His lips twisted into a cynical smile. “Not this time, Susannah.”
“What do you mean, not this time? What kind of sexist bullsh—?”
“I’m well acquainted with your feelings about my nineteenth-century macho-man ways, Susannah, and I’ll be the first to admit many of those ways were wrong. But some of them aren’t. Some of them work better than your twenty-first-century ways, which seem to allow child murderers to go unpunished and”—he held up a hand to silence me when I began to protest—“young girls to needlessly suffer. So perhaps just this once you’ll allow me to do things my way.”
“Oh,” I said. “Oh, okay, Sheriff de Silva. I’ll just go decorate some bonnets while you execute a few criminals without due process.”
His smile became even more infuriatingly cynical. “You don’t even know how to sew.”
“Yeah, well, I do know how to shoot a gun. I’ve been taking target lessons with Jake over at the range in Monterey. But if you don’t want me around, fine. I’ll just sit quietly at home like a good little bride-to-be while you’re out fighting the bad guys.”
His lifted his gaze from the road to glance at me.
“I do want you around, Susannah,” he said. “That’s why I want you at home. I’ve lost too many people—all the people—I love. I can’t lose you, too. Do you understand? That’s why you have to let me take Delgado myself, alone. I want you around forever.”
“Oh.” Now I felt like a jerk for having called him a macho man so many times. Not, of course, that it made a difference. If anything, his admission only strengthened my resolve not to change a single thing I was planning to do. “Well, when you put it that way. Okay. Okay, sure.”
Even through the dark lenses of his sunglasses, I could see that his gaze hadn’t strayed from mine. “Why do I get the feeling that you’re hiding something from me, querida?”
“Me?” I asked in an innocent voice as I texted rapidly. “I would never hide anything from you.”
Drinks sound good. See you at 5. Can’t wait.
NOV 18 4:15 PM
veinticinco
“Simon, you came. I have to admit, I didn’t think you—” Paul jerked back, apparently regretting his decision to kiss me hello. “When did you start wearing glasses?”
“Hello, Paul. You haven’t changed a bit. Still rude as ever.”
“No, really, what’s with the glasses? And why is your hair up like that?” He looked slightly horrified. “I instantly recognized your amazing ass, of course, as soon as I came in, but then when you turned around—” He heaved a mock shudder. “Ever heard of contacts?”
“They’re not prescription. And you’re late. You said five. This place turns into a meat market after five thirty. You’re lucky I didn’t run off with one of these other nice gentlemen who don’t mind my glasses at all.”
Paul may not have found my glasses alluring, but plenty of other patrons at the Carmel Inn hotel bar had found them no deterrent to asking if they could buy me a drink. The diamond on my left finger didn’t seem to bother them, either. Finally I’d put my bag on the seat beside me and said it was occupied: I was saving it for my husband, B. A. Baracus.
Only one guy got the joke. He’d bought me a vodka tonic in appreciation.
“Poor baby,” Paul said as he handed me my bag and slid onto the stool, giving my new friend the evil eye. “I feel sorry for any guy who tried to hit on you. Did you knee him in the balls?”
“That’s an extra special move that I reserve for extra special guys like you. Where were you? Buying the Vatican so you can knock it down to put in a strip mall?”
“I’m glad you got your sense of humor back. I was worried you were going to be pissy about all this.” He made eye contact with the busy bartender. “What she’s having.” Then he eyed my drink. “That better not be something nonalcoholic, like club soda. I want your defenses down tonight for when I take full and total advantage of you.”
“Wow, you really are still just as in love with yourself as you were in high school, aren’t you?” I made a slashing motion beneath my chin to the bartender. “He won’t be having anything, sorry. We have to go.”
“What do you mean?” Paul’s face fell. “I just got here. Look, I apologize for being late, I had a conference call about the properties—you can’t believe how nasty people are being about my tearing down that house of yours. I thought you were a bitch about it, but that damned historical society, shit. And I’m sorry I made the crack about your glasses. I thought I left instructions to dress sexy, but with your hair like that, and the glasses, you look more like a schoolmarm than a sex kitten.”