2000 Kisses (19 page)

Seven o'clock came and went.

T.J. couldn't remain patient any longer and headed for the kitchen to pour another cup of the coffee he'd made earlier. Mug in hand, he ambled to the door of Tess's room.

She was still asleep, her blankets tangled on the floor, the sheet twisted across her legs. He looked away fast before temptation could kick in. He hated to wake her but he needed to go into town in an hour and check on a few things, and he wasn't about to leave her there with only Maria for protection.

He knocked softly on the door. “Tess? Time to rise and shine.”

Something that sounded like a pillow hit the door, followed by more muttering.

So the lady had a temper in the morning, did she? T.J. smiled at the idea as fantasies immediately took form about inventive ways that he could soothe that temper on top of those tangled blankets.

Even if he could never allow them to become more than fantasies.

T.J. walked into her room, eased back a corner of the pillow, and held a steaming cup of coffee a few inches from her nose, ready to move fast if she flung out her arm.

“Ummmm.”

He blew coffee-scented steam toward her face and was rewarded with a little squirm of her body beneath the drifty bit of lace that passed for her nightshirt. One arm emerged, followed by the edge of her face.

“Where's that millennium cruise file, Annie?” she muttered. “And I need the caterer's bill.”

T.J. watched, enjoying the sunlight on her creamy skin, liking the sight of her in that big white bed. “Right here, Ma'am,” he said crisply.

“What about the new chocolate program?” she moaned. “Maybe a cooking seminar would work. Invitation only, of course.”

“Of course,” T.J. agreed gravely.

“Dessert for the press. Only chocolate dishes. Ummmm.”

T.J. lifted one of the pillows. “Do you always plot out business projects in your sleep?”

Tess's face appeared, shadowed and sleepy. “T.J.? Is that you?”

“No other man in sight.”

“Is it
AM
or
PM?”

“AM.”

Her eyes opened wide, then locked on the coffee in his hand. “If that's caffeine you're holding, you can name your price, cowboy.”

“Now, that could be a dangerous offer.”

Tess sat up sleepily, her hair a glorious cloud of color around her pale cheeks.

The sight of her slammed right into his solar plexus. The skinny straps of her silky top kept slipping off her shoulders, and TJ. decided it would be a good idea for him to look away before he did something stupid.

Like drop to his knees and howl.

“The coffee's right over here. I warn you, it's not that wimpy stuff with the pretty white froth. This is real cowboy coffee, the kind that will put hair on your chest.”

“Just as long as it's hot and has caffeine,” Tess muttered. “Where is it?” She shoved the strap back onto her shoulder and peered at him sleepily.

Grinning, TJ. backstepped toward the door. “It will be right beside me in the kitchen.”

“There's one thing you'd better understand, Sheriff. It's dangerous to get between me and my morning coffee.”

TJ. tossed her a robe and headed back into die hallway. If he stayed any longer to watch those long legs emerge from beneath the sheets, he might do something unforgivable, like pull her down and make certain that they didn't leave the bed for hours.

Dammit, what was wrong with him? He'd never had a problem controlling his fantasies before.

“Coffee,” Tess rasped in the pleading voice of a desert traveler dying of thirst.

He smelled her before he turned and saw her standing in the doorway of her room, her perfume a complicated blend of citrus, cinnamon, and hyacinth.

T. J. took pity on her and handed over the cup, watching her gulp greedily. A heartbeat later, she made a strangled sound, squinting down at the cup. “What's in there, boiled shoe leather?”

“Equal parts fire and brimstone, to hear Grady tell it.”

“That stuff should be classed as a lethal weapon.” Tess took another swallow, shuddered, then tied her robe tighter and followed him to the kitchen. Once she was there, she shoved a shining tangle of hair off her face and immediately began to wrestle with her fancy silver coffee
machine. As she did, her robe slid open to reveal those amazing legs of hers.

There was something painfully arousing about watching her pad around barefoot in his house, T.J. discovered. She was growing on him, he thought grimly. She was claiming his thoughts and stirring his body.

But he knew that the minute she was out of danger, Tess would jump in that fancy car of hers and head back to Boston and her high-powered career. Then TJ. would be standing here alone, trying to remember her perfume, trying to forget her radiant eyes and how her laughter had filled a room.

Which meant that he had to get a grip on his fantasies right
now.

Tess thrust a cup into his hands and sat down at the table. “Try that for coffee,” she challenged, her eyes glinting.

He took a gulp. Chocolate and cinnamon, he thought as the white froth on top teased his lips. “Not bad,” he admitted.

“Liar. That's as close as anyone can expect to get to paradise in this life.”

His eyes narrowed. “Oh, I can think of a few different ways.” Flipping a chair around, he straddled it and rested his forearms on the back.

For a moment, just a moment, color filled her face. Then she swung around to fill her own cup.

There was something oddly intimate in sitting across from Tess at the table while sunlight streamed through the open windows, leaving sparks in her coppery hair. As her knee brushed his, TJ. swallowed hard and tried to control his short-circuiting nervous system.

“Do you always pay catering bills in your sleep?”
he asked, giving her time to wake fully before telling her about his conversation with Andrew;

“Sometimes.” Tess toyed with her coffee. “Things get intense during a big project. Sometimes I can't turn my work off. My boss is very supportive, but he gives me lots of responsibility, and that makes for high pressure and stress. Lately we've branched out into the high-end cruise business, and on top of that I just received an international chocolate account. But a good PR campaign helps a client focus on their unique skills as well as their long-term planning. We have to help them see where they want to go and exactly how to get there.” She sat back with a sigh. “Now, aren't you completely bored?”

“Don't apologize because you care about what you do.” T.J. lingered over her smooth, rich coffee. “Or because you're good at your job.”

“How do you know that?”

He saw her hands tighten. McCall realized his answer mattered deeply to her. “First, because you think fast on your feet. Second, because you seem to genuinely like people. Most of all because you love to ask questions—the more irritating, the better”

Tess colored slightly. “Hello? Have I just tuned into the Psychic Network?”

“Simple process of deduction, Duchess. You make people feel special when you listen to them.” TJ.'s smile faded slowly.

“What's wrong?”

He had played and replayed this conversation, but somehow the preparation didn't help. He couldn't delay telling her the things she needed to know. “I talked to your brother this morning, Tess. He's had some news.”

“Have they traced the money?” she asked stiffly.

T.J. shook his head. “Andrew says they've isolated
two similar account transactions. One was in Seattle, and one in Atlanta. They're digging for more details, but they don't want to tip their hand too soon, in case they send warning signals.”

TJ. rose to pace the room. “One of the transfers went to a man in Atlanta. He got a surprise in his account, too—only his deposit was for ten million dollars.” TJ. rubbed the back of his neck. “The fool went on a spending spree and left a trail a mile wide when he did it.”

Tess's hands tightened on her coffee cup. “Where is he now?”

“There's no use in jumping to conclusions.”

“Where
is
he?”

TJ. braced his palms on the table in front of her. “The man vanished last night. No one has been able to contact him.”

But it was just a matter of time until he was found, TJ. thought grimly. More likely dead than alive.

Tess looked down, stirring the froth in her coffee. “What happened to the person in Seattle?”

“Nothing so far. He's still under constant surveillance. Andrew didn't want to put you through that so he convinced the authorities to let you stay here—as long as you're under my protection.”

“And that means I'm safe?”

“Safe enough.”

Tess gave a shaky laugh. “You seem to be going to a lot of trouble to convince me there's no real problem, but I'm not buying it. You're a poor liar, Sheriff. Your eyes go all flat when you say something you don't believe. That's how they look right now,” she whispered.

TJ. hesitated, then covered her hand with his. “It doesn't mean anything, Tess. The man in Atlanta could show up tomorrow, good as new.”

“He could also show up good as dead.”

“There's no way to know that”

“Don't lie to me, T.J, Never lie to me.”

“Okay, you're right. It's a bad sign.” He drew a raw breath. “We won't know exactly how bad without more information.”

Tess pushed back slowly from the table. “I want to talk to my brother right now.”

TJ. started to protest, then realized she had every right to more information. “Be my guest,” he said, pointing to the cordless phone on die counter.

But he didn't leave as she dialed, or even later while she bent over the pine table in the dining room, her eyes narrowed. T.J. saw the strain that filled her face and the small tapping movements she made with her hand on the polished wood. She asked Andrew a few questions and listened intently, then hung up.

“So, that's the long and short of it Man reports finding millions of dollars. Man vanishes.”

“You left out one major point.
Mm spends
a big part of the money,” TJ. said flatly.

“I spent a good deal of my money, too,” Tess reminded him grimly. “In the wrong quarters that could be a cause for unpleasantness.”

“No one is getting past me, Tess. Just remember that. You aren't alone in this.”

“I feel alone,” she said softly. “I keep wishing the whole problem would go away. But it won't, will it?”

“No.”

Tess stared at him. “Tell me the rest”

“Chances are that things will get worse. But nothing will happen to you. I give you my word on that.”

“I don't frighten easily, T.J. I'm an organized person and I'm usually disgustingly optimistic.”

“You will be again,” he said.

“Will I? This place has left me wondering who I am. Part of the problem is the strange dreams I've been having. They disrupt my sense of order and good sense.”

“What kind of dreams?” TJ. asked carefully, remembering her odd behavior in the old jail.

“It's as if I were here, but in a different time.” Her voice trailed off as she shook her head. “They don't really seem like dreams, yet what else could they be?”

“Any number of things,” he said. He'd had his share of strange dreams, too, but he figured they were part of the general turmoil Tess had caused in him since the moment he'd first seen her. He decided it would be a good idea to change the subject. “And what's the other part of the problem?”

She shrugged. “You. You make me edgy. You also make me want things I've never wanted before.”

“What kind of things?”

“Quiet dinners. Cooking.” She swallowed. “Maybe more than that.”

As she spoke, a wave of wanting hit him. So much for changing the subject.

McCall wondered why he'd ever thought she was stiff or aloof. There was nothing aloof about Tess. She was all soft skin and lingering perfume, and the sight of her mouth made him think of ripe raspberries. He wanted to skim his way down her neck, then explore lower—

He cursed softly, knowing that touching her would be the worst thing he could do.

No doubt about it. The sooner Andrew got this mess straightened out so Tess could go back to her warp-speed life in Boston, the better.

W
hen T.J. walked down the hall, he found Maria standing in the kitchen with her hands on her hips.

“Senor McCall, you should not be awake so early on your day off. And why did you not call me to make your breakfast?” Maria tied her apron, giving TJ. a chiding look, followed by an accusing glare at Tess. “You were up worrying all night, I think. Always you worry, as you did over my son when he gets involved with those smugglers and goes to jail. You worried until you went down to Mexico and brought him here—I still do not know how you managed to take him from that terrible place.” She shook her head as she pulled eggs, vegetables, and tortillas from the refrigerator. Then she fixed Tess with another glare, the story a warning.

“Maria,” T.J. warned.

“No, do not tell me to stop. The
senorita
does not know how you stay awake for many nights when you worry. She does not know how far you go to do right.”