*
They sat in Witt’s truck parked on the gravel drive outside her second-floor studio apartment. Max was partial to his black Dodge Ram. Maybe it was the red decals that really did it for her. Who could tell? But sitting inside, all comfy and cozy with him, was a dangerous thing. She wished she’d left her porch light on to alleviate a little of the dark intimacy. She’d never been partial to big men with blond buzz cuts and a cleft in the chin. Dudley Do-Right look-a-likes had never turned her on.
Not until Witt.
He turned the radio on low, a jazz station. Soft piano music filled the cab. So did the musky scent of his aftershave. She didn’t know what brand, probably something with sex in the title.
“Want your present?”
Her mid-section lurched. “You didn’t get me a present.”
He raised a blond brow. “Did, too.”
“What?”
“Gotta come over here if you want to see it.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Not that kind of present.”
He smiled, all white teeth and sly male. He smiled like that a lot lately. She could remember a time when she didn’t think the man even knew how to smile. They’d come a long way in two months. Way too far.
She glanced down at the console between them. Ah, a safety net. “I am not climbing over this thing.”
He reached out almost faster than her eye could follow and flipped the console back. Damn. It was retractable.
“Thought you were safe all this time, huh?” He grinned again and leaned a little closer.
She’d had no idea the cab really had a bench seat. No idea at all. If she had, she never would have gotten inside the thing with him. Not the first time, and certainly not now, when he’d had that gleam in his eye all night, even with his mother around.
Witt had a way of getting her to do things against her better judgment. One kiss, one touch, and she lost her sense of propriety. Well, not propriety, since she didn’t have much of that to begin with. More like her sense of self-preservation. Witt was a too-tempting morsel. Especially naked.
“Why don’t you tell me again about your little fantasy in my truck?”
Darn. She knew telling him about that was a mistake. On the phone, late at night, his smoky hot voice in her ear, she’d felt a little safer revealing her predilection for Ram trucks. An explicit revelation. But now he had that look. No big deal. She could handle a little amorousness and still hold him at bay.
Though really, what was the point when she’d already let him have his wicked way with her? His wicked, delightful, delirious and orgasmic way with her.
The point, the point, what was it? Oh yeah. She needed to hold him at bay because ... because ... relationships were dangerous things. A girl could end up needing a big lug like him too much. A girl could get dependent. A girl could open herself to a world of hurt. She’d been down that road before.
Sex, she could handle. What she’d done with Witt had been so much more.
She shuddered with fear and desire, foreboding and need.
Her only mode of self-protection was to make sure she never initiated anything with him. As long as she could control that, she could hold back pieces of herself.
“Taking a long time to answer, Max. You shouldn’t think so much. Might make you lose brain cells.”
She reached for the door handle with her right hand. He grabbed her left with one big hand, pulled her back and then retreated once again to his side of the cab. Laugh lines fanned out from his eyes. “Just teasing, sweetheart.”
Damn. If he’d go ahead and jump her, they wouldn’t have to fight about it. She could put up token resistance, then give in without having to commit herself. God, he was too knowing. Too understanding at times. Sometimes she wished he’d squash her every time she got flighty and fighty like this. She deserved to be squashed, but it was also a very good way to distance herself from him.
Except that the one and only time he had squashed her, that humongous blowout a few days ago when they were so-called “working” on the Bethany Spring case, hadn’t exactly created that distancing effect, probably because she knew absolutely that she’d been at fault. One of these days, Witt would up and leave when he’d had enough of her crap. That’s what he’d done to his ex-wife. He’d as much as told Max he’d do that to her, too, if she pushed him too far. That declaration should have made her feel more secure, given her the perfect out when she needed it.
Instead she still felt like she was walking on eggshells.
“Why don’tcha tell me what’s been bothering you all night?”
She swallowed. “Nothing.”
“Liar. Had another vision, didn’t ya?”