The Gazebo. Kimberly Cates
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palmed the receiver and held it to his ear. “Trula Devine,” he said in a voice so rich it could probably unsnap a woman’s bra without so much as a touch. Of course, Deirdre doubted anyone with an outlandish name like that would put up much of a fight. “Hey, baby, you finally decide to put me out of my misery and call? Damn it, woman, you’ve been making me crazy!”
Stone hovering over the phone waiting for a woman to call? It just didn’t seem in character. But then, if she’d learned one thing on the road with the band all those years it was that most men didn’t have much restraint when their libidos were involved. Stone wouldn’t be the first man who’d turned idiot over a woman.
“What about the money?” Stone asked, a smile quirking his mouth—the slightly swollen place at the corner of his lips making him look all the more maddeningly sexy—as if he’d just come up for air after one soul-sucking kiss. “Hell, yes, sugar. I’ll pay. Whatever you want.”
Deirdre could hear a murmur from the other end of the phone. Stone laughed, and for an instant Deirdre felt a stab of envy, wondering what it would be like if he ever turned that thousand-watt smile onto her.
“What’s that?” he asked. “Yeah, Trula. You’ve still got the best legs in Vegas. With that body of yours you could bleed a man dry and he’d be smiling all the way to the bank to empty his accounts for you.”
Deirdre clamped her mouth shut, some of the grudging respect she had for Stone melting away. It was nauseating, the way Stone was talking. It irritated the blazes out of her—on principle of course. She didn’t want his mind on some other woman’s legs. She wanted it on the case she was hiring him to solve.
Stone turned away, tension evident in his shoulders, his voice suddenly stern. “Fine. I’ll pay whatever you want. But no more games, Trula…you heard me. When you wouldn’t pick up the phone I even stopped over. You weren’t there. I didn’t know where you were…”
Controlling bastard! He expected this Trula woman to check in with him before she stepped out of the house? The thought made Deirdre’s temper burn.
Breathe, Deirdre, she thought, trying to keep the lid on. Long, deep breaths. You can’t lose your temper. It doesn’t matter if Stone is a pig to his girlfriend. You need this man…even if he is a first rate son of a—Count backward from one hundred. One hundred, ninety-nine, ninety-eight…
Stone chuckled, the sound raking at Deirdre’s nerves, startling her, scaring her. Making her wonder for an instant if he’d seen…No, Deirdre told herself. That laugh was for Trula Devine. Piercing as Stone’s eyes might be, he couldn’t read Deirdre’s mind.
“Do I love you?” he asked in that low, rough-edged voice that made Deirdre feel as if he’d run his hand over her skin. “What do you think, woman? You better have your dancing shoes on next time I knock on that door, and be ready to tango. That’s an order.”
He hung up the phone, glanced at Deirdre from beneath hooded lids. What was he trying to do? Hide the fact that he was aroused from talking to his sex kitten? Or exploit the fact that the conversation had made Deirdre uncomfortable?
“You’re still here?” Stone asked, feigning surprise. “I thought I made it clear my caseload is too heavy to take you on.”
“An army of men like you couldn’t take me on!” Deirdre fumed. “Maybe you’re used to ordering women around like they’re—they’re slaves or something, but—”
“Oh, honey, believe me, there’s nothing, er, involuntary about the way Trula serves me.”
“You did everything but order her to wrap herself up in cellophane so you could run right over.”
Stone grinned. “I did tell you I was busy. Of course, I can’t wait to pass on your suggestion. Believe me, Trula will love it.”
“You know what? If I’d had any idea how you treat women, I would have hit you over the head with that statue and let the Three Stooges use you for a punching bag.”
“The Three Stooges?” Stone chuckled, then his face drew back into unyielding lines. “Lucky for me you didn’t find out what a male chauvinist jerk I was until it was too late.”
Deirdre fought back tears of exhaustion, exasperation. She’d despised Stone for years. Hated him. And yet…she’d been so sure he would untangle this mess. She’d never even considered he might say no. What was she going to do now?
Well, she sure wasn’t going to lie down and quit, she thought grimly. She’d fought her way through plenty of trouble before with no help from anyone.
“Know what?” she said, with a wave of her hand. “Forget I ever came here. I’ll find Jimmy Rivermont myself.”
She should have turned and walked out, chin high, shoulders squared—in what the Captain had always called her “Queen Elizabeth walking the plank” imitation. But for once she couldn’t carry it off. Why did it matter so much that Jake Stone was turning her away? Because she didn’t know what else to do. Couldn’t imagine where to begin. Because finding that letter had shaken everything she’d been sure of for thirty-two years. And she’d needed someone on her side.
Her memory filled with Finn’s gaze—full of empathy and love. Cade’s fierce blue one, angry, sad, for once not knowing what to do. And the Captain…it wasn’t his eyes she’d never forget. It was the sight of his back as he turned and walked away.
She looked straight into Stone’s eyes and fought to keep her voice from breaking. “You’re a real son of a bitch.”
Stone’s grin faded, his gaze holding hers, dark with secrets of his own. “I thought you had that figured out a long time ago.”
CHAPTER 4
JAKE PRESSED THE ICE PACK to his swelling jaw, hoping the ache would distract him. But even the memory of Deirdre McDaniel would be damned before it cooperated with him.
He closed his eyes, arched his head back, trying to blot out the feline angles of her face, the defiance in her I-dare-you eyes and the taunting softness of lips that had haunted his dreams more times in the past six years than he would admit even to himself.
She was still every bit as wild and beautiful as the mustang mare he’d rescued from the glue factory as a kid back in Nevada. He’d been determined to get past the horse’s defenses, teach her to trust. He’d gotten a broken collarbone and three cracked ribs before his grandmother had drawn the line. She’d told him some creatures were broken inside, too deep for anyone to fix. Sometimes the kindest thing to do was leave them alone.
Where Deirdre McDaniel was concerned, Jake had sure the hell tried to do just that. Stay as far away from the lady as possible.
And yet, down in Jake’s gut where instinct lived, he’d always known she’d walk back into his life someday. And that she’d hate him.
Jake stalked through the open door joining his office to the private part of his house and turned to glare down at the occupant of a giant-size cedar pillow on the floor near the heating vent. The mass of wrinkles around the bloodhound’s droopy face made her look as if she had melted into the Black Watch plaid fabric.
“I could have used some help in there,” Jake complained, nudging a hindquarter gently with the toe of his boot. The dog opened an eye and thumped her tail once on the pillow as if to say, I knew you had it covered, boss.
“Oh, yeah. I had it covered all right,” Jake murmured irritably. Three cons he could handle. What he couldn’t handle was five feet three inches of woman with a giant-size chip on her shoulder. What a kick in the gut it had been when he’d seen Deirdre standing there. All that fire still in her eyes.
Hell, any red-blooded man alive would wonder if she was as hot in bed as that mouth of hers promised. It had been lust at first sight. Her skin creamy smooth, touched with roses, her chin-length hair tousled as if mussed by a lover’s hands, her