Hot Spot (33 page)

"So maybe I was wrong." Although he was saying that for a number of reasons over and above his conditional acceptance of her statements.

"I wish I was wrong about you. So far, you haven't convinced me. Ordinary people don't drive cars like yours."

"I have fourteen of them."

"Jesus. Don't tell me that. I'll have to testify in court."

"They're all legit."

"Yeah and I'm Julia Roberts. No one in this burg is that rich."

"Have you heard of
Blizzard 9000
?"

Unless you lived in a cave you had. Even she knew it was more famous than Twinkies and Ho-Hos combined. "Yeah, so?"

"So it's my game, and 160,000,000 people around the globe pay twelve bucks a month to play it. You do the math."

"No," she said on a soft exhalation.

"Word of God."

"I couldn't possibly know anyone that rich."

"Yeah, well—hello. And that's why someone is trying to break into my office."

"Don't look at me like that. It's not me, okay? I wouldn't even know what the hell you had in your office."

"I'm working on a new game."

"One hundred sixty million times twelve times twelve. I can see why your office is popular."

"I have security guards there now."

"Good idea."

A hush descended on the room.

"I've been thinking of you," he finally said, real softly— reluctantly.

"I've been trying not to think of you, and now that you're a kazillionaire, I'm going to work even harder at not thinking about you."

If any of a dozen women he knew had discovered his financial status, they wouldn't have expressed displeasure. "I mostly give my money to charity."

"Commendable, I'm sure. But get real. A guy like you is going to be playing the field for at least another ten years. Twenty maybe. So lotsa luck. I'd better get back to my kids before they steal me blind."

"I don't play the field."

"Sure you do. You just don't admit it."

"Maybe I could stop."

"And maybe you couldn't. I don't want to be your experiment." The last few days had been rougher than hell, and seeing him now made her ache with longing. Why look for trouble? Why leave herself open for the kind of hurt she'd never understood before? The kind that meant you cared about someone more than you might wish. She had to be strong. If she wasn't, she was going to see nothing but buckets of tears for the foreseeable future. "If you'll excuse me." She walked toward the door.

He grabbed her arm. "I don't want to excuse you."

"Look, you think you want something now, but it won't last.

I know it even if you don't. Leopards and spots and all that bullshit. There's no logical reason for you to change your way of life. And you won't—other than temporarily."

"I might."

"See—you're equivocating already."

"Don't tell me you've made up your mind long-term."

"What if I said I had?"

"I wouldn't believe you. Not a lady with a sketchbook full of former lovers."

"I never said they were lovers."

"Give me a break."

She shook his hand off.

He let her. He wouldn't have had to.

"I think we're done here." If she stayed much longer, she'd throw herself into his arms—even with that black scowl on his face.

"Could I take you out for dinner sometime?" A Hail Mary pass induced by a panic he'd never felt before.

"I think we started there."

"You told me no. We never got started."

"And then where would we go from there? You and your millions have the world at your disposal."

"I'm not going anywhere."

He'd said it softly, like he really meant it. "I sure as hell won't be going anywhere with"—she lifted her hand faintly—"this place."

"Then you might be available for dinner sometime."

"Why are you doing this?" She'd seen all the women on the boat and at Dominic's. He wasn't short of females to keep him company.

"I've missed you. Even when I thought you might be trying to steal my new video game. Even when I didn't want to."

"You missed the sex."

"Okay, I did, but I missed all kinds of other things, too. Your smart-ass mouth. Your dislike of sing-alongs. The Labatt's factor. This comic book store. The fact that I'm actually thinking about crap like soul mates. And I hate that phrase."

"Not as much as I do."

"See. It's destiny."

"You wish. It's hormones."

He could argue with her there, because hormones had pretty much governed his leisure activities for a long time. And if anyone knew the difference, he did. "I could write you a poem and explain."

"A poem? No way!"

"You think I can't write a poem?"

"Would it have Spiderman in it?"

"If you wanted it to. I'd put in Superman and X-Men, too, if it would make you change your mind. Hell, I'd throw in Storm, too, although we're talking heterosexual love here, not metrosexual."

"Did you say love?"

He felt his heart skip a beat, but there were times when one had to face the truth no matter how scary. "Yeah—I guess."

"You guess?"

"Okay, I'm pretty sure."

Hey, pretty sure was a good start. "So this would be a love poem?"

He grinned, feeling better than he thought he would after saying the word
love
and realizing he meant it. "Damn right. Although I can't do haiku. This poem might rhyme."

"It better not start out 'There once was a lady from'—"

"It won't rhyme, okay? I'll learn fucking haiku."

She took a deep breath because her world was sort of teetering on the brink. "Jeez Louise, you're getting to me."

"I could buy you some jewelry, too." He was trying to picture those ads in bride magazines that had been all over the house when his sister was getting married. There was always a picture of a man and a woman staring soulfully into each other's eyes with some huge diamond somewhere on the page. "What do you like?"

She put up her hand. "No jewelry."

"Why not?"

" 'Cuz you probably buy jewelry for all the women you sleep with."

"Do not." No way he'd get that personal.

"So you'd buy me jewelry? What kind?"

He laughed. She looked amazingly young. "I don't know. You could pick something out." What did he know about buying jewelry for women? Dinner, drinks, flowers—that was the extent of his gift-giving.

"I could?"

He knew when to close a deal. "We could go now."

At that decisive moment, a loud banging on the door shattered the potential signing on the dotted line.

"Hey! Open up! I have to use the bathroom!"

"Later!" Danny barked.

"It's Chris. He has to go a lot; he drinks soda all day."

"Can't he go outside?"

Stella smiled. "Mrs. Blythe would break a leg running to the phone to call the cops. Come on, we'll finish this later."

He liked the sound of that word,
later
. He suddenly found he could relate to those scenes in movies where the clouds open up and the sun shines through. "Why don't I wait at the store until you close?"

She turned back from opening the door. "I'd like that." She was feeling the sunshine, too.

"It's about time," Chris complained, pushing into the room. "I coulda peed my pants."

Stella's and Danny's eyes met.

It was an unexpected situation in which to experience one of those earthmoving moments, considering Chris was muttering curses and giving them black looks as he barreled past.

But there it was.

There was no accounting for the timing of Cupid's arrow.

Stella giggled.

Danny smiled.

The slam of the bathroom door went unheard.

THE LAST FEW HOURS HAD BEEN AN EXERCISE IN evasive tactics as Stella and Danny dealt with the demands of the kids and tried to find a moment or two for themselves. They kissed once behind the door to the back room but had to jump apart when one of the kids walked in. Danny sat behind the counter with Stella and held her hand when no one was looking. This wasn't a crowd that tolerated any lovey-dovey stuff. Junior-high kids were averse to displays of affection unless it was in the form of a tussle.

Finally, the last two kids left, then Danny shut and locked the front door, and turned to Stella with a grin. "I've never watched the clock so closely in my life."

"You and me both. I was trying to think of some excuse to close early. But knowing these kids, they wouldn't listen to me anyway."

"I'm guessing this is the spot for every counterculture kid in town."

She grinned. "You noticed."

"Keeping them off the streets, are you?"

"Yeah. And out of jail. Some of the boys were hanging out and getting into trouble."

"Speaking of trouble," he murmured, advancing on her.

"Your kind of trouble I like."

"That works out then, 'cuz I'm not in the mood for a refusal."

"You're never in the mood for a refusal."

He grinned. "Something we have in common. Turn off the phone and follow me." He crooked his finger and pointed toward the stairs. "I have plans."

Maybe if Chris and Matt had left a couple minutes earlier, or if Danny had cut short the teasing, perhaps if the world was more perfect, the phone wouldn't have rung at that inopportune moment.

"Don't answer."

"I have to. I always answer the phone."

"Not always."

"Okay. But I'm not in the midst of an orgasm now. My brain is working." Stella picked up the phone without looking at the caller ID and kicked herself a second later for being so stupid.

"Is Danny there?" It was a sultry female voice, creamy smooth.

"Who wants to know?" Stella probably shouldn't have spoken so crisply, but jealousy was quirky when it came to good manners.

"
Give
Danny the phone, darling. That's a good girl. I'm parked behind his truck so I know he's there."

Stella felt like asking a million questions, but she didn't think she'd like the answers.

The flush on Stella's cheeks could mean one of her boyfriends was calling. "Who is it?" Danny asked, his voice more curt than he intended.

"One of your girlfriends," Stella replied, equally curt. Two could play that game.