Chapter 28

If Rowdy moved his hand one inch closer to her ass, Wyatt was going to grab the knife Louie used to cut up limes and chop a few fingers off.

Not that Melanie seemed to mind, the way she was letting Rowdy lean into her, practically eye-to-eye and lip-to-lip, thanks to the heels on those damn red shoes. Wyatt hadn’t failed to notice, though, that she was sneaking glances his direction, measuring his reaction. Did she want to see him stew, or was she hoping he’d intervene?

Or was that just him hoping that she was hoping? He swore silently. If she was trying to goad him, he wasn’t sure what response she was looking for. That kiss had pushed them into new territory, and Wyatt had no idea what the boundaries were.

He did know that the contrast between the Melanie in pads and cleats from this morning and this woman with her scarlet mouth and dark, come-hither eyes was making his head ache…not to mention other parts of his body. His imagination was having a field day with how easy it would be to slide those tiny straps off her shoulders and feel her shiver when he traced the hollow above her collarbone with his tongue. He knew how she tasted now. How she felt pinned underneath him. He knew…

Too much—and not nearly as much as he’d like. But enough to realize, as he watched her take a gulp from her second double, that he was going to have to put a stop to this, whether it was what she intended or not. She was acting out, hurt and angry, and he couldn’t sit by and let her do something she’d hate herself for in the morning.

Wyatt signaled to Louie, who’d also been keeping a concerned eye on her.

“That there is not what she needs,” Louie said, scowling at Rowdy.

“I know.” And Wyatt could defuse the situation in two minutes if he could get her alone and show her the email from the attorney, verifying that they no longer needed her testimony after Wyatt had passed along the statements he’d gathered at the Waffle House. Then all he had to do was survive her justifiable fury when she realized what he’d done behind her back.

It wouldn’t be the first time she was furious at him. He knew for a fact it wouldn’t be the last. If he could redirect her anger, he was more than happy to let her take her frustration out on him instead of herself. Under the circumstances, it could be a benefit, reestablishing some all-important distance.

“Bring me her purse,” he told Louie. “But don’t let her see.”

While Melanie was distracted by an introduction to one of Rowdy’s friends, Louie slipped Wyatt the purse. He tucked it against his side, keeping it out of sight as he groped blindly for her keys. His fingers encountered a wide-toothed comb, two pens, one of those small notebooks, her multi-tool, and a lipstick. No keys. He unzipped an inner side pocket and found some change, a few thin paper scraps that felt like receipts and…

He froze at the unmistakable shape and crinkle of a strip of condoms. Son of a bitch. Maybe this wasn’t a chance meeting. While Wyatt had been home sulking last night, she could have made a date with Rowdy over that beer they’d shared. Had she walked in tonight knowing he’d be here, fully intending to sleep with him? Or were these a relic of her affair with Michael?

Wyatt crushed the condoms in his fist. Either way, Rowdy would not be trying them on for size.

He was halfway off his stool, propelled by a blast of white-hot possessiveness, when he remembered he still hadn’t found the keys. Whatever else, he had to be sure she couldn’t go squealing off in her car after downing those drinks. He turned the purse around and checked the outside pocket. There they were—car key, apartment key, and that handy little flashlight key chain.

Now he just had to persuade her to have a few private words with him…and refrain from slamming Rowdy’s head into the nearest wall. Wyatt didn’t have a lot of experience with insane jealousy—or any right to it in Melanie’s case—but he was beginning to understand how so many men ended up in prison in those old country songs.

He took a deep, centering breath before he stood, slow and casual, letting his ankle adjust to his weight. It was feeling much better after an afternoon propped on the end of the couch while he burned up a few phone lines. Not the easiest thing, tracking down a lawyer on a summer Saturday, but it could be done with the proper combination of charm, persistence, and subtly implied threats.

Getting Melanie to hold still long enough to listen would be more of a challenge. Even in those damn red shoes she’d leave him gimping along in her dust, and he’d left the crutches at home, assuming he’d only be taking a few steps from the Camaro to the bar and back again. He would have to stop making assumptions about anything where Melanie was involved, before he sustained permanent physical damage. Emotionally, he’d fallen off that cliff a long, long time ago.

He took another deep breath, fixing a slight smile on his face while he consciously shifted into manipulator mode. How did he pry her away from Rowdy? It would be easiest to take unfair advantage of their working relationship. She wouldn’t agree to go outside with Wyatt—but she could hardly say no to her employer.

As he worked his way down the bar, Wyatt made a point of pausing to greet the guest of honor at tonight’s welcome home party. He borrowed a page from the infamous Madam Beverly’s book as they shook hands. “Show your military ID next time you come in, and we’ll buy your first drink.”

The soldier grinned. “Better not tell my buddies, or they’ll drain you dry.”

“It’s the least we can do in return for your service.”

There. See? He hadn’t lost his touch. To prove it, he clapped a perfectly timed hand on Rowdy’s shoulder, and the dumb-ass obliged by spitting beer down the front of Melanie’s dress.

“Whoops.” Wyatt plucked a napkin from a stack on the bar and offered it to Melanie. She snatched it out of his hand with a malevolent glare and swabbed foam off her chest. Wyatt gave first her, then Rowdy a bland smile. “I hate to interrupt, but I need a few words with my marketing guru.”

“Uh—” Rowdy said.

Melanie’s smile was razor-edged. “It’s kind of late for business, don’t you think?”

“Ah. I didn’t realize consultants worked nine to five, or I would have chatted with you earlier.” Except they both knew he’d tried to get in touch. He didn’t blame her for not wanting to chat, but he’d use it against her if that’s what it took. “If you could spare ten minutes…”

Her eyes narrowed with irritation. “I’d be happy to meet with you in the morning.”

“No can do. I’m taking off first thing.” Which sounded like an excellent idea, now that he’d mentioned it. Once Melanie was done flaying him alive, he’d need to go off and lick his wounds. His cabin on Wallowa Lake was the perfect hideout. “Like I said, I only need a few minutes.”

As he’d anticipated, Rowdy puffed up his chest, pretending he didn’t consider Wyatt a threat. Silly boy. He patted Melanie’s hip with the hand he was in danger of losing. “Go ahead. I’ll shoot the shit with my buddy for a while.”

“Thanks.” Wyatt made a Shall we? gesture toward the front door.

Melanie gave him a withering look, then shouldered past and strode out, not bothering to see if he could keep up. She was waiting, claws fully extended, when he stepped out into the gathering dusk.

“What would you like to discuss, boss? Target demographics? Drink specials? Oh, I know!” She snapped her fingers and pointed one at him like a pistol. “I bet you have a great idea for a catchy new slogan. ‘The Bull Dancer Saloon, where we guarantee fantastic customer service, since you’ll be the only customer in sight.’”

Wyatt folded his arms and waited for her to finish.

“What’s with the rotten prune face?” She did a sassy twirl. “Don’t you like my new look?”

“Not under these circumstances.”

She cocked her eyebrows, playing dumb. “What circumstances are you referring to?”

He gave her another of those hard, deliberate stares. “This isn’t going to help. I understand how you feel—”

“Really?” She drew the word out into two long, acid-drenched syllables. “Tell me, Wyatt, what do you hate the most? The dumb blond jokes, or the way they don’t even pretend not to check out your ass during your presentations? It must be soooo tiring, having to constantly remind everyone who came up with that great idea because they didn’t pay attention until someone with a dick repeated exactly what you said. Oh, but wait—” She knocked a knuckle against her temple. “You are someone with a dick. So maybe you don’t understand as much as you think.”

He had to fight the instinct to defend himself. What could he say? Yes, I was born into unbelievable privilege, but it doesn’t count because I ran away? They both knew it was bullshit. Leaving home hadn’t made him not white, not educated, not male, or not rich. “You’re right. And it sucks.”

“Fabulous. We agree on something. Now if you’ll excuse me…”

He put out a hand to block her. “You can’t go back in there.”

She looked at his arm as if debating whether she should bite it or snap it in half. “You think you can stop me?”

“Yes.” He jerked a thumb toward the door and quoted the flyspecked sign posted inside. “I am the proprietor, and we reserve the right to refuse service to anyone.”

Hell. That wasn’t what he’d meant to say, but the sparks that were flying off of her were burying themselves under his skin, kindling fires that threatened to reduce all of his good intentions to ashes. Her mouth dropped open, and he braced himself for some truly spectacular swearing. Instead, she snapped it shut, whirled around, and strode away, her heels clicking angrily on the empty street.

“Melanie…wait! Could we just talk—”

Her answer was a stiff middle finger shot straight in the air. He took a couple of steps in pursuit, but his ankle made it clear that anything above a sedate stroll was a bad idea, not that he was sure what he’d do if he caught her. Attempting to stop her when she was like this would be like tackling a mountain lion.

If she intended to go to one of the other bars, she was headed the wrong direction. “Where are you going?”

“To the bridge. It’ll have to do, since I assume you’ll follow me and there’s not a cliff handy.”

He’d already taken several more steps, but he stopped. “The rail is too high.”

“Then I’ll knock you over the head with a rock and roll you off the dike.”

She wouldn’t. Would she? “If you’re going to commit assault and attempted murder, you’ll need your keys to make your getaway.”

She stopped dead and spun around. He held up the keys in one hand and the purse in the other.

She swore and started back toward him. “Don’t think I won’t kick you square in the nuts and stomp on your fingers when you fall.”

“Not a doubt in my mind.” He unlocked the apartment door, yanked it open, and threw both the keys and the purse to the top of the stairs before she could reach him. Then he stepped back, feet braced, ready to dodge or deflect any blow aimed at his groin. If Melanie had said it, she was seriously considering it.

She went for the door instead, but paused with her hand on the knob. “If I go in after them, you won’t let me out.”

“Nope.” Although it would take all of his strength to hold the door shut if she was determined to push it open, and there was the fire escape…

Her hand dropped, and she turned on him. If it were possible for a stare to be literally cutting, his guts would’ve fallen out onto the street. “What…the hell…is your problem?”

“You.” He gestured toward her painted face, her dress, those damn red shoes. “I know what all of that means, but you’re wrong. And if you would just let me explain—”

“Yes!” She threw her hands in the air like a Baptist preacher. “Please, oh wise and knowing male, tell me how I’m supposed to feel. Better yet, explain why it is that you could leave this place with any of those women you’ve never met before and you get high fives, but if I do the same, I’m an embarrassment to your shitty little bar.”

Despite his vow to remain calm, his temper began to stir. “I did not say—”

“You don’t have to. I grew up in the goddamn Bible Belt. I’ve heard it all my life.” The bitterness in her voice ran generations deep. “Well, sorry, but not sorry. I’m done trying to please anyone but myself. I’ll sleep with who I want, when I want, and y’all can just deal with it.”

Not fucking likely.

Wyatt’s anger boiled up, shooting past the red line and straight into fury. Yes, her rage was justified, but she did not get to lump him in with bastards like Michael and her former boss.

He had tried to do what he could for Hank. He hadn’t asked to be dragged into Grace’s dilemma. All he’d ever wanted, from damn near the first moment they’d spoken on the phone, was Melanie, but it was as if the entire universe had conspired against him, and he was so damn tired of fighting this bone-deep need…

He took a step toward her. Then another. She didn’t budge, but her eyes flicked toward the apartment door as if reconsidering her choices.

He leaned in close, his breath fanning her cheek, his voice low and lethal even to his own ears. “Is that what you want? Just someone with a pulse you can use up and toss out when you’re done?”

He heard her swallow, but she didn’t flinch. “Why shouldn’t I? Men have been doing it forever.”

“Yes, we have.”

He gathered a fistful of her hair and wound the warm silk around and around his hand until his knuckles were pressed to the nape of her neck. Her breath caught at the electric press of skin against skin, and her eyes went even darker. The line he’d held for so long had been crossed. He was beyond stopping—unless she made him.

“As long as you’re determined to do something you’ll hate yourself for in the morning, it might as well be with me.” And then he kissed her.

And instead of shoving him away, Melanie clenched both hands in his shirt and yanked him closer.