that he’d been the one to unlock her sensual side like that.
At the moment, her lips were pursed, her arms folded across her middle and her legs crossed primly at the ankles. Her body language screamed that she wasn’t even remotely thinking about sex right now. She was probably wallowing in disapproving thoughts of how he was going to hell for getting drunk.
“I don’t care if I go to hell for indulging in a little whiskey,” he announced.
She shrugged, apparently unfazed. “I’ve seen worse. Besides, I wouldn’t call you actually drunk. You’re only mildly buzzed. You might have a headache in the morning if you don’t drink a little water before bed, but that’s about the extent of it.”
Now where would John Merris’s shockingly sheltered daughter learn to gauge a drunk so accurately? “John Merris was a drinker?” he asked, stunned.
“More often and more heavily than you might think,” she replied grimly.
Well, hell. Now he felt bad for drinking in front of her. He set his glass down on the coffee table in sudden distaste. “Why did you get all upset over me calling Melinda my wife?”
That brought spots of color to her already pink cheeks. “I was in bed with you for goodness’ sake. Why do you think it upset me?”
“Enlighten me.”
“I like you.”
Ooooh-kay. “And?”
She huffed. “And I was jealous. I was mad at the thought that you still have deep feelings for her and think of her as your wife, not your ex-wife.”
He frowned. Did he still think of Melinda as his wife? He tried to imagine her sleeping with another man to see how he would react. Not only did no anger or hurt stir in his gut, but he couldn’t even conjure up an image of Melinda with any man. All that came to mind was some poor schmuck on his knees in front of her while she wore a latex jumpsuit and snapped a crop against her boot.
Maybe that was what broke them up. He’d refused to be her lackey the way she wanted him to be. He’d insisted on being his own man, heaven forbid.
Thank God Willa wasn’t that kind of woman. She’d liked it when he took charge in bed. The simmering lust in his loins heated up a little more.
“Look, Gabe. I think it’s decent of you to still care for Melinda. It dawned on me last night that she may not have any other family to look out for her. She’s a human being, after all, and it’s not her fault some nut job kidnapped her. The fact that you put up the reward money and you’ve been pushing the cops so hard to find her is noble.”
Noble or sycophantic? Had he let go of his obsession with pleasing Melinda or hadn’t he? When John Merris had rejected him, had he been so needy that he’d turned to the next impossible-to-please control freak he could find? The thought sickened him vaguely. He was his own man, dammit. Had been for years. But who’d have guessed those ancient apron strings would be so hard to cut? He ought to walk away from Melinda and let her stew in whatever mess she’d landed in.
But Willa was right. Melinda was a human being. He couldn’t turn his back on her in her time of need. It was common decency to see this thing through.
Surprised at Willa’s altruism, he replied, “It’s good of you to understand. She and I haven’t had anything between us since long before we divorced. But she’s got no one else. Her brother’s her only living family, and he’s in jail for the rest of his life. I didn’t have a choice but to step up and help out.”
He was a cad for taking credit for such noble motives. But the way Willa’s eyes softened and warmed toward him, how could he not do it? He’d do just about anything to make her look at him like he was some kind of hero.
“And about tonight,” she said softly, snapping his attention sharply back to her, “thanks.”
“You’re not mad at me for punching Ward?” Melinda would have had a fit and called him a Neanderthal for acting out on his violent impulses.
“Mad?” she exclaimed. “I’m just grateful I was there to see it! I wish I could do the same.”
“You can. You just need to learn how to make a proper fist and put your weight behind it.” Inspired, he stood up. “I’ll show you now.”
* * *
Across town, her nemesis stewed.