He shook his head, eased out of her hold and started for the door.
“Wait,” she repeated, more urgently this time. Her heels clicked on the wood floor as she hurried after him. When she grabbed his arm again, he took a deep breath to calm the tide of fury rising inside him before it crested and broke all over the wrong person.
She faced him and spoke quickly. “Frank didn’t lay a hand on me. I got this cleaning up his pigsty of a living room. One of his empties tried to make a break for it.”
He searched her face for a long moment, looking for signs of evasion, but she returned his stare unblinkingly. She was telling the truth—or mostly the truth. Some of the tension seeped out of him. Shifting his attention to her forehead, he skimmed his thumb over the small welt.
“You’re not his maid.”
She laughed, but the sound held no hint of humor. “Worse. I’m his daughter. I can’t even quit.”
“Sure you can. You ask me, he quit a long time ago.”
“Maybe you’re right, and God only knows what kind of loser that makes me, but joyless as it was, he did his duty by me. I always had a roof over my head, food to eat, and a bed to sleep in. I guess I feel compelled to do the same for him now.”
Tyler moved his lips over her temple and across her cheekbone. “He’s the loser, not you. And you don’t owe him a damn thing. His duty went far beyond three squares and a cot.”
“You don’t understand…” Fingers curled into his belt loops and a hot face pressed into his neck. He felt a sudden, nearly uncontrollable desire to bundle her up in his arms and carry her away—far away.
“Try me.”
“God, no.” She took a shaky breath, and then pulled back and offered him a stiff smile—no dimples. “It’s over and done with. I can’t think of a bigger waste of breath.” She looked around the bar as if to see if they’d attracted any unwanted attention—they hadn’t—and then fixed a determinedly brighter smile on her face. “Like I said, I’m here to get away.”
Screw precautions. Her reasons for wanting to expand her sexual repertoire didn’t matter to him as much as finding a way to erase the shadows from her face. Moving closer, he toyed with the trio of small gold leaves dangling from her earlobe. “I know a foolproof getaway plan, if you’re interested.”
Her eyes zoomed to his. “Could we complete lesson one?”
Shit, he should have known the prospect of getting back on schedule would tempt her. “If you want.” For starters.
“My place?”
“No, my place. The best getaways involve a new destination,” he argued when she hesitated. But the truth was, he wanted her in his bed, for reasons he preferred not to think on too deeply. “C’mon.” He took her hand and led her out of the pub.
“My car…”
“I’ll drive you back in the morning.”
She cringed. “No. I’ll follow you. People don’t want to see the town doctor’s car parked all night at a bar. Bluelick’s grapevine thrives on tidbits like whose car was parked at Rawley’s after closing on a Saturday night.”
Shit. She had a point. And as he acknowledged it, very entertaining notions about spending the drive discovering exactly what she had on under her tight little skirt dissolved. “Okay, follow me to my place.”
Chapter Nine
Ellie kept her eyes on Tyler’s black pickup while her mind frantically reviewed the finer points of chapter 3. Finally, an opportunity to put her studies into practice, and she wanted to get everything exactly right. Excitement and nerves tangoed in her stomach, and not just because this represented a first step toward achieving her long-term goal of winning Roger’s heart. It also had
to do with Tyler. She was attracted to him—physically, of course—but in other ways, too. He made her laugh. He challenged her. Coming up short in his eyes would be mortifying. Bottom line? She cared what he thought.
The realization surprised her, but then again, he was full of surprises. Nobody, ever, in her entire life, had displayed a single protective instinct toward her. Back at Rawley’s when he’d stalked toward the door like a dark knight about to slay her dragon, he’d shocked the hell out of her—and stirred something deep inside her heart. Whatever it was, she harbored a small fear she’d never quite push it back into place.
You will, her logical mind insisted. She’d always taken care of herself, pursued her goals on her own, and slain her own dragons. How? By making plans and sticking to them. Which brought her right back to chapter 3. Once again she called up the details she’d committed to memory and quizzed herself.
But when she followed Tyler’s truck down a narrow, oak-canopied driveway and pulled up in front of his house, the lesson plan in her head faded. She didn’t register stopping her car or stepping out. The graceful slopes and angles of the beautifully restored wood-and-brick Victorian in front of her commanded her full attention, from the custom-turned rails in the big, wraparound porch to each painstakingly fitted shingle on the dominant front gable.
She sensed rather than saw Tyler approach, because she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the house. “Incredible. Like a storybook—”
He brought his mouth down on hers. While he kissed her until her head spun, he maneuvered her up the front steps. Lips still busy on hers, he worked the old lock on the front door and then shoved her into the hall.
She broke away for air, but couldn’t resist angling her head to see more of the interior. All she could make out in the dim light were creamy plaster walls and lots of dark wood trim. “Your house is amazing.”