McCloud's Woman (17 page)

Mara beamed in delight and opened the door sufficiently to
let him in. “I’m just deciding what to wear. Is this shirt suitable for
a dinner of fried chicken?” Under his scrutiny, she hastily fastened a
few buttons.

TJ eyed the cleavage still revealed and took a deep breath. “Does it have any more buttons?”

Mara pushed another button through its hole and awaited his approval.

TJ tried to tear his gaze away from the tantalizing swells
still revealed by her shirt, but he was back in her bedroom, where he’d
done far more than stare, and his head wouldn’t shift out of that
particular gear.

He’d spent a week trying to forget she existed, to return
to his usual routine, but he’d been lying to himself. Mara in all her
flashy beauty and perverse provocativeness hadn’t been out of his head
for a second, but it was the Patsy behind the flash that gnawed at his
heart and brought him here despite every incentive to stay away. He saw
the vulnerability behind her need for approval and appreciated the
courage it took for her to provoke him.

“Are the slacks okay or should I wear jeans?” she demanded, swiveling her hips to distract him from her cleavage.

Her stretchy slacks conformed to every curve of hip and
thigh. TJ knew for fact that she didn’t pad an inch of those curves. He
supposed some might consider her too thin, but he’d known her as a kid.
This wasn’t thin. This was heaven.

This was the woman he’d attacked as if starved. Even after
a week of digging mounds of sand by day and reading notebooks of
terminally boring transcripts at night, he couldn’t get the appalling
fact out of his head that he’d jumped her bones without a single thought
to consequences. He jerked his eyes back where they
belonged—encountering the top of Patsy’s artificial curls. “The slacks
are fine. Are you ready to go?”

Her cat-eyed gaze made him nervous. He hadn’t been nervous
around a woman since high school. He was looking at a female who wore
glitter and hair pieces to the beach. Why should he care what she
thought?

Because this was Patsy, and behind the deceptive glitter
lurked the brains of a computer and the tenacity of a pit bull. And a
vulnerable woman who fell to pieces when he held her.

He had absolutely no clue how to deal with women who fell
to pieces, or ones who concealed so many facets he could never discover
them all in a lifetime of trying. He preferred coolly intellectual women
who could discuss the latest theory of forensic science right after
sex.

Liar. He loved a mystery, and Patsy Amara was every
fascinating enigma he’d ever dreamed of. He was in deep shit and digging
deeper.

If he wanted a mystery, he ought to stick with Colonel
Martin’s problem. He’d not found evidence of anyone’s guilt in the
transcript box he’d read through. He needed to go back to the storage
unit and look for something more damning. Or revealing. Something had to
pry this black cloud from his head.

“Shall I bring my shawl?” Mara asked dryly, hauling him back to solid ground again.

“Not the red one with feathers,” TJ answered in what he
hoped was a tone to match hers. He wanted to see those red feathers
draped over her naked breasts.

Mara smiled in triumph and sauntered past him in her high
heels, every move drawing his attention to breasts and hips until TJ
thought he’d go up in smoke if he had to watch her all evening. Slamming
her door behind him as they entered the hall, he focused on her
bleached blond hair. “You don’t need a hair piece at Cleo’s.”

Glancing over her shoulder, she flapped overlong eyelashes at him. “You don’t need sports jackets in this heat.”

“It’s proper informal dinner attire,” he argued, taking
his place at her side, grateful for something to distract him from the
erotic scent of her perfume. He’d been taught etiquette with his ABC’s. A
woman in heels needed support. He offered his arm.

She glanced at his sleeve in surprise, smiled seductively,
and reached for the stairway banister to show she didn’t need his help.
“Then so is my hair,” she insisted. “I have an image to uphold.”

“I trust that image will keep you from falling down the
damned stairs.” Okay, so etiquette fell by the wayside when it came to
Patsy. He was back to behaving like a frustrated teenager. How did one
look after a woman too stubborn—or too strong—to accept his aid?

“I’ll have you know I took a year of modeling school to
learn how to walk in these heels, and I could probably beat you to the
car if I knew where it was.” She teased him as she had as a child,
challenging him to notice her with ridiculous claims.

He was mature enough not to accept challenges these days.
Racing her in those heels guaranteed trouble. It had been a hard lesson,
but he’d learned he was strong enough to put others before himself. He
diverted the argument. “Modeling school? I thought you got married out
of high school.”

They reached the front foyer and ignored the fascinated
clerk at the desk as TJ appropriated her arm and Mara elbowed him. He
grunted and dropped her arm but held the door open. She patted his cheek
and sailed by as if he were a doorman.

He wanted to wring her neck, but that body part was too
close to softer places he’d much rather get his hands on. Besides, he
knew she was simply getting even with him for his neglect. He caught her
arm going down the porch stairs and refused to release it. “Well?” he
demanded. “Did you go to modeling school instead of college?”

“I went to modeling school when a buyer for Irving’s store said we could sell more clothes if I looked more glamorous.”

The ugly jealous monster inside him didn’t want to hear
about Irving or any of the other men in her life, but his conscience
needed to know how she’d gotten to where she was now. It was as if he’d
betrayed Brad’s trust by letting Patsy fall into bad hands. He’d wanted
her to be happy.

“That’s a crock,” he countered, guiding her down the porch
stairs and in the direction of his car. “You were model thin at
sixteen, and tall enough to wear anything. What was this clown Irving
selling, granny dresses?”

“Lingerie,” she answered dryly, “and Irving was my
husband. He thought he’d upscale his father’s candy- panties business
and rival Victoria’s Secret, but I was the only sales clerk he could
afford.”

“Candy panties?” As soon as the question was out of his mouth, TJ knew better than to ask.

She flirted a laughing smile over her shoulder. “Want to try some? I bet I could find a pair or two.”

TJ thought he ought to shut up and forget he’d heard any
of this, but curiosity had usurped his usual reserve. “Your husband let
you model underwear, in
public
?”

She shrugged and waited for him to unlock his car door.
“This was Brooklyn, remember. Once our neighbors saw our inventory
turning a skinny nerd like me into a glamorous model, they bought
anything I recommended.”

TJ waited until he’d slid into the driver’s seat and his anger cooled a bit before replying. “He
used
you to sell scanty underwear?”

“It’s no big deal,” she said dismissively, watching out
the passenger side window as they drove into the late summer twilight.
“I kept the books and knew with the way rent was rising, it would be
only a matter of time before we were out on the street if we didn’t do
something. We tried hiring a good-looking kid with a figure, but she was
dumb as stones and didn’t understand why we wanted her to
wear
a bra instead of taking it off. So I started taking modeling classes. Then I broke my nose and one thing led to another...”

Her voice trailed off, and TJ was hit upside the head by
the memory of teenage Patsy doing that same thing when she didn’t want
to tell him something. Sometimes her chattering got ahead of her
thinking, and she said entirely too much.

“
How
did you break your nose?” he demanded in what he thought to be a perfectly reasonable voice.

“None of your damned business,” she retorted, turning to glare at him. “It’s way too late to waste energy looking after me now.”

He didn’t want to know what that meant, but he did. He and
Brad had always looked after her, hauling her out of street brawls,
helping her with science projects, dragging guys over to dance with her
when she actually showed up on prom night—alone. Who had looked after
her after Brad died? No one, apparently. What the hell had happened?

“At least tell me you broke the other guy’s nose or tore off his balls to justify it.”

She uttered a noise that could have been a giggle or a sob
or both. “Kicked him in the balls, anyway. I caught Irving doing more
than ogling the clerk’s braless wonders. I should have known better than
to attack a man with his pants down. He reacted before he thought.”

“
Irving
broke your nose?” TJ wanted to grab the bastard by the ear and smack him against a brick wall, face first. “Your
husband
broke your nose? What in hell is wrong with your family?
Irving
was the most eligible bachelor in Brooklyn?”

“Like I said, he reacted before he thought, or he’d have
known it would cost him. I got a bloody nose and a good cosmetic surgeon
out of the incident.” She crossed her long legs and rubbed her sandaled
toe down his trousers. “You and Brad taught me how to take care of
myself, and maybe I’m a wee bit psycho, but I’m not dumb.”

Years of observing war atrocities had petrified TJ’s
weaker emotions, but he wanted to weep at this tale. Patsy Simonetti had
been shy around strangers, brilliant around friends, creative in her
troublemaking, and loyal to a fault, not to mention a royal pest when
she put her mind to it. But she’d never been dumb.

She’d been the girl he’d loved with all his teenage heart,
and she’d married a stinking rotten bastard of an underwear salesman.
He could imagine the smarmy, balding twinkie mauling Patsy’s teenage
breasts, and he wanted to upchuck.

Shy Patsy punched his biceps—hard.

“Whatever you’re thinking, don’t,” she ordered. “Irving
was a hunk with unmortgaged assets and an entrepreneurial mind. I didn’t
complain about being married to him while it lasted. The nose job he
paid for got me the modeling job that took me out of Brooklyn. It
provided me with enough money to take care of my mother and has given me
great satisfaction over the years. I’m a winner, and if you start
calling me anything else, I’ll beat you into a pulp. Might I
mention that I have a black belt in karate?”

Okay, deep breath, rearrange priorities
. “You’re a
winner,” he agreed with honesty. “And a survivor. I’m just having a hard
time dealing with your parents’ roles in all this. They worshipped at
Brad’s feet, worked two jobs to pay for his education, sent the two of
you to private school so you’d have the best teachers and facilities...
I just don’t get it.”

“No one says you have to,” she said with a sigh shadowed
in sadness. “It just is, okay? Brad’s death took something out of them. I
was never more than a carbuncle on his ass, anyway. I was informed
daily that girls get married and have kids and don’t need jobs, so Brad
was their future. Since I thought I was too ugly for a boy to ever
marry, I was kind of confused by it all for a while. But after Brad’s
death, my life went on, and theirs didn’t. It happens, all right? You
once promised me a red teddy bear and didn’t come through. I didn’t die
of disappointment.”

“I bought the damned bear.” TJ could have bitten off his
tongue after he said it. He could almost hear her lift her eyebrows, and
he finished grudgingly, “You moved.”

“My father walked out on us. My mother didn’t have a job, so we moved in with her family.”

“I tried calling you.” Okay, so this was ancient history,
but he’d been torn into shreds with the loss of both his best friend and
the girl he’d adored. He hoped she didn’t hear the question and the
pain he’d buried long ago.

TJ breathed a sigh of relief when she merely eyed him consideringly.

“My mother wasn’t precisely rational at the time. I didn’t
know you called. I tried calling you once, but you weren’t there. Then
we moved and my aunt wouldn’t let me make long-distance calls. With
everything happening, I just figured you’d lost interest.”

He heard what she didn’t say—everyone else had lost
interest in her, so she figured he had, too. TJ couldn’t get his head
around a lack of self-assurance that large, but he should have known.
Teenage boys didn’t think with their heads though. He’d been too bent
out of shape to discover she’d moved without a trace. “I thought you
blamed me. I should have known better.” One more guilt to add to his
burden. He should have been there for her instead of licking his own
wounds.

“We were too young. I needed to learn not to rely on
people or promises. You would have used me as a doormat just like
Irving.” She diverted the topic to a safer one. “Tell me about the
vandals. Were you able to put your office together again? Your work is
much more interesting than my life.”

Not to him, not right now. TJ wanted to know more about
the beautiful tigress she’d become and how she got that way. She was
more fascinating than any set of bones he’d ever unearthed, or any
mystery he’d ever explored.

He didn’t regret how he’d spent these last seventeen
years, but he sure wished he’d made an effort to keep an enigma like
Patsy in it.

“Earth to TJ, come in, pal. No tripping allowed on my
watch.” Mara flipped the overhead light on, leaned against the car door,
and crossed her arms beneath her breasts to grab his attention.

“You do that on purpose, don’t you?” TJ asked,
understanding her actions a little better. “You don’t need to wave your
mammary glands in my face to keep me interested.”

She snorted but sat upright again. “Made you look,” she said provokingly.

“I looked when you were sixteen and didn’t have any
breasts to speak of,” he retorted, remembering that episode of his life
with clarity. “You were the only girl around who didn’t rub her breasts
in my face or giggle when I walked by. You were straight with me. Wanna
go back in time and try that again?”