High Noon

you.”
    “My mother’s state of mind very much involves me. You can’t come in there talking about some store you’re thinking of opening in some house you’re thinking of buying, and how she’s going to be a part of it. It’s your business how you do business—”
    “Thank you very much.”
    “But,” Phoebe ground out. “You got her all worked up, making plans, making designs, talking about how she’ll be able to help more with the expenses. What happens to all that if you change your mind, or it doesn’t come through, or you just find something more interesting to play with?”
    “Why would I change my mind?”
    “Aren’t you the one who opened a sports bar, then sold it?”
    “Sold a piece of it,” he corrected.
    “Then a pub. And I don’t know what else.” Which was the crux of it. She didn’t know, and he was taking her mother into territory she hadn’t mapped out. “You bounce, and that’s fine for you, Duncan, that’s just fine. It’s not fine for my mother. She doesn’t bounce.”
    “Let me sort this out. In your opinion, I’m irresponsible and unreliable.”
    “No. No.” She let out a sigh as the leading edge of her temper dulled down to the core of worry. “You’re casual, Duncan, and it’s part of your appeal. You can afford to be casual, and not just because of the money. No one depends on you, so you can do what you like, come and go as you please.”
    “Is that casual or careless?”
    “I say what I mean, and I said casual. I don’t think you’re careless. But my mother’s fragile, and—”
    “Your mother’s amazing. You know, I told her once she ought to give herself a break, but the fact is, you ought to give her one. Do you think because she can’t go out of that house, she’s less than amazing?”
    “No. Damn it, no.” Because the conversation, such as it was, had gotten out of her hands, Phoebe dragged them through her hair and tried to get back to center. “But she does. She’s been hurt and pushed and shoved into the corner so many times.”
    “I’m not going to do any of those things to Essie.”
    “Not on purpose. I don’t mean that. But what if, for whatever reason, you don’t buy that house, then—”
    “I bought it today.”
    That stopped her. That put a hitch in her stride, Duncan thought. He said nothing more, just picked up his beer, watched her as he tipped back the bottle.
    “All right, you bought the house. But what if you find it isn’t cost effective to fix it up? Or what if—”
    “Jesus. What if the voices tell me to put on fairy wings and fly to Cuba? You can ‘what if’ till next Tuesday; it doesn’t mean a damn. I finish what I start, goddamn it. I’m not stupid.”
    “You’re not stupid. I never said or meant you were.” But someone had, someone that mattered. “It’s just that this all came out of the blue, and for my mother it’s huge. I’m trying to point out the variables, and I’m trying to understand why you’d involve her in this. I can’t understand what you’re doing. I can’t understand what you want. From her. From me.”
    “Tied those two together,” he muttered, and pushed to his feet. “Must want something from you, so I use her. Let’s answer this first. You want to know what I want from you?”
    “Yes. Let’s start there.”
    He grabbed her before the last word was all the way out. The hell with biding time. He was too pissed off to bide anything. He had his mouth on hers, showing her what he wanted, taking what he wanted with an impatient anger he rarely let free.
    Hunger pushed and shoved at temper until his mouth ravaged hers.
    Her back pressed back against the porch column, and her hands were trapped between his body and hers. Every muscle in her body quivered. But not in protest, not in fear. There was a difference between fear and thrill, and she understood it now.
    When he broke off, there was such heat in his eyes.
    “You got that now?” he demanded. “We’re clear on that point?”
    “Yes.”
    “Then—”
    It was her move now. All hers. Her hands were free so she hooked one arm around his neck, yanked his mouth back to hers. She would have chained her arms around him if her injured shoulder had allowed. When he pressed her against the column again, she nipped at his lip, rocked her hips against his.
    She let the pleasure flood her after months and months of sexual drought. The feel of his hands on her breasts, the feel of the night air on her skin when his busy