Rhonda Nelson - The Survivor

Something about the line of his jaw against his neck when he turned his head just so made her long to slip her fingers along that bone, to trace the shell of his ear. Everything about him was masculine and beautiful, even the way his hair lay against his scalp. She watched his fingers trace a path along the map and her belly gave a clench. His hands were large and veined and the strength in them was palpable. She imagined them kneading her flesh and released a sigh deep enough to draw his attention.

She felt a blush race to her hairline and took another sip of her cider.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

Only with her misguided libido, Bess thought. She blinked innocently. “No.”

His lips twitched with humor.

“Are you laughing at me?” she asked, waiting to watch the way his mouth moved when he talked. It was sensual and mesmerizing.

“No,” he said. “Not at you.”

“But something was funny?”

He dropped the pen in his hand and leaned back and regarded her more thoroughly. That lazy scrutiny made her stomach flutter and warm. “Yes, actually. I was thinking you must have learned that little innocent look you just gave me from Elsie because it was the same exact blinking incomprehension that she gave you when you told her not to call unless it was important.”

She popped a bite of Danish into her mouth and laughed. “It’s possible that I picked it up from her,” she said. “I’ve known her most of my life.”

“She’s quite a character,” he said, which she thought was more charitable than saying she was crazy as a shit-house rat, which was what most everyone else thought about her. Including Bess, if she were honest, but it only added to Elsie’s charm.

“She is,” Bess said with a nod. “She has the sight, you know.”

“The what?”

“She likes to think she’s psychic,” Bess clarified, and wondered again what had spooked him so much when Elsie had taken his hand. Something had, she was sure. And for all his irreverent nonchalance, there was an unexplained shadow in his gaze—almost haunted-looking—that made her wonder about his story. Everyone, in her experience, had a story and she found herself unbelievably intrigued by his.

It was his turn to blink and she chuckled again. “Seems like you’re a quick study on the look, as well,” she told him, wrapping her hands around her drink to keep them warm.

A rustle of leaves swept along the sidewalk and pots of mums bloomed in burgundy and yellow batches around the little patio. She loved fall, Bess thought. It was her favorite season, when the harvest peaked and Mother Nature, proud of her accomplishment, settled in and took a much-needed rest. Every wind felt like her sigh, and Bess huddled more snugly into her jacket.

“She rattled you, didn’t she?” Bess prodded, knowing he more than likely wouldn’t answer, but curious all the same.

He bit the inside of his cheek. “You mean when she practically slithered across the counter toward me and lowered her voice into that alarmingly breathy purr?”

She felt her own lips twitch. “Elsie likes younger men.”

He grinned and quirked a brow. “Do they typically like her?”

She chuckled again, unable to help herself. “She’s managed to date a few younger men.”

“And by younger, you still mean they are senior citizens?”

“Yes,” she said, snickering.

“Aha,” he said. “I thought so. I’m less than half her age.” He gave a shudder. “I almost feel like I need a bath.”

Laughing quietly, Bess felt her eyes water. “Oh, come on,” she said. “It can’t have been as bad as that.”

“It was,” he deadpanned. “Because I thought she was you.”

Her sides were aching. “Yes, I know,” she wheezed.

His eyes widened in outrage. “You know? You knew?” He gasped. “You were watching,” he accused. “You saw the whole damned thing, didn’t you?”

She nodded, unable to respond.

“That’s… That’s…evil,” he said, staring at her with a new sort of appreciation in his eyes.

She merely shrugged. “I saw you when you got out of the car,” she said. “I might have corrected you, but you were in such a hurry and then—” she pressed her lips together to keep from grinning again “—and then it was just too funny not to watch.”

He shook his head, continued to stare at her, then sketched a makeshift bow. “Glad to provide your entertainment, milady. Let me know when I can do it again.”

Ooo-la-la, Bess thought as the last words rolled off that incredibly smooth tongue. She had a feeling he could provide her with hours and hours of hot, sweaty, wonderfully wicked entertainment if she’d let him.

And judging by the heat scorching her veins, she just might before this trip was through.

AFTER AN HOUR IN BESS’S company, Lex was beginning to wonder if he might have been better off protecting his virtue from Elsie than essentially being trapped in the car with a woman he’d wanted to lick from head to toe the first moment he’d set eyes on her.

Licking, he was relatively sure, wasn’t in his job description, and considering that he was already feeling like he wasn’t doing the damned thing properly—that she’d beaten him to a plan, as it were—he didn’t need to further complicate matters by making a play for his…partner. He couldn’t think of anything else to call her, really. She wasn’t his client or his target or even his accomplice.

And more importantly, she was Brian Payne’s friend. Brian had mentioned that he’d known Bess for years, that he’d been buying things from her for a long time and that her case was special. Though he hadn’t said as much, Lex imagined that Bess was either trading him out inventory for services or she was getting a vastly reduced rate. He didn’t have any idea what kind of money she pulled in through her store selling her ju—stuff, he mentally corrected, remembering Payne’s warning about her dislike of the word, but he couldn’t imagine that it was a huge income.

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