Perilously Fun Fiction: A Bundle by Pauline Jones (best fiction novels of all time .TXT) 📕

you say I’m old enough to be their mother, I’ll pop you. I’ll have you know their attentions are strictly honorable. Jerome wants to marry me.”

I didn’t want to see his surprise, so I sat on the edge of the bed and shoved a finger through one of the bullet holes in my blanket. A whiff of gun powder smell drifted up past my nostrils, briefly replacing Kel’s aftershave scent. The silence went on so long, I finally caved.

Kel had a weird look in his eyes. “You’re not seriously considering that boy’s proposal?”

I picked up a pillow and pulled some feathers out, letting them drift to the floor. “Why not? Statistically women live longer than men which means we’d be together longer.” His gaze narrowed dangerously. I narrowed mine back. “Besides, I like the irony of it. My mother’s been after me since puberty to get married. She’s thrown every man she could beg, bribe, or blackmail into my lap. I’ve suffered through blind dates with geeks, goons, and globs of humanity who all had one thing in common. Their overwhelming belief they were god’s gift to women and I was lucky to have a brief moment of their time.”

I threw the pillow aside and stood up.

“And now I have this wonderful opportunity, this chance of a lifetime. A guy who thinks he’s lucky to be with me. And he’s the one guy in the world my mother wouldn’t want me to marry. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t say when and where to that boy?”

I wanted him to give me a reason so bad it hurt.

He pushed his hands through his hair. Turned away, then back. “You’re out of your mind.”

But not that reason. “Now you sound like my mother.”

I think he knew I didn’t mean it as a compliment. We glared at each other across the drift of feathers.

“Really.”

Something in the way he said that single word sent a cold chill down my spine. Before the thought fully formed, he was in front of me, radiating danger. His gaze had a Rhett Butler overtone when he got a lock on mine. My brain was saying, “Run, you fool!” My body just stood there and let him grip my hips and jerk me against his chest. I ordered it not to, but my head ignored me and fell back.

My mouth said, “Let me go.”

“When I’m sure you know the difference between a man and a boy, I will.”

I thought he was going to strangle me, but he kissed me. It wasn’t a gift. No gentle wooing of lips and heart. No slow invitation to dance in passion’s storm with a lover. The sound and fury of a man with a point to make pounded my defenseless lips like a wild storm against a vulnerable shore. The worst part was, I responded. Even when his mouth taunted me with might-have-beens, took without giving back.

He let me go so suddenly I stumbled back onto the bed. My mouth throbbed. And still wanted more. Stupid mouth. I rubbed it with a hand that trembled.

“And you would be the—what?” I looked at him, accusation stabbing from my eyes. It got him in the ego. His own idealism did the rest of it for me.

“Damn it, Bel, I’m sor—”

The door opened. Kel reached for his gun, stopping the movement when he saw my mother.

“Isabel?” Her brows rose when she saw Kel. “Who are you?”

With clipped voice, Kel introduced himself as one of the men working on the case. He looked at me, hesitated, then said, “I have to go.”

At the door he turned. “They’ll be moving you to another room.” He nodded toward the night stand. “I brought your sketch pad. One of my men found it in the limo.”

“Thank you.” I couldn’t look at him. Not with my mother watching. Not now when I was reeling from the feelings he’d aroused. This man had something I’d vowed no man would ever have: the power to hurt me. That scared me more than the person that wanted to kill me. I looked down at my hands until the swish of door marked his leaving. I was alone with my mother. I heard her walk my way. She sat down beside me and put her arm around me.

“You all right?”

I leaned against her and quit trying to hold back the tears. “I wish I was dead.”

I felt her stroke my hair. “It’ll be better tomorrow.”

I didn’t believe her, but it was nice to hear.

21

I had no intention of feeling better in the morning, but I’m lousy at pathos. I tried watching television, but even the war and the scud studs couldn’t hold my attention and the mystery Rosemary had brought me to read was far less amazing than the real one I was involved in. There was only one thing I could do when my brain was running like a mouse in the maze. I grabbed my sketch pad, intent on venting my spleen by sketching everyone who came in. And I didn’t intend to be flattering.

Unless it was someone with a needle.

I flipped through the pages, looking for a clean start, and came across the sketch I’d promised to the good cop, Willis. I’d made a good job of it on both of them. Dillon’s bad cop glared out me from under the fur hat. His crossed arms contrasted nicely with his dancing feet. Willis fish-eyed surprise wasn’t kind, but it was funny. I loved it when good sketch came together—

My thoughts splintered when I saw the tiny sketch in the corner.

The round-headed man?

When had I added him to the mix? Had to be right after I drew the two cops. The page had been clean when I started. I gave a tiny shudder. There was nothing to like in the caricature of a dead man.

“You need to watch the doodling without thinking, girl,” I muttered. It had gotten me in trouble in school and had almost gotten