“We need to talk.”
“About what?” he asked despite his irritation, closing the door when she walked in. “I thought I made it clear the other night that I have no intention of going to your sister’s dinner party tomorrow night.”
‘That’s not what I want to talk about.”
“Umm, let me guess. You’ve changed your mind and are making a booty call, after all.”
She rolled her eyes. “Get serious.”
“Baby, I am serious.” He tried not to notice how her hair, damp from rain, hung down her shoulders, giving her a sexy look. Too bad the rain hadn’t washed away her scent; it was there drifting through his nostrils, inciting all sorts of ideas in his mind. “So if you’re not making a booty call, did you come by for another kiss?”
She snorted. “Not on your life.”
He frowned, no longer interested in playing guessing games. “So what brought you to my doorstep in the pouring rain, Jules? What is it you want to talk about?”
After a moment’s hesitation, she said, “I intend to find the person who killed your mother.”
*
Jules watched. First his eyes widened, and then his lips drew in a tight line while he eyed her like she’d suddenly become a strange phenomenon. And while he was doing all of that, she was studying him, as well. There was no use arguing the point that perhaps ogling was a better word as she gave him a long, in-depth perusal from head to toe.
“Now that’s an interesting joke,” he drawled, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m curious to hear the punch line.”
Somehow, she’d known he wouldn’t take her seriously. “No joke. No punch line. I will explain things in detail after you put on some clothes.”
He glanced down at himself and smiled as if he found the very idea that she was bothered by what he was wearing rather amusing. But when he met her gaze again, his smile had been replaced with a deep frown. “What makes you think I want to hear anything you have to say?”
Jules thought that was an easy question, one with several answers, but for now, she would give him the one that mattered. “Because you know your father is innocent of a crime he’s spent the past fifteen years paying for.”
Dalton stood there a moment and stared at her, as if he was trying to decide whether she deserved to waste any more of his time. But she knew as well as he did that what she said had pulled him in. If nothing else, he was intrigued. It wouldn’t take much thought to determine what was more important. That towel wrapped around his waist or hearing what she had to say. The towel lost.
“It won’t take me but a minute to change into something more appropriate. I would suggest you make yourself at home, but I don’t imagine you will be here that long.”
He turned and walked away. Was that arrogant strut from the room supposed to be for her benefit? Deliberately done to cause that familiar ache between her legs? It would be her luck that Dalton Granger was sex incarnate on the most luscious pair of legs any man could own.
She removed her coat, hung it on the coatrack and began pacing. It was either that or stand still and lick her lips dry while that ache intensified. Why was she allowing him to get to her this way? Yet she was here, while it was pouring rain outside, to offer her services. But not in the way that could definitely relieve the horniness that had been racking her mind and body for days.
“Ah, you’re still here,” he said, coming back into the room. Thankfully, he was no longer wrapped in that towel but had slid into a pair of khakis and a T-shirt. She tried not to act surprised when she read the large words emblazoned across his chest. I lick. She meant to ignore it, but then she decided that since he’d probably put it on to annoy her, she intended to show him it hadn’t worked.