mind, like a dull headache, the same question had plagued her for hours.

Why?

“I wish I knew.” She gazed up at him, not wanting to trust him, but feeling at least on some level she could talk to him. He barely knew her, had arrived in Swiftcurrent all of one day earlier, and yet his assessment of the situation exactly coincided with hers. “You think whoever put him there knew I’d find him?”

“It’s the logical conclusion. From what you told Dudley Do-Right in there—”

“Sergeant Tom Perkins.” And she would not even smile at the uncomfortably exact comparison Forbes had made between their local sergeant and the upright cartoon character.

“—the cleaners finished around ten last night. There was no stiff on the floor when they left.”

She nodded.

“Who else might be expected to find the guy? Other librarians?”

She shook her head. “I always open up. I’m the only full-time librarian in town.”

“Anybody else in city hall?”

“A few people have keys to the library, but they wouldn’t go in first thing in the morning. There’d be no reason to.”

“So, we have to assume whoever put the body there knew you’d find it. And do you think it was significant that the body was in the art section?”

“You think the killer was an art lover?”

He put down his knife and fork and contemplated her. “Alex, I don’t know squat about this town, but I think you need to watch your back.”

She repressed a shiver. “I think a couple of creepy guys had an argument and one shot the other. It could have happened anywhere and the body was tossed into the library to get it out of plain sight while the killer or killers drove off. They’re a thousand miles away by now.” She started on her salad. “Are you trying to scare me so I’ll throw myself in your arms for protection?”

His eyes crinkled all too attractively when he almost, but not quite, smiled at her. “I never resort to cheap tricks to get a woman in bed. You’ll get there in your own time.”

Don’t even acknowledge his colossal arrogance. You’ll only encourage him.
“How’s your steak?”

“Fantastic. So, tell me what a woman like you is doing in a dinky little town like this?”

Maybe it wasn’t the change of subject she’d prefer, but she could live with it. “It was my grandparents’ home. My father’s an executive with an international oil company so we moved around all over the world. By my mid-teens I’d lived in the Middle East, Africa, South America, and all over Europe, including a stint in boarding school. I was sick of it, so I came here to live with my grandparents. After grad school, my grandfather wrote that the librarian job was open, so I applied.”

“You with your master’s degree.”

So, he remembered that. “Yes. I wanted to look after my grandfather after my grandmother was gone. He passed away a couple of months ago.” She blinked suddenly and took a sip of wine.

“I’m sorry.” He touched her hand, and the warmth felt good. “Did your parents retire here?”

“No. They’re in Europe. Stateside, there were only my grandparents, my aunt who’s living in a hippie commune in Montana, and my cousin and me.”

On top of a bad day, she didn’t want to think about her pathetic family story. “Grandpa was old, but he was in such good health that it was a shock when he died suddenly.”

“Was he ill?”

“No. A heart attack.” She sighed. “They practically brought me and my cousin up. Well, her mom abandoned her not long after she was born. Mine relied on nannies until I was old enough to fly home for summers.”

“How old was that?”

“Twelve. I spent nearly every summer here. It was a lot more like home than the homes and apartments my parents lived in.”

“Sounds miserable.”

She smiled. “Sounds like I’m whining. I don’t mean to. It’s hard on a kid to have no roots. When I was sixteen, I rebelled and finished high school here.”

“Do you ever see them?”

“My parents? Oh, yes. I joined them for Christmas last year in Prague.” And she’d never make that mistake again.
Alexandra, that dress is vulgar. 
Darling, you’ve got too much cleavage for décolletage.

On New Year’s Eve she’d had her navel pierced.

“Why do you dress that way?” Duncan asked.

She’d driven him back to the summer cottage which he was renting by the month since it was off-season. She’d left the car engine running and thanked him for lunch, but he seemed interested in carrying on their chat and, once again, asking her a very personal question.

She glanced down at herself—not that she’d forgotten she was wearing the rose drawstring off-the-shoulder silk top and hip-hugging black leather skirt, but to try and see it through his eyes. “What way?”

“Sex on heels.”

She chuckled softly. It had started out as a childish rebellion, she supposed. Provocative clothing got her noticed by her mother, who was a brilliant entertainer, perfect corporate wife but a lousy mother, and by her father who never stopped climbing the corporate ladder long enough to look around him. Maybe he thought if he climbed fast and far enough, he’d get to heaven without the bother of dying first.

She hadn’t shocked so much as irritated her parents by her flamboyant dress code, but by the time she realized her plan hadn’t worked, she’d grown into herself and she liked the way she looked. Apparently, so did Duncan. “You noticed.”

“Every man noticed from the forensics guys to the old geezer at the steak house. It makes me wonder about you.”

He shifted so his body was turned toward her, and there was a lazy glint in his eyes that teased. “There are two reasons a woman dresses like that.”

She lifted her brows. The single glass of wine she’d allowed herself had dulled the horror of the morning, but the memory of that poor man hovered like a threatening storm, so it was nice to have her mind taken off her troubles, even if it was in a criticism of her wardrobe. “Okay. I’ll take the bait. What are the two reasons?”

He gazed down at her in a way that suggested he was more concerned with what was under her clothes. In spite of herself, the intensity of his inspection had her nipples tightening.

He said, “You could be totally at ease with your body and dress that way to celebrate your sexuality and your pleasure in your own skin.”

She didn’t say anything, but she kind of liked that view of things. “You mentioned two possibilities.”

“Or, you could be so insecure you project that sex goddess image as a smokescreen. You could secretly be terrified of men. You could hate sex.”

“I could be faking who I am?” She was more than a little irked at this second possibility, but refused to show it. Instead of wrapping her arms around herself in annoyance, which was her first impulse, she deliberately edged her elbows open a little more. Body language for
I’m so comfortable in my body I can hardly stand it.

“And?” she asked.

“And?” he parroted back, the disturbing glint in his eyes more pronounced.

“Which do you think is the reason?”

He rubbed his jaw, half narrowed his eyes, and let his gaze roam her body. His blatant assessment of her attitude to her own sexuality struck her as offensive, inappropriate, and annoyingly enticing.

“I don’t like how long it’s taking you to decide.”

“I’m an academic. I’m trained to research a thesis, not jump to conclusions.”

She’d forgotten he was a professor. He was too sexy for academia, and far too sure of himself. Also, she was in no doubt that he was more than comfortable with his own sexuality. He was so potently male he damned near hummed with it. She wouldn’t be so aggravated if she weren’t picking up his frequency like a tuning fork.

He wasn’t her type and he irritated the hell out of her, but it didn’t stop her body from reacting to the raw animal appeal of the man. “Research . . .” She let the word trail off her lips. “You mean you’d ask around about me? Interview former lovers?”

His gaze narrowed further. “Secondary sources—as you, being a librarian, should know—are notoriously unreliable. I prefer firsthand research.”

She couldn’t help the smile that tugged at her mouth. He could both insult and intrigue at the same time. “That is certainly an original come-on.”
Right now, she could do what he thought he’d manipulated her into, which was proving her sexuality to him in no uncertain terms, or she could take a turn at his little game.

She let her gaze run up and down the length of his body. “What about you?”

“Me?”

“You dress casually to the point of sloppiness. Your hair’s not combed and I don’t believe you and your razor are on the most intimate terms. You play up the whole absentminded professor routine. You’ve got a sleepy sexiness that makes a woman wonder if you’d put any effort into an intimate situation.”

He blinked at her. “That’s what you think?”

“It’s one possibility. Or is the absentminded professor a front?”

His eyes gleamed with quick humor as though the
I’m such a babe magnet I don’t have to iron, shave, or even match my socks
routine was a kind of private joke. Whatever. Some instinct warned her to stay away from this one, and she respected her instincts.

“Well, I know one thing,” he said in that sleepy, sexy way.

“What’s that?”

“You’ve been thinking about me in the last twenty-four hours as much as I’ve been thinking about you. But I’m still not convinced you’re not a secret man-hater.”

She determined to put him in his place and wipe that altogether-too-smug grin off his face. He wanted to play games? Fine.

Shifting her body so their knees almost touched, she settled herself to her best viewing advantage. She knew her body had an irrational desire for his and that her nipples were broadcasting the fact, so she leaned back enough that her chest was prominently in his line of vision.

“I’ll save you the research,” she said. “I love sex. I love everything about it.” She breathed deeply, pulling up random images and memories, letting her sensual nature off its leash. “I love the warm feel of a man’s body sleeping beside me in the night, the smell of his skin when it’s silky with arousal, kissing when you’re so hot and sweaty your lips slide around.”

She stopped to lick her lips, stifling the urge to climb into his lap and show him exactly what she meant. She stared into those lapis lazuli eyes, already darkening and clouding with desire. Ha! “I love the hard driving, when you’re both so excited you can’t fill your lungs fast enough, and staring deep into a man’s eyes when we climax together and it feels as though we’ve swapped a little of our souls.”

She had to pause a second to draw breath and remind herself not to squirm on the car seat. She pretended she’d gone for a dramatic pause, then finished with, “I love lying naked, afterward, still pulsing with pleasure. Waiting for my partner to recover for round two.”

She leaned even closer and used the huskiness that had crept into her tone to taunt him further. “Because there’s always a round two, and three, and four. I–” she let her finger¬nail flick the top button on his shirt, “am,” flick went the second button, “insatiable.”

Duncan’s temperature seemed to be rising. He appeared flushed and his breathing was rapid. She forced herself not to imagine him thrusting hard and deep inside her, him staring into her eyes while their bodies exploded with pleasure, him connecting with her in that deeply intimate way.

After a long, long moment when she felt her blood pound and her body throb with wanting, she knew she’d made her point and she’d better get out of there before she proved beyond words how much she enjoyed sex.

She glanced at her watch, pulling her librarian’s tone out like a theatrical prop. “Thanks for lunch. I need to get going.”

“Have dinner with me tonight,” he said, his voice barely his own.

She stifled a smirk of satisfaction. She’d made her point. She loved sex. But did he think she was going to fall into his bed because he had some basic animal appeal? She hoped she had more sense. “No, thank you.”

“Are you busy tonight?”

“No. Just not interested.”

“You should reconsider. You’ll feel a lot less slutty if you go out with me before we have sex.”

His arrogance had her blinking. “Believe me, that is never going—”

She got no further. Strong arms pulled her forward and he kissed her. Hard.

Her instincts had been right on, she realized, as the full impact of the kiss hit her. This man, with these firm, sensuous lips, was going to be trouble.

“My cell phone’s on my business card,” he said when he pulled away. “Call me anytime.”

“I wo—”

She wondered why she bothered trying to talk to the man if every time she opened her mouth he was going to cut her off by slapping his lips on top of hers.

Then she became overwhelmed by the sensation of his mouth moving on hers, of his tongue tricking her into a response she didn’t want to show. But how could she help herself? There was some powerful chemistry here.
She felt his hands in her hair while his tongue teased and promised.

In spite of what she’d told herself about staying clear of him, her body strained closer to his. Her hands reached for him as though they had their own agenda: his shoulders, muscular and broad; his chest, firm and wide; his back, long and sturdy. She gave up and leaned all the way in so her chest brushed his, making her moan softly as sharp pleasure ignited and spread.

Her fingers found their way into his messy hair, which was thick and gorgeous to the touch. Her mouth opened greedily and she licked at his tongue, sucked it, wanted more. Dizziness began to invade her senses and there was some kind of humming in her ears when she finally managed to drag herself away.

“The hell with tonight. Come in with me now.” His words were hoarse, his breathing ragged, and his lips wet from kissing her.

Oh, she wanted to go in with him, and badly. He felt so warm and strong and dangerous she wanted to ignore her instincts for self-preservation and follow this powerful attraction to its logical conclusion; but she hung on grimly to enough sense to shake her head. Her to-do list was full and there was no room on it for a mindless affair with an obnoxious book scribbler she’d known for twenty-four hours.

He ran a hand through the hair she’d already mussed, tangling it further so it looked as though he’d just crawled out of bed. “It’s inevitable. You know that as well as I do. One day very soon I’m going to be driving inside you until you cry out with pleasure.”

She couldn’t speak, only stare into his mesmerizing eyes. He whispered, “And you will cry out. That I promise.”

A hand on her knee, a gentle pat as though she were his aged great aunt, and he was gone. But the sight of that hand stayed with her. She noticed the long fingers, the elegant square of the palm.

And as he’d pulled his arm away she’d seen the streak of red on his shirtsleeve and on his inner wrist, as though he’d washed blood off his hands and missed some.

Cold and shaken, she put the car into gear and reversed. Probably he’d gotten blood on himself when he turned the corpse. But even as she tried to convince herself, she went heavy on the gas and kept glancing in her rear view mirror all the way home.

She’d kissed a guy with a murdered man’s blood on him.