“What do you get out of it? You stay out of my fucking way, and I won’t turn you over my knee and spank your ass fierce hard.”
Her clit twanged. Air burned in her lungs until she finally released it. The roots of her hair prickled in rising fury.
“I’d just like to see you try it,” she muttered darkly.
He smiled. It hadn’t been what she’d expected him to do, but suddenly that grin was there: slashing, compelling . . .
Dangerous.
She backed away, stumbling when her hip hit the edge of the counter.
“I’m not leaving,” she whispered.
He glanced down pointedly to the bulging front of his briefs, his smile already a memory.
“Do you see that? If you stay here, you’re gonna end up under me. Is that what you want? Is that what you came here to do, Katie? Destroy our friendship?”
“No. That’s not what I set out to do. But if it comes down to a choice between our friendship or you? Like I said, I’m staying. Go ahead. Fuck me. Your friendship means shit to me if you’re dead, anyway.”
Out of the corner of her vision she saw his heavy erection lurch next to stretchy cotton. Her clit throbbed between her thighs in full sympathy, but her muscles remained as unrelenting and tense as his. He hissed under his breath, his accent too strong for her to catch the words. One thing was for sure: whatever he’d said, it’d been foul . . . and it’d been hurled at her.
She didn’t move when he stormed past her. He slammed his bedroom door so hard the wood floor rattled beneath her bare feet.
“Well, there you have it. The lines are drawn,” she said out loud to the empty kitchen.
Even though she’d sounded brave enough, it was a lie. She just stood there, waiting for her zapping nerves to quiet and the clamor of alarm and arousal to shut off in her brain. When the adrenaline of their confrontation faded, guilt started to seep into her consciousness—regret for pushing Rill when he seemed so vulnerable . . . guilt for having officially spoken the words out loud to her onetime best friend’s husband.
Go ahead. Fuck me. Your friendship means shit to me if you’re dead, anyway.
She closed her burning eyelids. I hope you can understand Eden. It’s true . . . I’m doing it for me. But I’m doing it for him, too. I can’t let him follow you. I won’t.
She waited, listening to the voices of her past, listening to her own conscience. Slowly, a sense of steadiness came over her, if not peace.
Somehow, she thought Eden would understand.
Six
Rill prowled around on the front porch, his gaze pinned to the road.
Where the hell had Katie gone?
It was going on suppertime, and he hadn’t seen her since he’d rolled out of bed at eleven this morning. He’d made a point of avoiding her since she’d arrived in Vulture’s Canyon, so it wasn’t really a surprise that she wasn’t here. Every time she’d run out for an errand in the past several days, though, she’d left him a little message on a pink sticky note: Ran down to check on Errol and pick us up some veggies or Off in search of some glass cleaner. This house would be so much brighter if there wasn’t an inch of grime on the windows.
He’d grown accustomed to those little notes when he’d reenter the house from one of his walks or when he’d venture out of his bedroom after hearing her car rev up in the front drive. He’d convinced himself that he couldn’t care less about where she was or what she was doing. The absence of a little pink note today told him differently, however.
What if his rude, surly behavior had successfully gotten rid of her?
The possibility wasn’t as gratifying as he’d imagined it would be.
He’d been so disturbed by the prospect of having finally chased her away that he’d hurried into the bathroom. He’d been relieved to see some of her toiletries arranged neatly on the counter. He’d inhaled the clean, fruity scent clinging in the air for reassurance.
The fragrance of Katie’s hair.
His brow had crinkled when he’d had that thought, because he couldn’t recall why he’d immediately recognized the scent. He hadn’t been close enough to her to breathe it as deeply as the memory that flashed at the edges of his memory. His nose had been surrounded in silken coils. . . .
He’d suddenly reverted back to wishing she’d left. She was ruining everything. He wanted his life—or lack of a life—back. Didn’t he?
Fact was, Rill couldn’t decide what it was he wanted.