If Looks Could Kill. Heather Pozzessere Graham
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shook his head painfully. “Madison, my wife had just died.”
“And I was very sorry,” she said quietly. “And you treated me as if were the Wicked Witch of the West, straight out of Oz, as if I’d somehow caused it to happen.”
“Look—”
“No, you look, Kyle. I don’t understand my sense of second sight. God knows, I don’t want it. But I can’t make things happen, and I’m not—” She broke off, a look of pain flashing across her beautiful features.
“You’re not what?”
She shook her head.
The waitress returned, setting her beer in front of her. Madison thanked the woman as Kyle leaned forward.
“I’m not different from anyone else,” she said through gritted teeth. She picked up the beer and drank it down. She didn’t chug, he noticed. Or, if she did, it didn’t look like chugging. Madison was too elegant for that.
“Madison, I’m trying to say I’m sorry. We were family once, close family—”
Her mug landed back on the table. “You’re not my family, Kyle. You were my stepbrother, but my mother died. You’re not my family. We’re not related—”
“We were family, a totally dysfunctional family. Remember? That’s what you always called us. But you’re right, I’m not your brother. Still, death doesn’t change relationships, and I’d like to make peace—”
“You were the one firing off the ammo,” she reminded him politely.
“And I’m asking for your forgiveness.”
“What? Won’t Dad let you use his boat if I don’t think it’s just great that you’re back?”
He smiled, shaking his head. “Madison, you’re acting like a brat. First, my job pays decently—I could rent a boat if I needed one. Secondly, you’re overestimating your power over your parent. He has his own mind.”
“Oh, really?” She started to sip her beer, then realized her glass was empty. She looked around, as if she wanted another. Quickly.
Kyle leaned closer, somewhat amused. “I don’t think you should be drinking yourself silly—over me. Don’t you have another set to do?”
“I’d never drink myself silly over you, Kyle Montgomery. I’m just so damned mad—”
“Ah! So you are hostile.”
“Hostile? That’s an understatement.”
“I hurt you, Madison. And I’m sorry.”
“Since we’re talking about overestimating things, I think you’re overestimating your power, Kyle. You don’t have the power to hurt me.”
He shrugged, looking around. He saw the waitress and motioned to her. “I’ll take another beer, please—honey.”
He’d added the last on purpose. The waitress didn’t notice, but Madison winced.
“Madison…?” the girl asked.
“Ms. Adair is still working,” Kyle said pleasantly.
“I’ll have another draft, Katie, thanks,” Madison said.
Katie walked away to fill their order. He couldn’t help smiling as he stared at Madison, except that, as he looked at her, he felt a sudden tremor streak through him, hot as fire, constricting something vital in him. She was angry, nasty, could be bitchy as hell.
God, he wanted her.
He exhaled a long breath, staring at her, glad of his roomy denim cutoffs and the table hiding his arousal from her.
She’d been cute and clever at thirteen. Beautiful in college. He’d felt affection for her when she was a kid, pride when she was older, and, always, a strange pull. Now she was pure, sensual elegance. It was startling to realize the strength of what he was feeling for her at that moment.
She’d been his stepsister, for God’s sake, he reminded himself. But they weren’t biologically related, for which he was grateful, considering the purely physical reaction she was causing in him now.
Except that he cared about her, too. Even though part of him wanted to be a million miles away from her. Even if he was…
Unnerved.
That was it. Completely unnerved by her.
He cleared his throat. “Did you drive here, Madison?” he asked her.
“Yes, why?”
“Because you shouldn’t drive home. I’ll wait for you.”
The beers were set before them. Madison stared at him, her eyes hard. “You’re not my big brother. You don’t need to wait for me.”
“You’re drinking too much.”
“Oh, I’m drinking too much. So I should ride home with a beach bum who’s been sitting here drinking for hours?”
Kyle grinned slowly. “I’ll go to coffee next.”
“Don’t bother on my account.”
“Are you staying at your dad’s place?”
She hesitated. “Yes.”
“Then I’ll wait.”
“Maybe I have a date.”
He looked past her, studying the band members, who were again readying their equipment.
Kyle lifted his beer. “Are you sleeping with one of them? Joey King, maybe? He looks like your type.”
“He’s married, with kids.”
“Glad to hear that would stop you.”
“Damn you, Kyle—”
“Sorry, sorry, I just haven’t seen you in a long time.”
“Who I sleep with is none of your business.”
“Maybe it’s the natural concern of an older brother.”
“I thought we’d established that you’re not my brother.”
He shrugged. “Have it your way. Old habits die hard. I’m just trying to ascertain who you’ll be seeing after your gig.”
“Maybe I sleep with the whole band. At the same time.”
He smiled, lowering his head slightly. “Madison, you have the tolerance level of a baby when it comes to alcohol.”
“Really? You haven’t seen me in more than six years! You think I’m drunk already? You think you know my tolerance levels? Then maybe you don’t want to stick around. I’m Lainie Adair’s child, remember? If I’m so loaded, you should watch out. I might resort to some kind of wild strip show up there.”
He grinned, tugging on the brim of his baseball cap. “Well, cool. You did just remind me that there’s no blood relation between us. Our kids wouldn’t have two heads, or anything like that. I’ll be watching and waiting.”
“Our kids? Oh, Kyle, never, not even if the survival of the species depended on it.”
“I think they’re waiting for you, Madison.”
She stood up with sudden anger, then bent down, whispering vehemently, “Don’t wait for me.”
“I’m not having any traffic fatalities on my conscience. I’ll be here when you’re done.”
“Kyle—”
“I’ll be waiting, Madison.”
She straightened. Turned. Wavered.
She really didn’t have any tolerance for alcohol. None whatsoever.