“But I’ve got a swordfish steak in the fridge that I was going to throw on the grill. I’d love it if you’d join me.” She didn’t give him time to respond. “I’ve got to take a shower,” she said, pushing open the sliding door that led from the deck into the house. “I’ll be quick—help yourself to a beer or a soda from the kitchen.”
She was inside the house before he could come up with a good reason why he shouldn’t stay for dinner. But there were plenty of reasons. Because eating here, in the seclusion of her cottage, was too intimate. Because he wasn’t sure he’d be able to maintain this pretense of wanting to be only friends. Because the thought of her in the shower while he was out here waiting was far too provocative. Because he didn’t trust himself to keep his distance.
But Miller didn’t say anything.
Because, despite the fact he knew he was playing with fire, he wanted to stay here with Mariah Robinson more than he’d wanted anything in years.
“CAR ALARMS,” JOHN SAID as he helped Mariah carry the last of the dishes back into the kitchen. “The company makes car alarms, and in the late eighties the business boomed. I took over as CEO when my father retired. I’ve been gone too long—I need to get back to work in a month or two.”
Mariah leaned back against the sink. “How have the sales figures been since you’ve left?”
He shrugged. “Holding steady.”
“Then you don’t need to do anything,” she told him. “Particularly not throw yourself back into the rat race before you’re physically ready. Give yourself a break.”
He smiled very slightly. “I still look pretty awful, huh?”
“Actually, you look much better.” Over the past few days, his hair had grown in quite a bit more. Mariah figured he must be one of those men who needed a cut every two weeks or so because his hair grew so quickly. It was dark and thick and he now looked as if he’d intentionally gotten a crew cut rather than as if he’d been attacked by a mad barber with an electric razor.
His skin looked a whole lot less gray, too. He actually had some color, as if he’d been out in the sun for part of the day.
His eyes were a different story. Slightly bloodshot and bleary, he still looked as if he hadn’t slept in weeks.
“Did you get a chance to look at that book I gave you?” she added.
“Yeah.” He couldn’t hide his smile. “It was…educational. Particularly the chapter about stress reduction through sex.”
Mariah felt her cheeks heat with a blush. “Oh, God,” she said. “I forgot all about that chapter. He does go into some detail, doesn’t he? I hope you didn’t think I was—”
“I didn’t think anything,” he interrupted her. “It’s all right. I was just teasing.”
She laughed giddily. “And I was just going to ask you into the living room to try out one of my favorite stress-relieving exercises, but now I’m not sure how you’ll take that invitation.”
“It wouldn’t happen to be the exercise called “Pressure Cooker Release,” by any chance?” he asked.
She knew exactly which one he was talking about, and she snorted, feeling her face turn an even brighter shade of red. “Not a chance.” But maybe after she got to know him quite a bit better…
He smiled as if he was following the direction of her thoughts. Jonathan Mills had the nicest smile. He didn’t use it very often, but when he did, it softened the harsh lines of his face and warmed the electric blue of his eyes.
She found herself smiling back at him almost foolishly.
He broke their gaze, glancing away from her as if he were afraid the heat that was building in both of their eyes had the potential to burn the house down.
Pressure cooker release indeed.
Mariah waited for a moment, but he didn’t look back at her. Instead, he poured himself another mug of decaf, adding just a touch of sugar, no milk.
The conversation had been heading in a dangerously flirtatious and sexually charged direction. John had started it, but then he’d just as definitely ended it. He’d stopped them cold instead of continuing on into an area peppered with lingering looks and hot sparks that could jolt to life a powerful lightning bolt between them.
Mariah didn’t know whether to feel disappointed or relieved.
Jonathan Mills had proven himself to be the perfect dinner guest. He’d started the gas grill while she was in the shower and had even put together a salad from the fresh vegetables she’d had in the refrigerator.
He was clearly good at fending for himself in a kitchen. He had to be—he’d told her over dinner that he’d never been married. He’d told her quite a bit more about the successful business he’d inherited.
What she couldn’t figure out was why no woman had managed yet to get her hooks into such an attractive and well-to-do man.
Not that Mariah was looking to get involved on any kind of permanent basis. She wasn’t like Serena, eyeing every man who came her way for eligibility and holding a checklist of whatever characteristics she required in a husband. Money, Mariah thought. Serena wouldn’t want a man if he didn’t have plenty of money. John had that, but he also had cancer. Serena probably wouldn’t be very interested in acquiring a man who was fighting a potentially terminal illness.
Nobody would.
Who would want to risk becoming involved with a man who had Death, complete with black robe and sickle, hovering over him?
Mariah cleared her throat. “Well,” she said, “if you’re interested in giving it a try, the relaxation exercise I’m thinking about is one I found extremely effective and…”
He looked a little embarrassed. “I don’t know. I’ve never been very good at that kind of thing. I mean, it’s never worked for me in the past and—”
“What can it hurt to try?”
John met her eyes then. He laughed halfheartedly, sheepishly. “I really don’t have much patience for doing things like lying on your back and closing your eyes and having someone tell you to imagine you’re in some special place with a waterfall trickling and birds singing. I’ve never been to a place like that and I can’t relate at all and—”
Mariah held out her hand. “Just try it.”
He looked from her face to her hand and back, but didn’t move. “I should just go.”
She stepped closer and took his hand. “I promise it won’t hurt,” she said as she led him into the living room.
Miller knew he shouldn’t be doing this. This kind of touchy-feely stuff could lead to actual touching and feeling. And as much as he wanted that, it wasn’t on his agenda.
He was here to catch a killer, he reminded himself. Mariah was going to provide his introduction to that killer. Her role was to be that of a mutual friend. A friend, not a lover. A means to an end.
