classic vehicles and motorcycles, she had to have money. Or maybe she was the ax murderer and she carried her weapons in her cases. Either way, this woman was trouble and trouble was something he didn’t need. He was going to find enough of that in the morning at the meeting scheduled with his boss.
“You’re very direct for a woman,” he finally said. “Or a man, for that matter.”
“I believe in confronting a situation head-on, yes.” She glanced at him. “I’m curious. You don’t seem to be the kind of man who would willingly ask for help, especially from a woman. And I’m definitely not myself around you, either. Can you say there isn’t something strange happening here?”
“No, I guess I can’t,” he admitted. He’d accused her of being direct and he liked that about her. Although if anyone had asked, he would have said it was what he’d always thought he’d wanted in a woman. But now he wasn’t so sure. “I don’t understand this, either,” he said. “Let’s just say, there was an accident and it shook us up, and leave it at that.”
The windows had fogged, giving the illusion of a gauzy cocoon isolating them from the rest of the world. The air felt warm and unstable.
“Whatever you say.” She reached for the windshield defroster. He was right. They were tuned into each other in a way she hadn’t experienced before. She attributed her reaction to the fact that he was absolutely perfect for her catalog, but this personal…connection was volatile and disturbing. She felt like the woman who knew there was an ax murderer in the basement. Everything about her said, Don’t go down there. And she was heading for the basement as fast as she could.
Cat shrugged her shoulders, trying to break out of what felt like a physical force field. “I prefer to think we’re two ships that pass in the night. From the looks of this weather, we could use a ship.”
Rain was blowing everywhere now, making it difficult to see. In addition to the weather, her windshield wipers were behaving erratically. Her passenger leaned back, not speaking. If he was worried about her ability to drive in the storm, he didn’t say it. Either he was the rare man who could relax with a woman at the wheel or he was scared speechless. She took a quick look. He didn’t look scared.
“You can just drop me off anywhere,” he finally said.
“If I’d been going to drop you off anywhere, you might just as well have stayed where you were. You’re soaking wet. I’m soaking wet. And your bike is wrecked. I’ll take you home. I suppose it’s too much to hope that you live on the River Walk.”
“You live on the River Walk?” he asked.
She laughed. “Live? Not likely. Home for me is wherever my work is. For the next few weeks, home is the Palace Hotel, compliments of my employer—that is, if he’s satisfied with my work when we meet.”
Satisfied? The Palace Hotel? That was the most expensive hotel on the Walk. Whatever she was, she was being very well paid. “Slow down. We’re almost there. Turn left at the next road and be careful as you cross the bridge—there’s a low spot on the other side. I live behind the church.”
She turned off the highway and drove over the bridge. Her headlights flashed on the church ahead. “Well, I’ve been with a lot of men, but this is a first.”
“Been with a lot of men? Are you always so candid?”
“In my business, I have to be.” She shook her head. “Here I am picturing you in your underwear and I find out you’re a priest.”
Picturing him in his underwear? Satisfied a lot of men? That’s when it hit him. She was a hooker, a high-priced call girl. And she thought he was a priest. He couldn’t hold back a laugh. “A priest? Not me. I just rent the little house in back. I like the solitude.”
“You already told me you weren’t an ax murderer so I guess I’ll trust you on that.” She looked him up and down without seeming conscious of the gesture. “Although I don’t know if trusting you is a smart idea.”
She returned her eyes to the road. With every bump, the tension grew.
He could smell the rain, the leather of his pants, the hint of flowers that seemed to come from her hair.
As they reached the church, lightning suddenly split the sky, revealing a very old adobe structure with a tiny steeple and a fenced yard. She jumped at the flash of light and laughed self-consciously. “I’ve seen a lot of chapels like this in my travels,” she said, “though seldom illuminated by the hand of God himself! Are we being warned, do you think?”
He was beginning to wonder the same thing. In spite of the defroster, the windshield was still fogging and the wipers had slowed to a jerky crawl. The El Camino and the wipers hesitated at the same time lightning struck again. His nerve endings were vibrating like danger flags caught in the wind.
The engine died and the headlights went out.
“Damn!” his driver swore. “I can’t believe this. First your bike wrecks and now my wheels have died. What’s next?” She gestured to the sky. “And who knows how long this storm will last.”
“As far as I know, we aren’t expecting a hurricane, so I’d say it’ll blow itself out pretty quick. We can call your…friend at the Palace. I’m sure he can send someone after you, or I’ll be glad to drive you when the storm stops. I don’t want to hold you up.”
She took a deep breath. “That won’t be necessary. I’ll manage. I truly am sorry if I caused you to go off the road. But you aren’t responsible for me. Once the engine cools down, it’ll run fine.”
He’d turned her down when she’d first offered her help. He should have insisted that she go. He hadn’t. Now he had a woman on his hands he’d like nothing more than to get his hands on. “You may know your cars but you don’t understand about Texas. This is flat-land out here. A hard rain and the low areas flood. I think you’re stuck for a while.”
A crack of thunder emphasized the danger of the storm.
She shivered and he had an almost overwhelming urge to slide his arms around her narrow waist. “You’re probably right. My Ellie has a mind of her own.”
“Ellie?”
“That’s what I call the El Camino. When something isn’t right, she just stops until it is. Which is pretty much what I do. Tell you what, if you have any coffee, I’d love a cup—particularly if you have a little brandy to spike it with,” she said, running her tongue over her lips.
“No brandy,” he said, trying to adjust his lower body, which had started to take on a life of its own. If he sat here, his thigh touching hers any longer, he would incinerate. “Only beer or coffee. But just sit tight a minute. I’ll unload the bike before we go inside.”
“I’ll help,” she said as she opened her door, which was immediately caught by the wind.
If there had been any dry spots left on their clothing, there were none by the time they got the bike into his shed.
Finally he replaced her ramps inside the truckbed and started toward his small adobe house. The woman hesitated.
“Come on in, dry off and wait for the rain to stop.” Jesse unlocked his door and stood aside. His guardian angel eyed him uncertainly, then
