Savor the Danger

“He acted different? Drugged?” Trace asked. “And you still slept with him?”

She glared at her brother. “No. That is, other than seeming somehow…more sincere—”

“I was ever insincere?” Jackson asked her.

“Will you all stop interrupting?”

Dare encouraged her, saying, “Go on, Alani.”

With an effort, she gathered herself. “Jackson mostly seemed the same as always. Cocky, flirting, trying to charm the pants off every woman.”

Trace said, “I don’t need to hear this.”

“I don’t mean me.” But then she added, a little abashed, “Well, yes—me, too—I guess.”

Jackson gave her another squeeze.

“But I was talking about his neighbor.”

Everyone spoke at once, with Dare asking, “What neighbor? A woman?” and Trace saying, “You saw him flirting with her and still you stayed?”

Jackson announced, “I don’t flirt with my neighbors.”

Still on his lap, Alani raised a hand to quiet them all and then twisted to face Jackson. “I was going to tell you about this, but I wanted you to eat first.”

“He doesn’t need to be babied,” Trace grumbled.

“You be quiet!”

Her outburst left Trace bemused—and silent.

Hoping to calm her, to be a contrast to Trace’s animosity, which wasn’t winning him any points with Alani, Jackson bit back his automatic rebellion against her concern. “He’s right, honey. I keep telling you I’m fine.”

She turned back to Jackson. “You were really sick.”

“Yeah.” He pulled her closer to whisper, “Otherwise we’d still be in bed right now.”

Though he couldn’t have heard, Dare said, “Knock it off, Jackson. You’re wasting valuable time.”

Grim, Jackson said, “The only female neighbor I talk with much is Mrs. Guthrie, but she has to be sixty.”

Alani shook her head. “I assumed she was a neighbor because she was barefoot.”

The men all shared a look. If she’d been barefoot, maybe it was for the sake of stealth.

“But I didn’t watch her leave,” Alani explained, “so I don’t know where she went after she walked out your door. Maybe she wasn’t a neighbor. Maybe she was a…a date.”

Unable to think of any woman he’d have invited to his apartment, Jackson said, “Describe her.”

Alani shrugged. “I’d say in her early thirties.”

“No.”

She frowned. “Being thirty removes her from your radar?”

Not since meeting Alani had he gotten overly involved with anyone. He took care of business and ended it there. Period.

He did not invite any woman into his home.

No way in hell would he admit that to Alani, though, much less in front of Trace and Dare. “I’m just saying I’m not seeing any women in their thirties.”

“Short brown hair.”

“How short?”

Her face pinched with annoyance. “Pixie cut.”

He shook his head—and lifted a long hank of Alani’s silky fair hair to admire it. It was straighter and paler and a whole lot softer than his own. “Nope.”

Alani refused to be diverted. “Dresses like a hooker?”

“In her thirties? No.” There had been that one broad… No. That was ages ago and couldn’t even be called a one-night stand. Maybe an hour-long stand… He snorted. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

“And I suppose you know every woman who lives near enough to drop in?”

“Didn’t say that.” But, like any other red-blooded male, he’d noted the more attractive ladies. “Hell, if any of my neighbors were good-looking, and if I wasn’t expending all my energy chasing you, I still wouldn’t go that route.”

Dare nodded. “Too close for comfort.”

“Exactly.”

Alani frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“Complications,” Trace explained as he paced.

Suspicion narrowed her eyes. “What kind of complications?”

“The kind where, after the sex is done and the interest gone, you’re stuck with an annoyed woman in close proximity to where you live.”

Slowly, taut with judgment, Alani swiveled around with a dark frown aimed at Jackson.

He said, “Uh…” Trace wasn’t wrong, but he didn’t have to spell it out to her like that.

“Doesn’t matter now.” Trace saved him by slashing his hand through the air. “Does she sound like anyone you’ve been with?”

Jackson shook his head. “Nope.”

To Alani, Trace asked, “Did you speak to her?”