Dead on the Dance Floor

  One beer. And she hadn’t really wanted that. He had a feeling she didn’t drink very often.

  “Lettuce is good,” he murmured. “Well, here we are.”

  She was wearing sneakers and easily leaped the foot that separated the dock from the boat. On deck, she looked around, closing her eyes briefly as she felt the night’s breeze. “She’s lovely,” Shannon said.

  “Cabin is that way,” he told her, pointing. “Pretty obvious, huh?”

  She nodded and turned toward the steps leading down to the cabin.

  “Tight, but oddly spacious,” she told him.

  “There are two bedrooms, one forward, one aft. Galley, as you can see, and the head is there, on the left, right before the master bedroom. She’s not all that small, but then again, on a boat, a tour is pretty quick,” he said dryly, then switched topics, hoping to surprise her into an honest answer. “You’re afraid to be at your house, aren’t you?”

  “No!” she protested quickly. She turned as if she were inspecting the inside of the cabin. “No, I came home before it was too late.” She glanced at him wryly. “I did the inspection thing myself, looking under beds and in closets and all.”

  “So you just wanted to get out and have some fun?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, have a seat.”

  There was a small sofa, which could be used as a sleeper, across from the dining table. She gingerly sat.

  “Can I get you something?”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Well, then, excuse me, I’ll get myself something.”

  He walked the few steps into the galley and got a Miller out of the small refrigerator. On second thought, he took two, twisting the top off one and handing it to her.

  “Really, I’m fine,” she said.

  “Really, you need to relax. Forget the last week.”

  She hesitated, then took the bottle from him. “Thanks,” she said, and shrugged. “You’re driving.”

  He sat down next to her, watching her as he sipped his own beer. “So, you do own a pair of jeans.”

  “Actually, I own several.”

  “They weren’t in your closets.”

  “You didn’t go through my drawers.”

  “True.”

  She was downing the beer a little fast, especially for a woman who had originally refused a drink. But it was nice to see her without the guard that was customarily so carefully wrapped around her. Not a guard that repelled—she was warm and friendly with people; he’d seen it. It was a guard that kept something back. He wondered if it would have been there if he’d met her before Lara’s death.

  Tonight the smiles she flashed were genuine, warm. And despite her casual attire, he didn’t think she’d ever been more appealing. The color of her hair was like wheat touched with gold. Her eyes flashed with a true emerald depth. Her skin was pure ivory, barely touched by the sun. Smooth, silken. And that scent she wore…

  He should move. He didn’t want to. And suddenly he wasn’t sure why he should. He was tempted to reach out, smooth back a lock of that golden hair, so he did. She looked at him, startled by the touch.

  “Sorry, you look a little lost there.”

  “Oh, I’m not lost. I know where I’m going,” she murmured.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you’d had a thing with Ben Trudeau?”

  She stiffened instantly, looking as if she was about to rise and find her own way home.

  “Hey…” He gently laid a hand on her shoulder. “Innocent question.”

  “Really? And none of your business,” she said.

  “Sorry. I guess I just heard the talk about it.”

  “Oh, great, so people are talking about it. It was a long time ago.”

  “You might have mentioned it.”

  She stared at him, and her gemstone eyes were hard. “Why should I have mentioned it? It’s not as if we’ve suddenly become deep friends.”

  He shrugged. “I guess you’re right.”

  “I don’t remember you sitting on my couch spilling secrets about your love life,” she said.

  He smiled, almost laughing. “Shannon, you fell asleep ten minutes after I sat on your couch. By the way, though, I did enjoy the movie.”

  She blushed, staring across the room. “Sorry. It was nice of you to stay. You’re being awfully decent. I really don’t want anyone else to know how ridiculously paranoid I’ve gotten.”

  “So you were nervous at your house. Why?”

  She shook her head. “No reason. Well, all right. I thought I saw something moving in the backyard. And being scared of that is kind of ridiculous. There’s the neighbor’s dog. And we’ve got cats aplenty in the neighborhood. And now and then a possum or a raccoon. I know I’m being ridiculous. I just can’t seem to help it.”

  “It’s all right,” he said.

  “I’m sorry. I’m probably keeping you from something,” she said.

  “I offered to drive you home.”

  “Yes, you did. Still…”

  “I’m not married and not involved,” he said flatly.

  “I didn’t ask for that information.”

  “You said I hadn’t told you anything.”

  “Only because you sounded as if I should have told you about Ben. Why would you think that?”

  “No reason, I guess.”

  She looked at the empty beer in her hand, then at him. “One more. Then I’ll sleep like the dead when I get home.” She winced. “I’ll sleep well, I mean.”

  He took the empty bottle from her, walked to the galley and got her another. “You’re sure?”

  “I’m twenty-eight, and I’m sure.”

  “I don’t want you saying I took advantage of you because you’d been drinking.”

  Her brows arched and she looked down, a little smile teasing at her lips. “You’re planning on taking advantage of me?”

  “There’s nothing planned,” he told her. He handed her the new beer and sat next to her. “Okay, sorry, I have to ask. The Ben Trudeau thing is really over?”

  She looked irritated. “Years over. I can’t believe anyone even brought it up.”

  “He sounds like a real jackass, but he’s working for you. Why?”

  She shrugged. “He’s good at what he does. I don’t hate Ben.”

  “Did you hate Lara?”

  She laughed suddenly. “That would be kind of like hating a bee for having a stinger. I didn’t particularly like her. Like I said, we didn’t hang out, have lunch or go shopping. But I admired her talent. I even felt sorry for Ben when she broke up with him.” She hesitated a minute. “Ben is a really good dancer. Their problems were professional, at first. Ben started getting angry with the way they worked—it was her way or the highway, that kind of thing. The fights spilled over into their marriage, and she walked out. Jim Burke was a perfect partner for Lara. He let her lead. Well, you know, men lead, but…he let her call all the shots, so they worked well together.”

  “You must have been angry when he walked out on you—all because of a broken ankle.”

  “I was too young to be really angry. Too naive. He was long gone before I ever realized he’d reached the door. But, like I said, it was ages ago. Whatever our differences, Ben gave me my life, and I love my life. Mostly. He brought me down here. I started working in Gordon’s studio, and now I manage the place. I’m the heir apparent to own it, when he decides to retire.” She looked at him, grinning. “And now Ben works for me. So…your turn. What about your love life?”

  “She left me,” he said lightly.

  “Why?”

  “I was a workaholic.”

  “But you don’t seem to be. Not now. In fact, it seems as if you have tons of leisure time.”

  He took a long swallow of his own beer. “Not always,” he said, not looking at her. “It’s slow right now in the Keys, won’t pick up until we’re closer to real winter. You know, when all the snowbirds fly down.”

  “Oh, right, of course.” She was looking at him, in
tently. “Were you bitter?”

  “Bitter?”

  “About being left.”

  He stared at his bottle. “No…she was right to leave.”

  “Why?”

  “I’d let too many things get in the way. I can get obsessive, I’m afraid.”

  “An obsessive workaholic,” she murmured, still studying him carefully. “But you are here, whiling away the time with a silly woman who’s nervous because of a cat in her backyard.”

  He smiled, and this time took care when he smoothed back the straying tendril of her hair. “I can’t think of any place I’d rather be right now, or anyone else I’d rather be with.” He was amazed by his own sincerity. Not just because she was beautiful, with the greatest cleavage he’d come across in aeons. Or because of the feel of her hair. Or even the feel of the excitement rising within him. He wanted to have her there, sure, but he also wanted to stand between her and anything that might harm her in any way.

  Obsessive?

  Oh, yeah, it would be easy to get obsessive over her.

  Her eyes remained on his for a long time. It seemed that she was barely breathing. She moistened her lips, and they glistened. Her teeth were tiny and perfect.

  “Wow,” she murmured, trying to sound light. “That was one hell of a nice statement. Or a very good line.”

  “Want me to back away?”

  “I don’t know.” He thought her words were honest. Then she seemed to give herself a shake. “I, uh, yes. I guess you should take me home now.”

  He stood. “No.”

  She frowned. “I’m sorry?”

  “I don’t think you should go home.”

  “Where do you think I should go?” she asked.

  “I think you should stay here.”

  She smiled, then laughed out loud. “Now that really would be fraternizing.”

  He shook his head. “No. Not the way I mean it. I’m going to back away. You know, emotionally, socially—even physically. But you should still stay here. If you go home, you’ll be afraid. The drinks won’t help. I’ve got a great guest bedroom. There’s even a separate head. So you should just stay.”

  “But…it…I mean…”

  “Does anyone check up on you at night?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Then just stay. Get some sleep. An honest-to-God good night’s sleep.”

  “I slept well last night,” she reminded him.

  “But was it enough? After this week?”

  She still hesitated.

  “I bet I even have an extra toothbrush,” he offered.

  “Maybe you’re right,” she murmured.

  “I have a T-shirt you can sleep in, and I promise I’ll stay at my end of the boat. First thing, I’ll wake you up. Your car is here, so you can drive yourself home. And just think about this,” he added lightly. “No one would ever think anything, should they even recognize your car, because we told Bobby and Doug that I’d be driving you home and your car would be staying here.”

  “You have a point there.”

  “Well, that’s good.”

  She looked at him, slightly suspicious again, and bit the bullet. “You were a cop once, weren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “You weren’t fired for anything criminal, were you?”

  He laughed. “Hell no.” Then he couldn’t help himself. “I took part in all my criminal activities before I became a cop.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “I’m trustworthy. I swear it.”

  “I know I just thought about that. I’ve only known you a few days, but I’m choosing to sleep at your place rather than returning to my own—where I’m afraid of what is probably just a cat in the yard.”

  “Hey, I’ve already slept at your house.”

  She laughed. “There you go. True again. Well, then…”

  “Well…?”

  “Could I have that T-shirt now, please?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Midnight.

  He took a cruise by her house again.

  The car was gone.

  He stared at the front, frowning; then his cell phone rang. Absently he picked it up. “Yes?”

  “We’ve got another problem. No, this one is yours. You’ve got a problem. And you owe me for finding out about this one.”

  “What do you mean, I’ve got a problem?”

  He listened intently.

  “So you see what I mean? You’ve got a problem.”

  Yeah, he had a problem, but still…Half the trouble lately hadn’t been caused by him, and he’d coped anyway.

  “Don’t forget, don’t ever forget, that you’re in this up to your neck, my friend,” he said softly. Very softly.

  And then he hung up.

  He stared at the house again and felt a rise of fury.

  Where the hell was she?

  CHAPTER 10

  He hadn’t been lying down for more than a few seconds when he heard the tap on his cabin door.

  Quinn leaped up. As the captain’s quarters on a pleasure craft, the cabin was relatively spacious. Still, reaching the door didn’t involve much more than getting off the end of the bed.

  She was standing just outside. He’d given her one of his T-shirts, and it looked massive on her. It fell almost to mid-thigh. The shoulders and sleeves hung. Even so, the oversize garment somehow managed to cling to her frame. Her face was scrubbed clean, and that ever-present lock of golden hair was falling softly against her cheek.

  “Did I wake you?”

  He wondered how just the sound of her voice could be so arousing, something that seemed to reach out and tease his flesh. Did I wake you? The words woke everything in him. He was sleeping in an old pair of cutoff corduroys. He was grateful he hadn’t opted for a light pair of cotton boxers.

  He wanted to answer her, but he didn’t trust his voice.

  He managed a “no” that sounded more like a growl.

  She simply stood there for a moment, her scent sweeping around him, seeming to touch raw, bare flesh, like the sound of her voice.

  “Is there something wrong with me?” she asked at last.

  “What?” Was she looking for a psychoanalyst, someone to assure her it was natural to have fears about things going bump in the night?

  She smiled, lifting her chin, hair falling back in a cascade his fingers itched to touch. “I was curious, thinking there must be something wrong with me.”

  He leaned against the doorjamb, braced against himself, doing everything humanly possible to keep from reaching out for her.

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  Her smile deepened. “Why aren’t you trying to come on to me?”

  Her words stunned him. He stared at her for a long moment, muscles taut and frozen, on fire inside.

  “There’s nothing wrong with you. You’re incredible. You must know that.”

  “Then…?”

  “You’ve been drinking.”

  “I’m not drunk.”

  “You’re not your usual reserved self, either.”

  “I may not be the wildest party-goer in the world, but even for me…It was just three beers. I don’t think I should be driving, but well, you know, they may suggest that you don’t manipulate heavy machinery while under the influence, but I’ve never seen, ‘Warning! Avoid sex at all costs!’ on a beer bottle.”

  He wasn’t sure whether to laugh, send her right back to the other cabin or drag her into his own as swiftly as humanly possible. He chose none of those options and instead folded his arms over his chest as he smiled at her.

  Hell.

  Who would ever have imagined that he would be standing in his own boat, trying to talk a beautiful woman out of wanting to have sex with him.

  “You don’t know me very well,” he told her, then gave into temptation. He reached out, fingers sliding along the velvet tendril of hair as it caressed the delicate line of her cheek. His thumb stroked the softness there as he looked into her eyes.

  You
don’t know me very well.

  When had that stopped him before? How many times had he been out in the last year when it seemed like anyone gave a damn how well they knew each other?

  Tonight, it mattered. But why?

  Hell, she was twenty-eight. Not a kid, not naive.

  But that wasn’t what was stopping him. Naive didn’t always have to do with knowledge. Her eyes held something deeper. Large, expressive, green and deep as a jungle, usually so careful, so reserved, searching. They held fields of right and wrong, dreams unspent, belief in humanity, art and beauty, truth and honesty. There was something about her that he longed to touch, ached to touch, feared to touch. As if she were fragile. She had never done anything like this before in her life, he knew. Once she had danced, touching the clouds. Then she had broken a bone and never reached into the air the same way again. Ben Trudeau had crushed her, years ago, and she hadn’t trusted anyone since. He wasn’t sure how he knew all this so well, with such certainty, but he did.

  He could step away. He should. He had to, no matter how painful it would be, because it was the right thing to do. But then she spoke again.

  “I know you well enough,” she told him, the words soft and her eyes openly on his, emerald, sparkling with the strangest glimmer, a hint of tears.

  She was still standing at least an inch away. Maybe not even an inch, but they weren’t actually touching. And yet he had never felt so sensually caressed before in his life. Her eyes stroked him. That scent of woman and subtle perfume swirled in the air as if it were tangible, and the warmth she emitted seemed to supplely wrap his flesh, then reach down with a grip of steel to sweep boldly right around his sex.

  She wasn’t even touching him, he reminded himself.

  He should make one last stand. Remind her that she had been drinking.

  “Quinn?” she asked tentatively.

  Ah, hell. He wasn’t that noble.

  “Come here,” he said softly.

  She’d aroused him to the point of pain. He felt almost like a teenage kid in the back of a Chevy. He fought the fury wrestling within, pulled her tight against him. Now they were touching, her breasts crushed to him. He felt her ribs against the muscles of his chest, the flatness of her belly, the flare of her hips, the length of her legs. Her body was wicked, her scent pure sin, and, God help him, he was a sinner.