Whiskey Beach(49)

Abra took one of the market bags weighing down her shoulders, set it on the washer. “You needed a few things.”

“I did?”

“You did.” She pulled out a bottle of laundry detergent, put it inside a white cabinet. “It looks like you’re hooked back up.”

“Yeah. We’ve got a new security code.” He dug in his pocket for the note, handed it to her. “You’ll need it, I guess.”

“Unless you want to run downstairs on my mornings.” She glanced at it, tucked it in her purse. “I ran into Vinnie,” she continued, moving past Eli and into the kitchen. “So I told him I’d pass along that Kirby Duncan appears to have checked out. He didn’t formally, as in telling Kathy at the B-and-B he’d be leaving early, but his things are gone. Vinnie said to call if you had any questions.”

“He just left?”

“So it seems,” she said as she emptied the bags. “Vinnie’s going to reach out, don’t you love that? Such a cop term. He’ll reach out to the Boston PD, as if they’ll follow up with Duncan due to the excavation in your basement. But since he’s gone he can’t snoop around and invade your privacy. That’s good news.”

“Did the client pull him back? I wonder. Fire him? Did Duncan just cut his losses?”

“Can’t say.” She tucked a box of wheat crackers into a cupboard. “But I do know he was paid up through Sunday, and had made some noises about possibly extending his stay. Then poof, packed up and gone. I’m not sorry. I didn’t like him.”

With the groceries put away, she folded her bags, slid them into her purse. “So, I think this calls for a celebration.”

“What does?”

“No snooping private investigations, the power’s back on and your security is once more secure. That’s a productive day after a really crappy night. You should come into the pub for a drink later. Good music tonight, and you can hang out with Maureen and Mike.”

“I lost most of the day on all this. I need to catch up.”

“Excuses.” She tapped a finger to his chest. “Everybody can use a little lift on a Friday night. A cold beer, some music and conversation. Plus your waitress, who would be me, wears a really short skirt. I’m going to grab a water for the ride,” she said, turning to open the fridge.

He slapped a hand on the door, making her eyebrows arch as she turned back. “No water for me?”

“Why do you keep pushing?”

“I don’t think of it that way.” He crowded her in, she realized. Interesting. And whether he realized it or not, sexy. “I’m sorry that you do. I’d like to see you there in a casual, social setting. Because it would be good for you, and because I’d like to see you. And maybe you need to see me in a short skirt so you can decide if you’re interested in me or not.”

He crowded her in a bit more, but instead of stirring caution or wariness—probably his intent—it stirred lust.

“You’re pushing buttons you shouldn’t.”

“Who can resist pushing a button when it’s right there?” she countered. “I don’t understand that kind of person or that kind of self-denial. Why shouldn’t I want to know if you’re attracted to me before I let myself be any more attracted to you? It seems fair.”

So much going on in there, she thought. Like a storm circling.

Hoping to calm it, she laid a hand on his arm. “I’m not afraid of you, Eli.”

“You don’t know me.”

“Which would be part of my point. I’d like to know you before I get in any deeper. Anyway, I don’t have to know you, the way you mean, to have a sense of you or to be attracted. I don’t think you’re a nice harmless teddy bear any more than I think you’re a cold-blooded killer. There’s a lot of anger under the sad, and I don’t blame you for it. In fact, I understand it. Exactly.”

He shifted back, and his hands found his pockets. Self-denial, she thought, because she knew when a man wanted to touch her. And he did.

“I’m not looking to be attracted to you or involved with you. Or anyone.”

“Believe me, I get that. I felt exactly the same way before I met you. It’s why I’ve been on a sexual fast.”

His eyebrows drew in. “A what?”

“I’ve been fasting from sex. Which could be another reason I’m attracted. Fasts have to come to an end sometime, and here you are. New, good-looking, intriguing and clever when you forget to brood. And you need me.”

“I don’t need you.”

“Oh, bullshit. Just bullshit.” The quick flash of temper caught him off guard, as did the light shove. “There’s food in this house because I put it there, and you’re eating it because I fix it for you. You’ve already put on a few pounds, and you’re losing that gaunt look in your face. You have clean socks because I wash them, and you have someone who listens when you talk, which you occasionally do without me using verbal crowbars to open you up. You have someone who believes in you, and everyone needs that.”