Fur Ball Fever

Chapter 19

Two jar candles illuminated Nick's deck with a glimmer he considered suitably romantic for what he had in mind. He had no intention of letting Gracie leave without agreeing to a partnership. A bedroom celebration would be, in his mind, a logical and highly pleasurable conclusion to seal the deal.

Her ramrod-stiff back and furrowed brow spoke of resistance.

He gulped a mouthful of beer. The bitter coldness slid down, lubricating his throat. He threw out an opening gambit. "We make a good team, darlin'. We have different skill sets, yet we complement one another."

Silence.

He tried a different approach. "Why don't you sit down? Relax, take the weight off." He patted the wicker chair beside him.

Her back grew more rigid.

Aw, shit. Why didn't he remember women hated to be reminded about their weight. He tried again. "What I meant to say was those sexy boots you're wearing must be real uncomfortable." To encourage reciprocal action, he unlaced his steel-toed work boots and kicked them off. Thick socks followed. Bare feet offered an added advantage—fewer clothes to remove at a critical moment.

The silence lengthened, broken only by the wash of waves against the shore.

"Sam's out for the evening," he said, thinking she'd unwind faster if she knew they were alone. "Probably gambling. I doubt he'll be home before dawn."

He perked up a whole lot when she pushed away from the railing and dropped to the edge of the chair, one leg crossed over the other, all sultry woman, electric energy, and unbounded sex appeal.

Instead of peeling off her boots, she said, "I've changed my mind."

"About what?" To fortify himself he glugged down more beer.

The foot swing became more pronounced. "You've got yourself a partner."

Beer went down the wrong way. She thumped his back. When the choking stopped, he cleared his throat and croaked, "Sorry. Come again?"

"I want to work with you on this case."

"Great," he got out. "Why did you change your mind?"

She picked up her wine glass by the stem. "Auntie Beth followed me to Kinki to protect me. She might have been hurt, tossed in jail, or worse. She'll keep it up until she knows I'm safe." She took a small sip while keeping her gaze fastened on his face. "Strangely enough, she trusts you."

"Not exactly the reason I'd hoped for, but it'll do." For now.

Gracie tossed her hair in a way that resurrected his hopes of hot celebration sex. "Since we're officially partners," she said, placing her glass on the table and leaning toward him, causing his heart rate to accelerate, "why don't you finish telling me everything you learned about Marcia Hathaway."

Shit! She wanted to discuss the case. To cover his disappointment, he took a moment to re-fill her glass with the mouth-puckering Chardonnay she loved. Although he loathed the stuff, he'd hung onto the wine after their breakup, unable to drink it, unwilling to part with it.

Resigned to a business discussion, he said, "I learned that Marcia was married to one Harvey Garrison before she hooked up with Oliver."

Gracie twisted to face him, her eyes glittering with excitement. "I can't believe she found two men willing to marry her."

"That's not all," he announced, feeling like a kid placing a shiny red apple on his teacher's desk. "I researched our friendly fetish club. The name on the deed is Mary-Jo Skuggs."