Wolfe Watching (5 page)

If Tina was moved, it was to a knowing smile. “How strange,” she said, in an exaggerated drawl. “Since you spent so little time here when it was your home.”

“Don’t start that again,” he groused.

“I’m not starting anything.” Tina conveyed her unconcern with a light shrug of her shoulders. “But I do recall that you spent more time in the various houses of several different women than you ever did in this home.”

“Maybe I wouldn’t have if there had been a warm and willing body here,” he retorted.

At one time, Tina had conceded his point. For though she had never rebuffed his sexual advances, she hadn’t abandoned herself to them, either. But that time was long gone, and she was no longer buying his guilt-trip ploy.

“Yes, I think you would have,” she said with gentle chiding. “You feed your ego on scoring with other women.”

“It’s the challenge,” he admitted, with blunt and unusual honesty. “They mean nothing to me.”

Tina had learned to be as blunt. “Neither did I.”

“That’s not true.” The denial was quick. “You were the only one I ever wanted to marry.”

She laughed in his face. “No, Glen, you married me because I posed the ultimate challenge. A, I was a virgin. And B, I absolutely refused to sleep with you in anything other than a bed of marriage.”

“Yeah.” He sneered. “You were a little prude.” A smile of utter male superiority twisted his lips. “You still are. I keep tabs on you, you know.” His smile went smooth with satisfaction. “I’m still the only man who ever had you.”

“Big deal.” Tina made a wry face. “With you I learned that sex isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

“You see?” Glen pounced on her admission. “It was that attitude of yours that killed our marriage.”

“Whatever.” Tina was not offended; she was bored with the subject. “Was there a reason for your visit today?” she prompted, anxious to get back to basting her roasting chicken.

“I’m on my way over to see Bob and Dawn.”

She turned to open the door. “Give them my best.”

“I want us to get back together.”

The hard demand in his voice froze Tina with her hand hanging in midair, an inch from the doorknob. Then she slowly turned to look at him, really seeing him for the first time since their divorce. Glen looked good, attractive, well dressed, properous, sure of himself.

Sure of her? Tina wondered. On the flimsy basis of the fact that she had not been intimate with any other man, did he seriously believe she would even consider a reconciliation after all this time of enjoying her freedom?

Of course, Glen didn’t know how much she enjoyed her freedom; his massive ego wouldn’t allow him to consider the possibility. What a jerk, Tina thought. What had she ever seen in him?

“Did you hear me?” Glen asked, testily. “I said...”

“I heard.” Tina swept his five-foot-ten-inch frame with a dismissive glance. “The answer is no.”

“You can’t mean that,” he said, closing the short amount of space between them. A suggestive smile curved his mouth, and he raised a hand to caress her cheek. “By now, even you have to be needing a little loving.”

What he said was perfectly true, Tina allowed, as she had so recently discovered. But she certainly did not need Glen’s version of loving, either emotionally or physically.

“My needs, or lack of them, are none of your business,” she said, grasping the doorknob and swinging open the door. “Goodbye, Glen.”

He looked angry for a moment, but then he flashed her a cocky smile. “Okay, baby, but you don’t know what you’re missing.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” she corrected him, smiling back at him as he stepped outside. “As far as you’re concerned, I know exactly what I’m not missing.”

Glen looked to be on the point of exploding. “I’m going. I’ll come talk to you some other day.” He swung away and started down the flagstone path to the sidewalk, sniping over his shoulder, “When you’re not in such a bitchy mood.”

“I’ll survive the wait,” Tina called after him. Slamming the door, she leaned back against it, drawing deep, calming breaths into her constricted chest.

The gall of the man, she railed in silent fury. What she was missing, indeed. She didn’t need him...not for anything, and especially not for sex. Pushing away from the door, Tina headed for the kitchen. She was doing fine on her own. She didn’t
need
any man, she assured herself.

But she did
want
one particular man.

The unexpected thought brought Tina up short. Standing in the center of the sparkling-clean room, she stared into the middle distance, while gazing inward, examining the wild idea her mental processes had come up with.

Eric Wolfe.

Tina shuddered in response to the flash of excitement the mere thought of him caused inside her.

What kind of lover would he be?

That thought set the excitement to rioting throughout her entire being. Tina could see him, feel him, smell him, his broad shoulders, his slim waist and hips, his long legs, his slender fingers, his masculine, sensuous mouth.

A low moan escaped the sudden tightness of her throat. A fine film of perspiration slicked her forehead. What was happening to her? Tina cried in silent wonder. She had never, ever, reacted to a man in this overheated manner.

Breathing in great gulps of steadying air, Tina raised her hand and drew the back of it across her forehead. She felt odd, strong yet weak, hot yet cold...and needful.

What to do about it? Tina pondered the question. She had options, lots of them. The safest choice being to put all speculative thoughts of Eric Wolfe from her mind.

But was that really what she wanted? Without giving a second thought to the question, Tina shook her head in denial. Her reaction to being with Eric last night, both hopeful and fearful of having him touch her, kiss her, and then the sensations she had felt on seeing him jog past her house that morning, gave ample proof that putting him from her mind was not at all what she wanted to do.

If she was brutally honest with herself, Tina had to admit that what she wanted to do was find out, once and for all, if she was the unresponsive block of ice that Glen had repeatedly accused her of being.

And Tina felt, sensed, instinctively knew, that Eric was attracted to her. If he wasn’t, why pay so much attention to her at the tavern Friday night, bother to meet her at the bus stop yesterday?

But, on the other hand, if he did feel attracted to her, why hadn’t he made a move on her last night? Tina frowned as she wandered back into the kitchen. Since she had never seriously participated in the male-female ritual games, she was unsure of exactly how to read the signs. For all she knew, Eric was playing it cool, biding his time, waiting for some kind of signal from her.

Okay, she decided, she’d give him that signal.

But how to proceed?

Seduce him?

Tina laughed out loud at the sheer ludicrousness of the idea. She wouldn’t know where to begin.

The aroma of roasting chicken wafted to her, stirring her senses with a possible solution.

She could begin by inviting Eric to dinner.

* * *

Eric sat, still and tense, watching Tina’s house through narrowed eyes.

“Ah...” His breath hissed through his teeth when he saw the door open and Glen Reber step outside. A quick glance at his functional wristwatch told Eric what he already knew; the man had been inside, alone with Tina, for less than fifteen minutes—hardly enough time for any meaningful acts of intimacy.

It was not until that instant that Eric acknowledged the emotions tying his gut into hard knots. He was feeling angry, and frustrated, and protective with regards to Tina and the man who had once shared her bed. But by far the strongest emotion gripping him was a raging possessiveness.

If he should ever learn that Reber touched Tina, in any personal way, he would blow the bastard away.

The decision so shocked and startled Eric, he bolted out of the chair.

What the hell?

Upright, Eric became painfully aware of his hard body condition, and he knew, precisely, what the hell.

All the time he had sat there on the edge of his seat, intently watching her house, Eric had envisioned scenes of Tina, pinned to her bed beneath that slimy creep.

“Only through me, you punk,” he snarled at the man now crossing the street. “Tina is mine.”

That statement startled Eric every bit as much as his unheard-of feeling of possessiveness. He mulled it over while monitoring Reber’s progress to the house across the way.

Tina...his?

“Yes.” His voice hissed through his teeth once more. On the spot, Eric decided that if anyone was going to pin Tina to her bed, it would be
him.

Acting on the decision, Eric pivoted away from the window. The trio across the street were closeted away from his sight. Besides, he could keep watch from any location along the quiet street. Detouring past the single kitchen cabinet, he scooped a cup from the shelf.

Eric was going to visit his neighbor.

T
he doorbell rang.

“Now who?” Tina muttered, pressing the fork tines into the dough edging the pie pan. “If that’s Glen again, I’ll...” Her voice faded on an exasperated sigh. Setting the fork aside, she turned away from the countertop.

The doorbell pealed once more. Heaving another sigh, Tina shot a helpless look at her flour-speckled hands, shrugged and, tearing off a paper towel, wiped her hands as she marched out of the kitchen, through the tiny dining room and across the living room to the door.

“Darn it, Glen, I’m—” Tina began, as she yanked open the door. Her spate of impatience dried in her throat at the sight of Eric Wolfe sheltering from the rain beneath the overhang above the front stoop.

“Hi, neighbor,” he said, giving her a slow, bone-melting smile, while holding a cup aloft for her inspection. “May I borrow a cup of...coffee?”

“Grounds or brewed?” Tina returned his smile, along with an arch look.

Eric’s smile evolved into a grin. “Brewed, please, with a splash of milk, no sugar.”

“You want it to go or to drink here?”

“You have any cookies?”

“Yes.” Laughter gave a threatening quiver at the corners of Tina’s lips.

“Then I’ll drink it here.” He lifted one tawny eyebrow questioningly. “If you don’t mind?”

“Do you mind having your snack in the kitchen?”

“No.” Eric shook his head. “I come from a long line of kitchen sitters.”

“Then I don’t mind.” Tina gave in to the laughter and swung the door wide. “Come on in.”

“Thanks, neighbor.”

“You’re welcome,” Tina replied, observing him wryly as he entered and glanced around the room.

“Nice,” he said, turning to watch her shut, then lock the door. “Who’s Glen?”

“My ex-husband.”

Eric’s eyebrow shot up again. “You were expecting him to stop by today?”

“No...yes,” Tina floundered, frowning. “He was here a few minutes ago. That’s his car out front, the big expensive one,” she explained, even while asking herself why she should feel a need to do so.

Eric shot a glance through the large picture window. “He’s not in the car,” he observed, dryly stating the obvious.

“He’s visiting friends across the street.” Tina’s smile was as dry as his tone. “When the bell rang, I thought he had come back for something.”

“Something?”

There was an element contained in Eric’s quiet voice that sent a chill down Tina’s spine.

“He’s making noises about a reconciliation.” Tina shrugged, to dislodge the cold sensation as much as to dismiss the very idea of Glen’s suggestion.

“You’re not hearing his noises?” The chilling element in his voice was gone, replaced by what sounded to Tina like more than mere interest.

The word
interrogation
crept into her mind; Tina dismissed it at once. She had wanted some proof of Eric’s attraction to her, hadn’t she? she chided herself. Well, what better proof could she ask for than more than mere interest? The conclusion brought the smile back to her lips, and a lighter, careless shrug to her shoulders.

“I stopped hearing him on that topic long ago,” she said, motioning him to follow as she led the way to the kitchen. “Come along if you want some coffee.”

“Does this mean the subject of your ex is closed?” Eric inquired, trailing her through the dining room.

Tina felt a twinge of impatience at his persistence, but squashed it at the optimistic consideration that he just might be feeling a trifle envious of Glen.

“No, not closed,” she replied, going straight to the automatic coffeemaker on entering the kitchen. “There’s simply not much to say about it, that’s all.”

Eric watched her in silence as she went through the drill of lining the basket, measuring the coffee grounds and pouring the water into the grate. Tina could feel his steady regard. It made her nervous, in an excited way. She had to concentrate to keep from fumbling the simple routine.

“Was he abusive?”

Tina exhaled an audible sigh as she turned to face him. “If you’re asking if he ever hit me, the answer is no,” she said, meeting his crystal blue stare levelly.

Eric’s smile told her he had heard what she hadn’t said. “Verbal abuse, then,” he said flatly.

Tina managed to maintain his stare, and her silence, for a few seconds. Then she turned away, moving to the fridge to get out the milk. From the fridge, she went to the food cabinet to remove a package of oatmeal cookies.

“Tina?” Eric’s voice was soft on the surface, but held an inner thread steely with purpose.

“All right,” she snapped, whirling to face him. “Glen was often less than pleasant.”

“As in—” he arched that one tawny brow “—very recently, when he was here?”

The short hairs at Tina’s nape quivered at the iciness underlying his too-soft voice. She wasn’t deceived for an instant by his bland expression, either. Without knowing how she knew, Tina was certain that Eric Wolfe could prove to be very dangerous when he was riled.

“It’s unimportant, really,” she said, prudently deciding to do her best not to rile him. “He doesn’t stop by often, only when he comes to visit his friends.”

“They’re not your friends, too?”

“Not really.” Tina didn’t try to hide the impatience she was feeling; the subject, and his persistence, was starting to get to her. “They were Glen’s friends before we were married, not mine. Although we still exchange pleasantries when we see one another, I don’t socialize with them.” She managed a tight smile. “Any other questions?”

Eric’s return smile was easy, teasing. “Yeah. Where’s my coffee?”

“Coming up,” she said, the tightness smoothing from her lips. She flicked a hand at the table as she walked back to the coffeemaker. “Have a seat.”

“You baking a pie?” he asked, inclining his head to indicate the pan and ingredients cluttering the countertop.

“Yes.” Reaching into a cabinet, Tina withdrew two gold-rimmed cups and matching saucers.

“What kind?” Eric asked in an eager, hopeful voice.

“Lemon meringue.” Tina tossed a grin at him over her shoulder. “And I’ve got to finish putting it together,” she went on, filling the cups and carrying them to the table. “So, as soon as you’ve had your coffee, I’m throwing you out.”

“Can’t I help?”

Tina laughed at the coaxing sound in his voice; it was so patently false.

“I’m serious,” Eric insisted. “I’m a bachelor, and I know my way around a kitchen. Let me help.”

“Doing what?” she asked skeptically.

“I can whip the egg whites while you prepare the filling,” he answered immediately.

Tina gave him a considering look. “Well, maybe you do know your way around the kitchen. Okay,” she agreed. “But I’m warning you right now, you mess up my meringue and you are in big trouble, mister.”

“Deal.” Eric grinned at her and reached for a cookie. “Am I going to get to taste this culinary delight later?” he asked, dunking the cookie in his coffee before popping it in his mouth.

“Well, of course,” Tina said, sliding onto the chair opposite him. “That’s what this exercise is all about.”

Eric blinked and paused in the process of submerging another cookie. “What’s what this exercise is all about?”

“You tasting the pie,” she replied in exasperation. “How will I know if my lemon meringue is as good as your mother’s unless you taste it?”

He burst out laughing. “What have you got going here, some sort of personal bake-off?”

“You might call it that.”

“I already did.” Eric chuckled.

“I felt challenged when you declared that your mother’s was the best,” she said airily, lifting her cup to take a tentative sip of the hot liquid. “Even though I suppose it won’t be a true test of my skill if you help.”

“Hmm...” he murmured, munching away on yet another soggy cookie. “I see your point.” He washed down the sweet with the last of his coffee, then held out the cup. “Tell you what, give me a refill and then I’ll get out of here, let you get on with your thing.”

“Deal,” Tina said, echoing his earlier remark. Taking the cup, she rose and turned to go to the counter.

“On one condition.”

Tina came to an abrupt halt and spun to eye him suspiciously. “What condition?”

Eric’s smile was innocent to the point of angelic. “You let me come back later to taste the finished product.”

Tina offered him a heavenly smile of her own. “I’ll do even better than that.”

“Oh?” He raised one eyebrow.

“Hmm...” She mirrored his action. “How would you like to come for dinner?” she asked, then rushed on. “That is, if you like roasted chicken, mashed potatoes with gravy and cranberry-orange relish?”

“Oh, be still my heart,” Eric groaned, dramatically clutching his flat stomach. “What time?”

Tina glanced at the wall clock. “Well, it’s almost two now, and I still have to bake the pie...say, six-thirty?”

“Six-thirty’s fine.” He pushed his chair back and stood. “Forget the refill,” he said, starting toward the archway into the dining room. “I’ll get out of here now and let you get to work.”

“All right.” Tina laughed at his show of eagerness. “Don’t forget your cup.”

“I’ll get it later. Don’t bother to come to the door with me,” he said as she moved to follow. He was midway through the dining room when he stopped to call back, “Can I bring anything to add to the meal?”

“Just an appetite.”

“Count on it,” Eric drawled in response. A moment later, the door shut with a gentle click.

Tina stood in the middle of the kitchen floor, staring in bemusement through the archway into the empty dining room. Nervous excitement shimmered inside her.

Eric was coming to dinner.

The thought jolted her from her trancelike state. She had to get moving. She had a million things to do. She had to prepare the pie and bake it. She had to tidy the house, pick up the Sunday papers, which were scattered on the sofa and the living room carpet. She had to set the dining room table. By then she’d need another shower, fresh makeup and clean clothes—something comfortable but feminine and attractive.

Tina whipped around to get to work on the pie. A sudden realization had her spinning around again and heading for the living room.

The very first thing she had to do was lock the door, because the very last thing she wanted was a repeat visit from her former pain in the neck.

* * *

The Lincoln was still there, looking half a block long next to the curb in front of Tina’s house.

Eric ran an admiring glance over the gleaming black car as he loped along the walkway to the sidewalk.

The rewards of dishonesty, he thought disdainfully. Rewards not worth the high price tag they carried.

Dismissing the vehicle, he sprinted through the rain to his apartment. Both the rain and the wind driving it had turned cold. A chill shivered to the surface of Eric’s body as he let himself into the flat.

A quick hot shower and a change of jeans and sweatshirt and he was back at work, ensconced in the chair at the window. Not a damn thing appeared to be happening in or around the house across the street.

The hours of the afternoon dragged by; Eric staved off boredom with thoughts of Tina, and the excruciatingly slow approach of the evening ahead.

Dinner à deux. Anticipation rippled through Eric, causing a shiver more intense than that brought on by his run through the cold rain. Unlike Friday or last night, there would be no cadre of friends, no other patrons chattering around them, no waiters or waitresses to intrude. There would only be Eric and Tina...and a roasted chicken.

And the man sitting down to dinner with Tina would be Eric the man, not Eric the cop, he decided, surrendering to a sudden, unprecedented desire for normalcy.

What the hell? Eric mused, shrugging. He was officially on vacation. On his own. He was making the rules, setting the parameters for this self-appointed assignment.

And, for the upcoming night, Eric fully intended to ignore the rules and parameters. Gut instinct told him that Tina was innocent of whatever deals were going down in that house across the way.

If, at a later date, his gut instinct proved false, deceived by his libido, and the course of events revealed Tina’s involvement with illegal substances, Eric knew he would revert to form, handle the situation in a professional, intellectual manner. But for now, for tonight, he was driven by a powerful emotional fuel, and he knew it.

That knowledge made all the difference. If push came to shove in Tina’s case, Eric would step around emotions and do his job. He knew himself to be incapable of anything else.

But until push came to shove, if it did, Eric was determined to follow his gut instincts...simply because that was what he wanted to do.

But Lord, he prayed his instincts were on target, because Tina was...

Eric’s thoughts were interrupted by the sudden ringing of the phone. He knew who was calling; only one person had the newly allotted number. He picked up the receiver on the second ring.

“Yeah, bro?”

His brother’s quiet laughter skimmed along the long distance line. “Hello to you, too,” Cameron drawled. “And how are you on this fine autumn Sunday?”

“Fine, hell,” Eric retorted, grinning. “It’s raining and windy and cold as a witch’s—”

“I get the picture,” Cameron said, interrupting him. “I also have some information for you.”

“On that list of names I gave you yesterday?”

“The very same,” Cameron replied.

“Fast work.”

“I’m nothing if not industrious.” Cameron’s lazy-sounding drawl appeared to belie his claim, but then, Eric knew that quite often appearances were deceiving.

“I’m impressed,” he said, and in truth he was. “So, what did you come up with?”

“Zilch.
Nada.
Nothing,” Cameron reported. “Every name on that list, male and female, came out squeaky-clean. There wasn’t as much as one misdemeanor charge in the bunch.” He gave a low chuckle. “Believe it or not, we couldn’t even come up with a single instance of high school detention.”

Eric laughed. “That is about as squeaky-clean as you can get. I’m glad to hear it, though. I liked all of them.” Ted came to mind, and Eric quickly amended his statement. “Well, maybe not all, but most of them, anyway.”