All That Sparkles (Siren Publishing Classic) Page 6

  “Ellie,” he says soothingly. “I told you to be careful. You could have gotten hurt.”

  His close proximity makes me very uncomfortable, though I’m not absolutely certain why. It could be because he’s Satan and I’m afraid he wants to kill me and claim my soul. Or, it could just be because he’s Satan, he’s hotter than hell, and I want him to claim my body. Either way, his warm breath on my face causes a surge of liquid lust to streak straight to my loins. I breathe him in deeper, unable to resist. Satan or not, this guy is sex on a stick.

  Two mental slaps. “I’m fine,” I say pertly, shrugging his hand off my arm. “What are you doing here? I thought you left?”

  “I was about to, but I had to pick up a few things in there.” He nods toward the reception area and I figure he’s lying since I don’t see him carrying anything. “How did your visit go? Were you able to find your killer?”

  I take a step back, anxious to recover some of my lost body space, as well as some of my lost composure. “It’s not my killer,” I inform him. “And, it went fine. But no. I didn’t recognize anyone.”

  He nods. “That’s probably best.”

  All I want to do is go home and get ready for my date with Dreamy. And, all these confusing vibes and assassin-like innuendos are suddenly getting a bit too much to take. I snap.

  “Look, what exactly is your problem? I would think you’d be happy to find this guy. I mean, I don’t understand why you are trying so hard to get rid of me.”

  “Get rid of you? Is that what you think I’m trying to do?” He looks at me, surprised.

  “Well, yes. Or, scare me off or something. And, by the way, are you following me?”

  He glances down at his feet, nodding, and then he looks at me again, appearing almost conflicted. And, mad as I am, I can’t help but notice how the sunset catches the flecks in eyes. I have a sudden urge to slap him and then kiss the crap out of him. And, if he wasn’t such a smug, dangerous, self-absorbed hitman, I probably would.

  “Ellie. I’m not trying to get rid of you. And, I’m certainly not trying to scare you off. Just the opposite, in fact.” He looks down at his feet again and I can tell he’s thinking. “I’m trying to keep you safe.”

  “Safe? Are you saying you think that guy might come after me?”

  “It’s possible.”

  “Do you know something you’re not telling me?” A swell of panic rises in my throat.

  He shakes his head slowly. “No.”

  “Well then, you don’t need to worry about that. I can take care of myself just fine. Besides, I have Danny.” Now I’m making veiled threats of my own. “So, I appreciate your concern. But there’s really no need.”

  “I see,” he says, stepping aside. “I guess I don’t want to get in the way then. I’ll let you get on with it. Good luck.”

  “Thank you. Good luck to you, too,” I reply, but something doesn’t feel right. He’s holding something back, not telling me everything. Why does he always have to be so…mysterious? Because he’s Satan. Bah!

  Chapter Eight

  Driving home, I keep glancing in my rear view to see if he’s following me, and I’m irritated by the return of my paranoia. I try to convince myself I am happy and carefree and it’s just a normal day where I have a date with a guy who looks like Mr. November from the latest Civil Servant Calendar. Nothing really normal about that, though!

  I turn up the radio and do a bit of dabbing with Fetty Wap and then I mellow out with Dave Matthews. I’m smack in the middle of your love fills me up like Helium, Dreamy, when I realize I can’t stop thinking about Cal. What did he mean he wasn’t trying to scare me off? Just the opposite, he said. What’s the opposite of running me off? Stop it! He’s gone and I’ll most likely never speak to him again. So, it doesn’t matter. Focus on Dreamy.

  Finally, I make it home, still in a tizzy, and it feels like I’ve been away for days. I toss my keys on the counter and head straight to my room, searching for the perfect wardrobe. My black stilettos are a given. Too bad I don’t have a short, red dress to go with them. Instead, I settle on my new, navy blue one that I haven’t even had a chance to wear yet. I bought it a few weeks ago while we were shopping for a date dress for Misty. It’s one of the few purchases I’ve ever made that met with the approval of all three of us—Misty, Rachael, and me. It’s clingy in all the right places, has a plunging neckline, and is a respectable length, but still short enough to get a man’s attention. Had it been just an inch shorter or had the neckline actually gone all the way down to my navel, it would be Misty’s dress.

  If speed shaving were an Olympic sport, I’d be a serious contender. I finish in record time and move on to hair and makeup. By seven-thirty, I’m done. And, I have to say, not too terribly disappointed by the final results. I check my hair and my face, and do a final spin in front of the mirror before I head to the living room to wait on Dreamy. Must remember to call him Danny!

  Thirty minutes stretches before me like an eternity. Music! I fumble with my iPod and soon there is sexy mood music floating around the house like a misty aphrodisiac. I look at the clock. Still twenty-one minutes to go. I don’t want to wrinkle my dress by sitting down, but I don’t want to stand around in my six-inch stilettos, either. So, I take them off and place them on the counter before migrating to the kitchen.

  I open the refrigerator door and immediately remember that Rachael drank the last soda this morning. My choices now are milk or beer. I think about milk breath and a milk mustache, and opt for the beer. I pop the top and take a huge swig just as the doorbell rings. He’s nineteen minutes early! My heart leaps into my throat, making it physically impossible for me to swallow, and I soon have beer foaming from my nose. Fuck!

  I grab a towel and dab frantically at my face. “Just a minute!” I yell at the door as I race down the hall to the bathroom. I still have suds up my nose and down the front of my dress. I marvel at how it could have gotten in my hair, but there it is. So, I mop myself as best I can with tissues, and then dash to the door where Dreamy is waiting, looking dapper as ever.

  “Hi,” I say breathlessly as I casually fling open the door.

  “Hi. So you are here. I was starting to wonder if you forgot.”

  “Sorry about that. Come on in. I had a little mishap with a beer can and I need to change my clothes real quick.” He steps past me and I sense that something is different. Strangely enough, he’s either a lot taller when he’s off duty and standing in my doorway, or he’s actually grown since I last saw him a few hours ago.

  “Really? That’s a shame because you look beautiful.” To my delight, he ogles me brazenly, and I think I’m really going to like this bad boy version of Danny, the taller, off-duty Dreamy version. I haven’t been checked out like this since my last physical. At this rate, I’ll need to change my panties, too.

  “Um…well, thank you. But I smell like I crashed into a beer truck.” I look down at my feet and realize that I’ve forgotten to put my shoes back on, which might explain why he seems so much taller, anyway. “It’ll just take a minute. Have a seat. Do you want anything to drink?” I cringe, praying he says no as I remember that I only have milk and beer.

  “No, I’m good.”

  “Right. Make yourself at home.”

  In my room, I pull off my perfect dress and toss it on the chair as I stare numbly into my closet. I vow to change my laundry day from Sunday to Saturday as I study the slim pickings in front of me.

  “You know, you can just wear jeans, if you want. It’s perfectly fine where we’re going.”

  Hearing his deep, husky voice from just on the other side of my door, I panic and freeze for a second from the sheer shock. Then, half-naked, I throw my arms across my boobs as if I’m shielding them from a nuclear blast. What am I doing? The door is closed and he doesn’t have x-ray vision, that I’m aware of. And, besides, I kind of want to show him my boobs. Don’t I?

  “Oh. Okay then.” I try to sound casual, like strange men talk to me all the
time through my bedroom door while I’m getting dressed. No big deal.

  One notch above frantic now, I grab the first pair of jeans I can find and stuff my leg in, but naturally, they don’t fit. They must be Misty’s. I toss them aside and grab a second pair, praying as I shove my leg in. Thank you, Lord! They fit. Now I just have to find a shirt.

  I manage to pull myself back together after only a few minutes and emerge from my room looking calm and fully dressed. I find Danny back in the living room where I left him, thumbing through a copy of The Lord of the Rings, which I’m reading again for the umpteenth time.

  “Sorry about that.”

  “No problem.” He places the book back down on the coffee table and gives me his full attention. “You look great, but I have to say I’m going to miss that dress you had on.”

  “Maybe next time.” I smile.

  “That will give me something to look forward to,” he says, opening the door. “Ready?”

  I sigh. “Oh, yeah.”

  For some reason, I expect to see his dark blue sedan. Instead, we climb into a sleek, silver Benz that still has that new car smell. An eerie feeling of déjà vu settles on me like a dense fog. I’ve been here before or something about this scene is familiar. Gah! I wave it away, annoyed, as I look for my seat belt.

  “Nice car.” I stroke the dash, knowing that a lot of men feel about their cars the way they do about their penises. And, for now, I’ll just have to settle for the car.

  “Thanks. She’s my baby.” What a shocker. I smile, nodding like it’s surprising new information. “It’s my one weakness.”

  “Oh? You just have one?”

  He chuckles, turns the key, and the engine roars to life. “No. I actually have a lot of weaknesses. But she’s my most expensive one.”

  “Well, tell me about your lesser expensive ones, then.” I want to know everything I can about him.

  We spend the next thirty minutes driving and talking. I learn that he’s thirty-two, he’s been a cop for ten years, and he likes cars and dogs, especially those in the K-9 Unit at work. He grew up in Louisiana where his parents still live, and he’s an only child, though he always wanted a baby brother or sister.

  I want to ask him why he’s not married, but I’m afraid it might scare him. Hell, the fact that I want to ask him that question scares me. Instead, I tell him about my job at the plant, the two part-time jobs that I just quit, my B.A. in English, and much how I love to read. I consider telling him about my parents, too, but I don’t want to talk about anything sad or depressing. Not now.

  “Just look at that.” Danny glares out his window as we roll up slowly to the stop light. A homeless man stands in front of a dirty backpack pulling a ratty old coat tight around him as he begs for change from the passing cars. Danny leans over, digging his fingers into his back pocket, I assume to give the man some money. I look at him and smile, reveling in my good fortune. All this, and kind and generous to boot?

  “Move your ass on down the road or I’ll have you picked up for loitering!” he barks at the poor man as he flashes his badge at the glass. The startled homeless man waves and nods, and then bends over to grab his backpack.

  I stare at him in shock. “Fucking scumbags,” he mumbles, and then drives on, offering no further explanation. Definitely strike one!

  “I thought we’d try a new place out past the County Line,” he finally says. “I heard it’s really good.”

  I nod, still recovering from his recent display of prejudice toward vagrancy, or his penchant for crushing poor, defenseless creatures, one. “Oh, good. I’ve never been to this area of the County Line. So, this will be a first for me.”

  “Well, I’m glad I get to be your first, then.” He flashes me a naughty grin that makes my stomach do a handspring off the top board, the double entendre certainly not lost on me. Hard-hearted bastard or not, he’s still sexy as hell.

  “You know…” He pauses, rearranging his grip on the steering wheel as he bites his bottom lip thoughtfully. I stare at him in suspense, thinking of at least ten different ways he can end this sentence before he finishes, mostly bad. “You really are a knockout,” he finally says, as if he’s just now come to the decision.

  I stare at him blankly, wanting to respond, to pull something sexy or witty out of my red-hot repertoire, but I’m having a hard time believing that I’ve comprehended his statement correctly. Maybe he said he wants to knock me out? He cuts his eyes toward me again, probably assessing my reaction since I haven’t said anything.

  I look down at my lap where my fingers fidget nervously, and I smile, choosing to believe he just gave me a compliment and doesn’t necessarily want to hit me over the head with a blunt object. I decide I need to start over, and forget about the homeless man incident. I mean, after all, he’s a cop. Maybe he’s had some bad experiences with homeless people?

  “Thank you,” I finally say, unable to come up with anything better.

  He takes his hand off the wheel and rests his arm on the console between us, shifting himself so that he’s closer to me. And, whether it’s from inhaling all the beer at home or just inhaling him, I feel almost intoxicated. He smells like a heady mix of soap and sweat and sexy, and I squirm in my seat, glad to have a belt restraining me so I don’t do anything embarrassing, like lick him.

  “Oh! Good. We’re here,” I say, almost relieved.

  Several people stand around on the restaurant’s sprawling front deck, apparently waiting to be called by the hostess once their tables are ready. Two older men sit at a large wooden barrel, using it for a table as they drink beer and play checkers. A few other couples are clustered here and there, all happy and determined to get their shot at the new establishment. I glance around at the packed parking lot, wondering if we’d have better luck just going to McDonald’s.

  “Stay here. Don’t move,” he says, taking the key and stepping out. I watch him walk around to the back of the car and disappear out of sight. For a second, I wonder whether he’s changed his mind about our date and gone off somewhere to hail a cab. But then he reappears just as suddenly and walks to my door, pausing as a young, skinny blonde brushes behind him, giggling, and then struts on toward the entrance. The whole scene is just strange.

  “Allow me.” He smiles, offering me his hand as he opens the car door. In twenty-four years, no man has ever opened my car door or offered me his hand to help me out of a vehicle. It almost makes up for strike one. Almost.

  Regardless, I take his hand as I get out of the car, wishing that I could step out of it in my six-inch stilettos instead of my casual boots. But still, I enjoy the approving looks we get from the other guests, especially the women who are obviously envious of my gentleman hottie. That’s right, ladies. He just helped me out of the car. Mm. Hm.

  Danny seems to enjoy the attention, too, especially that of one girl in particular who looks at him as if he’s on the menu tonight. Did he just wink at her? Surely, I am imagining things. But then she smiles and winks back, and my suspicion is confirmed. I feel like the invisible woman, spying on an intimate moment between two horny people in a parking lot. So, he’s a hopeless flirt. Most gorgeous, hunky, sex-pots are. Right? And, I may have given him a pass, but I’m forced to call strike two as they continue throwing each other furtive glances until we reach the next row of cars.

  “Careful!” he says suddenly, throwing up his arm to keep me from walking into a truck mirror and knocking myself on my ass again.

  “Oh, thank.” I stop and stare at the truck. It’s a big, black Ford. Wasn’t Cal’s truck a Ford?

  “You all right?” he asks, concerned.

  “Um…yeah. I’m fine.” I smile, somewhat dazed, and paranoid as hell now. I briefly consider telling him about Cal again, but I’m a still a bit put off by the giggly blonde and the flirty brunette. And, if I do somehow manage to get over strikes one and two, I don’t want our date to turn into a police investigation.

  I decide not to let my paranoia ruin the evening. This
is Arkansas, after all. Every cowboy and his mother drives a pickup, and I’m sure a large number of them are black. Plus, I’m on a date with a cop. How much safer can a girl get?

  “Danny!” Suddenly, a young hostess sails past the other guests straight over to us, grabbing Danny and hugging him tighter than last season’s sweater. My ho senses jump to threat level red. Tall, slim, and Mary Kay pretty, I get the distinct feeling that she’s very familiar with him. “You made it! I’m so glad.” Yep. She’s familiar, all right.

  “Amber! You look beautiful.” She gives him a twinkling smile, along with a big, wet smack on the lips.

  Suddenly, all the compliments that he so generously lavished on me this evening are about as empty and hollow as my stomach.

  Amber finally looks down at me, her twinkle fading to a dull ember, and once again, I regret the loss of my black heels. Nevertheless, I smile sweetly and nod.

  “Oh! Amber, this is Ellie,” he says, introducing her to me first, which really burns my cookie. “Ellie, Amber.” And, that’s it. No, Amber is the daughter of a good friend, or Amber dates my cousin, Vinnie, or Amber waxes my crotch every third Tuesday. Nothing.

  “Very nice to meet you, Amber,” I say coolly, seriously considering whether this is a strike three offense.

  “Well.” She smiles like a snake. “Any friend of Danny’s, and all that,” she drawls, as if it’s not even worth her time to finish the sentence.

  “Come. I have a table ready for you.” She turns to grab a couple of menus and I glance around nervously at the throng of waiting customers, half expecting a horde of hungry rioters to rush us. But no one does.

  We follow Amber past the bar and through a maze of hungry diners. I notice she’s wearing my dress, the red one from my dream, and I stew on the unfairness of it all. Her hips sway with exaggeration and many of the men, and women, too, stop eating and stare as we pass. I roll my eyes, unsure whether I’m upset with him or me, or just the situation overall. This is getting ridiculous.