“Yeah? What?”
Well, actually, I found out that he was the devil, she wanted to say, but didn’t, it being none of his damn business. “You have no right to judge me,” she told him.
From there, the conversation went sharply downhill. She did her part, but his responses were terse monosyllables. And his shuttered, glittering stare was starting to unnerve her.
She took a swallow of her margarita, and stared him in the eye. “Look, Mr. Kendrick—”
“Call me Jack.”
“Okay, Jack. Just tell me what’s on your mind, okay?”
His eyebrow tilted up at the corner. “What do you mean?”
Vivi shoved her hair back. “I mean, how you judge me for things you know nothing about. I mean, how uncomfortable you are with me.”
“Is that all?”
She shook her head. “What else would I be talking about?”
“I thought you might be talking about the fact that I’m attracted to you,” he said. “I figured you might have noticed that. It’s kind of hard to miss.”
Vivi’s fork clattered loudly down onto her plate. “Ah…”
“But since you brought it up,” he continued, “I might as well just be honest. You’re right. I’m uncomfortable, for two reasons. The fact that I’m attracted to you is one reason. And the other reason—and I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings—is that you are not the type of woman whom I want to be attracted to. That puts me in a bad place.”
Her mouth dropped. “My…type?” she repeated. “And what type is that? Are you one of those meatheads who think that girls with nose rings and tattoos are automatically promiscuous?”
He waved that impatiently away. “No, that’s not the issue. I’m talking about living in a van, moving around all the time, getting bored easily, and leaving things half done. I don’t want to get involved with someone who’s just passing through. It’s a big waste of time.”
Anger burned in Vivi’s stomach. “Hold on, here. Did I invite you to get sexually involved with me without me noticing it? Or did you just assume that my type is sexually available to everyone?”
Jack took a swallow of beer. “No. You didn’t. And I didn’t.”
“Let me get this straight. You want to nail me, but you think I’m scum, and you don’t want me around lowering your property value.”
He frowned. “Don’t put words in my mouth. I didn’t say ‘scum.’”
“I call it how I see it,” she shot back. “You want me to get so pissed off, I just pack up and leave, right? Is that your plan?”
He forked up a bite of his steak fajita and stared at it. “That would be my plan, if it weren’t for this danger issue,” he said, reluctantly. “It does sound like you’ve got one hell of a security problem. But I don’t—”
“Then let me make a revolutionary suggestion,” she announced. “Get this, Kendrick. I know this idea might shock you to your toes, but how about if we just don’t have sex?”
He smothered a laugh, covering his mouth with his napkin, his eyes darting around the restaurant. “Uh—”
“It’s the perfect solution,” she went on, with false cheerfulness. “Amazing in its streamlined simplicity. You don’t have to fuck me, if it would be so upsetting to you. Aren’t you relieved? Isn’t that just an incredible load off your mind? Just ignore me, okay? It’s easy. I’ll just stay out of your way and do my own thing.”
He looked alarmed. “And what exactly is your thing?”
She shrugged. “Living my life. Making my art. Duncan mentioned that you have a studio in the barn, but I’ll understand if you don’t want me to use the space. The apartment will do nicely for now.”
Jack rose, bumping the table and knocking over the beer bottle. A fork fell to the floor. The restaurant went dead silent, and a waitress froze in position, holding her trays of food. Jack cursed softly. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Fine.” She got up, and began digging for her wallet.
“I’ve got the check,” he said.
She swept past him, elbowing him out of her way at the cash register. “I’d rather die than let you pay for my meal.”
Vivi sat as far from Jack as possible in the truck. After he pulled into the driveway, she climbed out without a word, slammed the door, and reached for her groceries.
He tried to take the bags from her. She jerked them away.
He yanked them back. “Don’t be stupid,” he growled.
She followed the crunch of his boots on the gravel through the darkness and followed him up the stairs, still fuming.
He opened her door with his own key, flipped on the light, and set her bags on the kitchen counter. They stared at each other as Edna leaped and danced and wagged her enthusiastic greeting.
“Good night,” Vivi said, pointedly.
“Where are you going to sleep?” he asked.
She opened and closed her mouth. “Wha—what?” she forced out.
“There’s no bed here. Where are you going to sleep?”
“Ah,” she murmured, blushing.
There was a faint, fleeting hint of a smile in his eyes. “I wasn’t suggesting my own bed.”
“I didn’t think you were,” she lied, her blush deepening. “I’m sleeping in my sleeping bag. It was hooked to my backpack. See?”
“Just a sleeping bag? On the bare floor?” He sounded shocked.
“I’m used to roughing it,” she said coolly.
He frowned, ruffling Edna’s ears. “No one sleeps on a bare floor in my place,” he said. “I don’t care what you’re used to.”
“Well, I appreciate the sentiment, but strictly speaking, it’s not your place. I’ll be paying rent. So don’t treat me like a guest.”
He turned and stalked out the door, disappearing into the dense darkness. Vivi shut the door behind him, breathing out a sigh of relief.
Her battle tension dissipated, leaving her exhausted. She opened the sliding doors and let the fragrant night air into the room. Then, slowly and systematically, she put away her groceries in the big, clean kitchen. So much space, for everything. It felt strange, after the van and her sisters’ microscopic apartments.
Then she lit her scented candles and some sandalwood incense, turned out the overhead light, and sat down cross-legged on her sleeping bag. The graceful, empty room flickering with candlelight soothed her. It felt strange and lovely, to have the door open to the night. To let her senses open and soften, to listen to frogs and insects singing their sweet night songs. She’d been so paranoid and closed up tight these last few weeks. But here, oddly, she felt…safe.
From the Fiend, anyway. If not her own sex-starved stupidity.
It was more a sense of his presence rather than any noise he made that made her nerves jolt into a state of alert. She jumped to her feet as he pushed open the mosquito screen with his boot and stepped through the sliding glass doors. He carried a rolled-up futon without apparent effort, a feather pillow wedged beneath his muscular arm.
“Knock next time,” she said. “I’d appreciate it.”
He gazed over the futon, looking aggrieved. “My hands were full.” He unfolded it onto the floor, tossed the pillow on top.
“For the record,” she persisted, “in the future, I prefer that you not barge in on me like that. Whether your arms are full or not.”
That condescending, dismissive movement he made with his shoulders was making her tense. “You’re not taking me seriously,” she said tightly.
“Don’t worry, I heard you.” His eyes swept the room until they found her sleeping bag. “Will that keep you warm enough?”
“It always has before,” she said. “The futon wasn’t necessary, but thanks, anyway.”
“The incense smells good.” His eyes followed the thin stream of smoke that undulated sensuously from the tiny bronze censer.
“Yes, it does. It’s my favorite.”
A heavy silence fell. “Ah…thanks for the futon,” she said. She’d intended the words to be a dismissal, but they emerged so husky and low and tentative, they sounded almost inviting.