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The pendant swung from the chain clutched in her fingers. Dean caught it, held it against his palm for inspection. “A tear. Interesting choice. You wear it?”
“I don’t wear it.”
“You feel it?”
She’d had it with him. She wanted him out of her bedroom, out of her house, out of her mind, just out, before he could worm himself any further into her head. “Feel what?”
“Grief, angel. Anger and bitterness and sadness come off you in waves, Marlys, but I’m not getting grief.”
She snorted. “I’m not giving you a single one of my emotions. Ever.”
“Not even desire?”
“Believe me, the last thing I want to do with you right now is have sex.”
“How about sleep?” He crawled over to curl around her on the mattress.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she asked, rising on her elbow.
“Holding you, Marlys. Holding you while you sleep.” He pushed her against the pillows.
When she tried jerking up again, he stroked his hand down her arm. “Take it easy.”
“You said that to the dog!”
“And look how he settled to my touch.” Dean bunched the pillow beside hers and then pulled her more snugly against his body. He stroked her again. “Isn’t this nice?”
On the floor beside her, Blackie dropped his head between his paws, sighed. “Are you a dog whisperer?” she asked.
He laughed, his breath warm against her neck. “If I said yes, you might take offense at the way that plays out.”
“Bitch whisperer.” Her head settled more deeply on the pillow. “You’re right, I might take offense.”
“So just take my touch, angel.” His soothing hand had a soporific effect on her. So did his warmth. It stole through the covers that separated them. Her heart shuddered, but she squeezed shut her eyes and let her mind and her mood shut down for the night.
In the morning, she woke, panicked. She jerked upright, but found she was alone. Thank God. He’d only left behind an indentation on the pillow beside hers.
But her pulse wouldn’t settle. She could still feel the impression of his heat at her back and if she couldn’t shake that, she was doomed. Somehow she had to push him away, because she couldn’t risk wanting—no, needing—to belong to someone ever again.
Panic rising a second time, she jerked her gaze around the sheets and ran her hands over the cover. There. There. Her fingers found the silver tear. Holding the cold metal against her cheek to remind herself of her resolve, she spied a piece of paper half buried beneath the pillow he’d used. Pulling it free, she took in three sentences in masculine block letters.
HAVE TO BE GONE A FEW DAYS.
It was relief she felt. Yeah. Disappointment was for other women.
THINK OF ME.
Did she have any other choice?
BE GOOD.
Not on her life.
Fourteen
The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting.
—SUN TZU
She hadn’t anticipated this was how or where she’d next confront Noah, Juliet thought, pacing the floor of the room designated as her home office. After Marlys had caught that impulsive moment of comfort on the patio, they’d separated without further discussion. Juliet had gone to her house and he’d returned to his place across the pool.
It wasn’t clear who had avoided who in the thirty-six or so hours since, but it was fact that they hadn’t caught sight of each other after that. By the next time they came face-to-face, she’d been hoping to have found some smooth and easy way of acknowledging what had happened between them in her bedroom—and then maybe moving on to those questions that had plagued her ever since.
Why had he treated her like she might break? Did he worry she couldn’t stand up to a man’s passion?
But she hadn’t yet found her smooth and easy way into the discussion.
And they weren’t yet eye to eye.
“Lucky the cable company finally hooked us up,” Noah said, from the other side of the closed office door. “Emergency call via e-mail. That’s a first for me.”
“I love technology,” Juliet replied without enthusiasm.
“You should. It was like one of those little slips of paper you get in dessert at the end of a broccoli beef and chicken chow mein meal.”
“ ‘Help, I’m locked inside a fortune cookie factory,’ ” Juliet muttered, and though he laughed, the humor escaped her. She was wearing a comfortable pair of cropped yoga pants, a simple T-shirt, and a pair of athletic shoes, but the casual attire had been no help. The tiny attached bath boasted a window only big enough for a loaf of bread to fit through. And without a phone in the room, and with her cell phone in her purse in the kitchen, she’d used the only means of communication open to her.
