Death By A Dark Horse

  Chapter Thirteen

  I hurried into my bedroom, shedding my old, boring t-shirt and jeans, and brushed my teeth while I dug through my closet and bureau drawers. Three changes of mind later I had on my best, skinny jeans, ballet flats, and the red cashmere sweater Juliet wished she was petite enough to wear. Paul's knock on my front door coincided with my last swipe of mascara. After one last check in the hall mirror to be sure my hair wasn't behaving oddly, I pulled the door open.

  His smile didn't look as nervous as I felt. When he said, "Your flower garden is really pretty -- so are you." he colored slightly.

  I could've read him wrong.

  "Thank you, you too -- uh, I mean nice, you look nice, too." My cheeks grew considerably warmer.

  He did look good. The blue polo shirt matched the blue of his eyes, and his jeans fit … his jeans fit. I looked away quickly and reached for my purse.

  He let my brainless remark pass. "I thought we might go to The River's Bend."

  I smiled, too eager, and nodded, afraid to open my mouth and let something else idiotic fall out. We took Paul's car. Good thing it was such a short distance to the historical district where the bar was located because I couldn't think of a thing -- intelligent or otherwise -- to say. Amazing since I hadn't been able to shut up Saturday night. First dates are always such a trial, Thea. Omigod. This was a date. Why hadn't that occurred to me? Maybe it wasn't really a date. You know it is. Don't be naïve. He asked, you said yes.

  I tucked my hair behind my ears, then untucked it. Great, now you're fidgeting. For a panicked moment I contemplated asking Paul to take me home. I'd made a mistake. No. That would be rude. It was just drinks. What could happen? I could as easily go out for drinks with my sister. Or anyone. Right?

  Now would be a good time to start a conversation.

  Frantically, I rummaged through my mental archives, but came up with nothing to interrupt the silence. I flashed Paul a tentative smile, and discarded the weather as too obvious and desperate. The thought that kept surfacing was the one reminding me I hadn't actually broken up with Jonathan yet.

  But Paul knew all about what happened last Saturday night. You told him. In detail. Minute detail, on the drive back to Snohomish. Because he asked. Because I needed to talk to someone about what happened. Someone? Right. Be honest. You didn't want him to think you were at McMurphy's with Greg.

  Certainly, to him, this was not a date. Undoubtedly, to him, he was simply having a drink with his landlord's niece. Just to keep the peace. Yup, that was it. I was overreacting because of this teeny little crush I seemed to have on him. Nothing I couldn't handle. Well, that was a relief.

  Then why did I still feel ready to bolt?

  "I meant to ask how your appointment at the sheriff's office went," Paul said as he pulled into a parking spot in front of The River's Bend.

  Oh yes, that topic.

  "But I didn't want to bring it up in front of your family."

  "Thanks," I said, grateful for his perception. "Everyone's been a little reactive. Detective Thurman told me they determined Blackie didn't kill Valerie."

  He turned off the ignition and we got out of the car. "What else?"

  My mouth went dry.

  His eyebrow arched, ever so slightly, and was followed a couple of beats later by the beginnings of a smile.

  I meant to sanitize my response but it had a life of its own. "They, um, seem to think I'm a person of interest."

  You blurted that right out. How did he know you left out information, and what's he smiling about? This is amusing?

  "That means they don't have any leads. I'd worry more about Greg. Are you filing a complaint?"

  "No." My tone meant to imply the subject was closed.

  "I think you should consider it." He held the door of the tavern open for me, but I stopped and faced him.

  "I don't see the point. He's grieving. He didn't know what he was doing. It won't happen again."

  "Don't make excuses for him, Thea."

  He was issuing an order? I bristled. "I'm not. I can't see how overreacting --" His frown stopped me. It wasn't anger. Something else. What did he know? "Unless you think …."

  But the expression on his face became neutral and he backed down. "Do what you think is best. I'm probably being too cautious." He broke eye contact.

  Damn. I hadn't intended to sound so bossy. I chewed my lip and considered telling him about my visit from Frederick Parsons. No, bad idea. I didn't want to think about what he'd have to say if I brought that up. I'd handled it well enough, and I sure as heck didn't want a lecture.

  "Mr. Rucker hasn't shown up again, has he?" he asked, motioning me through the door.

  "No, but I saw him in the lobby at the sheriff's office."

  Paul shot me a concerned look. "He talked to you?"

  "Yeah. It was kind of one sided -- on his part. But he was already mad when he came flying out of the inner office."

  "What did he say?" He stopped and looked around the tavern.

  "Not much. He left in a hurry. I never did find out why he was there." I could handle Randy. I wasn't helpless.

  "Huh." Paul slid me another brief look.

  Damn. Had I said that out loud?

  The waitress passed by and told Paul, with a flirty wink, to sit anywhere. He acknowledged her with a nod and threaded his way across the room to a table with a view. I followed a few steps behind, certain I'd put him off.

  "Is this okay?" He indicated the table.

  "Yes. Fine. Perfect." I sat in the chair he held for me. The smile I hoped was polite and friendly didn't seem to be earning me any points. He turned his attention out the large window to the Snohomish River that passes almost at the base of the building.

  For lack of a better idea, I copied him, taking in the familiar scenery. The trees along the river bank were leafing out. They looked fresh and new against the river's dark, sinuous current. High clouds edged the last glow of the evening sky off to the west. Stars would soon be visible but, sadly, I knew it wouldn't last. It was a typical, nice, Northwest evening that announced rain was on its way.

  "This is a great place to come in the summer," I said, too chipper. Paul, opposite me at the little table, looked in the direction I'd fluttered my hand. "They have a jazz band some evenings and it's a nice place to kick back and relax." Cripes. I not only sounded like a Chamber of Commerce ad, but as if I was planning future dates. "A little too cold to be out on the deck in April, though." Oh, duh, Thea.

  He settled back in his chair, elbows on the arm rests, and regarded me in slightly amused silence.

  Shoot me now.

  I smiled at him. And swallowed.

  He smiled back. His Adam's apple bobbed.

  The waitress provided a welcomed distraction to what was rapidly becoming a disaster of a date. We ordered our drinks and passed on the appetizers. As I watched her walk away from the table, her white apron ties swinging across her very round butt, it occurred to me soccer might be a good topic. How much worse could I screw up? I plunged on, asking about his team.

  "I joined a couple of weeks ago," he said, plucking a packet of sugar from the little dish on the table and examining it. "We had an informal league down at the U. Mostly grad students, a few of the staff. It's easier for me to play here since I moved."

  He put the sugar back in its holder and picked up the salt shaker, turning the little glass container in his fingers. I watched, fascinated. He had a magician's hands. Strong and quick. Not a scholar's hands. I wanted to touch them. Oh cripes, you've been staring at him! I looked out the window and grappled for another topic.

  "Do you do any sports, other than riding?" he asked.

  "No, I'm afraid not." I tried not fixate on him. "Juliet is the one who dabbles in different activities. I tend to stick with one thing." I was so boring.

  And I couldn't stop staring. I dragged my gaze to the visual refuge out the window once more. Quick find another category. I'll take Mutual Acquaintances for five-hundr
ed, Alex. No question about it. I was losing it.

  I cleared my throat. "Have you known Eric long?" I glanced at him, then found a tether for my disobedient eyes in the napkin holder. But he hadn't been looking at me, so I snuck another lingering peek at his face. Regular, masculine features—not handsome-pretty like Jonathan, but pleasing. Lean, but not sharp. I could detect his Italian heritage. Silky eyebrows … they had to be soft. Deep-set blue eyes framed by black lashes, fastened on me -- oops.

  Our drinks arrived, saving me. Paul shifted in his chair. "Yeah, a while. He took a class from me at the Bothell campus, which is when I found out he worked for my aunt at Copper Creek." This time he spoke to me instead of the inanimate objects on the table.

  "Huh." I considered this. "I knew he took some classes. Is he working toward a degree?"

  "He's been working on his B.S. for a while. He's majoring in computer science. I expect he'll graduate next year. He just got a bit of extra cash, so he can take classes more regularly now."

  "Juliet never said anything." In fact, she told me precious little about her relationship with Eric. She used to tell me everything.

  "I hope I haven't spoken out of turn." He drew a line through the condensation on his glass with his index finger then picked up his drink sipped and set it down a little further from him. "Maybe you'd best not mention anything yet. I'm not sure Delores knows. She depends on him, but he can't support a family on what he makes there -- not these days, anyway."

  Whoa. That got my attention. "A family?"

  "I'm guessing." He rubbed his jaw. "Eric hasn't said anything, but knowing him, I expect he's making plans."

  "Juliet?"

  He nodded. "Who else? He's had his eye on her for a long time."

  "Ohhhh …." Huh. Something else I didn't know.

  Conversation turned slightly more personal. I asked him about his job, my next category of choice. He leaned back in his chair, an elbow on the armrest, and talked about teaching at the university and some of the projects he was involved with. And he smiled. A real smile that animated his eyes. It drew me in, nudging me forward in my chair, tickling my curiosity, rewarding the questions I asked as he talked. I watched his face, his hands, his posture, as he painted vivid images of the places he had been, digging fossils and discovering bits of creatures long dead, that no human had ever seen. His stories seduced me with the suspense of the hunt, transported me to windy mountain sides and dusty deserts, thrilled me when a stroke of luck revealed a dramatic discovery. How lucky his students were to have him for a teacher.

  "I'm sorry." He cut himself off, eyebrows tilted in a worried manner. "I can get a little long winded. I didn't mean to lecture."

  In the breath before answering, my heart took his picture -- his remarkable blue eyes, the strong line of his jaw, the way the edge of his sleeves molded to the muscles in his arms -- and I knew I'd have it forever.

  "Don't apologize. I've enjoyed every moment. You make me want to rush home and pack for an expedition." The lines smoothed from his forehead. "Teaching is important to you, isn't it?"

  His eyes softened, like a friend with a shared insight. "Yes, I suppose it is. Probably one of the more worthwhile occupations I've had in my life. What about you? Do you enjoy what you do?"

  "Very much," I said without hesitation, but a little disappointed to rejoin the world that was not part of his stories. "I quit my corporate job a couple of years ago. It's not easy to get time off when you're your own boss, but it's a lot more rewarding. Not nearly as exciting as finding dinosaur bones in the wilderness, though."

  A self-conscious chuckle escaped his lips and his gaze shifted to the table top. He rubbed his hand across his mouth.

  I traced my fingertip around the lip of my glass. "The big advantage is having more time to ride since I don't have to deal with the commute anymore. And Uncle Henry finds it easier to fit me into his schedule." The memory of him touching my hair after Greg's attack surfaced, complete with a vivid flash of fantasy involving Paul's naked body. I felt myself flush, and looked away, making a small diversion out of sipping my drink.

  "Henry's quite a man," Paul said. "Do you have any ambitions of following in his footsteps?"

  "No, I'd never be able to do it. Two Olympic Games, complete with medals, World championships, and countless international competitions. It's a grueling, demanding life."

  "You don't compete?"

  "No. Not any more." The moment the curt words left my lips I realized how unfair my tone was. He had no way of knowing.

  But he seemed not to notice. "Dressage shows aren't like regular horse shows, right? There are individual tests and the horse is judged against a standard instead of against the other competitors? That what Henry told me, if I remember correctly."

  I had to hand it to him, he must have paid attention. I picked up the conversation. He hadn't crossed any line. "Right. The tests are a series of patterns, done at the walk, trot, and canter, and they vary in difficulty depending on the level the horse and rider are working at."

  "So one arrives at a competition and is handed patterns to memorize?"

  "No, thankfully. The tests are published and available to anyone. They get changed once every four years -- the year before the Olympic Games."

  "You mean a rider gets to practice the test, and ride it for four years before having to learn a new one? Kind of sounds like cheating."

  I laughed, but he asked good questions. "You're equating a dressage test with the academic equivalent. This is a little different. The tests are used to help the horse progress through his training, not just evaluate his progress, and certainly not to trip him up by springing something new on him. And besides, over the course of four years the horse is bound to move up a level or two." It seemed he understood. At least his eyes weren't glazing over.

  "If you know a lot about it, why don't you compete? It seems to me Henry would be top notch support."

  My smile went rigid, and I straightened in my chair despite reminding myself that his sucker-punch was unintentional. I hedged my response. "I think he would like me to, and I might someday. It's more important to me to learn, though. I guess I got caught up in the education."

  But I saw where this conversation was going and it depressed me. Any second now he'd smile in that condescending male-way they all did, tell me to cowboy up and not be so sensitive. After all, if I really loved dressage I'd take my reward from the doing of it, and other people's opinions wouldn't matter. I'd had this chat so many times before with Jonathan and others that I could have faxed it in.

  "I can understand that." Paul sipped his drink and watched me for a moment. "It's easier to risk failure when you're not related to someone who's been remarkably successful at the same thing."

  Okay, this was different. Maybe. I had the uneasy sense of being transparent until perception spoke loud enough to be heard over the grumbling of my good buddy, defensiveness.

  "Sounds like the voice of experience." I tried to sound casual, but I was probing and not sure if I should.

  "Yeah, I guess." He swirled the ice cubes around in his glass. "I became the family renegade and a teenager simultaneously. Made a big deal about not following my dad into medicine. Told my parents I wanted to do things my own way."

  "Was that when you joined the Army? Right out of high school?"

  "You could say. I joined the Army, then finished high school."

  "You dropped out?" I never would have guessed, and couldn't help the amusement in my voice.

  "Pretty funny, now, isn't it?" A corner of his mouth turned up and he met my gaze.

  "I think it's admirable you've done so much." I sincerely meant it.

  He shook his head, picked up the salt shaker, and moved it as if it were a chess piece. Still looking at it, he shifted in his seat, and what must have been his knee, brushed the inside of mine. A jolt sizzled up my thigh and collided with the base of my spine before sending its heat radiating into my belly. I gulped -- and waited for another touch. He
shifted again, and I knew he'd moved his knee away.

  "Mostly, I made things difficult for myself and everyone else. My folks are proud of what I do now even though I'm not a doctor like my dad and brother. Looking back, I think I was so scared I would fail I took a short cut to reduce the misery."

  "But you didn't fail, you're doing something you love. And you did end up making your own decisions." Without thinking, I reached across the table and briefly touched the back of his hand.

  His laugh was soft as his gaze met mine. "Not a waste of time in your book, then?"

  "Hardly." His gentle humor made my heart flutter. He cared what I thought of him. "It's made you what you are. Nothing wrong with that."

  It occurred to me, as our conversation drifted back to shared acquaintances, unique family members, and other subjects with varying in degrees of seriousness, that I could talk to him without being wary. I forgot my earlier discomfort. There was none of the judgmental posturing I was so used to, and so distrustful of, with Jonathan. Paul listened. Why hadn't you noticed that on the drive home from Seattle Saturday night, Thea? I knew the answer immediately. I had been too wrapped up in my own drama.

  The waitress interrupted our sharing of grad school woes, clearing her throat at a decibel level we couldn't ignore. "More of the same?"

  My glass had been empty for a while. I think she'd attempted to refill our drinks before and we ignored her. Whoops.

  "Would you like another?" Paul asked.

  "No, I'm good."

  "Why don't we leave then? I haven't had a chance to look around downtown yet. Are you up to playing tour guide?"

  "Yeah," I said. "Sounds like fun."

  Paul left a sizable tip. Maybe it was an apology.

  We strolled down First Avenue, looking into the windows of the various merchants and abundant antique shops, now closed for the evening. Nearby bars and several restaurants were hopping. Parking would be at a premium for the remainder of the evening.

  "I've never seen so many antique shops crammed into one place," Paul observed. "What's the history of this town?"

  "Hmm…." I dug around in my inadequate memory and improvised a lengthy tale.

  "So these buildings on First Street are original?"

  "Yes. With a considerable amount of restoration and maintenance, as you can imagine."

  "Do you know what any of them were?"

  I pointed to a two-story wooden building on the river side of the street that housed a sandwich and pie shop. "I believe that was a tavern. And the one next to it a bordello."

  Paul regarded both establishments briefly, then shook his head once. "You're making that up."

  I looked up at him, wide-eyed, blinked, and fought to keep my mouth from turning up in a smile.

  "Look at you -- you can't lie and keep a straight face!"

  The laughter leaked out. "I am. But it sounds good."

  He chuckled and took my hand as we crossed the street. Stepping onto the curb he released my hand, placing his on the small of my back as if to guide me. His touch was light, but lingered. I held my breath. Maybe he just liked the feel of my cashmere sweater. With my pulse flying, I imitated his gesture, barely touching him as I slid my arm around his waist. I could turn it into a "you first" kind of movement, if necessary.

  Ah, no. Not necessary.

  His arm settled across my back and his fingers cupped my waist with a brief, acknowledging pressure. A headiness surged through my veins. As I settled my hand more securely on his waist I tripped on a bump in the sidewalk. In an instant I grabbed at his body with one hand and his belt buckle with my other. He steadied my sprawl with a two-armed embrace.

  "I'm okay." The words tumbled out of my mouth before I'd regained my balance.

  "You sure?"

  "Yes, sorry." I unhanded his belt and snatched my hand from his waist. "I, um … I just saw the perfect Christmas present for Aunt Vi." I took a hurried step to a shop window where a porcelain tea set was displayed, gulping down my embarrassment.

  "You start early." Paul stepped beside me and looked in the window. Humor touched his voice.

  "I try to keep an eye out." I kept my gaze glued to the shop's display.

  We continued along the sidewalk, occupying our own individual space, conversation nonexistent, pretending interest in the other store's we passed. But I couldn't stay away from him. He was like a magnet. I brushed against him twice, three times as we walked. The last time the backs of our hands touched. He didn't seem to notice.

  Crossing the next side street, I summoned my courage and reached for his hand. His response was immediate. He engulfed my hand in his. Without a word, we stopped to look in a storefront window. I glanced up at his reflection, meeting his eyes in the glass.

  When he turned from our reflection to me, my pulse leapt, and time hung suspended. Gently, he brushed my cheek with the tips of his fingers, and the caress drew me in. His gaze swept my features. This time there was no confusion. His eyes and touch conveyed an unmistakable statement. He wanted me.

  Thea, this isn't … I slammed the lid down on my inner voice with a lift of my chin.

  I wanted to kiss him so badly my lips ached. He accepted my invitation, kissing me with an electric, lingering, restraint that dismantled, down to the very foundations, any excuse that remained standing. With eyes closed, I drank in the exquisite, intoxicating tenderness of his soft lips, the delicious, warm, male scent of his skin. And when the kiss ended I opened my eyes and fell into his. He pulled my body into his, gentle at first, and led me into a kiss that fast became crazy with desperation to possess, consume. I didn't know where I stopped and he began and I didn't care. This was the kind of kiss I read about in trashy novels. The kind that can't be sated. The kind your mother never tells you about. The kind that makes the rest of the world disappear….

  "I'm glad you found a way to occupy yourself this evening." The voice cracked through my consciousness like a shot.

  Paul and I broke apart with an abruptness that made me reel.

  "Jonathan," I said, gulping air. He didn't look very glad to see me.

  "This must be Paul."

  Should I introduce them? "Uh, yes. Paul, this is Jonathan."

  "So I gather," Paul said. He sounded pretty unfriendly as well.

  We were no longer attached to each other and were, in fact, standing several feet apart.

  "What are you doing here?" I asked, still shocked and breathless.

  "I came to talk to you, but you weren't home. I thought I'd walk around downtown a bit before I tried again. I can see there's no point in asking what you're doing." He was really angry. His nostrils flared. "I was planning on surprising you."

  "I'm surprised."

  "I meant surprising you in a pleasant way," he said, glowering.

  He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a little black box. My heart stopped, and not in a pleasant way. I glanced at Paul. His eyes were fixed on the awful thing. Jonathan flicked it open and three-quarters of Paul's annual salary leered back at us. Jonathan, the peacock in Armani, was strutting his enormous tail feathers like this was some kind of a courtship smackdown. I was beyond humiliated.

  "I should go," Paul said. He wheeled and started to walk away.

  "No -- Paul, wait!" I made a grab for his arm.

  He jerked his arm out of my reach and gave me a look so cold I froze in shock.

  "I am not accustomed to taking another man's girlfriend." His eyes were narrow with anger, but his tone was emotionless.

  "I am not his girlfriend." My tone was emphatic. "I'm --"

  "Thea! How can you say that?" Jonathan said, his jaw slack. The indecent display of his virility still lay exposed in his hand.

  Paul glanced at Jonathan then turned on me, his voice low and even. "You led me to believe you broke up with him."

  Guilt took aim and got me dead on. "No! I mean --"

  "You can't have it both ways."

  "Well, of course she hasn't broken up with me." Jonathan sne
ered the words at Paul, but Paul's critical gaze remained on me.

  I didn't even glance at Jonathan. "Yes -- no. No. You don't understand. I --"

  "I understand perfectly. You've been playing me ever since I drove you home last weekend."

  "What? I've been what?" How did he come up with that notion? This was ridiculous. "How can you --? I don't 'play' with people!"

  "Thea, explain yourself." Jonathan snapped the box shut and stuffed it back into his pocket. His hand closed on my arm, but I twisted out of his grip.

  It took every ounce of self-control I had to block out Jonathan and maintain my focus on Paul, who was obviously suffering from a huge dose of egotistical misinformation. "You can't possibly believe --"

  "I certainly can believe you've been maneuvering me ever since I met you," Paul accused, and nudged me right over the edge.

  "You are out of your freaking mind." I leaned into the words. "The only thing I'm guilty of is being gullible. You've been playing Mr. Macho-rescue-the-poor-helpless-little-woman-I'll-bet-I-can-seduce-her-before-the-weekend-macho-guy, and I bought your whole sorry act!"

  "All right. You want to discuss this now? How about you stop pretending --"

  "Pretending?" I shrieked. My jaw went slack, then tightened to the point I could barely form words. "You, you, you -- I'll tell you what you can do with --"

  "Now listen here --"Jonathan stabbed a finger at the air.

  "Stay out of this," I roared at him. "You've caused enough trouble already!"

  "Thea, control yourself," Jonathan snapped. "You owe me an explanation. You owe me."

  "I think you owe an explanation to him and me," Paul said. His jaw was so tight I thought he'd break a bone.

  "I do? The drinks, the walk, the, the, it was your idea."

  "Yeah? My idea? That's not exactly --"

  "This is all my fault, I suppose? I just led you along by the, the nose? Men! You can't get past your hormones, can you? Oh, it's so easy to stick someone else with the responsibility -- then you can do any damn thing you want!"

  "Hey, I'm the offended party here!" Jonathan whined at high volume, darting left then right to get past Paul who somehow was able to keep his back to him.

  "You want to talk lack of control, woman? You couldn't keep your hands off me!"

  It was obvious Paul meant there to be no mistaking who was the target of his anger. Fine by me. I itched to hand back whatever he threw at me.

  "You think you're so damn irresistible? Well I've got news for you, Paul Hudson. I don't have any problem resisting your sorry-ass passes."

  His lips curled and he took half a step toward me. "Is that what you call what happened? Resisting?"

  I rose up to my full five-feet two, panting with rage, and pushed my chin at him. Paul's eyes widened and he lowered his chin.

  "Thea!" Jonathan yelped.

  "Damn right," I snarled.

  "Fine by me. I'm leaving." He stalked off toward his car.

  "Not before I do!" I shouted to his back and swung a fist through the air. At least I had the presence of mind to stalk off in the opposite direction.

  "Thea!" Jonathan called after me. "You can't leave! Not again! Not after all I've done for you!"

  I rounded on him, beyond furious. "I can't ever recall you doing anything for me that wasn't specifically for your benefit."

  His parting comment, to my back, had something to do with me having "no idea." Oh, I had an idea, all right. In fact, I had more than an idea. I had the whole concept, theory, and model down in a flash. He was a manipulating, selfish bastard who couldn't see beyond the end of his own nose. If I never saw him again, it would be too soon.

  By the time I covered the scant mile to my home I'd walked off most of my anger and felt miserable. Miserable and ashamed of myself. I'd never had such a childish shouting match as this with anyone, except possibly my sister. I'd never been so humiliated. I dug my keys out of the bottom of my purse and let myself inside. My house, so calm and orderly, stood in stark contrast to my emotional state.

  In my bedroom, the clothes I'd tried on and discarded earlier lay scattered on the bed. A missed omen of what a mess this evening would turn out to be. Sighing, I picked up each sweater, blouse, and pair of slacks. Slowly, deliberately, as if my actions could do the same for my jumbled feelings, I put them away. As I closed my bureau drawer I caught sight of my face in the mirror. I looked terrible. The purple bruises along my jaw stood out like neon lights against my pallor. Mascara smudged my face under my red, puffy eyes from where I'd rubbed tears away. My lipstick was long gone. My green irises glowed like beacons. I'd seen more attractive traffic lights.

  I sat on the edge of my bed and contemplated the huge mess my life had become. But each time my eyes closed I tumbled into the memory of every touch, taste and scent that was Paul. I covered my ears, trying to block the sound of his voice, his breathing, his gentle moan in my mouth. He overwhelmed every sense in a way I never imagined possible. Pure, honest emotion propelled me into his arms tonight. I thought he was my friend. I wanted him for my lover. I believed he felt the same. How dare he turn that emotion into something I was so ashamed of?

  Groaning, I collapsed across my bed, and stared at the ceiling. Damn him! He said unforgivable things to me. Wasn't he smart enough to see through Jonathan's posturing? How could he be so mean and insensitive? Jonathan, for all his pompousness, never said anything to me like Paul had tonight.

  Be honest, Thea. He never had any call to. And you sure trumped him in the name-calling department.

  But I knew Paul could be kind and thoughtful. In our conversations before … well, before that horrible, very public scene, he talked to me in a way Jonathan never had. He shared his thoughts, was interested in what I had to say, and -- and his kisses, the way his body felt against mine, like I had at last reached home -- complete with the relief of being able to touch him, hold him -- oh, God. And then to lose it all.

  What's wrong with you? You barely know him. Don't you jump on Juliet for the same thing? What happened to your resolve to be more self reliant, to stand on your own two feet? Thank goodness that's no longer an issue. You made damn sure of that.

  Tears trickled out of the corners of my eyes and into my ears. I felt like a really bad Country Western song.