Читать книгу Innuendo - Crystal Green, Crystal Green - Страница 6

IT WAS FRIDAY NIGHT, and Tam’s stomach churned with nerves as she sat in a Mandarin-inspired lounge in North Beach, waiting for Kyle Sullivan. A hard-edged song flavored with Chinese lyrics rose above the clatter of an ever-growing crowd as people poured into the red, dragon-studded room.

“He’s still not here,” Tam said into her cell phone.

On the other end of the line, Danica’s calm voice soothed her. “It’s not seven o’clock yet. You’ve still got ten minutes, so don’t sweat it.”

Knowing she was right, Tam tugged nervously at her outfit. She’d chosen to wear a flowy black tunic with a raised collar. The sleeves were long, wide, dramatic in their flare, her pants tight and black and mostly covered by a large scarf tied at her hips and covering her rear. The boots were her favorite part, a stretch of leather that came to above her knees—artistic in a pirate kind of way. She wondered if Kyle would like her clothes, if they made a statement, announcing her creative side. If they would run the usual interference for her tonight; provide the usual distraction.

Or maybe he’d think they were dopey. Maybe her even being here was dopey. A mistake. Yup, she’d made a big mistake calling this guy, getting all dressed up and going out on the town. Sure, he’d been amused by the whole business-card-in-The-Boot story when she’d called him, and he’d been very charming on the phone, but…Tam’s nerves fluttered.

Okay, he’d been downright seductive, with his low, slightly lilting tone, his teasing banter. In Tam’s mind, she’d already built him up to be a sex god, a carefree soul who mirrored the person she imagined herself being. As they’d small-talked, her skin had warmed with anticipation.

Had she finally found a guy who’d be on her same wavelength, even if it was for just a lighthearted, confidence-inspiring fling?

An actual date, she kept thinking. I told him I was looking for a good time. That means I might actually get to feel a man’s hands on me again….

She blew out a breath.

“You just relax,” Danica said. “That’s exactly what I’m doing, waiting for my workaholic lawyer here at the bar in Rubicon. Spiffy, huh? He insisted on paying for dinner here. Got to be pretty well off—not that I’m shallow enough to have that be a prime requirement or anything. Still…bonus!”

Tam couldn’t help laughing at her friend’s bubbly nature. “I just hope we don’t end up on my couch at midnight, eating from a tub of Rocky Road and telling each other war stories.”

“Good times, that’s all that’s in store for you. Wait. This might be him. I think he sees the red rose I told him I’d have.”

At the mention of the “marker”—a symbol that would allow one blind date to recognize the other—Tam clutched hers, too. She’d told Kyle Sullivan that she’d be holding a black-and-silver Japanese fan. It complemented her outfit and gave her nervous hands something to do with themselves.

“Good luck,” Tam said.

“Good luck to you, too. Go get him!” And with that, Danica was gone.

Tam was left to sit alone at her high table near the wall, her eye on the door as she anxiously awaited her own date: the man with the gray-blue eyes and black hair The Boot had promised.

AS KYLE AND MURPHY ambled down the sidewalk toward the lounge, Kyle patted Murphy on the back.

“You should’ve heard her on the phone,” he said. “Sexy, sweet and just looking for trouble. Damn, I hope she’s as gorgeous as she sounds.”

The words were like white noise, simple to ignore. As usual, Kyle had been on Murphy all week, yapping and yapping about how Murphy needed to come out with him on their night off and meet some women.

And, since there was only so much temptation Murphy could take, he’d reached his limit a few hours ago, finally giving in. It’d been much too easy. His whole body was on complete overload, screaming to ease the physical ache that too much work and not enough play had inspired.

Yet…good Lord. Murphy knew how this adventure with Kyle would go. While his cousin romanced his blind date, Murphy might meet an interesting woman, talk to her, buy her a few drinks, but then the old conscience would kick in and he’d convince himself that he needed to get back to work.

He wouldn’t enjoy himself. He didn’t know how.

Just thinking about it made Murphy want to tear something apart. Why did he constantly hold himself on such a tight leash? With the encouragement of parents who’d had to scrape by all their lives, he’d always been too intent on making something of himself and fighting off the distractions that threatened to hold him back. Even his ex-girlfriends had complained about his reluctance to deviate from anything but work, work, work.

Despite his mental detour, Murphy could still hear Kyle talking, could still catch a whiff of his cousin’s aftershave. It hovered over the aroma of garlic that wafted out of a corner Italian trattoria.

“Tamara Clarkson made sure I knew she’s ready to roll,” Kyle continued. “Just my type. And we’ll find you a sure thing tonight, too, huh?”

“It’s not like my johnson needs a nanny,” Murphy said dryly. “I’ve got this under control.”

“Control?” Kyle gave Murphy a slight, taunting push. “The point is to lose control, Mr. Button-Down.”

Right, Murphy thought. Kyle was right.

They were approaching the door, into which a cluster of young tourists, probably from nearby Fisherman’s Wharf, disappeared.

“Here goes,” Kyle said. He smoothed down his hair, which had a tendency to go untamed if he didn’t watch it. “Now turn on the charm, Murph. I know you’re that strong and silent type, but sometimes girls like to be acknowledged with actual conversation.”

“Just get in there, Lothario.”

“I’ll do my best not to break any hearts—” Murphy’s cousin paused at the threshold, where hard music spilled into the twilight “—unless I have to.”

Kyle flashed Murphy a smile and stepped inside, immediately glancing around the room and becoming a part of the crowd.

A master of the game, Murphy thought, keeping Kyle within his line of sight as he sauntered into the thick of the mob, too. Just look at him, an expert on the prowl. He knew how to make women happy, even if he wasn’t very good at letting them down easy after the fun was done.

Kyle’s other weak point was his pickiness. He was a dog when it came to wanting only the gorgeous and lean sorority thoroughbreds who were ready to roll. And if they didn’t strike him as attractive right away, he tended to lose interest and move on to the next conquest. At the moment Kyle was sticking to the shadows of the room, searching for his date, wanting to check her out before committing.

That was his modus operandi, Murphy thought. Just a big enthusiastic kid who hadn’t grown up to appreciate more than a pretty face.

He shook his head and glanced away. If he had his younger cousin’s lust for life, he would use it wisely. But that was the whole point—Kyle wasn’t wise. He lived in the moment, out from under the weight of responsibility.

So, deep down, why did Murphy yearn to be that way, too?

Strains of a Chinese rock ballad tore through the room, ripping into Murphy and exacerbating his physical need with every vibration. Scenes from a Jet Li movie flashed over the TV screens hovering in the corners, the images stylized with vengeance and blood.

Murphy’s pulse pushed through him, awakening him. He missed being with people. Missed the friction of nearby bodies, the murmur of voices, the scent of a woman’s shampoo as she brushed by him.

He headed for the bar, the crowd around it as thick as collected moss, their bodies emanating heat. Impatient for a drink, Murphy looked around, deciding to get his social poison from a waitress instead.

And that’s when he saw her.

At a distant table, a woman waited, clutching a fan in one fist. The first personal feature Murphy noticed was her hair—a wild Bohemian bunch of light-brown curls that spilled down to her shoulders. Her fan, her hair, even the way she leaned on the table with her chin in her palm while playing with a corkscrewed strand, added up to a certain dramatic quirkiness.

Just as he was about to admit that she wasn’t anywhere near his type—a female who carried ambition in the disciplined cut of her hair and the steel of her posture suited him much better—he noticed this woman’s eyes. They were a startling blue, widened with such emotion—anxiety?—that he couldn’t look away. Eyes flashing with intelligent awareness, drawing Murphy in.

It was only when she blinked, then glanced at the door, that he noticed the off-kilter black clothing, the long boots hugging her legs, which were crossed, one ankle bobbing in time to the slow, revving guitar licks of the stereo.

Lust blindsided him, twisting in his belly, heating downward until his gut tightened.

Those boots. In spite of everything else about her, they made her into one of those bad girls Kyle had been tempting him with, a woman who’d do anything—with her mouth, with her hands and with her body.

Murphy craved a woman with such boots.

For a long second he allowed himself to wallow in the thought of her, to bathe himself in the mist of wicked longing.

He imagined slipping those boots off her legs or…damn, even keeping them on as he ran his thumbs over the inside of her thighs…. Somehow, with the deftness only a fantasy would allow, he could keep those boots on while working off her pants and underwear—which would be black lace, of course—and then parting those legs so he could see all of her.

She’d give him a naughty smile, her mouth lush with that shiny pink gloss she was wearing, then crook her finger at him.

Come on. What’re you waiting for?

He’d go to her, using his fingers to spread her apart. Her sex would be a deep pink, swollen, already wet. When he tasted her, she’d be warm, his tongue playing around the hood of her clit, teasing it, dipping inside her, kissing her until she moved against his mouth, asking for more, needing it, wanting it…

Asking him to punish this bad, bad girl with the pain of pleasure.

A loud laugh from behind Murphy shook him back to the moment.

He realized he was in a bar, in a crowd, and his cock was aching with fierce, stiff electricity.

Hell, the fantasy had been good while it’d lasted.

He glanced back at the woman, who was now stirring her drink, looking into its depths as if she could read the ice like tea leaves. He wanted to fixate on those boots again, but he couldn’t. Not this time.

Because in this second glance he saw something else about her—a sadness? Something almost hidden under the unruly hair, something that made her hold his attention for a few seconds longer than a girl would who was so obviously not his style.

But his body wasn’t about to let him get away with that. His penis was nudging against his jeans, still awake.

Great. In the middle of a crowd—the perfect place for an emerging hard-on.

It was at that well-timed moment of frustration that she glanced up, meeting the intensity of his gaze.

She sat up in her chair, smiled, the gesture full of cheer and hope, and the room’s temperature rose about fifty degrees.

He couldn’t explain why, but his pulse jerked, and it wasn’t from animal need this time. Seeing her all alone like this and smiling at him jiggered some kind of switch, merging desire and emotion into a confusing brew.

As he stood there, body raging, keening, his cell phone rang. It vibrated against a region that really didn’t require any more encouragement.

Blood pounding, he calmed himself and broke eye contact with the woman, answering the call.

But he couldn’t hear anything, so he headed for the door, managing to get there even with the state of his union rubbing against his jeans.

Kyle was waiting for him outside. Murphy knew his cousin too well—this wasn’t a good sign for the blind date.

“You can hang up. It’s just me.” Kyle tucked his own phone into his pocket, pulling Murphy away from the building and down the street.

“Hold up,” Murphy said, shoving his own phone away. He grabbed his cousin’s arm and stopped him from walking any farther. “Tell me you’re not ditching your date.”

Kyle guided Murphy near the entrance of a closed bakery, the enclosure partially hiding them. “I don’t need to be a fortuneteller to see that there’s nothing there.”

“You didn’t even have time to talk to her, so how could you know that? Isn’t she enough of a babe for you, Kyle?”

Murphy didn’t even know why he was firing away with these questions when the answers were so obvious. This was how Kyle operated; the process was no surprise.

Kyle flinched at Murphy’s tone, telling Murphy that he’d hit every target.

“She didn’t live up to what I pictured,” Kyle said. “The reality killed the fantasy, that’s all.”

“Perfect. Good from far, but far from good.”

“Cut it out, Murphy, I’ll call her right now to say I’ve got an urgent situation and can’t make it. That way neither of us will waste our time by pretending something’ll come of this. No harm done.” Kyle socked Murphy in the arm. “Then we’ll be on our way to better things, because my guy Murphy needs some distraction.”

Adding to his roguish act, Kyle offered a grin, but Murphy was immune.

“What?” Kyle asked, stuffing his hands in his pockets. He leaned against the building, watching a group of suntanned girls in light dresses walk by. Oddly enough, he didn’t even smile as they said hi to him. Instead he gave a slight nod, then fixed a lowered, tentative gaze on his cousin.

“Hell,” Murphy said, “at least you’ve got standards. At least you won’t screw anything that walks, right?”

Kyle exhaled, clearly relieved that Murphy had gotten his point. “Exactly. Why even make her think there’s a possibility of—”

“You’re a real hero, saving her feelings like this.” Murphy grunted. “You’re so damned shallow that you make a trickle of water look deep.”

“Well, shit, you want to go back in there and go on this mercy date instead? Be my guest. Tamara Clarkson’s the one with the frizzed-out hair, sitting in the corner with a weird fan. Go for it.”

Murphy’s head almost crashed in on itself. His still-awakened groin stirred. “A fan?”

“Yeah, a fan. Among other things, I’m not into average Josies from the drama club.”

Anger—odd and unexplained—welled up in Murphy. “I saw her. She was…” He stopped himself, but his mind finished the thought. She wasn’t average. Hell, no. Striking, yes. A stroke of color in a roomful of moving nothings. A woman who didn’t fit any traditional mold—not society’s definition of beauty, anyway. How could Kyle think she was average?

“Listen.” Murphy leaned closer, offended for her. “I know how you play it. You sweet-talked her on the phone, got her hopes up, and now you’ll drop her without another care. She’s probably going to be crushed that you stood her up.”

“You feel sorry for her.”

Hell, yeah, he did. But it was more than that. It was disappointment in Kyle’s lack of maturity. A twinge of jealousy, because Kyle always seemed to get what Murphy wanted with such relaxed ease—and took it all for granted.

Freedom. Careless immunity from accountability.

Murphy got angrier just thinking about it. Angry with himself for wanting the same thing.

But there was also something else—something much more disturbing about leaving Tamara Clarkson alone in the lounge. She’d seen Murphy, brightened at the sight of him. Based on how alike the cousins looked, she’d thought he was Kyle, didn’t she? Murphy might as well be the one ditching her for all she knew, and that didn’t sit right with him. Not at all.

Ironic, huh? He would love to go back in there, to talk with her and see where things led, to be Kyle for just one night, but he couldn’t.

“If she’d been my date…” Murphy said, trailing off.

“You’d what?” Kyle said, challenging him.

Images ran through his head: boots, skin-on-skin, sighs…

But the good guy in Murphy shut the fantasy machine down in the face of taking care of business. As usual.

Still, his body throbbed, unrelenting in its desire.

“I’d do the right thing,” Murphy finished, the words flavorless and drab, not halfway near what he would really like to say. “Tell me, what’s so wrong with spending an hour with her? Just one goddamned hour?”

“It’s not that. It’s…” Kyle ran a hand through his short dark hair. “I hate seeing the look on their faces when things don’t go the way they want them to, you know? The disappointment. I don’t like making them feel that way.”

“How sensitive. Why don’t you just forget about this and go on to another bar where you can meet a girl who suits your discriminating appetites? In the meantime, I’ll go back inside and make some excuse to Tamara Clarkson. I’ll buy her that drink you owe her.”

“You don’t need—”

“I think I do.” He detailed how Tamara had seen him and how that made Murphy feel responsible. “I’m not going to stand by and watch while you make this woman’s night a disaster.”

“Murphy…”

Kyle seemed devastated by his cousin’s disgust. Murphy knew the look: it was that of a little brother who’d disappointed the older sibling he idolized. But Murphy was hurting, too, because he’d always hoped that his younger cousin was better than this. Yet every time Murphy realized it wasn’t true, it pained him that much more.

“Are you really going to take over my date?” Kyle asked, seeming half relieved, half chastised.

“Damn straight. In fact, Kyle, maybe I’ll just go in there and pretend I’m you, just like you suggested,” he said, not meaning it. “Because you primed her for that wild man she talked to on the phone and I’m not him. Wouldn’t it be ironic if I got dumped because I wasn’t what she wanted?”

When Kyle raised his eyebrows, Murphy made a dismissive gesture, fighting off a strange thrust of yearning. He’d meant to be ridiculous, to mock his cousin, but the words were still hanging in the air.

She wanted a wild man. She wanted Kyle.

A flame licked at the inside of his belly. Murphy had thought about how great it would be to assume Kyle’s identity, just for the night. To walk freely and shove aside all his hang-ups. To play out the fantasies he’d entertained while watching her inside that lounge.

Stupid idea, Murphy thought. Crazy.

“Just…God, get out of here,” Murphy said, pissed off at Kyle. At himself.

“But—”

“Go.”

At Murphy’s derisive command, Kyle started to walk away, glancing back over his shoulder at his cousin. He looked like a stray dog who’d been kicked to the curb by the owner he adored. Then he disappeared around the corner, shoulders slumped.

Murphy fisted his hands, battling an urge to catch up to Kyle and take back his harsh words. But he couldn’t. Not when the ego of that woman was at stake. Not when it was up to Murphy to take care of her now.

Take care of her….

As he stood there, excitement took root, even as he told himself that usurping Kyle’s place didn’t mean anything more than buying a beautiful, desirable woman one drink…even as he fought the feeling that she would be disappointed with getting a mild man instead of a wild man.

IT WAS 7:20.

Tam wanted to go home, but she also wanted to wait for Kyle Sullivan—if that’s who the guy had been—to come back into the bar. If he was her blind date, had he run as far away and as fast as he could after getting one look at her?

Middle-school-bred insecurities rushed back to her—long face, long nose…horse face.

She didn’t want to think about it. But he’d booked out of the lounge pretty quickly with that cell phone to his ear and hadn’t returned.

The reminder made her feel lonelier than ever, kicking her into departure mode. A hole numbed her stomach, an empty place where she could hide the ugly truth: he’d thought she wasn’t pretty. Her clothes, her determination to look approachable, hadn’t worked.

Stinging, she reached for her small shoulder bag. Then she headed for the door, telling herself that she was fine, chalking the night up to just another crummy day in the jungle. A day that would probably set her back another year in the dating department but—what the hell—she’d get over it.

Eventually.

But as she threaded her way to the door, she stopped in her tracks.

Because there he was, standing not five feet away, gazing at the table she’d deserted. Three college girls had already claimed the space, giggling and offering each other cheers at their good fortune.

He put his hands on his hips, turning around, surveying the room, and…

Oh. My. God.

Tam’s heartbeat thundered in her head. If this was her date, he’d lived up to the advertisement, with those blue-gray eyes that were more gorgeous than she could’ve ever imagined. Dark eyebrows winged above them, lending him a wry edge. He also had the promised black hair, cut short, conservative, although she did sense a hint of wildness where the strands had grown out, showing a bit of curl. He was tall and well built. A T-shirt covered a wide chest, muscles roping through his arms.

Very, very hot. So hot she wondered how long he would talk to her before realizing he was too hot to be talking to her.

Should she go to him and find out if he was her guy?

She heard a group of voices in the back of her mind. The Sisters of the Booty Call, their chant rising in power: Do it, do it, do it…

If not now, when? She was here to take control, right?

Sucking in a breath, she forced her body in his direction, walking with determination.

All too soon she was standing in front of him, her heart jittering against her ribs.

“Looking for this?” she said, flashing her fan.

Was that her sounding all flirty and confident again? See, she could cover what she’d been feeling only moments ago. And why not? She’d spent most of a lifetime being good at it.

When he spun around, spotted the date marker and grinned in acknowledgment, she almost tumbled to the floor.

Oh. My. God. Part two.

That smile…it was aimed at her. Her. Tamara Clarkson, the girl who, only moments ago, thought her date had burned rubber.

Over the music, he motioned toward an empty spot near the wall, gently grabbing her elbow to lead her. Her skin blazed against the pressure of his fingers, a bolt of electricity zigzagging down through her tummy, just about splitting her apart, leaving her aching.

“I had some difficulty getting back in here,” he said, battling the music with his voice. “Sorry about keeping you waiting.”

See, everything was okay. In fact, he was leaning against the plank wall, aiming his body toward her, giving her an appreciative glance that made her skin flush.

“Want a drink?” she asked boldly.

Go, girl, go, girl…

He paused, sending a flash of terror into her chest. But then he seemed to consider something, and he broke into that sexy, slow smile.

“What’ll you have?” he asked, his eyebrows raising suggestively.

Whoo-boy. Tam knew what she wanted.