* * *
Clarke did not have a good feeling about the evening ahead. He figured being there early would give him time to get a look at everyone in attendance—even those who didn’t stay long.
In black jeans and a bulky off-white pullover sweater that would allow him to wear his gun without attracting attention to it, he’d put on the cologne he usually wore only when going out and his nicest ankle-high black leather boots, preparing for a tough night of work.
Starting the second he met up with Everleigh in the living room. She hadn’t changed clothes but looked completely freshened up. The addition of big hoop earrings was a bit of a surprise. They gave her a louder, more adventurous look, but he liked it. Too much for the challenge he was facing.
He jumped right in. “We’ve got to make this...us together...believable,” he told her, in a tone meant to brook no argument. Taking her to the party at all was costing him greatly, with his instincts hammering at him to lock her in the condo. Protective instincts he hadn’t known he had were suddenly popping up faster than he could shoot them down. “If whoever is after you is there, they’ll be more watchful than you’d expect. And we already know whoever it is is taking risks we wouldn’t expect, not thinking rationally... There’s no telling what they might do if provoked...”
He didn’t like scaring her, but he liked it better than her being dead.
“Your husband’s only been gone a couple of months. You’ve been in jail for pretty much all of that time. If we expect anyone to believe we’re together, we have to get our story straight and then live it as though it’s real.”
She’d been married eighteen years. Hadn’t kissed another man in all that time until the day before. The fact that she actually had kissed Clarke back worked in their favor. He needed her to convince others that being with him made her different...made her want to date again. Whatever had prompted her to move her mouth against his could go a long way in convincing her family that she really had feelings for Clarke.
And that kiss had complicated his plan to keep an emotional distance between them. He’d dreamed of her the night before. And had woken up hard.
Twice.
But the plan to get past that was not impossible. He hoped to God, anyway.
The fact that he’d been the first man she’d kissed in that amount of time, other than the slime who’d done her so wrong, brought out the he-man in him. The one who wanted to claim her and take her to bed and show her how good he could help her feel. And the fact also made him nervous as hell. Could a woman who’d been faithful for so long, even after her husband had moved out, pull off the fiction of a sudden love affair?
She hadn’t said a word. Was watching him, though. “What?” he asked. Trying to prepare for whatever argument she was working up was exhausting resources he needed to keep her alive.
“I’m just waiting for the story,” she said, her tone soft. Almost gentle. “I told you that you call the shots, that I follow instructions. I’m going to the party as I need to do. The rest is yours.”
His mouth fell open—mostly because he opened it to speak and nothing came out. Just when he thought he had her figured out, she threw him off balance again.
“It would be best if we come up with the backstory together,” he explained. “That’s what I was after. These people know you. You need to tell me how it is that you’ve come to be involved with me, describe us to me as you would see it. That’s the only way we’ll be able to get people who’ve known and loved you your whole life to believe us.”
Her snort wasn’t ladylike, but it was damn cute. The look in her eye wasn’t as she said, “Are you kidding me? The GGPD say I’m a murderer and they were convinced just like that...”
He swallowed back the compassion that arose. And said, “This is different, Everleigh. You’ve been through a lot. They let you down. Those who truly care about you are going to be watching you closely, and being extra careful around you, wanting to help...”
She shrugged. Adjusted the skinny long strap of the small purse she had on her shoulder and reached for the coat she’d left on the freestanding rack at h
is front door.
“We met while I was in prison,” she told him. “You didn’t believe I committed the murder and came to see me. That’s why, when the GGPD took another look at the case, they gave you access to Bowe’s files, and since you’d already studied the evidence collected by CSI, you were able to help prove the discrepancy. We were already developing feelings for each other while I was in prison, and when I got out, things escalated quickly. You’ve made me feel more alive than I’ve ever felt in my life. And bring out emotions in me I didn’t know I had.”
His mouth dry, Clarke couldn’t swallow, let alone reply. His entire body was on alert, his penis growing, his heart pounding.
“You asked what would convince them,” she said, buttoning her coat over her purse. “If you don’t like my fairy tale, make up one of your own, tell me what you want me to say, and I’ll sell it to them. I really don’t care about the story, Clarke. I just want to get there and get this over with.”
Right. She’d been coming up with a story she thought her family would believe. Not bringing his previous night’s fantasy to life in stunning clarity.
What in the hell was the matter with him? He’d been asking himself that question way too often since she’d come into his life and he’d better find an answer quick. And then fix whatever the problem was.
“I think your story is good,” he told her, covering his groin with his own coat. Grabbing his keys. “Whatever you’d say, that’s what we need. Something that comes from you.”
No way he could come up with anything else at the moment. And truth was, if he’d believed her there for a moment...actually thinking that she’d suddenly chosen that moment to confess what she’d been feeling since their kiss the day before, as though its memory had been haunting her life, too...when he knew it to be a lie...then chances were good her family and friends would believe her.
In the elevator, he stood right next to her, and when the car started downward, he put an arm around her shoulders, hugging her to him. She stiffened immediately.
And in spite of her reaction, so did his penis.
“Actions are much more believable than words,” he told her. “No matter how good the story is, if we don’t touch, or if you stiffen when we do, this whole thing is going to fail.”