Some Like It Hot (19 page)

She leaned toward him. “You think...you honestly
believe—
?” Snapping upright, she thrust her arm out, a shaking finger pointing at the door. “Get out.”

“Gladly. But before I go—” He jerked her to him and kissed her angrily before setting her loose and taking a big step back. He wiped the back of his hand across his lips, as if that could somehow eradicate her addictive taste. “Thanks for being such a good fuck buddy.”

He regretted the cheap disrespect of his comment even as he stormed out the door. Winced when he heard her enraged “Pig!” because he knew he deserved it. But she’d ripped his still-beating heart right out of his chest.

So damned if he intended to go back and apologize.

CHAPTER TWENTY

“P
IGPIGPIGPIGPIG
!” H
ARPER
SNATCHED
one of the water socks she’d donned for her kayak tour from her foot—and for the second time that day she threw something.

As a stress reliever, flinging a little piece of rubber with less than an ounce of connected mesh fabric was a total bust. Even if it had hit Max’s hard head instead of bouncing harmlessly off the doorjamb and tumbling to the floor, it wouldn’t have done any damage. Stomping over, she bent to whisk it up and work it back onto her bare foot. She slammed the door to give herself
some
satisfaction. Angry, frustrated, trying hard not to scream, she slammed it a second time for good measure. Before turning back to the empty room.

He’d run a
background
check on her? She fumed as she began picking up the files she’d been working on when he’d arrived. Hearing him say it had been like taking a hit from a baseball bat. She’d thought he
liked
her—and not just for the sex. But he’d found her suspicious and had had his ex-P.I. buddy run a stinking check on her.

All right, maybe she wasn’t exactly what she’d portrayed herself to be, but she’d planned on telling him! This was just so, so wrong.

And all her mother’s fault. If only Gina had informed Mary-Margaret in a timely manner that Sunday’s Child approved their grant application,
she
would have told Max herself by now.

“Crap,” she whispered and slowly set the stack of files back on the couch. “Are you listening to yourself?” Okay, so she hadn’t actually verbalized anything. But she’d been thinking pretty darn loudly.

And the gist of what she hadn’t said was: it’s everyone else’s fault and none of mine.

Screw you, Deputy Bradshaw. I don’t owe you an explanation.

Oh, God, had she really said that? She’d lied to him by omission and likely
had
acted suspicious as all get-out every time he’d caught her on the phone with her mom. God knows she’d felt torn enough between what she wanted to do—tell him—and what she’d been trained to do—keep her mouth shut—for that to be true. Then, of course, she’d slept with the guy and clearly—given his anger—had made him feel as if she cared about him, as well. Which, face it, she did, if this sick feeling crawling through her over the words they’d hurled at each other was anything to go by.

So, yeah. She really had told him that she didn’t owe him anything because he hadn’t taken her at face value. Her being so trustworthy and all.

Still, she hadn’t done anything truly reprehensible. And she had every right to be mad at him for that fuck-buddy crack and sick at heart to be the subject of a background check, which struck her as something one ran on a criminal—not someone you liked enough to want to sleep with.

But...

She got a pang when she thought of what was behind his anger. Because she wasn’t a stranger to him now—she knew darn good and well that he’d been disregarded far too much as a kid. And Max was clearly hurt that she might have disregarded him, as well.

So, for all her big words, she did him owe an explanation.

She might as well get it over with. She’d planned to finalize the plans for Razor Bay Days this afternoon, but she didn’t have a prayer of concentrating until she got the apology off her chest.

She located her purse beneath the folders she’d been putting together for the Labor Day weekend festivities and headed for the door.

* * *

H
ALF
AN
HOUR
later, she conceded defeat. Max wasn’t home, and she hadn’t seen his SUV in the parking lot between Jake’s and Jenny’s places when she’d driven past on her way out of the inn grounds, so he obviously wasn’t visiting with his brother. She didn’t think he was on duty until this evening, but maybe she was mistaken about that.

God knew she hadn’t racked up an impressive score regarding her other assumptions.

She could go home and try to accomplish something this afternoon—except she was in the same position that had driven her out in search of Max in the first place: feeling all antsy and edgy and incapable of buckling down. So she turned toward Cedar Village.

If her mother still hadn’t contacted the director about the Village’s grant approval, then she would do so herself. And since she owed Mary-Margaret an explanation regarding her real identity as well, and it felt like yet another ax hanging over her head, she might as well get out from under it now.

She realized as she drove into the Cedar Village parking lot that she’d secretly hoped to find Max’s vehicle there. Too bad it was a wish doomed for disappointment. She did luck out, however, when she opened the admin building’s door moments later and discovered she wouldn’t have to hunt Mary-Margaret down to one of the many other buildings. Spying the older woman through her open office door, she crossed the reception area and leaned into the room. “Got a minute?”

“Harper!” Mary-Margaret gave her a big smile. “Of course I do—come in. Throw the stuff on the chair on the floor and have a seat.”

She did as directed and sat facing the older woman across the desk.

“I got some wonderful news today,” Mary-Margaret said. “We got the grant from Sunday’s Child!”

“Good!”
It was a huge load off, but unfortunately just one of many. “Listen, about that,” she said, rising to her feet. “I need to tell you some—”

“Your mother informed me that you authorized it a few weeks ago, and she forbade you to tell anyone that you were a representative of Sunday’s Child until she contacted us.”

Harper abruptly sat back down. “She did? Please believe I wasn’t trying to snow anyone.”

“Of course you weren’t! Mrs. Summerville-Hardin said that in the usual course of events, you’re in and out of a prospective charity in a week. I’m so thrilled that you continued to volunteer here even after you approved the application. And that you’ve given us all those other fund-raising ideas on top of it.”

“Oh, no, I
love
Cedar Village. Everyone here is doing such a phenomenal job with the boys. I’m just sorry it took my mother so long to let you know how happy we are to have you under the Sunday’s Child umbrella. Usually—”

“You mustn’t worry about it, dear. She explained a little of her reasoning for holding off—”

You certainly know more than I do, then
.

“—and I can’t fault her for it.”

She’d give a bundle to know what spin Gina had put on the situation. She was rather stunned that her mother had gotten so chummy. While her calls to break the news generally tended to be warm, she always maintained a professional reserve.

Still, that was hardly the important thing here.
That
would be the fact that her mother had finally come through.

“That said, however,” the director continued, “I must admit I’m taking my first real breath in months.” She laughed a little, shaking her head. “Who am I kidding? In years.”

By the time Harper left, she felt more settled. Perhaps she could get a little work done when she got home after all.

As she drove past The Anchor on her way back to the inn, however, she spotted Max’s SUV parked on the street in front of the bar. Heart starting to race, she whipped into the lot.

She had to pause inside the bar’s door a moment later to let her eyes adjust. When she could see a little more clearly, she looked around.

And didn’t see him.

Damn.
The medical center was next door—perhaps he’d had an appointment there. Because he wasn’t in any of the few booths or at the tables or the bar.

But apparently her eyes weren’t as up to speed as she’d assumed because a movement down near the end of the room caught her eye, and she spotted Max taking aim at the dartboard just beyond the first group of tables she’d looked at. He looked exactly the way he had the day they’d met: all big and stern and humorless. And her heart did the same thing it had then: pounded out a
holy-crap-holy-crap-holy-crap
rhythm.

She wove between tables in the half-empty room, making her way down to his end of the bar, taking her gaze off him only long enough to avoid stumbling over the chairs in her way. She watched as he let a dart fly.

Then he took a step back, and she saw the woman he’d been blocking. She was tiny. Blonde. Stacked. And she smiled up at Max as she leaned into him, pressing one of her lush breasts against his bare forearm.

As if she’d strode straight into an invisible force field, Harper stopped dead. Oh, God.
This
wasn’t a scenario she’d considered. And she didn’t have the first idea how to address it.

Oh, hell, yes, she did. By getting the heck out of here before he saw her!

But just as his movement had drawn her eyes, her abrupt halt must have drawn his. For he suddenly turned his head and pinned her in place with a cool, noncommittal gaze. As if she were a stranger.

One he didn’t like very much.

Something inside her splintered. All at once she was angry and hurt all over again. Only this time she wasn’t going to lose it, she told herself firmly.
This
time—she ratcheted up her chin and forced herself to meet his cool gaze straight on—she was going to hold on to her dignity no matter what.

In truth she would have cut and run in a nanosecond. But that was before he’d have been aware of it.

Quietly sucking in a breath, she said evenly, “I don’t want to interrupt your game. But I wonder if I might talk to you?”

“Knock yourself out.”

Her back stiffened, but she managed to keep her voice calm and collected. “Very well. When I said I didn’t owe you anything earlier? I was upset—and wrong. I do owe you an explanation, and when you have a moment to hear me out, I’d be happy to tell you anything you’d like to know.” She waited, searching his dark eyes, but his lack of expression didn’t miraculously change with her concession.

“Maybe later,” the blonde said, hanging from Max’s brawny arm, one of her breasts once again squished against his forearm. The cleavage the position exposed all but spilled out of her low-cut top. “We
are
kinda busy.”

When Max didn’t say anything, she nodded. “Of course.” With a minute hitch of her shoulder, Harper turned on her heel and walked away.

She probably should have felt some kind of relief as she left the bar. She’d been spared having to come up with the words to explain her reasons for keeping him in the dark. But she wasn’t relieved at all. Part of her just wanted to yank the bleached blonde away from him and snatch the bimbo bald.

But mostly, she felt even more heartsick than she had when he’d stormed out of her cottage earlier.

* * *

“I
THOUGHT
SHE
’
D
never
leave.”

As if someone had suddenly popped the balloon he’d been trapped in, Max’s paralysis broke, and he looked at Rachel, the woman who’d attached herself to him earlier when he’d grabbed the darts and started taking out his anger with Harper on the bar’s board.

The blonde gave him a saucy grin and held out a dart. “You were two for three on hitting the bull’s-eye. Here’s the deal breaker, big boy, the one that separates the men from the boys.”

He accepted the dart, but his mind wasn’t on making his shot. It was on Harper.

Dammit, why did she have to come in here and be all reasonable and gracious? For a moment, after he’d gotten his breath back from looking over to see her strolling his way, he’d been pleased as punch that she’d seen him with another woman. Hell, before she’d shown up, he’d even thought that maybe he could take Rachel back to her place and use her to scrub the woman he really wanted out of his head.

But when Harper’s gaze had gone to Rachel’s overripe tit pressed against his arm, he’d only wanted to yank free. To move Rachel back several steps. And he’d known in that instant that sex with the little blonde was never gonna happen.

Even then, however, he’d stood there like a fucking coat rack, unable to say a word. It was like when he was a kid and his ma would go on about all the injustices in their lives. Half the time he’d just wanted to tell her to shut
up,
already. To let it
go.
But his vocal cords would just freeze themselves solid.

Jesus, Bradshaw.
He gave his shoulders a little shake.
You haven’t been that dumb kid for
years
.

He threw the dart without taking the time to line up his shot, and it hit the small pie area near the triple ring. “Huh,” he said. “Guess I’m still playing with the boys.” He took a step away from Rachel. “I’ve gotta go.”

Ignoring her protests, he headed across the room, picking up his pace as he neared the door. By the time he pushed out into the sunshine he was damn near jogging.

He looked for Harper’s rental on the street but saw no sign of it. So he strode around the side of the building to The Anchor’s parking lot.

It wasn’t there, either.

“Shit.” Pulling his keys from his pocket, he went back to the street where he’d parked his vehicle. He supposed he could call her, but he didn’t want to do that. He’d go see if she’d gone home.

Five minutes later he was happy to find her car in the lot behind her cottage and pulled his own alongside it. When he climbed her stairs a moment later and saw her in practically the same position she’d been in the last time he was here, he exhaled the breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding. “Déjà vu.”

She glanced over her shoulder, then slowly straightened, pivoting to face him.

He nodded at the screen door. “Can I come in?”

“Yes. Of course. Please do.” Sliding her hands into her capri pockets, she watched as he opened the door and stepped inside. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“No. I just want that explanation you said you’d give me.”

Her shoulders hunched up for a moment, perhaps due to the cold roughness of his voice. They promptly leveled out, however, and if he hadn’t been trained to pay attention to body language, he might have fooled himself into believing she was coolly unaffected.