In Too Deep Page 9

  “Thanks,” Matt said, giving Jenny one of his toothy grins. He seemed genuinely happy that she’d deigned to include him. “Let’s get another round! And this time, Jenny, you’re having a shot with me!”

  Hunter thought darkly that Matt should be drawn and quartered.

  Two hours later, after a meal that had lived up to its reputation, Jenny felt as if her bones were melting as she sank into the chair, nearly sprawling in that relaxed way that Hunter Calgary seemed to have perfected. Matt had turned out to be okay. It was as if he’d made a conscious decision to hand her over to Hunter and, that done, he could just enjoy his surroundings. Men were so much better when they weren’t on the make, she thought, smiling with a slightly drunken grin. Matt was even farther along down the tequila highway than she was, but Hunter’s quiet impassivity and detachment hadn’t altered one iota. Clearly his beers weren’t doing the trick, and he steadfastly refused any tequila.

  Her heart contracted. Was she making an idiot out of herself?

  “Think I’ll circulate,” Matt said with a lecherous wink. He stumbled a bit, climbing from his chair, then glanced around and said loudly, “It’s okay. I’m oh-kay …”

  Hunter watched him swing toward the bar where a couple of blond women in halter tops were slurping margaritas of their own. He glanced back at Jenny who’d sunk a bit in her chair. He guessed she’d consumed a little bit more alcohol than normal, and her touch-me-not aura had pretty much disappeared. She looked—adorable. And he sure as hell wished she didn’t.

  She gave him a long look and leaned her elbows on the table. “Okay, we’re alone,” she said boldly. “Now come the hard questions.”

  “Shoot.”

  “You’re vacationing in Puerto Vallarta. What do you do back in the states?” She hooked a thumb northward to emphasize her point.

  “I’m currently unemployed. Had a job. Just quit it.”

  “What kind of job?”

  “Government.”

  “That narrows it down.” She squinted at him. “You’re an IRS agent.”

  He grinned.

  “No …” She laughed herself silly, wondering why everything seemed so blasted funny. “You’re a postal worker. No, no, no … You’re a senator from a western state: Idaho. Or maybe Wyoming. You look like a cowboy.”

  He lifted one brow. “A cowboy?”

  “Well, not really.” She struggled. “You just walk like one.”

  “Bow-legged?”

  “You’re trying to make this hard,” she accused. “No, you move like one. Kind of slow and easy and relaxed.” And sexy, she didn’t add. “Of course, I’ve never known any cowboys, so I’m probably all wrong.”

  “Houston’s full of cowboys. Or men who think they are.”

  A slow smile crept across his lips. A sexy, sexy smile she was not going to fall for. Uh-uh. No way. She knew about those things. She was thirty-five years old, for crying out loud. None of that stuff worked any more.

  Squinting through a fuzziness she knew was a bad sign, she asked, “Did I tell you I was from Houston? I don’t remember telling you that.”

  “You said your father lived there.”

  “Oh … yeah …” She had mentioned her father, in an oblique reference to parenting when Matt had made some disparaging remark about his own family. Hunter seemed disquietingly sober, and she was past her usual stopping point.

  “And you’re in the restaurant business,” he added.

  “I’m starting my own. Is that a mistake, do you think? Everybody tells me you can’t make it in the restaurant business. It’s too volatile. Restaurants open and close up within a month.” She snapped her fingers, proud of herself for being so on top of her game. “My father’s done okay, though, and I’ve been working in the business for years.”

  “I think you can do it.”

  His words penetrated deeply even though she knew it had to be just a throwaway comment for him. But she could count on one hand the times anyone had ever believed in her, and suddenly, ridiculously, she was near tears. To cover up, she swallowed most of her latest margarita, blinking rapidly.

  “I don’t normally drink like this,” she blurted out. “I know every lush on the planet says the same thing, but in my case it’s true. Sorry.” Carefully, she set down her stemmed glass.

  Hunter wanted to reach over and kiss her. She didn’t have to tell him she scarcely ever drank, it was written all over her. “Nothing to be sorry for. You’re fine.”

  Her blue eyes gazed at him. “You’re just saying that.”

  He shook his head.

  “Maybe I need some coffee.”

  “Want to go for a walk on the beach?”

  She thought about it and nodded gravely. “Yes. That would be a good thing.”

  He threw some money on the table and guided her past the bamboo partitions to the beach. The ground turned from sand to pebbles at this point, quickly giving way to rocks and lapping waves. They stayed closer to the restaurant, avoiding the sharp little stones, then Hunter grabbed her hand and they squinched through the sand in silence for a few yards.

  “Know why I’m here?” she asked, as if on the verge of confession. “I’m escaping. That’s what I’m doing.”

  “That’s what vacations are for,” he said, thinking he should take his own advice.

  “But I’m escaping real life while I’m here. I suppose that’s why everybody’s here at some level, but I really am. I’m switching gears. I’m changing my life, and Magda wanted me to come, so I did.”

  “Sounds like a pretty good idea.”

  She nodded. “I think it’s been good. Although when Matt said he was coming tonight …” She lifted her face toward the distant moon and chuckled. “I didn’t know what to do! I was supposed to meet you, and then I couldn’t shake him. I wanted to tell him to take a hike. Pronto.” She gave him a sideways look. “Notice my use of Spanish, there.”

  Hunter laughed. He was shocked to hear it and momentarily bemused to think how long it had been since he had laughed. “You sound like a native.”

  “Don’t I, though?” She swung their clasped hands as they walked. “Anyway, I couldn’t make myself be rude. Miss Responsible stepped in and wouldn’t let go. You know, she really needs to relinquish control a bit.”

  “Miss Responsible, huh?”

  Jenny’s grin was impish. She stretched on her tiptoes and whispered in his ear. “I’ll tell you a secret. I don’t even like her.”

  “Do I get to meet her?”

  “Oh, you have, you have.” She waved that away.

  “She’s boring as hell. Always does the right thing, says the right thing, blah, blah, blah. She has given up wearing the right thing, though, so that’s an improvement.”

  “I like what she’s wearing now.”

  “She isn’t here now,” Jenny scolded him.

  “Who is?”

  She stopped and turned to him, the fringe of her wraparound sarong flickering slightly in the faint breeze. Tendrils of hair swept across her eyes and lips and she brushed them away. “This is a dumb conversation,” she said, suddenly sounding remarkably sober and shaken. “I don’t know what I’m saying.”

  He wanted to kiss her. He gazed down at her lips and seriously debated about going for it. He told himself not to be an idiot.

  “I’m not normally so—silly.”

  “You’re not silly. I think it’s okay to give Miss Responsible the night off once in awhile.”

  She closed her eyes and sighed. “We were talking about you. I don’t know how I started talking about me.”

  “I like talking about you.”

  Jenny shook her head. “No. I’m not all that interesting.”

  “Everybody’s interesting. Just depends on how much they’re willing to tell about themselves.”

  Opening her eyes, she smiled up at him, a return of her earlier humor. “You’re a spy. With the CIA. You’re getting into my mind. That’s your government job.”

  “You found me o
ut,” he answered, mock serious.

  She laughed again, then clapped a hand over her mouth. “I am going to die of embarrassment tomorrow. I can already tell.”

  “Nothing to be embarrassed about.”

  “I’m way too giddy. It’s that evil drink.”

  Hunter smiled, enjoying the moment as much as he’d enjoyed any in years. “You should do it more often. You’re too serious most of the time.”

  “How do you know that?” She was instantly wary, almost scared.

  “You said you were.”

  “Oh.”

  “And I’ve seen you with your friends,” he added. “You stand out a mile. You’re the one who’s thinking ahead, seeing the pitfalls, weighing the future. It’s a curse, most of the time, because life keeps on going, and you feel like you’ve missed the train.”

  She stared at him, long and hard. “You’re speaking from experience.”

  “For a woman who’s been complaining about being too silly, you’re remarkably sharp.”

  “What are you going to do about it?”

  “What?”

  “How are you going to make the train?”

  Hunter frowned, albeit reluctantly. “That was just a metaphor.”

  “I know,” she said softly. “But how are you going to make the train?”

  What the hell was he doing, waxing philosophic? What the hell purpose was there in getting to know each other? “That train came and left, and I don’t plan on catching another anytime soon.”

  “Pity,” she said, releasing his hand, and he felt like a heel for somehow disappointing her. “Well, thank you for the walk, Hunter Calgary. Looks like it’s time to go back.”

  Had she dreamed it?

  Jenny awoke in her room to streaming sunlight and a faint headache around her temples. She squinted through eyes that felt as sandy as the beach they’d walked on the night before. What in God’s name had she been thinking?

  Have a fling. Find romance. Make love all night long…

  She groaned with real pain and pulled her pillow over her head. But that only made her headache worse. With an effort she climbed out of bed, rooted around in her makeup bag and found some aspirin. But there was no water to drink, so she suffered through a shower and the effort of dressing before she could walk downstairs and grab some orange juice.

  Magda, Phil and the others were all seated at the table for breakfast. Matt was nowhere to be seen.

  “So, how was your evening?” Magda asked, smiling knowingly.

  “What?” Jenny popped the tablets and swallowed them down with a gulp of orange juice.

  “You’re looking pretty worn out this morning,” she sing-songed.

  “And there’s no sign of Matt,” Lisa said under her breath. Jackie’s lips tightened as she nodded agreement.

  “I wasn’t with Matt.”

  “You left with him,” Lisa pointed out.

  “Well, I didn’t come home with him.”

  “What happened to him, then?” Jackie challenged.

  Jenny shrugged and shook her head. Part of her was irritated at their probing, and part of her was glad she didn’t have to talk about Hunter. Let them think what they would about Matt.

  A bloodcurdling scream sounded from the top floor. “My stars!” Alicia cried, a hand crushed to her heart.

  “What the hell is that?” Phil said, jumping from his chair and heading for the stairs.

  Jenny scraped back her chair and followed at a slower rate, wincing a bit. The maid stood at the gallery where the stained-glass doors to the small, upstairs balcony were flung open to the outside. She could smell jasmine and hear birds wittering loudly. The maid’s face was full of confusion.

  “What’s wrong?” Phil demanded, just as Jenny spied a pair of male, jeans-clad legs sprawled on the tiny landing. Peeking around the balcony doors, she saw Matt lying face down on the tiles.

  “He was locked out by mistake,” Jenny realized, amused.

  Phil assured the shattered maid that everything was all right. She gave them a last backward glance. “Crazy Americans,” he murmured.

  “No kidding. Matt,” she said, shaking him awake.

  He lifted his head and glanced around, bleary-eyed. “Where’m I?” he mumbled. Then he moaned and pressed his forehead to the tiles. “Oh, yeah. I didn’t have a key and none of you guys heard my knock.”

  “What time was that?” Phil asked.

  “Four? Five?” He squinted an eye toward the sun and shuddered. “I climbed up to the balcony but those damn doors were locked too, so I just crashed here.”

  “Well, you can come in now,” Phil said with humor, helping Matt to his feet. Matt gave Jenny a crestfallen look.

  “Why do you look so friggin’ perky?” he demanded. “What happened last night?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Oh, come on. You and Hunter looked ready to eat each other up.”

  Phil chortled as Matt dragged himself to his room and stumbled inside.

  They headed back downstairs and Phil described Matt’s predicament. Lisa and Jackie tore upstairs to make certain he was all right. Magda looked vaguely amused. “You’re lucky you didn’t stick around with him,” she observed to Jenny.

  Phil flicked Jenny a glance. Silently she begged him not to say anything, but he just couldn’t help himself. “Jenny had another date. With our friend from last evening.”

  “It wasn’t actually a date,” Jenny demurred.

  “Oh, stop being so modest. That man couldn’t take his eyes off you.” Magda poured herself another cup of coffee and sighed in contentment. “Ahhhh … the medicinal effects of java. Do you think it’s too early for a Spanish coffee?”

  The rest of the morning was a delightful waste of time. Jenny wandered around the villa, declined a trip with the group to the beach, tried to read a book, then finally settled onto a chaise longue at the pool and determined she’d subject herself to the blazing sun. That lasted about fifteen minutes before the heat did her in and she slid beneath the cool water of the pool.

  Closing her eyes, she struggled to forget the way Hunter’s all too evident sexuality had attracted her so powerfully. What was it about him that intrigued her? She didn’t know whether to be worried or elated. It had been far too long since she’d yearned for a man.

  Grimacing, she couldn’t help an unwanted trip down memory lane, back to that time when she’d fallen so hard for Troy. She’d spent so many years making up for those few months of foolishness. She’d been so lonely for so long.

  But now …

  It’s purely physical, you know, a judgmental little voice said somewhere in her mind. You don’t know him. You certainly can’t trust him. And apart from a few cryptic comments, he’s a mystery man who’s told you nothing about himself.

  Well, darn it, that was what was so appealing about him! She needed someone who would sweep her off her feet, spending sun-drenched days and soft, warm nights with her. Wasn’t that the essence of true romance? No ties. No worries. No … nothing … when it was over?

  No husband who married you for your money and then slapped you or slammed you against a wall when things weren’t going his way.

  No Troy Russell.

  Shivering, Jenny climbed from the pool and hurried up the tile steps to her bedroom.

  Houston’s brilliant sunshine had changed to longer and longer shadows by the time Troy slipped into a parking spot near Jenny’s apartment complex. Her building could be entered through an inner courtyard which connected to a line of garages, each one numbered with the corresponding unit. The courtyard gate was a low, wrought iron affair with an easy-to-lift latch. The only problem: the units all faced inward to this courtyard, and anyone coming and going would be noticed and quite possibly remembered by the nosy inhabitants. At least that was the risk he would face.

  But he’d driven around and around, staring up at the backside of the buildings and it had gotten him nowhere. She wasn’t here anyway.

  Troy idled the car and co
nsidered. Eventually, he cut the engine and got out, leaning against the door, placing a cigarette between his lips and striking a match to light it. He smoked in silence. Not one car went by. Dusk fell and light from the house across the street spilled from the front windows. Another house, farther along the street, opened its front door and released a dog, a golden retriever. It trotted up the street, snuffled around Troy’s car, then headed toward the courtyard. Grinding out his half-smoked cigarette beneath the heel of his leather shoe, Troy followed.

  The dog slid right under the wrought iron fence. Lifting the latch, Troy casually stepped into the courtyard. His footsteps caught the dog’s attention. It stopped and turned back, panting softly, its pink tongue lolling out the side of its mouth.

  Troy coldly gazed back. He had no love for animals, wild or tame. And they knew it. Even this dumb hound knew it. It emitted a soft “woof” that sounded like a question, then checked out the yard, nose to the ground, marking its territory on a post, the soft tuft of grass in the center and a straggly shrub that looked to Troy’s untrained eye like some kind of sagebrush but was probably something far more exotic.

  He zeroed in on her apartment. Second floor. Casually, he strolled to the steps, climbing them easily, acting as if he hadn’t care in the world. He debated on whistling but decided that would bring unwanted attention.

  The dog suddenly lifted its head, stared at Troy, then padded swiftly to the stairs, shooting past Troy, a tawnybrown streak. It stopped at Jenny’s door and whined and scratched, then gazed at Troy, waiting for him.

  His eyes narrowed on the dog whose tail wagged like a furry flag. A bit warily. It wasn’t sure yet of Troy’s allegiance. Clearing his throat, he whispered, “Here, boy …” A low growl sounded in the beast’s throat and it bared some wicked-looking teeth.

  So he wasn’t welcome after all.

  Didn’t matter.

  Turning around, Troy headed downstairs again with new conviction. He glanced back once but the stupid dog had curled itself on the threshold.