Free Grapes of Death by Joni Folger Page A

Elise a bit baffled by the conversation.
    But by the time Elise returned to the table, she had not only gotten her wayward libido under control but had put the odd exchange out of her mind. Jackson and C.C. were back from the dance floor, and he’d taken up residence in her chair.
    She dropped her purse on the table and tapped him on the shoulder. “You’re in my seat, pal.”
    He looked up at her and grinned but stood to give her the chair. As he did, his arm brushed her purse—which was sitting too close to the edge of the table—and knocked it off onto the floor.
    To make matters worse, she’d failed to zip it closed when she’d left the ladies’ room and it landed upside down. Jackson reached down to pick it up as she dove to keep her lipstick and a few other things from rolling under the table. Her good fortune at snatching up the loose items quickly took a downward spiral as she stood up and then froze.
    Jackson had her purse under one arm and was staring down at both Edmond’s paystubs and gambling markers in his hand. He raised his eyes to hers, his charming smile now gone.
    â€œWhere did you get these, Elise? And what are they doing in your purse?”

Six
    Elise’s mind went utterly blank as she stared first at the offending papers in Jackson’s hand and then up at the stern look on his face. How on earth was she going to explain this? There was no good reason why her uncle’s paystubs and gambling markers should be in her purse—at least not one that didn’t involve breaking and entering.
    And they both knew it.
    He raised a questioning eyebrow. “I’m waiting, El.”
    â€œOkay, I know how this looks,” she began, “but there is a reasonable explanation.”
    That is, there will be as soon as I think of one , she mentally amended and went into a slight panic mode.
    Before she could elaborate—or come up with that reasonable explanation—the band kicked in again, and she prayed she might put off having to provide any details until she had time to manufacture something plausible.
    She should have known better. Jackson simply grabbed her by the upper arm in a vise-like grip and hauled her up against his rock-hard frame.
    â€œSay your goodbyes, sweet pea,” he murmured next to her ear, sending shivers rippling across her nerve endings. Though his tone was deceptively pleasant, she wasn’t fooled. Jackson was annoyed. “We’re going to your place to have us a little chat. Right now.”
    Elise couldn’t help wishing her friends would put up a fuss and save her from the chewing out she was sure to get from Jackson when he found out what she’d done.
    Unfortunately, Jeff and Tina barely looked up, Brenda gave her a happy wave as she headed toward the dance floor with Earl Wiggins, and C.C. just smiled knowingly.
    Miranda didn’t say much, either, but did give her the stink-eye. Elise figured she was being blamed for stealing the recently unattached Jackson out from under the woman’s nose before she’d had a chance to corner him. If only Miranda knew that the glint in Jackson’s eye was anything but affectionate right now.
    What she was sure of was that their departure made quite the sight. Jackson—with her purse still under one arm—dragged her out of the club while she attempted to keep up with his long-legged strides.
    When they got partway up the street, she tried to reason with him, but he slid a steely-eyed glance her way and muttered a terse, “Zip it.”
    Which she did. They walked the rest of the way to her apartment in uncomfortable silence. By the time they’d climbed the stairs and unlocked her front door, she had just about talked herself into a full-blown anxiety attack. So she went on the offensive.
    â€œI don’t know why you’re being so pissy about this,” she began, trying to deflect attention from her actions by attacking his demeanor.