The corner of his mouth curled. “Yes, I do have a nice home with a lot of space. But I also have a mother with boundary issues and a key to said nice house, which impedes my privacy.” He shook his head, holding out an arm toward his car. “Can I give you a ride home?”
She studied his hand for a moment before lifting her gaze to him. “No, thank you. I drove to work this morning. Besides, I intended to walk down to Sunnyside Grille for dinner.”
“In the dark?”
Declan glanced down the street. It was a little after six and the sun had just settled beyond the horizon in a spectacular display of purple, dark blue and tangerine. If he were a sentimental man, he would remove his cell and capture the beauty of it over the small Berkshires town.
But he wasn’t sentimental; he was logical, factual. A man who dealt with numbers, figures and statistics—and data that assured him a woman walking by herself after dark wasn’t a good idea.
A rueful smile flirted with her pretty mouth. “This is Rose Bend, not Boston. And the diner is just a few blocks away, not a long walk at all.”
“So you’re telling me crime doesn’t happen in this town?”
“Of course it does. We wouldn’t need a police department if it didn’t. And if it eases your mind...” She held up her key ring. Showing him the small canister of pepper spray dangling from it. “I’m not an idiot.”
“Never thought you were,” he murmured, though that coil of concern for her loosened. Silly, when he barely knew her. When today had been the first time he’d really talked to her other than a murmured greeting or nod of acknowledgment. “Would you mind if I joined you?”
She hesitated, and he caught shadows flickering in her hazel gaze. “Why?”
He blinked. “I’m sorry?”
Remi crossed her arms over her chest, but a second later lowered them to her sides. The aborted gesture struck him as curiously vulnerable—and from the trace of irritation that flashed across her face, she obviously regretted that he witnessed it.
Curiosity and protectiveness surged within him. He wanted no part of either. Both were dangerous to him. Curiosity about this woman was a slippery slope into fascination. And from there, captivation, affection. Then...No. Been there. Had three years of hell and the divorce papers to prove it.
And this protectiveness. It hinted at a deeper connection, a possession that wasn’t possible. A connection he’d avoided in his brief attachments since his ill-fated marriage six years ago. As stunning as Remi was, he wasn’t looking for a relationship, a commitment.
At least, not arealone.
“Why do you want to join me? And let me help you out. I appreciate the chivalrous offer, but I’m a big girl—” a humorless twist of her lips had an unconscious growl rumbling at the base of his throat “—and I can take care of myself. So what’s this really about?”
He parted his lips to... What? Take her to task for that subtle self-directed dig? For cutting him off at the knees by snatching away his excuse for escorting her to the diner? Admiration danced in his chest like a flame, mating with annoyance.
“I do have something to talk about with you. Can I walk you to the diner?”
After another almost-imperceptible hesitation, she nodded. “Okay.”
She turned, and he fell into step beside her. Silence reigned between them, and he used the moment to survey the picturesque town that had so completely charmed his mother three years ago that she’d moved here. Elegant, quaint shops, trees heavy with gold, red and orange leaves, lampposts and cute benches lined Main Street. A well-manicured town square, with a colonial-style building housing the Town Hall, and a white, clapboard church with a long steeple soaring toward the sky completed a picture that wouldn’t have been out of place on a glossy postcard.
Walking down this sidewalk with people strolling hand in hand or as families, their chatter and laughter floating in the night air, it was easy to forget that heavily populated, traffic-choked Boston lay three hours away.
He tucked his hands in the front pockets of his pants, pushing his coat open. The night air, though cool, felt good on his skin. Inhaling, he held the breath for several seconds, then released it, slowly, deliberately.
“Remi, I apologize if my kissing you earlier today caused you any problems. Sometimes I forget how small towns can be. Especially since I’m only here every other weekend, which isn’t the case for you. I’m sorry I didn’t take that into account.” He paused. “Has anyone...said anything to you?”
“You mean besides my supervisor, who wanted to quarter and draw you, then lectured me on professional decorum? Or do you mean Mrs. Harrison, my hair stylist’s grandmother, who’d been standing in the reference section and offered me her advice on how to handle a beast like you? Her words, not mine. Or do you mean Rhonda Hammond, the kindergarten teacher there for Friday Story Circle, who gave me a thumbs-up because she’d heard about it from a friend?”
He grimaced, nodding at a person passing by. “The grapevine is alive and well, I see.”
“Thriving.”
“Are you in trouble at work?” he gently asked. He’d never forgive himself if his impulsive—and yes, selfish—actions cost her job. “I know you already spoke to your supervisor, but I can, as well. I’ll call first thing Monday—”
“That’s not necessary.” She stopped next to a bench across from the shadowed windows of a closed clothing boutique. “Declan, could you get to the reason why you showed up at the library?”
He stared down into her upturned face. Dark auburn waves framed her hazel eyes, the graceful slope of her cheekbones, the upturned nose and the wicked sinner’s mouth. And that shallow, tempting dent in the center of her chin. It never failed that, whenever his gaze dropped to it, he had to resist the compulsion to dip his finger there. Or his tongue.
Madonna and Delilah. That’s what she was. Saint and temptress. An irresistible lure that he had to resist.
