She came up short in her hesitant explorations, because the man she now knew was Detective Matthew R. Dorchester occupied the table’s far end. He wore jeans and a chocolate brown polo, his damp, rumpled hair curling against the collar. Chestnut stubble covered his jaw, but the shadows visible under his eyes yesterday were gone. A cup of coffee steamed by one hand, the newspaper open to the Sudoku and crossword puzzles in front of him. He had a pen in the other hand. He tapped it against the table several times before setting it down.
The silence stretched out, thrumming with tension, anticipation, and something darker, raw. The house was small and warm, despite the air conditioner she heard grinding away from the backyard. Another truth. He did need a new AC.
Eve felt a hot flush ease up her neck to her cheeks as the red hot anger blended with something else: white hot lust. Daylight following a solid night of sleep hadn’t lessened the sexual current flowing between them.
She stopped in the arch between the living and dining rooms, and folded her arms. “I can’t decide if I should apologize for coming on to you or slap you for playing me.”
He sat back. “Don’t slap me. Looks great in the movies but it’s ineffective as hell. If you want payback we’ll go down the hall, tape up your hands, and I’ll teach you how to light me up.”
That’s not how I want to light you up …
“Tempting,” she said, “but I’ve never hit anyone before and I’m not about to start now.”
More silence, then he got to his feet and shoved his hands into his pockets. “How are you?”
Telling him the truth was a point of pride now. “I’m sore,” she said bluntly. “My whole right side hurts from getting tackled. My shoulder really hurts where it hit the bar stool. I’m scared. Terrified, actually. I haven’t eaten anything in twenty-four hours, so I’m starving, or possibly sick to my stomach from fear. And I’m really, really angry at you.”
He gave her a wry smile. “One thing at a time. A shower will help with the sore muscles. There’s ibuprofen in the bathroom cabinet. Don’t take it on an empty stomach. I’ll make something to eat. Then we’ll deal with the rest of it.”
She blinked a couple of times, not expecting an eminently practical response to her tangle of emotions rocking in her stomach. “Okay,” she said, because what else could she do?
“What fits in the rock star diet?” he asked.
“Fuck the rock star diet. I want comfort food,” she threw over her shoulder. After grabbing her bag from the hallway, she stopped in her room to plug in her iPhone to charge, then took her makeup bag into the bathroom. There were two dark blue towels and an economy-sized bottle of ibuprofen on the sink. She shook out four. The droplets spattering the walls and grab bars in the shower stall, the water temperature running hot immediately, and a damp towel hanging over the sliding doors all served to heighten the sense of intimacy she wasn’t sure she wanted to feel. He’d showered before her.
Of course he did. He lives here.
Her stomach did a little flip-flop at the idea. She stayed under the hot water, rolling her shoulders and stretching until her muscles eased a little. The room was steamy when she got out, the foggy mirror hiding her face as she brushed her teeth. A towel wrapped around her body, she scuttled into Luke’s room to change into a pair of jeans and a tank top.
She returned to the dining room to find a thick cheeseburger on a plate. His place was empty, and she gave a startled gasp when he materialized out of nowhere, a full plate in one hand and a bag of potato chips in the other.
“Sorry,” he said.
“I’m jumpy,” she answered, her voice shaky, rising.
“Eat,” he commanded gently. “Food will settle your nerves.”
He’d be lucky if she didn’t hurl it back up on the wood floor. Just to be polite she sat down and bit into the burger, but when the food hit her tongue she ate with an almost embarrassing haste, slowing down only after she got half in her stomach. She reached for a handful of chips, then ate the rest of the meal at a more reasonable pace.
“Better?” he asked when she reached for a second round of chips.
She nodded.
“Took some ibuprofen?”
“Yes.”
“That leaves terrified and angry,” he said, businesslike in his approach.
You may not like him very much right now, but don’t underestimate him, she thought. Based on the picture in Luke’s room, he’d dealt with worse than this. Despite the warm, cocoonlike air of his house, tiny tremors still rolled through her, but her brain wasn’t thinking about fear anymore. Her body, thrumming under some basic delight at being alive, wasn’t thinking at all. “I’m less frightened,” she said slowly.
“Food and sleep go a long way to settling nerves after something like that,” he said. “But you’re still angry.”
“Furious,” she said, because that had to be what was slowly twining itself along her nerves, humming in her skin with an ever-increasing intensity. “Intellectually I can twist my brain around the argument that you were just doing your job. Emotionally…”
He didn’t move, simply sat still and solid in the face of her reaction. In that moment she understood why Matt Dorchester ended up carrying the worst burdens of everyone around him. Because he could.