Flirting with Trouble

She nodded again, even more reluctantly. He was going to think there was something suspicious about that.

Instead, he smiled and that ribbon of heat unfurled in her once more. But it was replaced by guilt when he added, “That was nice of you, Marnie. I didn’t realize you thought so highly of my dad.”

Yeah, that was her, she thought. Always thinking of her clients’ shooting victims first.

“The least I can do is give you a ride back then,” he offered. “No sense paying for a taxi if you don’t have to.”

Marnie knew she should decline, but the prospect of spending a little more time with Daniel won out. “Thanks,” she said. “I appreciate it.”

For perhaps the hundredth time in as many minutes, Daniel asked himself what the hell he thought he was doing. This time, though, he did it twice—one what-the-hell for driving Marnie back to her hotel, and another what-the-hell for insisting he follow her up to her room to make sure she arrived safely. A woman traveling alone couldn’t be too careful, he’d told her. Even in small towns.

But he knew that was only part of the reason. In spite of having spent the last eight years trying to forget about her, he realized he was still powerfully attracted to Marnie Roberts. Maybe even more than he’d been in San Diego. He’d been a kid in San Diego, uncertain of himself and not especially confident where women were concerned. He’d always told himself that was why he’d fallen so hard for Marnie in the first place—because he’d been so inexperienced, and she’d seemed so sophisticated. But his experiences since then had only made him realize tonight just how special Marnie Roberts was, and how lucky he’d been to meet her when he did.

Not much had changed in that regard, he thought. She was still special. And he still felt lucky to have met her.

The dazzling, effervescent girl had blossomed into a stunning, elegant woman. As they’d chatted tonight, Daniel had been transfixed by her. By the changes in her. She seemed so much more confident, so much more poised than she had been before. Stronger. More seasoned. More womanly. She appealed to him in ways she hadn’t before. Probably because he’d changed so much himself.

Now, as he stood behind her and watched her slip her key card into the lock of the hotel-room door, he didn’t know what to say. What to do. How to act. He watched as the little green light flashed, followed by the click that said everything was okay. But nothing felt okay. And instead of signaling a go-ahead, the green light seemed to be a warning of some kind. Whether it was trying to warn Marnie or him, he couldn’t have said.

The room was dark when she pushed the door open, and she mumbled something about having wished she’d turned a light on before she left.

“I’ll get it,” he volunteered. And before she had a chance to decline, he was pushing into the room past her, trying not to notice the soft swish and click of the door as it closed behind them, throwing them into darkness.

Well, not complete darkness, he realized, since the curtains were open and the scattered lights of Pepper Flats lay beyond—not as bountiful as they would be in a big city, but glittery enough to look as if someone had tossed a handful of diamonds onto a black velvet background. He and Marnie were, however, utterly alone.

And before he realized what he was doing, Daniel heard himself say, “Marnie, I’m sorry about the way things turned out in Del Mar.”

She said nothing at first, only strode across the room and stared out the window beside him. Although he couldn’t see her well in the darkness—he still hadn’t switched on a light…but then, neither had she—he imagined her expression was probably much the same as it had been in the hospital waiting room. A little preoccupied, a little anxious, a little confused.

Finally, very softly, she said, “Are you?”

He expelled a long breath. “Yeah. I am. I shouldn’t have left you that letter the way I did. I should have explained things to you face-to-face.”

“Yes, you should have.” She hesitated before adding, “Is that the only reason you’re sorry?”

She wasn’t going to make this easy, was she? Then again, he didn’t deserve for her to make it easy. Hell, he’d brought this on himself by wading into the past in the first place, when he should have remained rooted in the present, where they had both seemed content to stay all evening. In spite of that, he added, “No. That’s not the only reason. I also should have explained things better than I did.”

Still staring out the window, she said quietly, “Oh, I think you explained pretty well. Your horses meant more to you than I did. End of story. It was good that you told me when you did, instead of leading me on.”

“Marnie, that—” He halted abruptly, before he made things even worse. Was that what she’d thought after reading his letter? That she’d meant less to him than the animals he trained? Just the opposite had been true. That was why he’d had to leave the way he did—because Marnie was becoming so important to him, she was making him forget all the reasons he needed to succeed. But if that was the way she’d been feeling all this time, she wasn’t going to change her mind just because he told her otherwise.

Ah, hell, he thought. Why had he even taken them down this road? Hoping to salvage what he could of the conversation, he said, “That week just didn’t end up the way it was supposed to. I…”

Finally, she turned to look at him, but her face was still in shadow, telling him nothing of what she might be thinking or feeling. “You…what?” she asked, her voice completely void of emotion.

“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “What happened between us in San Diego…It just came out of nowhere. I was totally unprepared for it.”

“I wasn’t prepared for it, either, Daniel.”

“I wasn’t looking to get involved with anyone,” he said.

“Neither was I.”

“I was just starting out in my career.”

“I hadn’t even begun mine.”

“And I just wasn’t ready, that was all.”

She was silent for a moment more, then repeated, quietly and carefully, “That was all?”

He knew it sounded lame, but he nodded anyway. “Yeah. I was just a kid eight years ago, Marnie. We both were. Can’t I just say I’m sorry and let it go at that?”

She made a sound that was something between a humorless chuckle and a tsk of resignation. “You know, even without the apology, I had let it go, Daniel. Until I saw you tonight. And then, it was like I relived that whole week in ten seconds’ time. But what was really strange was that, by the time we finished dinner, I’d almost forgotten about how it ended in San Diego. It felt like we were back there again, a few days before the end, and everything was fine.”

Wow, she’d felt that, too? He’d experienced the same thing. That was why he’d offered to drive her back to her hotel, why he’d wanted to walk her to her room, why he’d apologized for what had happened, as if it were some minor transgression that could be excused with a heartfelt I’m sorry. And it was why—

Well. It was why he suddenly wanted to do a lot of things he knew he had no business doing. Which was all the more reason he couldn’t do any of them.

“But we’re not back there, are we?” she asked more softly. “And we can never go back there again. It’s ridiculous to think otherwise.”

She was right. He knew she was. But he wasn’t ready to leave it behind just yet. She would probably only be in Hunter Valley for a little while. He might not see her again after tonight. So he turned to stare out the window again, thinking it might be easier to talk to her if he weren’t looking at her. And he searched for the right words to say.

“You know, when you think about it, the two of us never really learned that much about each other that week. I knew you were rich and had just graduated from college and what you wanted to do with your future. But I didn’t know much about your life’s experiences—what made you the way you were.”