Murphy's Law (3 page)

He'd win this battle of wills one way or another. And judging by her small moan when he ended the kiss, it'd be sooner rather than later. “Give me your number,” he whispered. “I'll call you.”

Very slowly her eyes opened. “Wow.”

Wow indeed. She had a knack for understatements, too. “Your number?”

“My phone is either in my locker or turned off when I'm working.”

But he knew when she got off work. “If need be, I'll leave a message.”

She licked her lips as if savoring his taste before nodding, then rattling off a phone number.

Quinton added it to the memory on his cell phone and then tucked his phone away again. “Thank you.”

Composure restored, she said, “You'll probably regret this.”

He just smiled. “You won't. I promise.”

With one last stroke of her silky hair, he made his escape before he lost sight of the prize. But before he got too far away to hear, the prize started mumbling to herself.

And she didn't sound happy.

Too bad. The laws of nature, of man and woman, dictated he was bound to win. And that made him very, very happy.

Whatever could go wrong, did.

Murphy's Law.

In her case it was more like Quinton Murphy's Law because when she got near him, she made mistakes left and right. One look at the man and she forgot common sense, self-restraint, and her touted goals for the future.

She knew how important goals were because her parents had never had any. They'd been more than content to scrape by on the generosity of others.

Being the charity case of the neighborhood didn't make life easy for a gangly, shy kid with overly strict parents. In fact, her life had bordered on hellish until she and May became best friends. Thanks to May, she'd learned to conquer insecurities, stand up to bullies, and separate herself from her parents' way of life.

At seventeen she'd escaped their suffocating environment of rigidity and poverty by disowning them and moving out on her own. For years it had been all she could do to make ends meet, and sometimes they hadn't. She'd done without food, without adequate clothes, occasionally without shelter—but she'd never taken charity.

She was nothing like her parents, who still took advantage of good people with big hearts.

Now, finally, she had enough money to attend college, to set herself up to be fully self-sufficient and plan for a proper future.

She prided herself on making it on her own. Someday she'd have everything she wanted—her dream home, a new car, money in the bank, a retirement fund…She'd have it all.

Involvement with Quinton would only distract her from her long-term goals.

But…she couldn't help thinking about it, about him. She wasn't an unhappy person, but around Quinton she felt almost…bubbly. So stupid. She had to stick to the plan of work, school, and savings.

Unfortunately Murphy's Law wasn't content with blowing her state of mind. She also had to contend with the air-conditioning going on the fritz, leaving the building stuffy and her body sheened with sweat. From that point, she broke both the industrial-sized vacuum and a foyer lamp after accidentally sucking up an extension cord. Then she dropped a bottle of cleaner, spilling it everywhere. She spent more time cleaning up her own messes than the building, when usually she prided herself on a job well done.

She blamed Quinton for her clumsiness. After that consuming kiss, no one could expect her to function properly. Her knees still shook, her heart still thumped, and a strange tingling in her midsection made concentration iffy at best.

A single glimpse of Quinton and she wanted to drag him off for some hanky-panky. He personified the term
stud
with his dark blond hair and fierce green eyes and that confident smile that proclaimed enough experience for ten men. For a corporate type he had an incredible body, tall and strong and roped with lean muscles.

Suits had never appealed to her. But the way Quinton wore a suit, with such relaxed ease, only amplified his masculinity.

Maybe if she'd expected to see him tonight, she might have been prepared. But after catching him with Zara Trilby in what had appeared to be a very intimate discussion, she'd overreacted big time. Luckily, not in front of Quinton, but she'd been eaten up with jealousy, proving she was in over her head. Even though she later discovered that Zara was a very nice lady and no more than a client for Quinton, she'd thought to avoid him.

She'd already resolved to ensure he'd left the office before entering to clean. The only reason she'd entered the first time was that she'd planned to ask him to the wedding. Big mistake.

One look at poised, refined, beautiful Zara, and she'd indulged in private comparisons that had her quickly chickening out. Pure fate had Zara at the rehearsal dinner as the best man's date. And to Ashley's surprise, the woman was actually nice. But even after Zara's assurances that she and Quinton were only business associates, Ashley had planned to forgo anything personal with him.

He was wealthy; she was poor.

He was drop-dead gorgeous and she was just plain funky in looks and demeanor.

He was CEO of a lucrative consulting firm while she still had college to finish.

Doing her best to keep him blocked from her mind had been easier than she'd expected with her thoughts bouncing between worry over the headlights that kept flashing in her rearview mirror, and the wedding that thrilled her, even as she dreaded it.

She loved May, and she loved seeing May so happy.

But…she'd never in her life dressed up. Her childhood wardrobe had consisted only of secondhand clothes. Many times what she wore had holes, stains, and didn't fit. Humiliation had become her constant companion. Whenever her parents got money, they indulged personal vanities that didn't involve their only child.

Naturally she'd avoided proms and other school formals. By the time she got her GED, she'd been on her own, completely estranged from her folks. Other than May, no one had really cared what she did or where she went.

Now she could afford finer things, but she had college loans, rent, and insurance. Whatever was left over went into saving for a house. She dressed for function, period. If it kept her warm and dry, that was a plus.

In the worst times of her life, May was her salvation—more so than May realized, and more so than Ashley could ever tell her. So for her, and only for her, would she wear a formal gown and dressy shoes and have her hair done and all the rest of the fuss that went with being a maid of honor.

But that didn't mean she'd enjoy it.

She had to admit to relief that Quinton would accompany her. But that brought out a completely new set of problems. He skewed her perspective on things. He toyed with her libido. Without even trying, he chipped away at the willpower necessary to see her dreams through.

Even when it didn't appear deliberate, Quinton got to her. All he had to do was stand there looking good, or smile in a way that made her feel special, or touch her so carefully, and she wanted to molest him.

Diabolical. That's what he was. Downright diabolical. Somehow he knew her weaknesses, and he used them against her.

Lost in conflicting thoughts, it wasn't until she left the building at four in the morning that she recalled her nervousness earlier.
Had
someone been following her? Or was she just overly nervous?

She reached the center of the silent, empty garage—and her cell phone rang. Expecting it to be May, who knew her schedule and often acted like a mother hen, Ashley retrieved the phone from the bottom of her purse. “What's up, toots?”

“Toots?” asked a now-familiar, masculine voice.

Oops. Not May. Ashley smiled as she strode to her car, no longer feeling so alone. “Hey, Quinton. You're up early. Or late. Or something.”

“I have a question.”

“Shoot.”

“Are you really going to wear pink taffeta?”

Catching the phone between shoulder and ear, Ashley dug out her car keys. “It's four o'clock in the morning, and you're thinking about women's wedding attire?”

“I was thinking of you, actually, picturing you as you looked when I last saw you.”

Meaning agog from a kiss, with wet noodles for knees? “Yeah, so?”

“I kept trying to align the image with pink taffeta, but it's not working. Or were you just pulling my leg?”

She unlocked her car and slid into the seat. For October the weather remained stifling and humid. It wasn't much cooler outside in the fresh air than it had been inside with broken air-conditioning. Her shirt stuck to her back, and her hair hung damp and limp on her shoulders.

“I don't even know what taffeta is, but the truth isn't much better.” After starting the car, relocking the doors, and cranking up the air-conditioning, she asked, “You really want to hear about my dress right now?”

“Can you not hear the anticipation in my voice?”

Funny how talking to Quinton on the phone made all her exhaustion evaporate. Dangerous. “All right, then. You asked for it.” She began backing out of her spot. “It really is pink, but a pale pink. Silk, not taffeta, but it's got some itchy lace on it. V-necked, floor length…”

His voice darkened. “Sounds lovely.”

“Hey,” Ashley teased, “is this turning into one of those perverted phone calls?”

“I'm just visualizing you in silk.”

“Yeah, well, if you start breathing heavy, I'm hanging up.”

Quinton laughed. “I promise to behave.”

“Good. Because I've had a hard enough night.”

She heard some rustling, as if he'd just settled back in bed to get comfortable. “How's that?”

“The air went off and Flint couldn't reach anyone from maintenance.”

“Flint the security guard?”

“That's him.” She carefully steered the car from the garage, and though her nervousness had dissipated, she still glanced around at all the shadows, looking for she didn't know what. She saw nothing but debris. No lurking madmen or threats of any kind. “The death of the air conditioner set the tone, and everything else went wrong, too. I'm sweaty, hungry, tired, and cranky.”

“Now that's an image I can reconcile better than pink taffeta.”

“Ha ha.” But he was right. She couldn't see herself all dressed up, either. She just knew she'd end up looking stupid. “Right now I'm aiming to eat, shower, and hit the sack, in that order. No time for phone sex, sorry.”

“Another time then.” In the middle of her laughing, he added, “I haven't eaten yet, either. Breakfast sounds terrific. Where should I meet you?”

Her punching heartbeat ended the laughter. Butterflies started a brawl in her stomach. Her fingers hugged the steering wheel. “Who says you're invited?”

He gave an exaggerated sigh. “You tell me that you have no time to get to know me. Well, I'm up at this ungodly hour, and we're both hungry, so sharing breakfast is the perfect plan.”

“If the hour seems ungodly to you, why are you up?”

Ashley could almost hear him thinking.

“I have some things to do today.”

To her ears he sounded evasive. “Before dawn?”

“Soon. And no, I didn't get up just to shanghai you for a meal. Actually, I assumed you'd be going straight home to bed. When I called, it was with the intent of hearing your voice, that's all.”

Ridiculous how badly Ashley wanted to believe him. With the offer out there, going home to sleep no longer seemed so appealing.

So what would one meal hurt? A public restaurant would be a natural block to her explosive sexual urges. She'd have to keep it in check, and so would he.

“Besides,” he said, intruding on her thoughts, “we should discuss the wedding. You haven't even told me what time to pick you up, or where we're going.”

He had a point. Ashley glanced at the clock on her car console. “I was going to grab a bowl of cold cereal at home, but…” She decided to take a chance. “Know where the Squirrel is?”

“Up a tree, I'd assume.”

Ashley couldn't help grinning. “The Squirrel is a little mom-and-pop diner in Stillbrooke, close to where I live.” She gave him brief directions. “They serve a lot of truckers, so they're open now, and they make a mean ham and eggs breakfast. I'll meet you there if you're still interested.”

She was sure he wouldn't be. She doubted Quinton had ever been in a greasy spoon, much less dined on their fare.

“I can be there in fifteen minutes.”

Her jaw fell open. “No joke?”

“Don't back out on me now, Ashley.”

“Wouldn't dream of it.” New life entered her tired muscles. He was going above and beyond to see her. That had to count for something, right? “Fifteen minutes. Bye.”

After she hung up, she found herself grinning. She wouldn't get much sleep before her classes started, but these days, sleep was an elusive commodity anyway.

She had work, school, a wedding…and once again the steady beams of headlights filled her rearview mirror.

Damn it, she
was
being followed. Now she had to decide what to do about it.

 

Quinton parked his Bentley a good distance from the entrance of the diner. The light of the moon reflected off Ashley's little Civic, situated among a variety of work vehicles. His Bentley wasn't the best choice for detouring to the Squirrel, but he'd made a promise he intended to keep.

Gravel crunched beneath his feet as he crossed the cluttered lot for the open door of the diner. A warm glow, accompanied by the sounds of laughter and conversation, spilled out into the otherwise quiet night. Leaning against a fence, a man and woman embraced. Standing alongside a rig, two truckers conversed quietly behind the red smolder of cigarettes. Quinton glanced around the rest of the area, enjoying the quaint atmosphere, the small-town familiarity.

That's when he felt it.

Someone watched him with ripening tension. Being rich hadn't made him an idiot, and he didn't ignore his instincts. He did a subtle perusal and spotted the junker parked across the street. A shadowed figure sat behind the wheel.