Stirring Attraction(17)
“There are some fears not even you can protect me from, Noah,” Caroline said simply.
Noah sighed. “Yeah, I’ve received that message loud and clear.”
Lily studied the woman she’d asked to act as her bodyguard last night. Caroline seemed so bold, ready to jump into action, throwing pies or shooting guns. What was she afraid of?
“Did it help? Having Dominic parked outside?” Josie asked, steering the conversation away from her mysterious coworker.
“Yes.” Lily headed for the front door leading to the parking area. “But I’m not sure it’s good for him. If he wanted to be here, he would have come home a while ago.”
“Sometimes it’s hard to think of home as the best place to lick your wounds,” Josie said softly.
And Lily knew she spoke from experience. Once upon a time, Josie Fairmore had been Forever’s bad girl. She’d left. And she’d stayed away even when she needed help. Lily didn’t know the full story. But she’d heard enough.
“Josie, I know you think that maybe he will stay for me. But I don’t want him to,” Lily said flatly. “I’m not interested in being his consolation prize. I don’t want him camped outside my front door, thinking ‘I could be out there freeing the world from terrorists, but instead I’m helping my ex-girlfriend face her supposedly imaginary fears.’ I don’t need him making the dark a little less scary.”
Liar.
Because I know the threat is still out there.
“Now if you don’t mind saving your drink lessons for another day,” Lily said, opening the door, “I need to paint my nails and get ready for my date.”
LILY CLOSED HER front door behind the man she would never marry and turned the lock. She stared at her burgundy-red nails.
I should have learned how to make a martini instead. Shaken, not stirred.
Or maybe she’d prefer the hard liquor swirled together? She didn’t know and she wasn’t about to find out. Because tonight she planned to drown her sorrows in wine the color of her fingernails.
She headed for the bottle-lined rack that she’d added to her parents’ living room after her mother passed away and her father moved out. The top shelf held a selection of Oregon pinot noirs from a “girlfriends” winery tour she’d taken with some of her fellow teachers.
Those same friends had slipped away, retreating into their own busy lives after she’d been attacked. Oh, they’d helped at first, dropping off food and staying to talk for a while. But they’d stopped calling as the summer went on and she stayed at home, more and more convinced someone would hurt her.
Except Noah and Josie. They’d practically broken down the door to talk to her. But they hadn’t wanted to make small talk. Noah and Josie had offered her a job. They’d begged for her help. Pour beer. Open wine bottles. Offer shots. Maybe mix a simple drink or two while Noah’s regular part-time bartender took a two-week trip to Hawaii. Not one mention of tossing Dominic into the mix.
She withdrew a bottle and headed for the archway leading to the kitchen.
Knock. Knock.
She froze, her grip tightening around the bottle’s neck. She could use it to hit the person on the other side of the door over the head . . .
“I know you’re in there,” Dominic’s deep voice called. “I saw your date arrive and then leave again without you.”
She sighed and crossed the short entryway. Then she removed the chain, flipped the deadbolt, and opened the door a foot.
“Is he coming back?” Dominic asked, eyeing the bottle in her hand.
“No.”
“Family emergency?”
She shook her head from side to side.
He folded his arms in front of his broad chest. The stance put his biceps on display, which was nice . . . but she really needed the wine first. Maybe after a glass or two, she would ask him to take off his shirt so that she could admire his muscles. She wouldn’t touch. That would remind her of the man attached to those biceps. The man she refused to forgive for staying away so long. Still, it would be nice to have a drink and look—
“Let me guess, Good Guy Ted took one look at your curled hair, freshly painted nails, and sinful dress, and he decided to make a run for it so that he didn’t embarrass himself? Looking at you, there’s no way he wanted to walk away.”
“Sinful dress?” she muttered. “It covers my arms and practically reaches my knee.”
“But you’re wearing it,” he said, making a show of looking her up and down.
She shifted her weight from one bare foot to the other. The dress didn’t exactly hide the extra five pounds she hadn’t bothered to work off since her last jogging disaster. Her hips felt full beneath the fabric. Her breasts pressed up against her bra as if they might try to escape.