Reluctantly, Parr let go of her and moved across the room. Mary Beth didn’t know whether to fling herself onto the bed or stand there.

She stayed where she was, digging her bare toes into the soft carpet. His gaze narrowed when he turned away from the door and looked over her head.

“What kind of car does Sheila drive?”

Her heart sank. “A silver SUV.”

“I know that’s the road to Brickell. You tell me if that’s them coming toward us.”

Mary Beth stood on tiptoe, looking over the top of the curtain cautiously. “Oh no.”

Parr swore under his breath. “Get in the shower. You need a reason to look all rosy and glowing when they see you. I’ll go downstairs and—hell—fix myself a snack or something.”

He propelled her toward the bathroom. Mary Beth made no protest. She could cry in the shower if she had to, say something about the soap getting in her eyes.

“There’s tomatoes in the basket on the kitchen counter. I was out in the garden before you got here.”

“Okay. That’s your alibi.” He got her as far as the bath mat and didn’t even kiss her.

“Then don’t eat it,” she muttered. She peeled off her wet clothes, kicking them into a corner. Parr was just going to have to wing it without her. At least his mother knew that he was here.

“I’m going to wait outside in my truck, like I just got here. They won’t know. Got that? Act surprised when you see me.”

“Yes.” She turned on the shower full blast.

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen

Mary Beth put on a demure blouse and buttoned it up, then slipped into jeans and flat sandals. She’d blasted her hair dry to buy herself additional minutes in which to compose herself, letting it tumble over her shoulders.

Skip the makeup, she told herself. Innocence was what she wanted to convey.

Conversation downstairs drifted up without her being able to hear the words. It was time to put in an appearance and act surprised, but not too surprised. She didn’t want either of the women to suspect anything.

She went downstairs, following the conversation into the kitchen. Parr was seated at the table, a tomato sandwich on a paper plate in front of him.

“There you are,” Sheila said. “Look who’s paying us a call.” She beamed at Parr, who got up as Mary Beth entered. “He was always such a gentleman,” Sheila stage-whispered to his mother.

“Hello, Mary Beth,” he said politely, as if he hadn’t just been wrapped around her yearning body, lost in mutual lust.

“Hi.” Nonchalant tone. Wide eyes. No one seemed suspicious. “When did you get here?”

Alma got her two cents in. “He said he’d call you. I did too but your phone was off or the battery died.”

Mary Beth feigned dismay. “Oh gosh. Could be either. Sorry about that.”

“It happens,” Parr said. “Anyway, I heard the shower running, so I didn’t come in. Then these two came up the driveway.”