Shadows At Sunset - Anne Stuart [70]
The two sofas faced each other across an elegantly set coffee table, and the candlelight flickered seductively. Jilly headed toward the opposite sofa when Dean interfered, pushing her toward Coltrane. “You sit there, Jilly, and Rachel-Ann can sit with me.”
“I don’t want—”
“Don’t be a pest, Jilly,” Dean snapped. “Coltrane doesn’t have cooties. For God’s sake sit down and stop making a fuss out of nothing.”
At least Coltrane was ignoring her, concentrating on the perfect spot behind Roofus’s ears. For one brief moment Jilly considered outright rebellion, then chickened out. If she made a fuss he’d assume last night mattered more than it did. It was nothing, an embarrassing little…experience…that was best ignored and quickly forgotten. If she tried hard enough.
“Fine,” she muttered, sitting down beside Coltrane on the sofa. Roofus turned and shoved his big head under Jilly’s hand, looking for her approval, as well. “Traitor,” she said under her breath.
She wasn’t going to look at Coltrane. He’d probably smirk at her, and if he did she’d take the candelabrum and bash him over the head with it, then upend the glass coffee table….
Pleasantly violent thoughts, but she wasn’t going to act on them, and she knew it. She was cool, impervious, she reminded herself. And the longer she put off looking at Coltrane the harder it was going to be.
“What can I get you, Jilly? Brandy?” Dean asked helpfully.
“No!” She couldn’t help her reaction. It was brandy that had gotten her into that mess last night. “Just iced tea, thanks.”
Too late she realized that Dean would have to leave to get it for her. Leave her alone with Coltrane. She opened her mouth to speak but Dean had already vanished, abandoning her to her fate.
“You shouldn’t blame the brandy,” Coltrane said.
Steeling herself, she turned to look at him. At least he wasn’t smirking at her. “For what?” she said in a cool voice.
“Haven’t you figured out yet that it’s a bad idea to call my bluff, Jilly?” he said softly. “I’m not bluffing. It wasn’t the brandy last night.”
She leaned back against the far end of the sofa, pulling her feet up between them. “Do we really need a postmortem?” she said in an utterly convincing drawl.
Except that he didn’t appear convinced. “No,” he said. “We just have to finish what we started.”
Lucky for him that Rachel-Ann appeared at that moment, or the candelabrum would have been destroyed. “Aren’t you two cozy-looking?” Rachel-Ann said, curling up on the sofa opposite them. She’d dressed for dinner in a simple black sheath, and she looked livelier than Jilly had seen her in months. A momentary dread formed in the pit of her stomach, as she surveyed her sister anxiously. But there was no telltale glitter in her green eyes, no imperceptible slackness to her mouth. Jilly had gotten so that she could tell if her sister had even touched a wineglass, and despite the fact that her sister looked unexpectedly cheerful, she also looked completely sober.
“You look gorgeous,” Jilly said.
“Thanks, darling. I wish I could say the same thing about you. You look like something the cat dragged in. Did you spend the day at the ocean?”
“How’d you guess?”
“Isn’t that where you always run when you get upset? I run to a bottle, you run to the ocean. Your answer is probably healthier.”
Oh, God, don’t go there, Jilly thought miserably.
“What upset you, Jilly?” Coltrane asked in a dulcet tone.
“I discovered there are rats at La Casa,” she replied grimly. “I’m going to have to call in an exterminator.”
He laughed, unmoved. “I think you’re more than capable of getting rid of any unwanted rodents. If you really wanted to.”
“I don’t like rats,” Jilly said.
“No one does, Jilly,” Rachel-Ann protested. “Let’s not talk about vermin—it’s not very appetizing. Tell me, where do you run to, Coltrane? You must run somewhere when you’re upset.”