The Seven-Day Target by Natalie Charles Page B

Nick watching her from his seat at the table, but she didn’t give him any indication that she was even aware he was in the room. Instead, she turned and walked out of the kitchen after uttering a good-night that sounded much more chipper than she felt.
    * * *
    Nick was not frustrated. Maybe he was a little surprised at the way Libby had just picked up and left in the middle of dinner, but it’s not like he’d prepared anything fancy or special. He wasn’t disappointed by the abrupt end to the evening, either. Disappointment would imply that he’d anticipated spending more time together, which would in turn suggest that he’d wanted to see more of Libby. He scrubbed too roughly as he washed his dinner plate. Had he actually wanted to spend more time with Libby?
    Something nameless was clouding his thoughts, hovering just out of his grasp. He’d stayed in town because he’d have to be a bastard to leave Libby alone now, even though he’d done just that for nearly three years. He didn’t want to see her again, or to be dragged back down that road. All of this was chance. Duty and chance but not fate, because fate would imply that something would come of their reunion.
    He washed his plate four times before he realized it was clean, then he set it in the drying rack next to Libby’s plate. Her plate. Her fork and her knife and her cup. He dried them himself, wondering why the action felt so intimate. It wasn’t as if she’d infused the utensils with an essence of herself. Once that fork went back into the drawer, he’d never be able to guess which one her mouth had touched. But now he knew. Maybe that was the difference.
    He leaned against the counter and reached into his pocket to pull out the velvet case she’d returned earlier. Nick had been so proud to present her with that diamond solitaire and all that it represented: marriage, a house, children, maybe a dog. A shared future. He pulled the ring from the case and studied the little scratches on the gold band. How many of those impressions had been made when he was with her, he wondered? Maybe one was made at their favorite restaurant, another when they spent that weekend in New York City.
    He snapped the case shut and placed it back into his pocket. Three years had passed, and every woman he’d been with had fallen short in some regard. Libby had rejected him, told him after years of being together that she didn’t love him. She’d coldly slid the engagement ring across the table today.
    The awareness struck him like a blow to the gut. She’d done all of those things, and he’d rearranged his life for her at a moment’s notice. God help him, but he still had feelings for Libby.
    A chill came over him as he thought about how it would feel to taste her bee-stung lips again, or bury his face in her thick black hair. To palm her breasts and feel her chest rise against him as she arched in pleasure. One of the greatest discoveries in his young life had been that beneath her elegant composure Libby hid a passionate streak that flowed as hotly and unpredictably as molten lava. More than once, she’d kissed him chastely on the cheek when he left for work in the morning only to greet him at the door on his return wearing only a coy smile. He didn’t bother fighting his body’s response to the memories. She was hot, and the repressed sex goddess thing still drove him out of his mind. He still wanted her.
    That didn’t mean she wanted him. He may have some paleolithic impulse to drag her back to his cave, but that didn’t matter. In a few short days he’d be back in Pittsburgh and Libby would be back to her normal routine, which didn’t involve him. The sooner his primal brain got the message, the better.
    His BlackBerry rang. It was Dom. He’d escorted Cassie and Sam to a hotel two towns over. “No one followed us. I think they’re safe, and Cassie will feel better this way.” Nick heard him clear his throat.
    “Thanks for doing that, Dom. Libby will