Secrets Rising. Suzanne Mcminn
for a long beat. Disappointed, probably.
“You know what they do to guys like you in prison,” she said finally.
In spite of himself, he felt a slow lift to his mouth. He actually almost laughed.
“Are you saying I’m cute?” What the hell was he doing now? Flirting with her?
He heard her blow out an irritated breath. Yeah, she thought he was cute. She probably hadn’t meant to give that away.
“I’m not saying you’re cute,” she said tensely. “I’m not saying you’re anything but on your way to the slammer if you try to hurt me.”
He reminded himself that it wasn’t important what she thought of him as long as she stopped holding a gun on him.
Sobering, he said, “I’m not going to shoot you, Keely. I don’t want to hurt you in any way.”
She was silent for another long stretch.
“I’d probably never find the candles and matches without you,” he tacked on. “Plus, I’d be lonely down here waiting for help.”
“Oh, yeah.”
He heard her move, slowly, carefully, toward one wall of the cellar. Good. Back to business.
“There’s a trunk over here, somewhere,” she said.
He followed the sound of her voice and her footsteps. She’d knelt, was clearing debris from something. He went to work with her, removing boards and bits of plaster and who knew what else.
“This is it,” she said, and her voice rose, confident, hopeful. The trunk lid creaked open and she fumbled around inside. “Here they are.”
The box opened with a soft sound then she struck a long match, held it up.
She wasn’t just a voice in the dark anymore. Her eyes glowed in the light from the flame, wary and still scared. He knelt there, close to her, close enough to fill his nostrils with her heady scent, feel overpowered for a second by the vulnerable look on her face.
Apple. She smelled like apple. Deliciously sweet.
He reached for his wallet, flipped out his ID and badge for her to see.
“You don’t have to be scared of me,” he said quietly, tucking the truth of his identity back in his pocket. “I really don’t want to hurt you, Keely. I’m not going to. I promise.”
She stared at him, and time locked, forever, it seemed, then she blinked and turned her gaze down, away from him.
“I don’t believe in promises,” she said so softly, it was nearly a whisper. “People lie all the time. So cut it out with the promises. I’m not interested.”
The heart he wasn’t supposed to feel tightened a little at the break in her voice. She’d been hurt, badly, he had no doubt now. Probably by that dead husband of hers.
But he wasn’t responsible. It bothered him, anyway. That look in her eyes, that pain in her thready voice, bothered him. This was more than police instinct to read and study people. This was about her. And that wasn’t good.
“I’m sorry anyone ever lied to you,” he said, and it was too late to bite the words back even if he really wanted to.
She glanced back up and he saw emotion shining in her eyes. She cleared her throat, blinked back tears. “There are candles over there somewhere.”
The long match was half-burned when she stood, moved to the other wall. Broken canning jars lay everywhere and she crouched again, searching. He went after her.
“Here they are.” The joy in her voice was catching. “We have light!” She stuck one of the thick candles inside one of the intact jars and lit it with the match, then stood. The scent of warm vanilla rose around her, mixing with the ripe apple scent. She smelled good enough to eat and his libido was taking his brain in directions he didn’t want to go.
He stood in front of her when she turned, the candle in the jar in her hand. He wanted to kiss her. Her mouth was right there, inches away. It was crazy, ridiculous. Her hair fell around her face in shimmery strands, like spun gold, wildly sexy and just begging for a man to tangle his fingers into it, pull her face close and—The strength of his very vivid fantasy shocked him and left him with a weird, edgy feeling as he reminded himself that he wasn’t interested in any kind of relationship, with Keely Schiffer or anyone else.
“We’re going to be okay, right?” she said then.
“Help will come. Your friends and your family will make sure of that.” And he was sure she had friends and family that cared about her. He could just tell. She was all apple pie goodness through and through. A nice, wholesome country girl.
She couldn’t have been more foreign to his experience if she’d hailed from another continent. Maybe that was the trouble. He was used to women who wielded their sexuality like a weapon. She was innocently sensual, naively seductive. She was killing him.
“If they’re even okay.” She bit her lip and he could hear the fear in her voice. “I don’t know if they’re okay.”
“Faith,” he offered. “You have to go on faith for now.” He didn’t know where that came from. He hadn’t had much faith lately. He wanted her to have it, though. “We were lucky, you know? We may be trapped here, but we’re all right. They were lucky, too. Just believe that for now. There’s nothing else you can do.”
He smoothed the hair back from her face even when he knew he shouldn’t touch her more than necessary. He couldn’t seem to stop touching her, but he forced himself to. He dropped his hand back to his side.
What the hell was wrong with him?
“You’re right, I know,” she whispered, her eyes holding him. “Stop being so nice,” she said suddenly. “It’s freaking me out.”
He laughed, surprised by her remark, and loved it when she smiled through the shine of tears in her gaze. It was an unexpectedly satisfying reward.
“Sorry. I can go back to being an asshole if you want.”
She laughed now. “No, I guess I don’t want you to do that. I’m stuck with you here, after all.” She cocked her head, studied him. “We’re stuck with each other.”
He nodded. “Looks that way.”
“For who knows how long,” she added. Her gaze moved, swept the cellar. In the flickering candlelight, the wreckage was stunning. “What now?”
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