Hot to the Touch

“No. It doesn’t.” They continued walking, Dylan’s leash jingling in the darkness. “I guess that means you clashed most often with your father.”

“You might say that.” She spoke dryly but he felt he knew intimately the pain behind her words.

“That was my job, too. He came down hardest on my younger brother, put the most pressure on him. Tom paid him back by becoming an unemployed addict.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Are you in touch with him?”

“Occasionally. He’s hard to reach.” Troy sighed. “Literally and figuratively.”

She nodded beside him, a simple gesture, but he felt she understood. “And your mom?”

“She stuck with him. Her capacity for denial is infinite.”

“I thought my mom’s was, too. But when Dad was fired for drinking and she had to get a job, suddenly she realized she wasn’t helpless. And then he realized the same thing, so he came down on her even harder. How dare she not need him? How dare she enjoy her life?” She laughed bitterly, shaking her head. “Well, it’s done now. They got rid of us, got rid of each other, but kept the hatred and anger, which is so gosh darn healthy.”

“This have anything to do with your reluctance about relationships?”

“Maybe. I don’t know how you get rid of wiring that deep.”

“I don’t, either.” To put it mildly. Troy was always falling for manipulative women, Debby being the latest and most consummate damsel in distress. Everything that happened to her was an emergency. Everything that didn’t happen to her didn’t register. And there he’d been, Sucker in Shining Armor, trying over and over to rescue and protect her from the big bad world. Only after she’d used him up did he really understand that she didn’t want to be rescued. Without her distress Debby would become merely another damsel—her biggest fear.

“Are your parents still together?” Darcy asked.

“Yes. Still living the perfect country club life in River Hills, where I grew up.”

“And here you are slumming in Whitefish Bay.”

“Guilty as charged.” He sent her a rueful smile. “I did make it to L.A. for college, so I haven’t been an East Sider all my life. Only a mere eighty-five percent.”

“Tiny fraction.” She turned toward the lake while they let Dylan sniff again; the breeze blew back her hair; her face was pale and serene in the light from the streetlamps. She looked like an ivory statue of a goddess.

This time Troy responded to his instinct, turned her toward him, pressed his lips to her temple, then reached lower and found her surprised mouth, cool from the night air.

She exhaled when he drew back. “What was that for?”

“The hell of it.” He took her face in his hands and kissed her again, as lingeringly as he dared. “And because you are too beautiful not to touch. It would be a complete waste of my time keeping my hands to myself.”

She made a scornful noise, but had to hide a smile. He released her and kept walking, following Dylan’s insistent tug, trying to hide how deeply her kisses rattled him. Nearly as much as her recent openness, so different from the last time they were together, when she wouldn’t even tell him her name. Troy was daring to hope, a dangerous pastime. He was in this too deep already. Hell, he’d been in too deep the second they made eye contact at Esmee Restaurant.

Silence stretched; they turned left on the next street. Troy waited, full of questions, but hoping she’d start asking this time so she wouldn’t feel under interrogation.

Twenty seconds later, his patience was rewarded. “Who turned you onto arak?”

“My friend Chad. His mother is Lebanese. He also recommended Esmee.”

“Where do you know him from?”

“High school friend. Got me the job at SoftCare, Inc., where he works in sales. We also compete in triathlons together a few times a year.”

“Ah.” She flashed him a flirty grin, visible under a streetlight. “That explains the flawless bod.”

“Thanks.” He barely managed to hide the charge he got out of her compliment. “What explains yours?”

“Ha!” She laughed. “Not even close. But thank you.”