Jon-Michael bent over her until they stood nose to nose and gripped her upper arms. Pulling her up onto her tiptoes, he demanded through gritted teeth, "Where. The. Hell. Have you. Been?"
"Out mending fences with your sister just like you said I should," she replied, straightening up smartly as it belatedly sank in he was angry. Furiously, icily, angry. Dandy. Just what I need. She thrust her chin up at him. "What?" she demanded of the unspoken accusation in his chocolate brown eyes.
"What, she says. It never occurred to you to leave me a note? To take one minute to leave a lousy message on my cell?"
"My messages are never lousy. I—"
His grip tightened. "Don’t get cute with me. I'm in no mood. You have been the next best thing to catatonic for the past two days, then you just up and disappear on me without a word, but I'm not supposed to worry? I oughtta shake you 'til your damn teeth rattle."
She had seen him angry more times than she could count, but thinking back she realized that in all the years they had known each other, she had never seen his rage directed at her. It shook her to realize how badly she wanted to placate him.
That, in turn, made her defensive. She didn’t owe him an explanation and she fiercely resented the quickness with which her adrenaline high had drained away, leaving her limp and weary beyond belief.
All the same…"I'm sorry," she heard herself whisper and strained forward to press up against him. His hands immediately released her to clasp her in his arms. He held her with a tightness that compressed her bones, but she simply stroked her cheek against his collarbone and wound her arms around his waist to hold him tightly in return. "I am sorry," she reiterated. "It never occurred to me you would worry. I didn't think."
"I didn't know where you were, when you’d be back."
"I got to thinking about what you said and went out to talk to Kurstin."
"So you’ve forgiven her?"
"Yes." She released him and pulled back. Reaching up, she smoothed a strand of dirty-blond hair away from his forehead. "I need to get to work. Bluey’s expecting me in the office."
"I know. Who do you think told me you called in to say you’d be late?" He started to tense up all over again.
"Don't be mad at me. I told you I wasn’t thinking straight." She raised up on her toes to give him a quick peck on the lips. Then she settled back on her heels. "I have to get to work, Johnny. Bluey’s been so great about my being gone and I want to give him a full night’s work."
"Okay. But you and I are gonna talk when we get home tonight."
Hayley bit back a grimace. Oh, goody, another heart-to-heart. Because there hasn’t been enough emotion packed into this day already. "Ummm," she managed noncommittally, knowing darn well he would take it as an agreement when she didn’t mean it as anything of the kind. Still, she didn’t want him all riled up again.
At least not right now. She could not deal with his temper right now.
Maybe later.
The evening was every bit as draining as she’d anticipated, and then some. At least Bluey had trained the journalists to know they would be expelled from the bar if they bothered her while she worked. Unfortunately, there was no controlling the patrons.
"So, hey," one of them asked after ordering a drink, "Is it true what I heard on TV? You really against the death penalty?"
Hayley could practically see the ears of every journalist within hearing distance perk up. She set the drink she’d prepared in front of the inquisitive patron. "That will be eight-fifty, please."
The man forked over the money. "I figured they musta got it wrong, cuz that don't make no sense. Why would anyone be against the death penalty when it'd take care of the guy who did her old man?"
"Would you care for a basket of pretzels to go with that?"
And so it went.
"You feeling like the head exhibit at the zoo yet?" Lucy asked when she overheard a similar line of questioning. Two-tone hair belling out, she swung around to deflect the most recent contender attempting a debate on capital punishment with Hayley.
Hayley was wrung out by the end of her shift. The last thing she wanted was to embroil herself in a serious conversation with Jon-Michael.
Mindless sex was what she needed tonight, something to take her mind off her problems and leave her limp and relaxed instead of tied up in knots.
She set out to seduce Jon-Michael the moment they cleared the door to his loft, hoping not only to fulfill her own needs but to postpone the inevitable discussion. Turning, she raised onto her toes and kissed him, threading her fingers through his hair to hold him in place, stroking her breasts against his chest. Her lips were avid as they coaxed his apart, and she kissed him hotly.
Jon-Michael wasn’t averse to being seduced and fell in with the program immediately. He kissed her back with matching heat and enthusiasm. Then he tried to pull back. "Wait. Hayley, honey. Wait a minute."
She didn't slow down and he groaned deep in his throat. His hands slid down the curve of her butt, where he sank his fingers in to pull her nearer. His mouth on hers turned fierce, hungry.
Then, summoning all the willpower at his disposal, he pulled away. Transferring his hands to her upper arms, he shoved her back and held her at arm's length. He vaguely registered the sound of his own breathing as he stared down at her. "Wait," he panted. "We can't do this—we've gotta talk."
"I don't want to talk. Love me, Jon-Michael."
"I will. I will, darlin'. In a minute. But first we need to talk."
She jerked herself away. Ramming her fingers through her hair, she glared up at him. "Why, because you say we should? Why can't we talk later? What's the point in busting the mood right when things are getting good?"
"For crissake, Hayley!" He, too, thrust his fingers through his hair as he stared at her in frustration. When she merely glowered back at him, he exerted enough pressure to put severe strain on his roots. "Do we even have a relationship beyond sex?" When she remained stubbornly silent, he continued grimly, "I would really like to know what you consider my role in your life, Hayley. For instance, if we subtracted the sex, where, in your estimation, would that leave us?" It was imperative, suddenly, that he know.
She looked startled, then conciliatory. "Oh, Jon--"
"If I weren't the owner of the cock scratching your itch," he implacably overrode her, "would you still be here, living with me?"
"How the hell do I know?" Hayley’s urge to appease sank without a trace, belligerence rising to take its place. Clenching her hands into fists at her sides, she angled her chin up at him.
"What's not to know? It’s a simple enough question."
"It’s a pointless question. I mean, you do have the equipment, Jon-Michael, and we do have a sexual relationship. One, I would like to add, you seem to want every bit as much as I. So I don’t understand the—"
"Do I mean anything to you beyond my ability to provide you with a good, hard fuck?"
She glared at him. "Of course you do!"
"She said in such loving tones," he mocked bitterly. Watching her begin to shake, he nodded in comprehension. "Ah. I get it. The dreaded 'L' word rears its ugly head. Well, let's make this real interesting, then, darlin'. Here is the million-dollar question. Do you love me?"