The Morning-After Proposal. Sheri WhiteFeather

held her ground. “Yes, you are.”

      The wind kicked up a notch, rustling his jacket. “No, I’m not.” He moved a little closer, scowled at her. “Being around you is so damn frustrating. Why can’t you—” He stalled, traced the battered porch rail, running his hand back and forth, caressing the wood, nearly catching a splinter.

      She sucked in a much-needed breath. “Why can’t I what?”

      “Behave like the girl I remember.” He trapped her gaze. “The girl who almost kissed me.”

      Oh, God. Somewhere in the pit of her captive soul, she wanted to explore the knotted chemistry between them, to rekindle the moment their mouths had almost met.

      But she wouldn’t dare. Not while she was on the verge of going home with him.

      Her voice betrayed her. “I’m not Julia anymore.”

      “Aren’t you?”

      She didn’t reply, and he walked away without saying goodbye, without clearing the air. She watched him leave, wondering how long it would take for him to call.

      After he was gone, she returned to the house, the forbidden kiss still lingering in her mind.

      Hours passed, dragging with each tick of the clock. By the time the phone rang, JJ nearly jumped to answer it. Then she took a moment to calm her nerves. If it was Dylan, which she assumed it was, she didn’t want him to know she’d been waiting for him.

      She picked it up on the fourth ring. “Hello?”

      “Julia?” It was him, being headstrong as ever.

      Irritation hit her hard and quick. Waiting for his call had been a mistake. She decided not to respond.

      “Julia?” he said again. “I know damn well you’re there.”

      She glanced out her window and saw the wind snag a branch on a barren fruit tree. Two could play at his game. “Maybe I should start calling you Darrin or something.”

      He chuckled. “Like the husband in Bewitched? Are you trying to make a married man out of me?”

      Heaven’s no, she thought. He would make a lousy husband. He wouldn’t even be able to get his wife’s name right. “Okay. Fine. I’ll call you Bob instead.”

      “I get it. Bob Dylan.” This time he didn’t chuckle. His voice was strong, silky, richly masculine. “I like his music. His lyrics.” He paused, released an audible breath. “I’ve always been fascinated by the lady who is supposed to lay across his big brass bed.”

      Her pulse panicked, quickened, jumped to her throat. That song never failed to give her chills. Romantic, sexy, poetic chills. “Never mind. Call me Julia. Do whatever the hell you want.” She frowned, considered hanging up on him. “You will anyway.”

      “You’re right, I will.” His tone didn’t change; his voice remained strong and silky. “I have one, you know.”

      Dare she ask? “Have one what?”

      “A big brass bed.”

      Sakes alive. JJ was in bed now, curled up in the predusk hours, wearing pink sweats and fuzzy socks. On the nightstand was a cup of herbal tea. Henry’s dog, a sweet old bloodhound, napped beside her. “I’m not going to be her.”

      “Her who?” he asked, although she suspected that he knew.

      “The lady in Dylan’s big brass bed.”

      “Not his, no. But mine, yes. At least in my dreams. I already told you that I was into you, Julia.”

      She was into him too, but she shouldn’t be. “You’ll just have to keep dreaming.”

      “I’ve been doing that for eight months.” He shifted or moved or did something that rustled the phone. “I haven’t had a lover since then.”

      She went silent. Completely still. She didn’t know what to say, how to feel, how to react.

      “Did you hear me?” he asked.

      “Yes.” She regained her senses. Or she tried to. Her head was still reeling. “I’ll bet that’s a record for you.”

      He didn’t comment on his record. Instead, he pried into her sex life. “Has it been a long time for you, too? Or is there someone I should be jealous of?”

      She looked at the dog, then ruffled his ears. He opened his droopy eyes and yawned at her. “Craig is in bed with me now.”

      Dylan laughed. “I already met Henry’s dog. That lazy old hound doesn’t count.”

      She laughed, too. Then they both fell silent.

      “It’s going to happen,” he said suddenly.

      Her heart nearly blasted its way out of her chest. She knew he meant the kiss. “Not if I don’t let it.”

      “You will. Sooner or later you will.”

      Struggling for control, she changed the subject. “So, what’s the deal with our trip? Did you book the flight?”

      He didn’t respond. Instead he left her hanging, the intimacy he’d created hovering in the air.

      She waited, her heart still pounding.

      “Yes,” he finally said. “I took care of it. We leave tomorrow around three. I’ll pick you up around eleven-thirty. That’ll give us plenty of time to get to the airport and go through the security check and all that.”

      “I’ll pay you back when I can,” she said, grateful the tension had passed.

      “What for?” he asked.

      “The flight.”

      “I don’t mind. I’d rather pay your way.”

      “I appreciate your generosity, but I don’t want to be indebted to you. Not anymore than I already am.” She could only imagine what her mother’s burial had cost. But she would find a way to reimburse him for that, too. Even if it took years.

      “I’ll see you tomorrow, Dylan.”

      “Yeah. But I’ll see you tonight, too,” he said, ending the call as roughly as it had begun.

      Stonewalled, JJ hugged the phone, the empty dial tone, to her chest. He’d done it again. He’d gotten in the last word, the last romantic thought.

      He would see her tonight.

      In the fantasy of his mind.

      Three

      At bedtime, Dylan went half-mad. He wasn’t tired. Fresh from the shower, he was as wired as a tail-on-fire tomcat, stalking the motel room in his sweats.

      He dragged a hand through his damp hair. Eight months, he thought. Eight-search-for-Julia months since he’d been with anyone.

      He hadn’t deliberately deprived himself. He’d gotten so caught up in her, so consumed in finding her that nothing else mattered.

      And now he was suffering for it.

      Dylan cursed, using the harshest word that came to mind. He hated feeling this way. If he could purge her from his blood, he would. He didn’t like being enthralled by a woman. This wasn’t his idea of fun.

      And neither was taking her to the cemetery.

      But he owed her that much. Hell, he owed her more than that. He owed her the truth.

      So tell her, he thought. Tell her why the hit man was hired.

      And risk losing her this soon? No way. No damn way. He needed more time.

      He glanced at the clock and decided to call his cousin. Aaron could blow this for Dylan. Aaron knew too much. But so did everyone else who was involved in the case.