Wild Fire. Debra Cowan
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Not yet, anyway.
She plucked at her pink, lightweight sweater, ran damp palms down the legs of her khaki pants. Was her response due to the concussion? Another of the erratic, uncontrollable emotions Dr. Boren had warned her about?
Coming out of the bathroom to find him had been a surprise, but what had jolted her senses like a live wire was the way Clay’s gaze had done a slow, appreciative glide down her body.
He wasn’t the only one who’d looked. He’d been wearing only jeans and as she followed the lines of his powerful body, she’d become suddenly and profoundly aware of his smooth, supple skin, the tan that faded into paler skin at his hips, the thin bands of muscle across his abdomen. She’d seen his chest before—they’d spent countless summer days at the lake—but yowza. It was all hard angles and planes and sleekly defined sinew, just like his shoulders and his arms. Dark hair coiled on his chest and formed into a thin line down the center of his ridged abdomen. He’d caught her looking. She couldn’t help it; he was something else.
The moment had grown between them, clutching deep inside her and igniting a tiny flame of temptation. She could still smell his flesh-warmed woodsy scent, see the hard throb of his pulse in the hollow of his throat. She’d tried to dismiss her body’s response, but she couldn’t halt the heating of her blood, the heavy ache in her breasts, the tightening in her belly.
At first, he’d looked as startled as she’d felt, and then he’d looked…hungry. A shiver rippled through her. No man had ever looked at her that way, not even her ex, Ronnie, when they’d begun dating and things had been hot and heavy between them.
What was going on with Clay? And her? He was nine years older than she was. She had never felt toward him exactly as she had toward her brother, but she’d never wanted to jump his bones, either. Certainly never considered that he might want to jump hers.
Jeez, Louise! This was Clay! Restlessness moved through her. Her skin felt tight. She ordered herself to stop thinking about his chest, his body, his everything.
It wasn’t until they were walking through the school’s front door that Shelby had the presence of mind to speak. “You never said exactly why you wanted me to come to M.B.’s school with you.”
“Oh,” he said gruffly, pausing at the corner of a long corridor before starting across the vinyl-floored hallway for the school office. Fronted by glass walls, a long counter stretched along the width of the rectangular room. Several women and students worked behind it. “I thought you might get a glimpse of someone here that would help you remember something.”
“Good idea. I hope it works.” It was on the tip of her tongue to say something about that bizarre exchange in his bedroom, but for the first time in their long friendship, she didn’t feel she could talk to him. Not now, anyway. Not when she could still feel this tight pull in her belly.
As she and Clay made their way to the office, the low roar of children’s voices came from the opposite end of the building. The cafeteria, she realized. The silence between her and Clay was different than usual, heavier, but she noted that he didn’t try to break it, either. If he was reeling over it as much as she was, she understood.
Once in the office, Clay asked to see Gail Cosgrove, M.B.’s friend who had called this morning to tell Clay she was back at work and eager to help any way she could. As the school secretary, Gail was responsible for making any travel arrangements for school-sponsored trips, local or out-of-town.
“M.B. and I were friends for ten years,” the trim blonde told Clay and Shelby as she motioned them into her small office.
Clay shot Shelby a questioning look and she shook her head. She didn’t recognize Gail Cosgrove, and the woman hadn’t sparked any memories. Neither had anyone else in the outer office.
“So you knew about the man she was seeing?” Clay asked.
He always gave people his full attention. Shelby tried to keep hers on the secretary, but her mind was occupied with the man who was her best friend. She could smell the deep musk of his aftershave, a faint whiff of fabric softener. He’d shaved; the smooth line of his jaw was every bit as compelling as it was with stubble.
Gail nodded. “I knew about him, but I didn’t know who he was. She wouldn’t tell me.”
“Why not?”
“She said it could cause trouble for both of them. I have no idea what she meant. It was the first time in our friendship she’d kept anything like that from me. M.B. wasn’t a secretive person by nature. She was outgoing and straightforward. What you saw with her is what you got. I never understood why she wouldn’t tell me. She knew I wouldn’t have said a word to anyone.”
Clay glanced at Shelby. “Could it have been because her telling you might have threatened you in some way?”
“In what way?”
Shelby knew what he meant and watched the other woman’s face carefully.
“Are you married, Ms. Cosgrove?”
She gave a small laugh. “Oh, I see where you’re going, but M.B. wouldn’t have had an affair with my husband. And even if she’d wanted to, Wes would never have cheated on me.”
“You sound pretty sure.”
“I am.” Her gaze went from Clay to Shelby and back. “Aren’t there some things you know in your gut and your heart?”
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