Читать книгу Innuendo - Crystal Green, Crystal Green - Страница 7

UP CLOSE, her eyes were breathtaking.

Clear and open. The touch of innocence he glimpsed in them made him wonder if she knew what wearing a pair of thigh-high boots did to a guy.

He felt himself stirring to life again, a clutch of welcome agony that had a hold of his cock and wouldn’t let go.

As he watched Tamara Clarkson order a Mai Tai, he concentrated on her pouty mouth, drawn by every word she formed while she talked. All he wanted was reach out to trace her lips with his fingers, to slip one inside and slide it in and out as a promise, an invitation.

How would she react if he tried it? He could tell she was attracted to him, but maybe that was because she’d already talked to Kyle and he’d pumped her up with expectations Murphy couldn’t even begin to think of fulfilling. Or could he?

He realized that Tamara was staring at him. Had she asked a question that he’d been too hot and bothered to hear?

Recovering more smoothly than he could ever have anticipated, he pretended that the music and the crowd’s noise had been the problem. He leaned over to her, closer.

As she laughed a little, her warm breath caressed his ear. And even over the bar’s working-class perfume of stale sweat and hops, he caught the scent of her: honeysuckle and orange blossoms, earthy and sweet.

Murphy’s skin flared with a flash of heat.

“I thought maybe you’d changed your mind and left.” She paused, bit her bottom lip then smiled. “I thought that…well, maybe you decided the business-card routine was too forward after all, too out of the ordinary. But then I remembered what you said on the phone….”

There was a daring gleam in her eyes as she trailed off and backed away from him just enough to gauge his answer, possibly even to ferret out why he had left the lounge earlier.

There was no way he would say that Kyle had judged her as “not pretty enough” and abandoned the date for greener pastures.

Searching for an answer, Murphy could only guess what Kyle had already said to her. And whatever the specifics, Tamara Clarkson had clearly liked every bit of Kyle’s act. He could tell by the anticipation in the flush of her cheeks, the way her body was angled toward him, as his was toward hers.

Before he could stop himself, he leaned down and said something that could’ve come straight out of Kyle’s own mouth.

“I like knowing that you made the first move.” His lips brushed against her hair. “Confidence is attractive, and it shows that you’re open to—” he laughed, her strands tickling his mouth “—anything we come up with.”

Damn, even his voice sounded like his cousin’s. It wasn’t hard to imitate Kyle—his own mom couldn’t even tell them apart on the phone—but it was the tone he used that rattled him.

The innuendo that he was a different man.

Tamara’s fingers were pressed against his chest, not to push him away, but perhaps in reaction to what he’d said. He wondered if she could feel his heart banging, if the vibration of his pulse had traveled through her hand and was echoing inside of her.

Instinct told him that she wanted to hear more of Kyle’s flirting, that she might already be so into the fantasy of Kyle that she might reject Murphy if he backtracked and told her who he really was.

A boring drone. A turnoff to someone with Tamara’s obvious predilection for a wild boy.

Was telling the truth worth it when things were going so well? What would revealing his identity accomplish, especially since this wasn’t going to turn into a serious relationship anyway? After tonight, she would never be the wiser to his identity, especially if Murphy could use to his advantage all the persuasive skills he’d professionally honed and somehow convince her that a single date would be enough, that it would be her idea never to see him again. Could he manage that?

It was a hell of a lot better than what Kyle would’ve done.

Going beyond tonight with her wasn’t an option, anyway. The less she knew, the more likely it was that she would never find out why Kyle had unceremoniously dumped her. Murphy didn’t wish that truth on any woman.

She turned her face so that she was talking near his ear again. “You’re my first date in this city. I don’t know much about what to do for kicks.”

“You’re in my capable hands.”

They grinned at each other, the double entendre hardly lost on either of them. In that moment, he realized that she did know what her boots were all about. That she’d worn them on purpose. That she hadn’t been kidding about having a good time when she’d talked to Kyle on the phone.

As the waitress brought their drinks, Murphy insisted on paying, not only because it was courteous but because he wanted to make this up to her. He was lying by omission, and he felt too good to stop.

He took a swig of the draft beer, and she sipped from her cocktail. The drink left some moisture on her lower lip, and she sucked at it, casting him a slanted look.

He leaned close again, breathing her in, feeling drunk with the freedom of stepping outside of himself, of playing a naughty game that had no rules.

“What do you like to do, Tamara Clarkson?”

Definitely Kyle: teasing, lightly charming, the kind of guy women forgave a few lies because he was so entertaining.

“The usual.” She stirred her drink, ice-sweat clinging to the glass. “Travel, read, watch too much TV.” She made an endearingly goofy face. “I decorate stuff, too.”

“Decorate?”

When she laughed, his neck tingled with the dampness of her breath. It smelled of exotic fruits.

“I’m working on some home improvements. And I kind of have this thing for making my own clothes. Fashion makes the world—” she paused, shrugged “—a more beautiful place, I suppose.”

He ran a lingering gaze over her body, from the high neck of the wide-sleeved, gauzy blouse, over her breasts, down her scarf-clad waist, past her hips to her legs.

She shifted, as if restless under the weight of his lazy perusal. Just like that he was turned on again, his entire body one beating mass of erotic energy.

At that moment, it became perfectly clear to Murphy: what he wanted more than anything in this world was for her to desire him, to surrender to his hands as they roamed her up and down, to ask for more as he peeled off the layers of clothing that separated them.

Primal, predatory. His lust robbed him of logic. All that existed was here and now. Want. Need.

“You’re talented,” he said, voice ragged as he dragged his gaze back to her face. “You really know how to dress, Tamara.”

“Tam,” she said, voice soft in his ear. “Just Tam, okay?”

Heartbeats marked the seconds that thudded between them.

Murphy propped his arm on the wall, just below the gold of a Chinese symbol. With him hovering over her, she had to tilt her chin to look up at him.

She wasn’t a short woman, coming up to just above his shoulder. Their proximity meant that her mouth was this close to his neck. All she would have to do is cant over a couple of inches to press her lips to his skin.

The music’s volume abruptly lowered, breaking the flow of his thoughts. With a glance, Murphy discovered that the bartender had turned down the stereo while he argued with a patron who’d imbibed way too much happy juice.

Great. That meant there was no need to lean over her anymore. The lack of a rhythmic, driving cadence changed the room’s tone, somehow set them back to first-date distance.

“Julia had nice things to say about you.” Tam was holding her drink in front of her chest now.

Kyle. She was talking about Kyle. Murphy had to keep reminding himself.

“What did Julia have to say?” Murphy asked, not certain who the woman even was. Could she be the one who’d put Kyle’s name into the business-card lottery? His cousin had told him all about the setup, but had failed to mention the name of the lady he’d impressed, not that he probably even remembered.

“Hmm, let me think. What did she say?” Tam tapped a finger against her mouth, stopped, then glanced at him sideways out of the corner of her eye.

Cute. Taunting him, huh?

Murphy inched nearer, lowering his arm from the wall.

“Tell me everything,” he said, tweaking a curl that was hanging down to her collarbone. Inadvertently—or maybe not—he skimmed against the thin material separating his finger from her flesh, and her face went red.

Strangely, it was the most seductive reaction he could’ve wished for. An unexpected combination, an angel wearing the devil’s lingerie.

“You going to hold me in suspense here?” he asked. “Or are you going to tell me what Julia said?”

“Oh, just the basics.”

She tentatively reached out, tugged on the bottom of his T-shirt. It was the shy move of an unpracticed hand, confusing Murphy. Stoking him further.

“She said you’re a waiter,” she added, “but you want to open your own restaurant someday.”

Murphy wasn’t sure how to respond. He and Kyle had talked about this, but never seriously. His cousin didn’t have the ambition to commit to that kind of project. But it was true that Murphy loved the dream of his own place, where he could indulge himself in the world’s second-best stress-relieving activity: cooking. Kyle enjoyed it just as much, meaning that it was one more thing for them to get competitive over.

Also, Murphy wasn’t Kyle, and the reminder sent another ping of adrenaline through him.

Forget it. All he knew was that he wanted to be touching her again, and from the way she kept glancing at him from beneath her eyelashes, he guessed that she felt the same way.

When she opened her mouth to say something else, Murphy impetuously took up where she’d left off when she’d pulled at his T-shirt. He casually ran a finger down her thinly covered arm, just as if he did this sort of thing every night of the week. Her mouth remained open, the words frozen as she watched his face.

The breath caught in his chest while he waited for her reaction.

HIS TOUCH BURNED her world at its edges.

As Tam stood there, stunned and overjoyed, she heard the sucking sound of flame being pulled into her body—a backdraft that singed through her flesh, deeper, until it flared around her belly, stirring her up and making her keenly aware of how badly she’d missed being with a man.

Driving home how much she wanted this man.

The awakening interest she’d felt for him on the phone was nothing compared to what was happening now—the fire, the attraction, the utter pleasure of connecting.

He was measuring her with an intense gaze, tacitly asking her to come a step closer to what she’d been hoping for when she’d drawn his name out of the vase.

For a good time call…

But just as she was about to respond—with a gesture? with words?—a stumbling girl backed into Tam, making her cocktail splash over her glass’s rim and onto her hand.

Immediately Kyle reached out to keep the tanked girl from knocking into Tam again.

“You all right?” he asked Tam.

The party girl cut off her response, grabbing on to Kyle’s arm and swaying into him.

“Whoa. Will you marry me?” she asked, slurring.

Her friends broke into embarrassed laughter and dragged her away. Clearly amused, Kyle raised his eyebrows and shrugged.

Was he flushing a little? Nah. Couldn’t be. Based on what she’d already learned about Kyle Sullivan, he wouldn’t be the type. Nope—not the cocky man who’d accepted a weird call for a blind date. Not the anything-goes guy who’d offered to show her the ropes tonight.

She blew out a breath, and shrugged. “So much for privacy here.”

His eyes widened a little as he handed her a napkin to dry off. Jeez, she’d sounded…well, really easy. Sounded as if she was hot to get him alone.

But wasn’t she?

Before she could find an answer, he was back to making her feel like the most beautiful woman in the room, giving her that teasing look, that knowing smile.

“Want to get out of this zoo?” he asked.

He was into her! She held back a happy dance.

“That’d be great. Maybe some fresh air?”

Fresh air. Heh. So that’s what they called it these days.

He took her hand, his fingers warm around hers, and led her through the crowd and out of the lounge, into the purple-gray of coming night. The wind had picked up a little, toying with her hair as they headed toward God-knows-where.

“I know a quieter bar nearby,” he said, squeezing her hand, not letting go, even though they were done with dodging people.

She liked that he was still holding her, liked that she could link her fingers through his and feel her arm rubbing against those muscles.

They passed boutiques, other bars, a dance club. Soon he slowed their pace, and she felt the urge to chat, because it’d been so simple with him before.

“So. Whereabouts do you live?”

“Over in Sunset. I’ve got an apartment—”

He cut himself off, then laughed. Did he want to keep this night on an impersonal level? Part of her applauded the decision, but the other part…

Get a grip, she thought. You’re not here to get serious.

“And you?” he asked.

Odd. She’d told him on the phone. But…whatever. He’d probably forgotten.

“I moved to Russian Hill a few weeks ago.” Before he could start with the inevitable commentary, she hurried to correct his admiration. “I’m just house-sitting one of my family’s places while my dad is on a long-term consulting job in New York. I’m not exactly a perfect Hill fit, so don’t worry.”

Clearly, she had no reservations about talking too much—especially about why she was living in such a swank location. But that was what she did when she was nervous—cover the awkwardness with chatter.

Her breast brushed against his biceps, and she felt him tense, as if holding himself back.

“How’d you end up in that kind of home?” he asked, voice low, rougher than it had been on the phone, an almost-growl taking the place of the very faint lilt.

When she drew in a breath, it sounded shaky, all her pent-up needs wavering on the edge.

“My dad took a job here back when I was in college. He’s an architect and fell in love with the house because it’s from the—what is it?” She snapped her fingers. “Second Bay-Area Tradition Style.”

Despite the house’s beauty, it was lonely living by herself. She concentrated on Kyle’s nod to chase away the thought.

“What about your mom?” Kyle asked.

“Divorced. We talk on the phone, but…” She faded off, not wanting to chat about this. To hide it, she perked up, determined to make this night a great one. “Enough about me. You’ve got a family, I suppose.”

“You’re not thinking I was raised by wolves? I’ve given you the wrong impression, then.” He grinned down at her, and she could tell by the look on his face that, even during this seduction, he could still allow a moment of affection for his family to intrude.

But seconds later his eyes had darkened again, consuming her as he ran a gaze over her mouth.

Her knees wobbled a bit. Whoo-boy.

She swallowed. “Wolves? Except for the part where you were late, you’re a perfect gentleman.”

His laugh was on the biting side. He chopped it off by gesturing toward the entrance of a nondescript bar, indicating that this was their destination.

When he ushered her inside, their talk about personal details eased off. That was because she was too enchanted by the room to pursue anything else.

The decor was beatnik, with low lighting, intimate booths and a sense of indelible cool. Two women dressed in Kerouacesque turtlenecks—the only customers—played pool under the multihued liquor bottles that hung from the rafters. The glass was backed by soft lights, creating a rainbow of muted color. Near the back, a door opened into what looked like a courtyard, and next to it, a man worked his fingers over the strings of a bass, his tune moody and sinful.

Kyle grabbed them a couple of drinks, then led her outside where lounge chairs faced an empty wooden stage. They probably held spoken-word readings here, she thought, excited by the prospect. But right now she and Kyle were alone.

She felt his gaze on her, and when she met it, he wasn’t smiling anymore.

No. He had that look. The look of a man who’d brought her here for privacy.

She returned that look, ready for whatever came next.

SHE WAS ACTUALLY responding to him.

The confirmation of his hopes only added to the heady thrill of what he was getting away with. For the first time in years, he was breathing easy. In fact, he hadn’t even thought of work since Kyle had left, and that was something.

Still…what in the hell was he doing?

He set down their drinks then watched as she sighed and sank back against the brick wall. Beneath the glow of a lantern, the buttery hue bathed her skin, making the highlights in her curly hair dance. Her hand drifted up to touch her neck, and she rubbed her fingertips over her skin, as if sending a silent invitation.

“I’ve been here during the summer, way back when,” he said. “They had a man who spoke Ray Charles songs like they were poems.”

The low, alluring musings from the bass floated on the air, seducing his conscience, telling him it was okay to lie for just one night.

“Does he still perform here?” Tam asked. Her voice wasn’t higher than a whisper.

“I have no idea. I—” Careful.

He’d almost added that he didn’t have much time for entertainment anymore, but he’d stopped himself. Kyle wouldn’t have said it, and neither should he.

Suddenly too self-aware, Murphy didn’t move toward her, even though he was dying to.

In an effort to change the subject yet again, he said, “Your hair. It’s…”

“I know. Messy. Frizzed out.”

She glanced away, and disappointment seized him. But then, as if recovering from something, she looked at him again, allowing that huge, gorgeous smile to light over her lips.

“It’s not messy at all,” he said. “I like it.”

Understatement. It reminded him of steamy nights, of a woman lounging on a bed with the sheets sweated to her body, her hair in disarray. Reminded him of younger, New Orleans-misted memories from Tulane.

Dammit, he wanted to see her that way, sated and relaxed by what he could do to her.

“I guess,” she said, voice low as she moved closer, “it’s natural that you’d like my hair. You said on the phone that you’re into wild things.”

The comment made him smile. And he knew it was a smile he wouldn’t normally wear. It felt wolfish, appropriate for a man reaching out to test a woman’s hair between his fingers, wishing he could slip his hand a little lower….

“You’re into the same things, right, Tam?”

She was playing the game—the touch-and-go of verbal foreplay. It was in the tilt of her mouth, the rise of her chin as she met his stare.

“Wild as in…?” she ventured.

Screw it.

He reached toward her, coasting his fingers to the back of her neck, slipping one into her high collar to smooth over her nape. He heard her intake of breath.

“As in—” he whisked his fingertips downward over her spine to the small of her back, where he started drawing slow circles “—anything goes.”

Good. So, so good.

As her breathing got faster, his other hand crept around to her throat. He stoked the soft skin of it, feeling her working to swallow.

“I don’t really even know you from Adam,” she said.

Or Kyle.

She’d said the right words, revving him up with the reminder that he’d left himself behind.

“Then we need to do something about getting acquainted,” he whispered.

He knew she could leave right now—that he could, too. But neither of them was moving.

Maybe she was the type of woman who knew what kind of message those boots sent. And maybe she could give Murphy what he needed.

A taste of bad.