Before I Melt Away

“That’s what I thought.” He drained his glass, put it carefully back on the coaster on her cherry coffee table and leaned forward, forearms on his knees. Immediately she wanted to copycat lean-forward, too. Even though he was sitting across the room, the gesture brought him closer enough—brought those killer eyes closer enough—that it felt intimate.

Damn the pilly robe.

“So what are you doing in Milwaukee?” With any luck he wouldn’t notice that she’d changed the sub—

“Changing the subject?”

Damn. “Okay, you got me.”

He started a smile, didn’t let it get far. “I’m here as decoration, mostly. We’re hoping to buy the old Herrn brewery and start manufacturing HC-3s here in Milwaukee. Other people do the talking, the negotiating, I show up and act like I’m important.”

“I imagine you are.”

“You always had a good imagination.”

She chuckled, foolishly pleased he referred to their history, that he’d bothered to remember her. Or was doing a damn good job faking it. “We could use that kind of industry here. You’ll be doing the city a lot of good.”

“That’s the idea. I have a soft spot for Milwaukee, for obvious reasons.”

Annabel smiled graciously as his comment warranted, but she was thinking he probably didn’t have a soft spot anywhere.

How depraved was she to meet an old friend unexpectedly and want nothing more than to see him naked? “What brought you to this neighborhood tonight? You said you were at a party in Brookfield?”

“Spur-of-the-moment decision driving back. I wanted to see where you lived. Then my tire went, practically at your door and you know the rest.”

“It was funny, with the wind, dog howling next door, your jack clanking on the street—I thought I was being haunted.”

He narrowed his eyes for a fleeting second, then got up abruptly, approached her fireplace and crouched to examine the tiles. “Excuse me, but I have to see if these are what I think.”

“They are.” She laughed, a little nervously, willing the heat to stay out of her cheeks. How many people had she shown those pictures off to? Now she wanted to blush? “An artist used to live here, who apparently had a rather liberal view of life. But I like them. They’re not obvious unless you look closely. You’re the first person who spotted them on his own.”

“Am I?” His eyebrows went up, but she had the feeling he wasn’t surprised. She shouldn’t be, either. Even in high school, nothing had escaped his notice. Of course, that fact would have made no impression on her at thirteen, except that her parents kept commenting on what a remarkable boy he was. A remarkable boy who’d grown into a remarkable man. Damn shame Mom and Dad weren’t here to see it. Her mom especially had doted on Quinn, and missed him when he went back home, though she’d loved that he kept in touch for several years, especially at Christmas.

“Why the sadness?”

Annabel started. He hadn’t even glanced at her, she was sure. He was standing now, staring into the fireplace where her lone log still glowed orange underneath. Freaky how he did that. More than once when she’d been in thirteen-year-old hormone hell, he’d understood what she was feeling more than her parents had. Or so it seemed to her at the time.

“I was thinking Mom and Dad would have really liked to know you now.”

“Maybe they do.”

She shot him a startled look, then laughed. “I suppose that’s possible.”

He picked up a tiny framed print from her mantel, Three Spirits Mad With Joy, by Warwick Goble, a whimsical favorite of hers left to her by her mom. “I used to think the dead should be allowed to come back one day a year, to see the people who miss them.”

“You don’t anymore?”

He turned, cocking his head in a silent question.

“You said used to think.”

“Oh.” He put the picture down. “I guess I hadn’t thought about it in a while.”

“Who would you want to come back?”

“Sally.” He spoke without hesitation.

Annabel clenched her teeth against irrational jealousy. She hadn’t read about him getting married or being attached, but then Quinn Garrett was adamant about keeping his personal life away from the press. “I’m sorry. Someone special?”

“Very.”

“Girlfriend?”

“Guinea pig.”

Annabel burst out laughing. “Be serious.”

“I am serious. I had her when I was a boy. She listened to everything I said, never thought I was odd. It was always clear what she wanted from me.” He chuckled, reminding Annabel how seldom he laughed out loud.

“She sounds wonderful. Who else would you want to come back? I hope your parents are still in this world.”

“Mom is.” He moved back to the couch to grab his coat. Even in high school he’d been reluctant to discuss his life or his parents. All she knew was that they lived in Hartland, Maine—sister city to Hartland, Wisconsin, where Annabel had grown up, and that his father had worked at a tannery while mom stayed home.

“I should go.”

“You should?” She stood up, absurdly disappointed, and followed him into the chilly front entranceway.

“I’ve taken up too much of your evening already.”

She stopped herself from offering him the rest of it, wanting to ask Will I see you again? but hating the clingy-woman line. “Thank you for stopping by.”

“I’ll see you again.”

She couldn’t help the wide smile. “I’d like that.”

“I would, too.” He leaned forward and for one crazy second, she thought he was going to kiss her and her entire being went on hold. Then he stopped several inches away and she had to use everything in her power not to look disappointed.

“I’m counting on you to show me some fun while I’m here, Annabel.” His eyes were warm, bottomless, and he smelled like expensive male heaven.

Oh, yes. “How long will you be here?”

“As long as it takes.”

“To negotiate the acquisition?”

He lifted one eyebrow briefly, then leaned the rest of the way toward her and kissed her…

On the cheek, oh crap.