“Thanks.” As he drank, Xander wandered around the kitchen. “Looks good. Real good. I didn’t see how he’d turn this one around, but he always does.”
“I love it. Nowhere to sit yetI have to find stools. And a table and chairs, and according to my uncles, a divan or love seat for that space over there, fronted by a burl-wood table for tension.”
“Who are these mysterious uncles who take you to see Springsteen, buy you dogs, and advise you to buy divansand why do they call it a divan instead of a couch?”
“I think it’s size or shape, or maybe geographyon the divan/couch part. My mother’s younger brother and his husband. They more or less raised me and my brother.”
“You were raised by your gay uncles?”
“Yes, is that a problem?”
“No. It’s interesting. It’s New York, right?” He leaned back against the counter, as apparently at home as the dog who now stretched out on the floor and slept the sleep of the clean, content, and completely trusting.
“Yes, it’s New York.”
“Never been there. What do they do? The uncles.”
“They own a restaurant. Harry’s a chef. Seth is the man of numbers and business. So it works. My brother’s with the FBI.”
“No shit?”
“He’s got degrees in psychiatry, psychology, and criminology. He wants the Behavioral Analysis Unit.”
“Profiling?”
“Yes. He’s brilliant.”
“You four sound tight. But you’re three thousand miles away.”
“I didn’t expect to be. But . . .” She shrugged. “Do you have family here?”
“My parents moved to Sedona a few years ago. I’ve got a sister in Seattle, and a brother in L.A. Not so tight, but we get along all right when we have to.”
“You grew up herewith Kevin.”
“Womb to tomb.”
“And own a garage, body shop place, own half interest in a barJenny mentioned itand run a band.”
“I don’t run the band. But half interest in the bar means we get to play there.” He set down the bottle. “I’ll get the dog bed. Down here or upstairs?”
She looked at the dog again, sighed. “I guess up in the bedroom. I hope to Christ he’s housebroken.”
“Most likely.”
He hauled the brown corduroy dog bed up the stairs, set it in front of the fireplace, tossed a yellow tennis ball in it.
“Color works,” he said.
“I really think so.”
“So . . . I wouldn’t feed him any more tonight. Maybe one of the Milk-Bones, and maybe give him the rawhide to chew on.”
“It better be all he chews on.” She glanced over as the dog had followed them out, then back in, then up the stairs, and now had the yellow tennis ball in his mouth.
“I’d better get going or Jenny won’t feed me. Uncle’s a chef?”
“A terrific chef.”
“You cook?”
“I was taught by a master.”
“It’s a good skill.”
He stepped up. She should’ve seen it coming. She was always, always aware of moods and moves. But he stepped up, pulled her in before she’d read the warning sign.
He didn’t go slow; he didn’t ease in. It was one bright, hot explosion followed by shuddering dark. His mouth covered, conquered, while his hands ran straight up her body as if they had every right, then down again.
She could have stopped it. He was bigger, certainly stronger, but she knew how to defend herself. She didn’t want to stopnot yet, not quite yet. She didn’t want to defend.
She gripped the sides of his waist, fingers digging in. And let herself burn.
It was he who eased back until she stared into those dangerous blue eyes. “Just like you look.”
“What?”
“Potent,” he said. “You pack a punch.”
She saw the move this time, laid a hand firmly on his chest. “So do you, but I’m not up for a bout right now.”
“That’s a damn shame.”
“You know, right at the moment, I couldn’t agree more. But.”
“But.” He nodded, stepped back. “I’ll be in touch. About the dog.”
“About the dog.”
When he went out, the dog looked after him, looked at Naomi. Whined.
“You’re with me for now.” She sat on the foot of the bedsuch as it wasbecause her legs felt shaky. “He’s completely the wrong choice. I’m absolutely sure of it.”
The dog came over, laid his paw on her knee. “And don’t think you’re going to charm me. I’m not getting tangled up with Xander, and I’m not keeping you. It’s all temporary.”