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  I thought Wyatt would take me to Mom’s house, which was logical. She could spoil me for a couple of days until I could handle dressing by myself, and then things would get back to normal.

  I was ready for a little normalcy. For almost a week my entire life had been topsy-turvy, and I wanted everything to settle down. I evidently had a lover, try as I might to keep him under control, and he was bound to complicate things. But now with this threat out of the way, we could settle down into the routine of real life and find out if we had something lasting between us, or if the chemistry would go flat with time.

  Things were looking up. I could hardly wait to get started on this new situation between us: routine.

  Chapter

  Eighteen

  I felt like a bird out of a cage. Even though I’d been under constraints for less than forty-eight hours, it felt much longer than that. I still wasn’t able to do everything for myself, but at least my movements weren’t hampered. I could go somewhere if I wanted; I didn’t have to stay indoors; I didn’t have to sneak in back doors.

  “I’m free, I’m free, I’m free,” I sang as I practically boogied out to Wyatt’s car when he came to pick me up. It was later than it had been the day before; the sun was almost down, so it was after eight.

  “Not exactly,” Wyatt said as he buckled me into the seat.

  “What do you mean, ‘not exactly’?” I yelled at him. I yelled because he was walking around the car, and he wouldn’t have heard me otherwise.

  “You still look incapacitated to me,” he said as he got behind the wheel. “You can’t dress yourself, you can’t wash your hair, and you can’t drive with both hands on the wheel.”

  “You don’t drive with both hands on the wheel,” I pointed out.

  “I don’t have to, because I’m in charge. You’re not.”

  I snorted, but let that bit of provocation slide past. “As for all of that, the only reason I didn’t go to Mom’s in the first place is because you said Dwayne Bailey might look for me there and I could be endangering Mom and Dad as well as myself. Well, Dwayne Bailey’s been arrested, and there’s no reason for him to look for me anymore. So I can go to Mom’s.”

  “Not tonight,” he said.

  “I’d like to know why not.”

  “Because I’m not taking you there.”

  “Do you have something you have to do tonight? She can come pick me up.”

  “Stop being deliberately obtuse. I’m not buying it. I’ve got you right where I want you, and I’m keeping you there.”

  My temper began to fray. “I am not going to be your little sex toy for you to play with whenever you get the urge. I have a life to get back to. I have to go to work tomorrow.”

  “You can go to work tomorrow. But I’ll take you, not your mother.”

  “That makes no sense whatsoever. What if something happens and you have to work? I’m correct that you can be called in at any time, right?”

  “It’s possible, but I’m not called on to go to the crime scenes very often. That’s what my detectives are for.”

  “I don’t need to be taken to work anyway. My car has an automatic transmission, and I can buckle my seat belt one-handed. I’m perfectly capable of driving, and don’t start with that two-hands-on-the-wheel stuff again.” I was as determined now to leave as he was determined for me to stay. I hadn’t been before, but he was calmly assuming he could tell me what to do, and I had to nip that in the bud, now didn’t I?

  He was silent for a moment; then he completely undermined me with a quiet, “Don’t you want to be with me?”

  I stared at him, mouth open. “Of course I do,” I blurted before I could catch myself; then reason reasserted itself and I said indignantly, “I can’t believe you’re that underhanded and sneaky. That was a girl argument, and you used it against me!”

  “Doesn’t matter. You admitted it.” He gave me a smugly triumphant smirk, then blinked. “What’s a girl argument?”

  “You know, appeal to the emotion.”

  “Damn, if I’d known it worked that well, I’d have used it before.” He reached over and squeezed my knee. “Thanks for the tip.”

  He winked at me and I couldn’t help laughing. I swatted his hand away. “I realize circumstances got in the way, but you haven’t lived up to our bargain. You haven’t courted me at all. So I want to go home.”

  “I seem to remember having this discussion before. Your idea of courting and mine aren’t the same.”

  “I want to go out on dates. I want to go to movies, to dinner, dancing—You do dance, don’t you?”

  “Under great protest.”

  “Oh, dear.” I gave him the BSE—big sad eyes. BSEs are just one step below tears in the arsenal. “I love dancing.”

  He darted an alarmed look at me, then muttered, “Shit. All right. I’ll take you dancing.” He said it with a long-suffering air.

  “I don’t want you to do it if you don’t want to.” If that wasn’t the perfect place for the classic feminine low-blow, I’d never seen one before. If he took me at my word, he knew he was disappointing me, but if he did take me dancing, he had to pretend he was enjoying it. This is one of the ways women get back at men for not having periods, you know.

  “But—after the date is over, we do what I want to do.”

  Two guesses what that was. I pulled a shocked look. “You want me to pay for a date with sex?”

  “Works for me,” he said, and squeezed my knee again.

  “Not going to happen.”

  “Good. Then I don’t have to go dancing.”

  Mentally I added Uncooperative and not willing to do things for me to his list of transgressions. The way that list was going, it was going to be in volumes like the encyclopedia.

  “No comeback?” he prodded.

  “I was just thinking of things to put on your list.”

  “Would you forget about that damn list! How would you like it if I made a list of all your mistakes and shortcomings?”

  “I’d read it and try to work on my problem areas,” I said righteously. Well, I’d read it, anyway. What he considered a problem and what I considered a problem might be two very different things.

  “That’s a crock. I think you actively cultivate your problem areas.”

  “Such as?” My voice took on a very sweet tone.

  “Your smart-ass mouth, for one thing.”

  I blew him a kiss. “You liked my mouth this morning when I was kissing my way down your zipper.”

  That reminded him, all right, and he visibly shuddered in response. “You’re right,” he said thickly. “I liked it a lot.”

  I knew what he meant. All day, I’d been harboring some longings myself. I wanted to forget all this jockeying about as we fought for the upper hand and for once just eat him up, enjoy him, wallow in sex and pleasure. Maybe when I got him home—Until then, though, there was no point in letting him think he’d won.

  “You also like my Pebbles hairdo, even though you made fun of it.”

  “I didn’t make fun of it. And, yeah, I like it. I like everything about you, even when you’re being a pain in the ass. You’re a walking wet dream, you know.”

  I gave him a doubtful look. “I don’t know if that’s good or not.” The image in my mind was decidedly sticky and icky.

  “From my point of view, it is. Personally speaking, not professionally. You’re playing hell with my concentration at work. All I can think about is getting you naked. Probably when we’ve been married a year or two that’ll slack off, but right now it’s pretty intense.”

  “I haven’t said I’ll marry you,” I said automatically, but my heart was doing a tap dance and my own concentration kept wanting to slide off our conversation and instead focus on getting him naked.

  “It’s gonna happen and we both know it. We still have some details to get ironed out, like this trust thing you’re so worried about, but I figure in a couple of months I’ll have that under control and we can maybe have a Christmas