Start Me Up. Victoria Dahl
have your evening. I’ve got invoices and…stuff.”
He objected a few times, but Lori finally got him out the door and shut it tight behind him.
She needed some ice cream. Or a drink.
Probably both.
“I’ll take care of you,” Rafael whispered. Then she felt the scrape of his impossibly sharp teeth against the tender skin of her neck.
“You can’t protect me from everything,” Jodi protested, breath catching somewhere between a gasp and a sob. His hands held her still, her naked back pressed against his chest, ass snug against his erection.
“I can.” His surety vibrated over her skin, raising goose bumps. Finally, he loosed his grip and slid one hand down her arm to caress her hip. He teased her, stroking circles over her skin until his fingers found her sex and she cried his name like a prayer. And then his long, sharp teeth sank deep into her neck….
L ORI SIGHED and tossed the book toward the end of her bed. She’d been flipping through the pages since she’d awoken at 5:00 a.m. Too early, but she couldn’t get back to sleep and even the best of the stories couldn’t hold her interest. She’d lived all of Monday as if she were moving through water, every movement taking more energy than it should. It looked as though Tuesday would be more of the same.
Lori found herself wishing she could sink deeper into depression, deep enough that she could lie down and sleep for a good twelve hours. As it was, she seemed to be hovering between anxiety and the blues. Restless and lethargic at the same time. And seriously confused.
Ben must be wrong about her father’s injury. She wanted him to be wrong. And all the reports weren’t in yet, so Lori could still hope.
Her dad had been a good man, but he’d been rough-and-tumble. Sometimes, especially after her mother had left, he’d hit the town to get good and drunk. And he’d seen nothing wrong with throwing a few punches around if one of his drinking buddies pissed him off. Hell, his injury had happened at the now-defunct biker bar at the edge of town. Fistfights were part of the recreation. So he’d gotten punched and fallen against a stray rock, and whoever he’d been fighting with had taken off to save his own ass. The reconstructed scenario made total sense, and she’d never once doubted it.
Until now.
Damn Ben Lawson and his determination to run an organized police department. His persistent inquiries were working, at least on her. She’d spent hours lying in bed last night, trying to puzzle out this mystery. What had changed in his life? What had shifted?
She’d gone to college, yes. But how could that have inspired a crime? A mysterious drifter hadn’t moved into her room. What else? There hadn’t been any personnel changes, according to the records. Sometimes her dad had paid the occasional worker off the books, though. She’d have to ask Joe about that.
But there was one other thing that had changed while she was gone. A big change for her father.
He’d bought that land.
He’d purchased it just a month before his attack. Seemingly out of the blue. He hadn’t mentioned it to her until after the purchase, and Lori had been too wrapped up in college life to ask any questions.
Aside from this house on a lot chock-full of ecological hazards, that riverfront land was the only thing of value her father had owned.
Yet another developer had called about it on Monday. So at least two developers were interested in that twenty-acre plot. Why?
Lori covered her face in frustration.
If her father really had been assaulted, and if it had been premeditated, the land was the only motive she could think of. And that was the extent of her revelation. No who or how or why. She was going to have to spend the day going through his records, and those would probably tell her nothing at all.
“Crap,” she muttered, as she pushed herself off the bed. The red numbers of her clock glared 5:30 a.m. at her, as if she’d done something wrong. Dawn would be breaking by now, and if she couldn’t sleep, she needed to walk, wandering bears be damned.
She pulled on the sweatpants and T-shirt she’d left next to the bed and padded to the bathroom to brush her teeth and fix her hair. Her curls were the only thing pretty and feminine about her, as far as she was concerned. Her nose was a bit too snub, her eyes and mouth nothing special. But since she’d learned to tame her hair into big loose curls with some very expensive product, she made sure never to leave the house without fixing it. If she let it get frizzy and dry, she’d look as washed-up as she felt.
Once she felt bouncy and minty-fresh, Lori tugged on her running shoes and headed for the door. The purple light of the rising sun only hinted at warmth, but she didn’t mind. It fit her strange and icy mood.
Birdsong swelled in the silence of the morning. But once again when her shoes hit the gravel of the parking lot, she couldn’t hear anything but that hated sound, so Lori pivoted and hurried directly for Main Street. Her destination was the river, and she could actually reach it through the junkyard, but there was no path along that stretch. Plus she really didn’t care to pick her way through ancient tires and rusted struts.
Several large pickup trucks passed her as she walked, kicking up diesel fumes as drivers raised a solemn hand in greeting. The old-timers didn’t really wave around here. Too much emotion. The cowboys in the movie Brokeback Mountain had reminded her of most of the men of Tumble Creek, minus the secret gay sex, she supposed. Though if it were secret, what the hell would she know about it? Regardless, the men of Tumble Creek and the surrounding ranches were stoic and hardworking and not inclined to superfluous laughter. Or words.
They certainly weren’t artistic and funny, not like Quinn.
The thought of Quinn made her mouth pull up into a smile as she passed The Bar. Quinn hadn’t called on Monday, despite his threat. If he were any other man, she’d assume he’d gone home, thought over the offer to be her lover and decided a quick disappearing act was in order. But it was Quinn, and she had no doubt he’d been locked in his office, furiously sketching out architectural plans for twelve hours straight and giving not one thought to his scandalous offer.
He would call at some point, when he returned to the real world, and he’d apologize profusely for his forgetfulness, but Lori was thankful for the brief reprieve. She had no idea what to say if he pressed the issue. “No,” probably. If she had any sense at all. Quinn was not the man to act out her fantasies with. It would just be too… intimate.
Wrinkling her nose in embarrassment, Lori turned onto the steep, potholed road that led down to the river. She was so focused on her feet and the loose pebbles that threatened to roll her down the hill, she didn’t even notice that she wasn’t alone.
“Hey!” a deep voice called, startling her into a stumble that nearly took her down.
“Fuck me,” she yelped, arms flailing.
“Anytime, babe,” Aaron Thompson shouted like the idiot he was.
“Thanks for rushing up to help,” Lori snapped back. “Good way to make use of those muscles.”
Completely missing the point, Aaron smiled and flexed his bare biceps. It didn’t really matter that it was only fifty-five degrees out and much colder in the water, Aaron was already dressed for maximum exposure in a sleeveless, skintight neoprene wet suit and a lean red life vest. Lori was pretty sure he never wore underwear. He certainly didn’t have any panty lines, though she could see the clear bulge of his manly junk. As usual.
“You finally coming for that private white-water lesson I offered?”
“Not in a million years.”
“What if I bring along a friend? I did this girl in Aspen last weekend who said she was bi. I told her about you.