Then his touch would lighten as her muscles relaxed, and he’d pick up the soap and run it over her shoulders, across her collarbone and down, until her breasts and belly were slick with suds and his teasing fingers were doing things with the soap that Procter & Gamble never dreamed of.
“Damn it, Cody, get out of my head,” Dana muttered, splashing water as she sat up. It was all his fault. If he hadn’t called earlier in the week, his voice sounding oddly serious on her answering machine, she wouldn’t be fighting off these memories that should have had no meaning for her anymore.
She blinked away a stinging sensation behind her eyelids and pushed thoughts of Cody out of her brain.
How could a man be so easy to love and so impossible to live with?
She picked up the soap and began washing her shoulders and arms briskly, thinking longingly of a glass of wine, a new book and soft white sheets.
Tomorrow, she would ignore her conscience and drive up to the lake. She could actually have a mini-vacation, the first one she’d taken since…well, in a long time. A weekend at the converted fishing shack on Lake Pontchartrain that belonged to her grandfather’s best friend was just what she needed. Then she could relax and think up answers to the questions her boss would fire at her on Monday.
She’d made up her mind on the way home today. She’d even written it in her day planner.
Friday: buy junk food, buy two romance novels, spend weekend alone at the lake house, reading and eating.
She’d leave all her messages unanswered, her mail unpicked up, and just go. Maybe on Sunday, she’d pull up some weeds and replant the bulbs she’d planted four years ago, the last time she and Cody had gone up there together, right before that awful night when Cody had nearly died.
Dana shook her head angrily. She was not going to let the memories get to her this weekend. It had been four years. She was doing fine. Just fine.
A muffled thump echoed through the apartment. She jumped, then froze, but she heard nothing else. It was probably the neighbor’s dog knocking over her trash can again. She sank back into the water.
The bathroom door swung open slowly.
Her heart slammed into her chest. She couldn’t scream, couldn’t even get a breath. Her gaze darted quickly around the room but there was nothing she could use as a weapon. Her fingers clutched the wet soap as the door creaked and the sound of labored breathing reached her ears.
A scuffed brown loafer appeared and an irritatingly familiar voice said, “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Damn it, Cody!” The soap slipped from her fingers and plopped into the water. She forced a huge gulping breath into her lungs and sank even lower, trying in vain to spread the washcloth over her breasts. “You scared the daylights out of me.”
Relief that it was just Cody set her heat-loosened muscles to quivering as a wave of anger washed over her. Then his words sank in.
Her face burned. “What do you mean what am I doing here? I live here. The question is what are you doing here? Get out of my bathroom. How did you get in?”
Cody grinned stiffly and held up a bank card. “Accepted in thousands of locations worldwide.”
“Somehow I never pictured you carrying a gold card,” she muttered, looking him over. There was something wrong. His smart-mouthed remark hadn’t sounded quite biting enough. His voice had a hollow ring and his grin was crooked and meager.
His jeans were brown with dust. An angry red scratch marred his cheek and a bruise discolored his forehead. He leaned against the bathroom door trying to look insolent and nonchalant, but he was pale as a ghost and his jaw was clenched tight.
Still, that didn’t keep his gaze from roaming over her with a hunger she could feel along every wet, trembling inch of her body. It affected her just like it always had. Even if her mind was determined not to get caught up in painful memories, her body had no such compunction. A wave of remembered desire streaked through her, making her legs feel like jelly and her breasts tighten, intensifying her anger.
She tried to make the washcloth cover more, and drew up one leg in an attempt to cover her nakedness. “Get out of here,” she snapped. “Hand me my robe.”
He shook his head slightly and winced. “Nice to see you, too,” he muttered dryly, then grabbed her robe and tossed it toward the tub.
She caught it just in time to keep it from falling into the water. “Get out of here, Cody.” She stood, holding the robe in front of her.
He complied without comment.
When she came out of the bathroom, he was right by the door, so she had to squeeze past him. She marched into the living room in her bare feet and started to open the blinds. “Would you please tell me why you—”
“Don’t,” he interrupted in an oddly quiet but compelling voice.
She shrugged and left the blinds closed, then turned to peer at him in the darkness. He looked tired and bedraggled. His trademark leather jacket wasn’t sitting quite as carelessly on his wide shoulders. The collar wasn’t turned rakishly up. His posture wasn’t the insolent hip-cocked leaning that always sent a shiver of desire through her. He looked…exhausted. Something was wrong.
Dana forced her thoughts away from how her ex-husband looked. She reminded herself that he was here because he’d broken into her apartment. “I have a perfectly good doorbell. Would you please tell me why you felt you had to break in?”
“I thought you were still gone,” he said. “How many times have I told you not to put that kind of information on your…answering machine? The whole city of New Orleans doesn’t…need to know you’ll be out of town until Friday. You might as well take out an ad—’I’m gone. Please…steal me blind.”’
She ignored the strain in his voice. “Oh, I see. You only broke in because you thought I was gone? You’ve turned to burglary now, I guess. The police force isn’t dangerous enough for you.” She switched on the lamp and pulled her robe tighter around her.
Her fingers touched something sticky on the terry cloth. She looked down. Dark red streaked the front of her robe, where she’d brushed by Cody, and stained her fingers. Blood. It was blood. Slowly, reluctantly, her brain wrapped itself around the thought. Her throat closed. She looked at Cody, a sickening dread overriding her anger.
His left arm hung uselessly at his side, and in the lamplight, she saw what she hadn’t noticed before. Blood dripped slowly onto the floor.
“Oh, Cody, you’re bleeding. What have you done now?” she moaned, mesmerized and horrified by the dark drops that trickled down his motionless fingers to fall onto the polished wood.
He shrugged and tried to grin, but a grimace of pain crossed his face. His eyes closed and his legs buckled and he slid down the wall.
Through lips white with pain, he muttered, “Dana, don’t be mad. I’ll leave.”
Déjà vu surrounded her in shades of slowly dripping red, spinning her head crazily. “You obviously can’t leave. You can’t even—” her voice caught on a sob “—stand up.” She hated her accusing, bitter tone, but she couldn’t help it. She’d been here, done this, and she didn’t want the T-shirt.
“Look at you. Damn it, Cody….” He hadn’t changed—although that was no surprise. He’d never changed and he never would. He would always step right into danger’s path. He would always be the same cocky, brash kid she’d fallen in love with at first sight.
They’d