reached out and fingered a mat in her hair. “Isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black?”
She swatted away his hand. He caught one more forbidden glimpse as she arched to pull on her trousers and panties in one go. “Oh,” she groaned. “I’m going to be sick.”
That galvanized him. “Not in here, you’re not.”
She got open the door of the Explorer and half fell out into the alley. As he slowly, painfully pulled on his own clothes, he heard her retching. His stomach lurched in sympathy, and he gritted his teeth against a wave of nausea.
Wiping her mouth, she reappeared in the open door. The captain wouldn’t have recognized his cool, disciplined officer in this unkempt woman with a half-buttoned, wrinkled shirt, tangled hair and red-rimmed eyes. “I’m going to find my car.” She swallowed. “If—if I left anything…”
“Get in,” he said. He climbed between the seats to get behind the wheel.
She was still standing there staring.
“Get in,” he repeated, wincing at the sight of himself in the rearview mirror. “You don’t want anybody to see you. I’ll pull up right next to your car.”
Pride made her neck long, but after a reluctant moment, she did climb in and close the door.
Hugh found the keys wedged in the crack between the center console and the seat. His head was going to fall off. He knew it was. But he’d rescue her from possible humiliation first, like the gentleman he preferred to think he was.
Turning to look over his shoulder was undiluted agony, but he managed to back up, get turned around and cruise slowly into the tavern parking lot proper. “What do you drive?”
“It’s right there.” She indicated a cherry-red Subaru wagon.
He got up close, his Explorer blocking any sight of her from the tavern or the sidewalk. Not that there was any traffic at…
“Oh, hell,” he growled.
“What?”
“It’s noon.”
She half rose to look over the seat at his dashboard clock. “Aren’t we supposed to be back on duty at three?”
“That’s my memory.”
The word that came out of her mouth was fitting, if not a nice one for a lady to say.
“Go home and shower,” he said. “You’ll feel better.”
She cast him a look of disbelief.
“Or not,” he conceded.
Nell Granstrom opened the door again, climbed out, then stopped. “This never happened.”
He had to turn his head to look at her. “What?”
“It never happened. Last night.” Her eyes met his square, but red washed her cheeks. “This morning. You and me. I—I don’t usually drink.”
He wasn’t much of a drinker, either, or his head wouldn’t be detonating this morning.
“Do I have your word?” she asked fiercely. “You’ll never tell a soul? You’ll never refer to it again? You’ll forget it ever happened?”
The forgetting part Hugh wasn’t so sure about. The rest…
“I will never say a word.” He sketched a cross in the air. “On my honor.”
She sagged, bit her lip. “Thank you.”
“After what we saw…maybe we needed it. Since neither of us is married…”
Her eyes sizzled. “You said not a word. We won’t talk about why. It never happened.”
“Fine,” he said tightly. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m kinda looking forward to getting home.”
She gave a nod, flinched as if she regretted it, and slammed the door of his Explorer. He waited until she was in her Subaru and had started it. Running his hand over his unshaven jaw, he watched in his mirror as she exited via the alley. Smart.
Too bad that after a couple pitchers of beer neither of them had been smart this morning. No, what was really too bad was that his own personal history had escalated his reaction to an already horrific tragedy. Otherwise he wouldn’t have had those damn beers in the first place.
Working with a woman he didn’t like would have been bad enough, Hugh thought. Working with a woman he didn’t like but had had drunken sex with was going to be next door to hell.
CHAPTER TWO
HOW COULD SHE have done something so stupid, so humiliating, so…undignified?
Nell stood under the shower with her face upturned, letting the hot water beat over her head as though it could cleanse her inside as well as out.
How could she face him again? How could she work with a man she’d let…
Nell moaned aloud at the fresh realization of exactly what she’d let him do. Never mind what she’d done.
Her head throbbed and she tilted it sideways to let the shower spray hit first one temple and then the other. The pressure didn’t help.
Nell reached for the soap and sudsed herself for at least the third time. Then she shampooed again as well. The rinse water was turning lukewarm. She’d been standing in there for an eternity.
But not long enough.
All the while she dried, got dressed and forced her self to eat a sandwich and drink a glass of milk, Nell’s thoughts raced in vicious circles.
She could only pray he was embarrassed, too, but what were the odds of that? Hugh McLean had a reputation with women. Word had it he had a different cute, petite blonde on his arm—or in his bed—every few weeks.
“A redhead once in a while,” Joe Redding had said admiringly. “But, damn, he picks lookers.”
Nell knew painfully well that she wasn’t even close to being a looker. But she was a woman, one more notch in his belt. Hey, he was drunk and in the mood, and she’d been handy. Handy? Who was she kidding? Randy, was probably more the truth.
There in her own kitchen, she flushed hot and cold. Her behavior had been so alien for the woman she’d become. It was as if too many beers had thrown her back to the wild teenager she’d been sixteen years ago, before she learned her lesson the hard way. Forget consequences, enjoy the now.
You feel good.
She whimpered and set down the half finished glass of milk. Her stomach was not enthusiastic about even something as innocuous as milk.
Would he keep his word, and not tell anyone? Nell didn’t know him well enough to be sure either way. The few times she’d had to work with him, they’d butted heads. She thought he was a sexist, macho
