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  His gaze pinned her to the wall. “It’s about love, Claudie,” he said slowly. “I…love…you.” He said each word distinctively as if speaking to a person who didn’t understand the language.

  “No,” she cried, spinning away. She stumbled up the slippery steps and practically clawed her way to the chair where her towel was. She wrapped it around herself, trying to hide from view. When she glanced over her shoulder, Bo hadn’t moved.

  With a faltering breath, she sat down in the plastic chair, her knees too shaky to support her. Neither said anything for a few minutes, then Bo waded to the side of the pool and hoisted himself out of the water. Dripping, he sat with his back to her a full minute then he said, still not looking at her, “I’m sorry that came as such a shock to you. I thought it might have been apparent when I raced from one coast to the other and halfway back trying to find you.”

  She closed her eyes against the tears that wanted to escape. “We’re friends, Bo. That means more to me than you could possibly know. Let’s not screw things up by making it more than it can be.”

  He turned and looked into her eyes. “Why can’t it be more than that?”

  She gaped, momentarily speechless. “Because of who I am. What I did for a living.” She let out an epithet she’d promised Sara to banish from her vocabulary.

  He held up his hand. “I get the picture. You have your past. I have mine. I was a drunk. Not a classy, pleasantly inebriated sot. An in-the-gutter, can’t-remember-my-name barfly.”

  “Don’t, Bo.” Claudie covered her face with her hands. She didn’t want to hear his confession. It hurt too much.

  She heard him stand and walk to her side. He placed his hand on her bare shoulder and the touch went clear through to her heart. “The point is we’re perfect for each other,” he said, his tone gentle and slightly mocking. “But I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know. You’re just not ready to admit it, yet.” He took his hand away. “That’s okay. I can wait.”

  She wanted to deny his words, tell him to go to hell, but her throat was too tight to speak. When she looked at him, he smiled—his easygoing Bo smile. “Let’s hit the hot tub before bed. I don’t know about you, but I’m a little tense.”

  Claudie followed, but she was pretty sure she was already in hot water where Bo was concerned, and probably in over her head as well.

  “I BROUGHT a couple of bottles of white wine from the minibar, if you want them,” Bo said, carrying two small bottles and one water glass in his hand as he approached the spa. He’d returned to the room ostensibly to call Ren, but in truth he needed to give his libido a break. If he was still drinking, he’d have cracked open a whole row of tiny bottles just to numb his mind.

  Claudie, who was already sitting amidst the noisy cauldron of bubbles, gave him a suspicious look. “Why? Are you trying to get me drunk?”

  He set the bottles on the green plastic lawn an arm’s length from the spa and shrugged off his shirt. Despite the towel he’d wrapped around his middle, the bottom of the shirt was damp. He tossed it over a nearby chair. “No,” he told her, stepping down into the near-scalding water. “I thought you might like some wine but wouldn’t feel comfortable taking something from the minibar in your room since it might obligate you to be nice to me.”

  He meant his tone to be light and teasing but she winced as though he’d caught her in a lie. “You don’t have to drink it. I just thought it might help you sleep.”

  She glanced at the wine bottles a second then sighed. “Thank you,” she said in a small voice. Drawing her feet up to the concrete bench, she moved incrementally—as if each inch sealed a bargain with the devil. Squatting to keep as much of her body underwater as possible, she reached out, her back to Bo.

  Bo couldn’t help but stare. Water cascaded down her long, delicate neck to stream over her shoulders. A summer tan line was dissected by the skinny blue tie of her bikini. Her shapely hips and creamy skin invited touch. He sank down immersing his head underwater.

  He held his breath as long as possible. When he resurfaced, Claudie was looking at him, glass in hand. “Thanks,” she said gesturing in a toast. “You’re right. I’d never have opened the bar—even knowing you wouldn’t have minded. I learned a long time ago there’s no such thing as a freebie.”

  Bo kept his sigh to himself. He watched her sip her wine and slowly melt in place, head back in pleasure.

  He stretched his legs, resting them on the bench beside her. A jet of water pummeled the tense muscles between his shoulder blades. “This feels great, doesn’t it?”

  “What did Ren say?” she asked, her gaze studying him in a way he wasn’t used to.

  “He didn’t answer. Must have turned the phone off.” Bo shrugged. “No big deal.”

  Neither of them spoke for some time, then Claudie asked, “Will you and Matt room together tomorrow night?”

  Bo didn’t know what to read into her tone. Was it at all wistful or was that just his imagination? “I told him to try to book three rooms if he could. I can sleep almost anywhere when I have to, but since this trip is more like a vacation than work I figure we should get something nice.”

  She snorted. “In Topeka maybe, but there’s not a lot to choose from in Otter Creek. Val told me last night she went back once to bury her stepfather’s ashes and couldn’t believe how small it seemed. The only motel had closed up. She and her mom stayed in a bed-and-breakfast that some lady from Boston set up.”

  As wrapped up as he’d been in the search for her, Bo hadn’t really given their destination much thought. “Well, if it’s not available, we’ll get a motel in Topeka and commute. You don’t have any other relatives around that you could stay with, do you?”

  She shook her head. “I never knew my mother’s family. She had two younger sisters but we never met them. My stepfather told us he tried calling Mom’s parents in Michigan after she died, but whoever he talked to said my grandparents had died and her sisters had moved. I don’t know if that’s true, but I believed it at the time.”

  “What about your stepdad’s family?”

  “He claimed to be an orphan. Mom used to say that was why he wasn’t much of a father—he’d never had a good role model.” She polished off her wine with a gulp and set the glass behind her.

  She looked at him with a peculiar, speculative glint in her eye and Bo’s heart missed a beat. “Want a foot rub?” she asked.

  His feet immediately started itching. “I beg your pardon?”

  “You heard me,” she muttered, grabbing his left foot so sharply he almost lost his seating. He jammed his hands to the bench.

  “Sure,” he said, trying to be casual—although there was nothing casual about his reaction to her.

  Holding his breath, he closed his eyes and savored the rich, provocative sensations emanating from her touch. Her thumbs plied the sole of his foot. Her nails zigzagged across his instep in a way that made his groin tighten.

  “That’s nice,” he said, gratified by the control he was able to achieve.

  She nodded, seemingly lost in her task. “I knew a girl who went to massage school. She said massaging the foot is like giving a minimassage to the whole body because all the nerves wind up there.”

  “I believe it,” he said gruffly.

  She looked up. Whatever she saw in his face must have unnerved her because she let his foot drop with a splash and she reached behind her to crack open the second wine. “Just a sec,” she said, taking a big sip. She took a second for good measure then picked up his other foot.

  “You have nice feet,” she said.

  “I do?” Bo asked, snorting skeptically. “I don’t think anybody’s ever told me that.”

  “You do. I used to be able to tell a lot about a man by his feet. Men who wore ratty shoes and bad socks usually had smelly feet with corns and blisters and calluses. Men who wore good shoes took better care of themselves overall and they had nicer feet.”

  “Did that make them better men?”

/>   “How could it? They were with me, weren’t they?”

  Bo sighed. He hated it when she put herself down. “You know, Claudie, there were two schools of thought among policemen when it came to prostitution. One believed hookers were low-life scum out to rip off innocent men.” He snorted and shook his head. He’d clashed more than once with the group he considered narrow-minded hypocrites. “The rest of us saw working girls as the victims, doing what it took to get by. The problem came with drugs. There are a lot of junkies out there who sell their bodies to get a fix and if they get desperate, things can get ugly.”

  She stopped massaging. “I saw a girl overdose once. It scared the living crap right out of me.” She shuddered.

  She looked so remorseful he automatically reached out and pulled her to him. That she came without resistance spoke volumes. He moved slightly so her body was aligned beside his, but separated by the forceful wash of the jet. She kept her chin down.

  “Relax, Claudie,” he told her, trying to lighten the mood. “I promise not to make a move on you.” He turned sideways. “Here. Let me rub your shoulders. It’s hard to get the jets up high enough without drowning.”

  She took the deep breath of a person facing a firing squad.

  The water added a novel dimension to the sensation of touching her. Those rare times she’d tolerated his touch, Bo had been struck by her skin’s soft, chamoislike feel. Moisture turned it as fluid as satin.

  “You have pretty skin,” he told her, his voice husky.

  She stilled his hands by placing her fingers atop his.

  “Does that hurt?” he asked.

  After a minute of silence, she shifted slightly and looked over her shoulder at him. “Would you kiss me? Just once?”

  Bo wanted that more than anything, but he’d never in his life been more terrified of the outcome.

  What a stupid thing to ask! Claudie silently berated herself.

  Even though Bo didn’t answer immediately, Claudie sensed his reluctance. She would have jumped out of the hot tub to hide her mortification, but his hands gripped her shoulders, as if suddenly fearful of something. When she looked into his eyes, she caught a glimpse of anxiety. Bo’s afraid? Of what? Me?

  “There’s nothing in the world I want more,” Bo said, his voice weaving itself into the very fiber of her being. “But I don’t want to blow it.”

  Claudie suddenly felt brave. She turned, balancing one hip on the concrete step. “It doesn’t have to be a big deal,” she told him, pleased by how normal her voice sounded. “Just a little—”

  He cut her off by leaning forward and placing his lips on hers. At the same time his hand went around her back, gently cupping her rib cage. He didn’t pull or grasp. His mouth was warm and sweet, tender in a way she’d never known. That tenderness was more seductive than any words or promises—it gave her permission to explore her own reactions and test new boundaries.

  She opened her mouth and touched her tongue to his lips and teeth. He tilted his head to give her freer access but didn’t engage his tongue with hers. She leaned closer, reveling in the adventure. She’d never liked kissing. This was not only joyful it was sexy. She felt a moist heat between her legs that had nothing to do with the hot tub.

  Startled by the intensity of her reaction, she jerked back. Bo’s hand kept her from falling off the bench. He opened his eyes. “Are you okay?” he asked.

  She nodded, not trusting her voice. It was a lie, of course. She was in bad shape—longing for something she couldn’t have and she wasn’t doing Bo any favor by leading him on.

  “Bo…” she began, but he interrupted her.

  “Can we talk about this tomorrow? I’m beat.” Claudie shrugged. A reprieve. She vowed to spell things out in the morning. Bo couldn’t love her and she couldn’t love him—even if his kiss was the most tantalizing sensation she’d ever known.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CLAUDIE STALLED for as long as she dared. She’d agreed to meet Bo at eight-thirty in the lobby where a continental breakfast was being served. Last night, after that stupid kiss, she would have agreed to anything that got her out of his sight, but now she was sweating their upcoming face-to-face.

  The morning after, she thought grimly, and nothing even happened.

  But it could have. Claudie had to admit she’d been tempted in a way that wasn’t good. In fact, it was scary. Lying awake before dawn she’d asked herself if she ought to run away, try starting over where no one knew of her past. She’d done it before; she could do it again. Maybe she’d find a man—someone who didn’t know the grim reality of her past. Maybe with a stranger, she could make a life that included sex.

  Unfortunately, she thought, he’d have to be someone she didn’t care for as deeply as she did Bo. No way could she bring herself to share her used and damaged body with anyone as wonderful as Bo.

  But how could she make Bo understand that? How could she get it through his thick head she was doing him a favor by rejecting his declaration of love?

  Love. She paced to the window and gazed at the cars in the parking lot. Love was for people like Ren and Sara, not someone like her. Stifling a sigh, Claudie bent down and picked up her bag. She started out the door. No more pussyfooting around, she decided. We’re going to settle this once and for all.

  She followed her nose to the motel’s dining area where Bo sat—a newspaper in one hand, a forkful of scrambled eggs in the other. Claudie ignored the twelve-foot long buffet and marched directly to his table.

  “Bo, we’re friends. You think you want to be more than friends but trust me, it isn’t gonna happen,” she said, speaking in a strident tone.

  Bo lowered his newspaper but finished lifting the forkful of eggs to his mouth. He chewed and swallowed with irritating slowness then flashed her his most heart-stopping grin. “Good morning, Claudie,” he said, reaching for his coffee cup. “How’d you sleep? I slept great. Must have been the hot tub.”

  She frowned. “I’m serious, Bo. You can’t pretend you didn’t say what you said.”

  One brow shot up. “Who’s pretending? I meant every word. Want me to say it again in front of witnesses?” He started to rise, as if intending to announce his feelings to the neighboring tables.

  Claudie rushed forward and put a hand on his shoulder to push him back down. He seemed startled and gave in without resistance. She quickly fell into the closest chair. Leaning forward, she pleaded, “Bo, quit. Just quit.”

  He cocked his head. “Quit what?”

  “Everything.” Her heart was beating too hard to think clearly. If only he wouldn’t wear that hurt puppy dog look. It got to her every time.

  “Bo,” she said, wishing his cowlick didn’t tweak the hair at the crown of his head in that Little Rascal way. She could hardly resist reaching out to pat it back down. “You know me, Bo. I don’t do the boyfriend-girlfriend thing. I can’t. Even if I did, I wouldn’t be any good at it. Trust me. The only guy I ever dated dumped me at a truck stop in Oklahoma without even saying goodbye.”

  She couldn’t prevent the twinge of pain that always accompanied the memory of seeing Darren Blains—her first love—hunkered down like a convict at the window of a northbound bus. A sympathetic ticket agent told her he’d confessed that he sold his Chevy Malibu to the garage owner who was supposed to be replacing its fuel pump. “Believe me, honey,” the clerk had told her, “you’re better off without a weenie like that.”

  Bo’s sudden smile caught her off guard. “What?” she asked, mesmerized by the understanding look in his eyes.

  “I just got it. The reason you back away any time I get close is that you’re afraid I’ll love you and leave you.”

  Her stomach turned over. “What kind of dumb mumbo jumbo is that?”

  He took a sip from his cup. “Not only did I take a psychology course in college, I knew a girl who was a head case. She dated like mad but never stuck with the same guy for more than two months.”

  “Were you one of ’em?” Claudie asked, des
pite herself.

  Bo shook his head. “Nah. We just frequented the same bars. One night, she spilled out her life story. Classic abandonment issues. Her father killed her mother when she was a baby and she was raised by her elderly grandparents who died before she was out of high school. Her shrink said the reason she couldn’t keep a boyfriend was subconsciously she didn’t trust anyone to love her without leaving, so she left first to avoid being hurt.”

  Claudie frowned. “What’s that got to do with me?”

  “You’re so sure I’m like every other guy you’ve ever known, you’re afraid to give me a chance.”

  She sat up straighter. “I’m not afraid of anything.”

  He looked at her over the rim of his cup. “Sure you are. We all are. When it comes to love it’s the nature of the game, but you gotta play.”

  “Who says?”

  He looked momentarily abashed then threw back his head and laughed. “Matt’s right. You are a pistol.”

  His joy was even harder to swallow than his hurt. “Let’s go.”

  “I’m not done with my coffee.”

  She took the cup from his fingers and finished off the inch of lukewarm liquid in one gulp. Its insipid sweetness nearly choked her. “Good Lord, that’s disgusting,” she sputtered.

  “I like it sweet.”

  She made a face and shuddered. “Nobody likes it that sweet.”

  He grinned as though she’d just awarded him a medal. “Exactly my point. I’m unique. Which means I’m the one person in the world you should date.”

  He looked so smug she had to laugh—which, for some reason, seemed to be the impetus he needed to move. He picked up the suitcase beside his chair then grabbed hers and started out the door.

  Shaking her head, Claudie followed. He had one thing right—there was nobody like Bo.

  BO FIGURED they’d make Kansas before dark—well within the time frame he’d given Matt when they talked that morning. Matt planned to spend the day in Topeka putting together a dossier on Garret Anders then he’d get rooms for them in Otter Creek.