Chapter 4

This was quite possibly the best idea he'd ever had or the worst.

Worst? What are you insane? Do you see her?

Yeah, jackass, I do. Which is why this could possibly be the worst idea ever. Look at her. Just… look.

I am. Still not seeing the downside.

"You look wonderful, Carlton."

Okay, yeah—never mind. Best idea. Ever. If only to see her lovely face lit by that smile—that very real, genuine smile—as she stood across from him on her threshold looking…looking—

"So do you, O'Hara."

Her smile immediately faded, sending his heart plummeting straight to the bottoms of his highly polished dress shoes. Oh, dear God. Oh, crap. Approximately thirty-two seconds into the evening and he'd already screwed up. Somehow. But how? What had he done?

What had he—

"Juliet," he heard himself say, instincts clearly ahead of his brain. "Juliet," he repeated, softer, but with more certainty. "Because tonight, you are most definitely not O'Hara."

Oh, yeah, give props to the instincts judging by the way the smile returned, brilliant white accentuated by shapely red lips. She never wore that color lipstick at work. Thank God.

Thank God everything about O'Hara—dammit, Juliet—was unlike anything she ever wore at work or else his stint as Head Detective would have ended years ago, done in by complete idiocy and an utter inability to tie his shoes, let alone solve cases.

"And you look beautiful."

A light wash of pink tinted her cheeks as she smiled and turned away to collect a shawl and small bag from the table by the door, gifting him with another few seconds to just look and marvel. Hell, on a normal day his typical reaction to his partner was Damn, she's pretty.

Tonight, though…

He'd said beautiful because d'uh. The dress she wore was similar to one on those magazine pages she'd had stashed beneath her blotter—but even better. Prettier. Or maybe it was just that it was Juliet gracing it with her presence. Dark blue on top, fading to a pure white down by her ankles, the skirt falling in light, filmy layers that flowed like water around her shapely legs with every step. Dangling blue and crystal earrings sparkled at her ears, a simple necklace with a matching pendant rested in the delicate notch between her collarbones and she looked beautiful, dammit.

At least, that's what he said out loud simply because it was the only thing he trusted himself to get away with. If he said what he really wanted—stunning… glorious… breathtaking… radiant… oh-dear-God-freakin' hot—he wasn't sure what would happen.

Probably a terrified scream, followed by slamming the door in his face, and possibly calling for backup because clearly, aliens had abducted her partner.

Or it's possible you would never make it to that stupid ball.

Oh, hell no. He couldn't allow himself to think like that, no matter what she looked like. Or how he imagined she was looking at him. Had been looking at him since Wednesday.

"Carlton, could you—"

He stared, then as if in a trance, took the shawl from her outstretched hand, waiting for her to turn her back to him. Carefully, he draped the feather-light, impossibly soft, blue fabric across her shoulders, his heart racing as his fingertips grazed skin even more impossibly soft than the shawl. Her head was bent as she slipped something into her evening bag, causing the newly short ends of her hair to fall forward, leaving the nape of her neck exposed and it was all Carlton could do to not lean forward and press his lips to the vulnerable curve.

Do it. Do it!

Are you high?

Are you blind? This, my friend, is what's known as Open Invitation.

You are high.

Pfft. And you're an asshat of monumental proportions.

"Thank you."

The sound of her voice startled him—made him realize his hands were still resting on her shoulders, pretty damned comfortably as it turned out, molded to the gentle curves, his fingertips resting on her upper arms, as if they belonged there. He started to snatch them away, but found himself frozen by her hand reaching up to grasp one and hold it in place.

"Your hands are warm." She glanced over one shoulder, dark blue gaze enigmatic.

Good thing she stepped away right then, across the open threshold, waiting for him to join her so she could close and lock her door. Because the thought of not going any damned where was starting to become not only more appealing, but unless he was again, completely cracked, actually plausible.

Because seriously—unless he was utterly, completely, already-wearing-a-strait-jacket-levels-of-cracked, Juliet O'Hara was sending out signals.

The kind of signals women sent out when they were interested in a man.

And since he was currently the only man in the immediate vicinity, he could only assume she was interested in…

Him.

Luckily, his instincts kicked in once more, allowing him to make it to his car, open the passenger door for her, and remember how to operate a moving vehicle within the parameters of California vehicular law. Their destination was the Bacara, a sprawling, exclusive resort about fifteen miles outside of town and initially, Carlton had been concerned that the ride would be uncomfortable—the two of them sitting in uneasy silence. He had no idea why he'd imagined that would be the case—especially taking into account just how many hours they'd comfortably spent in each other's company in a car over the past seven years—except he'd naturally assumed that in the hours between Wednesday afternoon and Saturday evening, O'Hara… Juliet, would have regretted her insistence that he accompany her. He'd spent every one of those hours on edge, half-expecting her to oh-so-carefully tell him that she would prefer to go by herself. It was an impulse. She was being nice. Nice in that Juliet O'Hara way. Yet having had time to rethink it, had come to understand this was clearly a bad idea. They were partners. Better to stay partners, right? Rebuild their friendship. Not skirt the edges of this… thing that was going on. That he'd seen in her face on Wednesday. That had planted the seeds of this most improbable idea that the contemplative stares and wistfulness maybe had less to do with Spencer and maybe… possibly… something to do with him.

But that was stupid, right?

Right?

So he waited for her to lower the boom.

Because he knew as nice and gentle as she was, he also knew she had the backbone to warn him off when he wasn't wanted. Like the family Christmas fiasco.

Of course, he had attempted to invite himself to dinner in the wake of making a complete ass of himself in front of her entire family and traumatizing her nephews, so it's not as if he could blame her for making certain he didn't darken her doorstep.

But that had been a long time ago.

They'd been different people.

Strangers, really.

They'd come a long way since then.

Had their ups and downs.

Grown together.

Been there for each other.

Through life and death situations, even.

They'd grown apart again.

And now…

They'd arrived at tonight.

And tonight—

Tonight, the light had been on, illuminating her doorstep and her welcoming smile.