"You'd better go."
Otto was tugging on the leash, but Garvin held fast, his gaze locked on her. Then, without any warning, he caught an arm around her waist and gave her a fast, hard, lightning bolt of a kiss. "Just so you don't think I don't know what you're up to," he whispered into her mouth.
He pivoted and retreated down the dark walk with Otto trotting beside him. Reeling, Annie quickly shut the door behind her and literally staggered into her bedroom. She had no illusions that the rush of heat she felt had to do with anything or anyone besides one Garvin MacCrae.
She got out the sweater and skirt she'd worn to the auction. Wardrobe machinations generally bored her, but she'd never attended the annual dinner for a foundation established in honor of a murdered San Francisco heiress. A woman, she thought, who had been married to the man she'd just sent off with her dog.
She pushed the thought aside and concentrated on getting dressed. She thought of outfits swept out to sea. Well, not many of them would do for a San Francisco night out, either.
A silk scarf and dressier earrings gave the outfit a fresh look. She tried fooling with her hair, gave up, and finally settled for giving it a good brushing. Vic Denardo, the police, and Garvin MacCrae had left her a bit pale, so she concentrated on restoring color with her cosmetics.
"Dazzling," she said when she'd finished. She smiled at her reflection, ignoring the twist of pain in her stomach. Nerves. But there was no lipstick on her teeth, no smudges of mascara under her lashes. Also, she thought, no "natural" color in her face. Nor any real confidence she shouldn't just pack up Otto and head east.
She slipped out of the bathroom before her reflection could tell her anything else she didn't want to think about.
Garvin and Otto had returned. The dog had dragged his bowling ball, his favorite toy, from the bedroom and was thumping it around in front of the couch. The man had his eyes on her.
"All my Armani dresses got washed out to sea," Annie said lightly. "Hope this'll do."
"Are you worried it won't?"
She thought a moment, then told him the truth. "Not in the least."
"I didn't think so." He moved toward her and touched the folds of her scarf. "It brings out the blue in your eyes. Annie—"
"No, wait." She felt his emotion, his desire, wished she could understand what was happening between them. "Garvin, I've thought it over. I don't have to go tonight. People are bound to start putting us together. I know we've—well, we've let things get out of hand here a bit." She took a breath, blundered on. "But the Linwoods are your family, and if you'd prefer to deal with them on your own, I understand."
"They were my family, Annie. Now they're people I care about, nothing more."
"But under the circumstances, if you'd rather avoid having to explain me, I can stay here."
He slipped his arms around her waist and drew her close. She could smell his cologne, feel his hard muscle through the soft, expensive fabric of his suit.
"Does it bother you to have people speculate about us?" he asked into her hair.
She just wanted to sink into him, to let him take her weight. "No—well—"
"It does." He eased his palms up her spine, as stiff as a two-by-four, if only as a defense against her own yearnings. "Why?"
He was so direct, she thought for a panicked moment he could see right into her soul. But he waited expectantly, and finally she said, "It's not what other people think. It's what I think. I don't want to give you any misimpression, Garvin. I've never—well, frankly, I've never been good at one-night stands. You know, those torrid love affairs, sex for the sake of sex and no other. Do you know what I mean?"
A glint of humor rose in his eyes. "Theoretically."
She felt her cheeks warm. "I must sound like a prude. I'm not. I'd love to tumble into bed with you." She heard herself and almost choked. "Theoretically, I mean. Oh, geez. Forget I said that. I'm all in a muddle."
"Forgotten."
But the humor had gone out of his eyes, and he enclosed her in his arms and kissed the top of her head, and she let her arms go around him. She leaned against his chest. He felt so strong, so good. She was tempted to explain herself but was afraid she'd only put her foot in her mouth again. She'd always believed in having a solid relationship with someone before getting physically involved. But with Garvin, the physical was so hard to hold back, and her feelings were moving fast too, all mixed up with her fears and desires and that insistent, pragmatic side of her that warned of heartache to come, reminded her of her promise to take life a day at a time. He intrigued her and fascinated her, and he made her think about herself and her life in new ways.
But Garvin MacCrae was also a man haunted by the horrible death of his wife, and if Annie had no business trusting his interest in her, she also had no business encouraging it.
"Let's go," she said, slipping from his arms and starting briskly for the door.