Chapter Two
As it turns out, Jasper had taken my accusation about Russ Daly to heart, because the next morning he agreed to a meeting with the other man.
“Do you really think it’s Daly?” I asked while looking out the window.
Jasper’s eyes were trained on the road, scanning ahead as we drove to Daly’s office. “I’m not a hundred percent convinced that he isn’t,” he said finally, his face betraying no emotion. The softness he’d shown me in the night was gone—he was back on the job.
“Yeah, it just seems a little…I don’t know.”
“You seemed convinced earlier.”
Of course I’d seemed convinced earlier. I’d just taken a shower with broken glass. I was ready to blame whoever stuck their hand up, and Russ just happened to fit the bill.
We pulled into Daly’s office parking lot. It wasn’t exactly humble and inconspicuous. There was a big sign out front reading Daly Enterprises in glittery gold letters, like Russ Daly was the cream of the crop and wanted everyone to know it. Being the middle of the day, the lot was half full, and Jasper had to park a good distance from the front entrance, which didn’t strike him as ideal.
“We’re exposed,” he grumbled. “And I don’t know if my truck is on camera.”
“You think someone is going to mess around with your truck while we’re in there?”
Jasper shook his head. “No, I just don’t like that someone could, and easily. Let’s go.”
We started for the front doors, Jasper right on my heels. “So, what, we’re just going to walk in there like we own the place? You really think Daly’s security is going to let us do that?”
“We’re expected,” Jasper grunted.
That was the end of it.
He held the door for me, and we stepped inside. The ground floor of the multi-story office building struck me as being very “office-like,” as though Daly had based his design plans on a picture from a magazine. An eyesore of a fountain—one of those waterfall things with a pond at the base, all made of dark rocks with fake vines—greeted us on the way inside. The interior smelled sterile, like cleaning products, and the carpet was a labyrinth of zig-zagging gray and brown stripes. There were a couple of doors along the walls, each accompanied by one of those rectangular gray key card readers. A bland-faced police officer in full uniform stood at one end of the lobby.
“We’re in Meadow Ridge, Georgia,” I mumbled. “You think this security is necessary?”
Jasper didn’t say anything.
“I bet this has less to do with security and more to do with Daly’s ego,” I said, answering my own question. Again, Jasper remained silent.
We rounded the fountain to find the receptionist sitting at a desk with a polished marble countertop. She looked up at us as we approached. “Can I help you?”
“We have an appointment with Russ Daly,” Jasper said. “We’re expected.”
The receptionist turned to her computer and clacked on the keyboard. “Yes, Miss Dunn, correct?”
“Dr. Dunn.” I ground my teeth together.
Jasper just nodded.
“Great! Take the elevator to the third floor. You’ll find Mr. Daly in the third door on the right.”
We boarded the elevator and listened to smooth, generic jazz as we rode to the top.
As promised, Russ Daly was in the third door on the right. He greeted us with a too-bright smile and a booming “Ah, right on time!” while extending one meaty slab of a hand.
I shook it reluctantly. I couldn’t help but remember that the last time I’d seen this man, he’d oh-so-generously offered to knock me up.
“Who is this?” I gestured to a police officer who stood quietly in one corner. He had a shiny star pinned to the front of his shirt, so big I wondered if it was fake.
“This is Sheriff Mack Sands.” Daly smirked at me.
“What’s he doing here?” I sucked breath in through my nose, trying not to let my temper ignite.
“Mediating,” Jasper answered in Daly’s place. “Just so everyone leaves here with the same story.”
“Right.” I ground my teeth together. “So, let’s get down to business.”
Russ chuckled. “You’re a feisty one, huh? No wonder you’ve been causing so many problems for me.” He took a seat behind a desk so big he was surely compensating for something and steepled his fingers. Just the way he called me “feisty” made me want to jump over that monstrosity and tackle him out the bay window and into the parking lot below.
Instead, I took a seat in one of the offered chairs, and I think I even managed to look calm.
“We’re here to talk about the show,” I started, trying to keep my grip through gritted teeth.
“Right, the show. You’d be hard pressed to believe how much trouble that whole thing is causing for me. Listen, I hear you’ve been having…what should we call them…lady problems? Lady problems, with a gentleman.”
“Hmph.” Daly looked from me to Jasper. “Hence the bulldog?”
“He’s protection.”
Daly tilted his head back and laughed. “Ha! That’s a good one. Listen, sweetheart, when you girls gonna learn? All you gotta do is carry a bit of mace around, that’s all it takes. Learn some martial arts or something. What, next you’re going to tell me that you need protection in the kitchen to keep from burning yourself on the pans.”
I’d kept my temper in check for the better part of my twenty-seven years. Now that I’d let it free last night, it rose more readily to the surface.
“This isn’t the nineteen fifties,” I said, glowering at him. “Women can do more than cook and clean. I have a doctorate—”
Daly smiled. “Yeah, they’ll give one out to anyone these days, it seems.”
I was going to kill him.
“That’s it!” I said, standing up. “You got a problem? You want to take it outside? I’ll show you some martial arts—”
Fingers clenched on my shoulders. It was Jasper. To one side, I was distantly aware that Mack had stepped forward, too.
“Look, sweetheart, maybe we got off on the wrong—”
“And I’m not your sweetheart!” If Jasper hadn’t tightened his grip on my arms just then, I would have gone over that massive desk at Daly. Instead, Jasper pulled me away and out into the hallway.
“Let me go!” I cried. “Chauvinist asshole! Let me go, and I’ll show you martial arts!”
“Cari, relax,” Jasper growled.
“Let me back in there!”
Jasper dragged me to the elevator. “No, this was a bad idea. We’ll try again some other time.”
The elevator dinged, and Jasper pulled me inside. As we waited, Daly stepped out into the hallway to watch us depart, still wearing that shit-eating grin of his.
The door slid shut before I had a chance to flip him off.
…
“This is why I can’t leave you alone,” Jasper muttered as we drove through town.
“I said I was sorry.” I sat in the passenger seat, my arms crossed. “He rubbed me the wrong way.”
Jasper didn’t say anything but instead slowed the truck. A growl rumbled through his chest as he stopped in front of Penelope’s Diner, one of only three places that served food in Meadow Ridge. He pulled into the parking lot.
“You go inside,” I said. “I’ll wait here.”
“I’m not leaving you out here by yourself,” Jasper said, stepping out of the truck.
“Yes, you are!” I called, before Jasper slammed the door behind him.
For a moment, the truck cab was silent. Then, the passenger-side door swung open.
“What are you—”
Before I could react, Jasper leaned in, unbuckled my seat belt, and hauled me over his shoulder once more.
“Let me down!” I said.
Jasper closed the truck and locked it, foiling my plan of jumping back inside. With his hands placed firmly on my ass, he slowly lowered me, sliding me down his body inch by delicious inch. I couldn’t hold back the gasp of pleasure at being pressed against him.
“I think you like me taking control.” His expression, set as always, gave nothing away, but I saw a spark in his eyes.
He wasn’t wrong. Pinching my lips together, I ignored the flush in my cheeks and looked down at my feet, clad in the dusty boots he’d retrieved from my room that morning.
“You start shooting at one.” His massive bicep rippled—I swear it actually did—as he opened the glass door to the diner. “You need to eat something.”
I might have argued, just as payback for bodily carting me out of Daly’s office, but the enticing scent of bacon and fries wafted from the open door, making my stomach growl. With a sidelong glance at the new dictator in my life, I stomped into the diner, sliding into the first empty booth I saw.
Jasper took the seat across from me, and I couldn’t keep back a huff of laughter as he worked to fit his massive frame into the small space. Once settled, he looked around the place carefully, and I knew that, as always, he was logging details, assessing risks, memorizing faces.
“Thank you for letting me stay last night.” I knew if I’d been on my own, I wouldn’t have slept at all. Warmed by Jasper’s heat, though, I hadn’t even rolled over until morning.
“Wasn’t exactly a hardship for me.” He smirked, and I flushed, remembering. When I had woken up, something very large and very hard had been pressed against my back, telling me just how okay Jasper was with me sleeping in his bed.
That I’d missed out on the pleasure that hardness had promised me was just another reason to be pissed at Daly.
“So, you’re saying you want to do it again?” Dipping my head, I took a long gulp of cola, the syrupy sweetness coating my throat.
Across from me, Jasper sat so still he could have been one of the artifacts we dug up, frozen in place for the rest of time. My pulse increased just enough to make me take a deep breath as I waited.
It would have been nice if he showed emotion—any emotion. I figured he had a distinct advantage in this…whatever the hell it was between us, because I was the opposite, my feelings bubbling right on out of me like a fountain.
“I’m saying you intrigue me.” He spoke carefully. I took a moment to assess, to scan all the tender feelings that I often had a hard time converting into action—Nolan being a prime example. It was a massive surprise to discover that Jasper’s words had set a flock of butterflies fluttering around inside of me.
“I intrigue you?”
Wordlessly, Jasper nodded. He took a bite of his food, chewed it slowly, and then surveyed me. “You just need to understand more.”
I scoffed. “I have a doctorate,” I reminded him. “I’m good at understanding. Try me.”
“You know why I don’t have girlfriends?” he asked. I shook my head. “It’s because most women can’t give me what I want. They can’t deal with what I want. What you saw last night? That was just the tip of the iceberg. There’s a lot more to it.”
I chewed my lip for a moment while Jasper took another bite. “Things like what?”
“Hmm?” Jasper swiped at his mouth with his napkin.
“What can’t other girls deal with?”
Jasper eyed me for a moment and then looked back down at his plate. “That’s kind of personal.”
“I think we left that at the door last night.” The time for “private details” had passed, as far as I was concerned. We’d gotten to know each other inside and out—at this point, Jasper could tell me whatever he wanted, and I probably wouldn’t bat an eyelash.
“I’d like to watch,” Jasper said. His voice was flat, but in it I heard a thread of something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Not nerves, exactly, but I understood that how I responded to this was important to him.
“Watch what?”
“You.” His green eyes zeroed in on mine, and for a minute I felt like he was looking right through me. “You, with another man.”
Okay, so much for not batting an eyelash. I recoiled, blinked, and stared at Jasper. Part of me expected him to laugh and say “just kidding” or something like that, but he just scrutinized me. Somehow, I suspected I wasn’t the first woman to give him that reaction.
“What? Why?”
Without responding, Jasper went back to his food.
“Why would you want to see me with another man?” I pressed. “I mean, most guys are totally against that. They’d pitch a fit to see a girl with another guy. It just doesn’t make any—”
“I get off on being the best,” Jasper said, cutting me off mid-sentence. “I like knowing that while another man can give you pleasure, I’m the one in your bed after.”
“Um.” I didn’t really know what to say to that. I wasn’t sure I could have said anything, actually, with my head full of wicked images sparked by Jasper’s words.
Him. Me. And someone else.
My skin was hot. I caught him looking at me, and where I would have expected him to smirk, he just seemed to be watching, waiting.
We ate in silence for a moment. I slurped my drink through my straw and waited for Jasper to make the next move. I felt like there was a pink elephant hanging in the room above us, but if Jasper felt the same way, he didn’t show it. He sucked down his soda.
“So, tell me about you,” he said finally.
I cocked my head. “What about me?”
“Whatever’s important.”
I chuckled. “That’s kind of vague. What, am I supposed to tell you my life story?”
“Sure. Tell me your life story. Start at the beginning.”
I shook my head gently. “I’m not telling you my life story…”
Jasper shrugged one shoulder. “Fair enough. I know the bullet points, though. Dr. Cari Dunn, grew up in the suburbs of D.C. in a middle-to-upper class family. Decent childhood, never wanted for much, spent most of your time playing with dinosaurs instead of with Barbies—”
“Ugh,” I said, shaking my head. “When you tell it like that, you make me sound like some two-dimensional everyman. Or everywoman, I guess you would say.”
“So? Tell me something I don’t already know. Dig deep.”
I thought about it for a minute. “Well, I’m a perfectionist.”
“You think?” He snorted. “Yeah, I can tell. The doctorate was the first clue. You dropped a couple of hints last night, too.”
I scowled. “How so? What hints did I drop?”
“Moving on.” There was the smirk I’d been waiting for. “I know you’re a perfectionist. That’s not new information. I want to know something I didn’t already know.”
I leaned back in the seat, draping my arm over the backrest. “Well, how about you? Why don’t you tell me something I don’t know?”
“No.”
“Okay, well, I guess that settles that.” I leaned forward again, plucking a French fry from my plate and popping it in my mouth. Another awkward silence ensued.
“Fine,” I said eventually. “I like knowing what I want.”
“You like knowing what you want.”
I nodded. “Yeah. I like to be able to see the finish line. Or, at least, I like knowing that there’s a finish line to be found. I don’t like drifting. I like to have a goal in mind, something to reach. If I’m not doing something—if I don’t have a target to shoot for—I go out of my mind.”
“Go on.”
“I don’t know. There’s not much else. I mean, I see people sitting in front of televisions, and I can’t understand how they can live with themselves, just idling. Or the beach—I’ve never been able to go to the beach. I can’t stand to just lie there doing nothing. I have to be doing something. Even when I was a kid and I’d go to the lake with my parents, I had to be doing something, like building a sandcastle or trying to hang a tire swing. I can’t stand to idle.”
“You like goals.”
“Right.”
An invisible hook tugged the edge of Jasper’s mouth upward. “Am I one of your goals?”
I lifted an eyebrow at him. “Maybe,” I said.
“Your funeral. I’m not the kind of guy you’ll ever be able to just ‘check off your list.’”
I started to respond but bit back the words, choosing instead to push more French fries into my mouth. That was another thing I could have told him—that I eat when I’m nervous—but based on what I knew about Jasper, he’d already figured that out.
The rest of the meal proceeded in silence. I watched Jasper and he watched, well, everyone. The main entrance to the diner was over my left shoulder, and every time it opened, Jasper glanced up to see who was coming in, and he watched everyone leave. It occurred to me that this seating arrangement, with Jasper facing the door, his back to the wall, probably wasn’t an accident. He’d sat there specifically to keep an eye on things.
We finished our meal and stood. Jasper reached for his wallet.
“My treat,” I said.
Jasper snorted. “No chance.”
I frowned. “I’m sure I make more than you. Let me treat you.”
Jasper grunted his defiance and headed for the counter, handing a couple of twenties to the girl behind the register and then leaning on the counter to survey the diner.
Jasper was starting to be a real pain in the butt for me. One minute, we were tangled up in each other’s arms tighter than a sailor’s knot. The next I could barely talk to him and felt a million miles away. We weren’t dating, or even close to it, and yet Jasper insisted on paying for my meal like we’d been together for years.
Dammit. I was in trouble.