Authors: Jill Winters
Blushing Pink (42 page)
"I was
about
to call the fire department! Anyway, what's the difference now? You're
here.
Right?"
The black-haired, blue-eyed savage was practically sneering at her. In his heavy black coat with fat yellow stripes across the sleeves, he was a hot-tempered and gigantic bee. "What's your name?" he demanded.
That threw her. Oh, jeez, did he really need her name now? Was there going to be an official report or something? This was ridiculous. "Gretchen," she replied in spite of her reservations. "Gretchen Darrow." She supposed she had to answer—and she supposed he wasn't the type to find humor in a response like "Ura Prick."
"You live here alone?" he said, then roved his eyes around the luxurious living room.
"No," she said, her voice edged with impatience. "I already told you my cousin lives with me." Wait, had she told him that yet? He had her so flustered, she wasn't even sure. "And for the record, I'm a really deep sleeper." Now, that was just lame. But true. In fact, once Gretchen climbed into bed, buried herself under a thick blanket pile, she was pretty much out of commission until the shrill blaring of her alarm.
"And where's your cousin right now?" he asked.
"She's at a friend's tonight. The fire was in her bedroom," Gretchen explained. She released a sigh and relaxed her posture. She needed to calm down; the worst was over—namely, the fire—she supposed the fireman was still just keyed up about it. And also, as she'd already noted, the guy was a jerk.
He slanted his cold blue gaze at her. "You get along with your cousin, Gretchen?"
She paused, thrown by the question, which sounded suspicious, suggestive—though she couldn't begin to guess what he was suggesting.
"Yes, of course we get along. I love her, why?" Gretchen stopped short of blathering on about how Dana was the closest thing she'd ever had to a sister, how she'd invited Gretchen to stay with her as long as she wanted until she found her own place, how she could always be counted on to brighten any occasion—okay granted, she didn't usually use actual fire. But instead of all that, Gretchen said, "Why are you asking me that? What does it have to do with anything?"
Pellucci paused, tilted his head, as though he knew something. A moment of silence stretched between them and Gretchen sucked in a breath. She had to admit he had a decent face. Though it might be improved with a little smiling. Honestly, she couldn't believe she was even finding him attractive at all! Yes, he was... well... ruggedly eye-catching. Not just his height or his dark scruff, but his overpowering presence, the way he seemed to consume most of the space and air and energy in the room. But still, did any of that make up for his bullying personality? Confidence was one thing, but Pellucci seemed to radiate arrogance—a whole other effect and much less appealing.
Why she was even analyzing any of this, she didn't know. It wasn't like he was asking her out. More like he was thinking of filing some kind of complaint against her.
"No problems with your cousin?" he pressed. "Like maybe you two had a fight this evening? Maybe you went a couple of rounds over a guy or something?"
Now it was Gretchen's turn to grimace. "No, of course not! And if we ever did fight—which we don't—I can guarantee it would never be over something as insignificant as a guy." Should she break out the Gloria Gaynor to punctuate her point? No, that seemed a little desperate. Then, suddenly, she realized: "Wait a minute... Are you saying... Oh my God!" she yelped. "Are you trying to imply that I set Dana's stuff on fire?"
He just looked at her.
Her jaw dropped even lower as her eyes grew wider with feeling, with shock, with outrage... with fear. Was she in some kind of trouble? "That's what you're saying, that I caused a raging inferno in there on purpose."
He shrugged. "Fine, so maybe it was an accident. You never meant for it to get so out of control."
Heat crawled up her neck and spread across her cheeks as frustration and anger bubbled up inside her. "This is crazy! I didn't even do anything!"
"Exactly. You didn't call the fire department because you thought you could handle it? But of course, being kind of a spoiled princess, you couldn't." His vitriolic tone was like acid and seared a hole through the last shred of civility in their fabric of conversation. Stunned, Gretchen didn't know whether to correct his wrong impression of her as pampered and useless, or simply to punch him in the tightly locked jaw.
Finally, shaking her head, mouth agape, she pressed a palm to her forehead as the other slid to her hip. "God, this is insane. Do you treat all your damsels in distress like this—or just the ones who want to rip your face off?"
In her state of agitation, she'd forgotten about her low—cut nightgown and full, jiggling breasts. When Pellucci's eyes dropped down, though, she quickly remembered. As he eyed her nearly naked breasts, his expression changed, his face became unreadable.
Gretchen's breath caught in her throat. Her pulse soared. God, he made her nervous. Swallowing hard, she crossed her arms again. But why? What was done was done. When Pellucci's gaze slid up from her breasts, it seemed to linger on her lips. As he studied her mouth, a different kind of tension climbed into the space between them. It strung tight and stretched on with more than anger. Attraction. No, but that couldn't be right...
Her fingertips dug into the soft flesh of her upper arms as her face flamed hotter. It wasn't like her to feel so suddenly flustered, so rattled, so disconcerted. But she supposed everything that had happened was just crashing down on her.
Pellucci stepped closer to her then, and Gretchen stepped back, though not as quickly as she should have, and when their eyes locked, her heartbeat quickened. She became powerfully aware of how near he was, of the seconds ticking and the tension thrumming between them, and before she could speak, Pellucci's blue eyes drifted down to her mouth again. Then slowly, wordlessly, he raised his arm, brought his hand to her face. Taking Gretchen by surprise, his fingertips grazed her cheek; they were warm and gentle as they moved lightly over her skin.
Her breath caught in her throat, her heart jumped beneath her breasts, and she was suddenly speechless. Maybe not so suddenly.
When he pulled back, his fingertips were tinged with smoky black. "Ash," he said, bringing his hand back to his side. "Lock up behind me," he added, and then he was gone.
Jill Winters is a summa cum laude, Phi Beta Kappa graduate of Boston College. She has published five novels with Penguin Group, which have been featured on Barnes & Noble's Bestseller Lists and Booksense's Top Ten. Her debut novel,
Plum Girl
, was a finalist for the Dorothy Parker Award of Excellence. In addition to reissuing her backlist, Jill is hard at work on a new mystery series. Stay tuned for the first book in the series,
The Unprintable Big Clock Chronicle
, coming soon! In the meantime, you can find updates from Jill on Facebook and Twitter, or reach her via email, at her website:
www.jillwinters.com
.