Tex asked after a long perusal of her silvery satin bathrobe. “Not that it matters or anything, in the overall scenario, but I wondered if you ever planned on telling anyone the truth, besides Hannah.”
“Whose business is it?” Cissy crossed her arms.
“Well, that’s the funny thing,” Tex said, pushing back his cowboy hat as he stared down at her. “I’ve decided to make it mine, Mrs. Kisserton.”
Chapter Two
“Well, that’s the even funnier thing,” Cissy said, fixing a gaze on Tex that seemed angry and amused all at once. God, he loved a woman with attitude. “I got a phone call today from the chief of police in our small town. My husband was sort of…located.”
Tex’s heart slid south. Maybe he’d quit breathing.
Then he told himself to buck up and focus. What did he care that some loser of Cissy’s was still around? “Yeah? So where’s he been?”
She pursed her lips at him in a thoughtful expression, and he had to admit the expression made him thoughtful, too.
“He’s been in a lake, wearing specially fitted diving gear.”
Tex frowned, and Cissy sighed. “He’d been tossed in with chains. Apparently, he’d been shot first, and then the culprits weighted his body so it wouldn’t be found. And not much of it was, I guess. Nothing identifiable without multiple lab tests, anyway.”
“I’m sorry.” His arms hung at his side, feeling useless as oak trees. “Can I do something for you?”
“Like maybe call before you drop in?” Cissy asked. “I generally prefer to have advance notice from visitors.”
He scratched his neck. “Not to be heavy-handed, but you don’t seem all that broken up about being widowed.”
She stared at him. “Tex, my marriage was unusual. It was a marriage of convenience for both of us. I would be a politically appealing wife, and he’d take care of my three younger siblings and their children, and me, and Gran. But that’s not exactly how it all worked out, obviously, or I wouldn’t have signed a contract with Marvella. When I came to Lonely Hearts Station, I hadn’t seen him in two years.” Her whole demeanor said, That’s my story—I don’t care if you like it or not. “The money is good, and my family eats.”
He couldn’t believe his ears. “Your marriage wasn’t real?”
She raised her brows at him. “As real as anyone else’s. Oh, you’re asking the indelicate question.”
He could feel his neck turn red, but yeah, he was all for asking indelicate questions if she’d answer them. Curiosity and burning hope lay deep in his heart. Maybe she hadn’t loved the guy. Maybe she wasn’t in true mourning, which would require him to give her breathing space, for a long time, to put her marriage and her feelings about her husband—
Whoa, Nelly. He stopped his thoughts with a hard jerk. “No,” he said, his voice hard, “I’m not asking any indelicate questions.”
“Really? Because I could have sworn you were—”
“Well, I wasn’t.” But he had been.
Once Hannah had slipped and mentioned that Cissy was married, he’d had to know why Cissy had made love with him in the barn two months ago, an experience he couldn’t get out of his head. It was so unlike him—and his brothers would be amazed if they suspected. “It’s none of my business. Why would I care?”
They stared at each other, belligerence on both their faces. Then Cissy broke eye contact and went to the box he’d brought, lifting the top so she could see inside. “So, did you slither under the door?”
He didn’t bother to answer. Lamplight from the side table backlit her, and he could make out curves under the robe and gown. Not that he hadn’t seen plenty of Cissy’s curves. Anyone who looked at her got an eyeful. Slippery and graceful under the icy satin, those curves made his throat dry out and his heart jump in his chest. A part of his body south of his heart jumped, too, staying in an arrested position, like a freeze-frame of a basketball player going to the hoop.
She stuck a finger into the icing and put it in her mouth, turning to see why he wasn’t answering her question and immediately guessed his thoughts.
He expected her to flush, but she didn’t. She just acted as if she didn’t care.
Which he found vaguely disappointing.
“Back to slithering,” she said.
“I won’t tell you how I got in, but it wasn’t difficult.” Not nearly as difficult as trying to figure out what it was exactly that he felt for Cissy. Obviously, he hadn’t expected to have the urge to toss her in bed and take her as if there was never going to be a tomorrow.
“Oh, come on. Tell me. If you do, I’ll be sure to double-block that entrance,” she said, her tone wheedling, as if she were offering him something he wanted.
She knew very well he wasn’t going to tell her. “Should I say I’m sorry about your husband?” he asked. “Pretend that I have good manners?”
Her aquamarine eyes settled on him. “Are you sorry?”
“Yeah. I get the feeling you’ve been through enough.”
With a sigh, she tucked a strand of silvery hair behind her ear. “I’m just Miss Kisserton. That’s my maiden name. I didn’t use my husband’s name after I came to work for Marvella. I didn’t want any reminders of what kind of life he was living. According to the police, it was high-dollar drugs and glamorous parties. Parties at which I was often the unsuspecting hostess. Believe me, my skin creeps when I think about my own part in what was going on.” She looked at him sadly. “I should have guessed, but I was so busy concentrating on being the perfect wife and hostess that I didn’t pay attention to what now seems obvious.”
He waited, realizing she wanted to talk.
“I feel very guilty about that,” she murmured. “I wish I’d known. I’d never have married him.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“I tell myself that.” She replaced the lid and went to sit on the bed. “But it doesn’t help.”
With her guard down, Cissy looked like a young girl. Innocent, fragile and beautiful. The combination packed a powerful punch.
She looked up at him. “I learned my lesson about rescues. There’s no such thing as a handsome prince.”
“I believe you,” he agreed. “I think there’s no such thing as a handsome princess.”
She laughed at him. “Do you need rescuing?”
“Nah. Occasionally my brothers get on my nerves, but I can handle them.” He tore his gaze away from her, telling himself that it would be easy to put the strange, unexpected feelings he was experiencing back inside their long-forgotten hiding place. “And I wouldn’t like a princessy kind of girl, anyway. I like trashy girls.”
Her
