Читать книгу Pass Interference - Desiree Holt - Страница 8

Tyler Gillette swirled the amber liquid in her cocktail glass and stared into it for a long moment before taking a slow sip. Savoring the bite of the alcohol, she looked around the bar. About her usual speed these days. Slightly seedy, but in the dark it carried an artificial veneer of polish. Small (but not exactly what she’d call cozy), with a long bar on one wall and the rest of the room filled with tables and chairs. A jukebox in one corner banged out tunes, but, thank the Lord, the volume on it was turned down. She’d had enough jukebox headaches in her life, and she wasn’t in the mood for one tonight.

Of course she wasn’t in the mood for much of anything tonight.

She caught the sudden cloying whiff of heavy aftershave seconds before someone slid onto the bar stool next to her.

“Is this seat taken?” His voice was raspy, like a smoker’s.

Tyler turned her head and looked at the man who had moved next to her. Dark hair, curling at the ends, hung to the collar of his black polo shirt, framing a face dominated by a crooked nose and thin lips. Why did men always think it was sexy to wear black? Didn’t they want a little color in their lives? She let her eyes skim over him and took in the muscular body just beginning to soften, maybe developing a little flab. Okay, so men did the black-makes-me-thinner thing, too.

“Well, is it?” he persisted, in what she was sure he thought was a sexy voice.

Tyler was tempted to just turn her back on him, toss down her drink, and get the hell out of there. But her persistent self-destructive streak made her look him up and down, curve her lips in a smile, and answer him in what she hoped was a seductive voice.

“It is now.”

The answering smile he gave her was part ego and part I think I’m getting lucky tonight. He hitched his bar stool a little closer. “Great. Just great, babe.”

Babe. Crap, she hated that little word. She’d heard it from too many lips and too many men just like this one. And far too many times, in places just like this.

“So.” He trailed a finger down her bare arm. Her shiver had nothing to do with a sexual response and everything to do with revulsion for the touch. “I haven’t seen you at Tequila Sunrise before. You here with anyone?”

“Just myself.” She gave him a sly wink and took another sip of her drink. God, she had this routine down pat, every comment, every single body movement memorized like a long-running play she’d starred in. How could she even stand herself anymore?

“Well.” He returned the wink. “Me, too. That’s quite a coincidence, isn’t it?” He drained the rest of the liquid in his rocks glass and nodded at her empty one. “How about a refill?”

“Sure. Why not?”

Why not indeed? Tequila Sunrise was just one more dingy bar in the many she’d spent time in over the past few years. One more stop on her downward spiral. She could hardly tell one from the other anymore, and that went for the men, too. But it seemed to be the only way her father ever realized she was alive, albeit to tear his hair out at her behavior.

Tough shit.

The bartender cleared the empties and set up the refills. Tyler picked up her glass and waited until the guy touched his to hers before taking a sip.

“So,” he asked, smacking his lips, “you got a name?”

“Marie.” She always used her middle name. It offered a small amount of damage control and gave her a measure of anonymity. For herself, not for her father. It allowed her to separate the person she was from the things she did.

“Marie,” he repeated. “Nice name.” He waited for her to ask for his. When she didn’t, he said it anyway. “I’m Dewey.”

“Here’s to ya, Dewey.” She lifted her cocktail glass and took a healthy swallow. The alcohol burned as it slid down her throat and into her body, searing away her unhappiness.

“You live around here?” he asked.

Good Lord, were all his lines so stale?

“Sort of.” She took another sip.

“You’re sure a sexy little piece. I didn’t think I’d see any action in here on a week night, but lucky me. Here you are.”

Yes, lucky him.

“So, what do you do when you aren’t hanging out in places like Tequila Sunrise?”

She shrugged. “This and that.”

What did she do, anyway? Not a hell of a lot. She’d studied many things during her scattered college career but never pursued any of them. She’d thought about what she’d do if she completed her degree but —She took another sip of her drink, pushing those thoughts from her mind.

Glancing around, she noticed some of the people had left but others had wandered in to take their place. All of them looked as seedy and desperate as Dewey. When he coasted the tips of his fingers over her knee and tried to ease them beneath the hem of her skirt, she jerked, sloshing some of her drink on her dress. She grabbed cocktail napkins from a stack on the bar and blotted up the liquid. As she did, she brushed Dewey’s thick fingers away, too.

“Awww, don’t be like that.” He tried to touch her again, but she swung her body at an angle away from him. “You got really soft skin. Nice skin.” He leered at her. “I’ll bet it’s just as soft all over.”

Again he made an attempt to ease his hand up the inside of her thigh. Tyler gave a forced laugh as she grasped him by the wrist, her stomach roiling at the contact.

“No touching in public.” She made herself laugh again. “I have rules.”

“That so?” He took a deep swallow of his drink. “Any other rules I should know about?”

“Yes. No personal questions.”

“Uh-huh.” He studied her. “You got something to hide?”

“Doesn’t everyone?” She dug up a friendly look from somewhere. “I’ll bet you do. Right?”

He shrugged. “Maybe, but nothing all that interesting.” He shifted on his bar stool in an attempt to lean closer again. “I’d rather talk about you.”

She hated to think how many men like Dewey she’d been in this same situation with over the years. It was a game; one she played far too often. Tease but don’t give in. They can look but don’t touch. Don’t get too close unless she was desperate. Thank God she hadn’t been that desperate in a long time.

By the third drink, she was getting sloppy and Dewey was getting more aggressive. She needed to pull herself together because she had no intention of letting Dewey and his ego get any more private with her than the seats on the two bar stools.

Nor did she plan to leave with him or anyone else. She knew the prevailing assumption was she slept with anything that had a dick but they were so wrong. Oh, sure, she’d had a few lovers, but not nearly as many as people thought, and not for a long time. It was an act she’d perfected so no one could see who was beneath that slutty armor.

She’d begun to realize lately, though, that the slutty armor pinched. That even as a disguise, it didn’t seem to fit her anymore. She wasn’t comfortable with herself and that disturbed her. Had she gone so far over the edge she’d lost the core of Tyler?

Unexpectedly, he stopped trying to paw her. “Hey, Chuck.” He signaled to the bartender and pointed to the television mounted up in one corner behind the bar. “Turn that thing up, will you?”

“Aw, no one wants to hear that crap tonight,” Chuck argued. “They got the jukebox going.”

“I said turn up the fucking television,” Dewey challenged. “That is if you expect any kind of tip tonight.”

“Asshole,” Chuck muttered.

Tyler wanted to agree with him, but the man threw down his bar towel and reached for the remote. When she looked up at the screen to see what was so important to the jerk next to her, she really didn’t want it turned up. Behind the sportscaster was a huge rendering of the new logo of the San Antonio Hawks. Up in the corner was an inset of Kurt Gillette’s photo. Her beloved father.

“…still pouring in,” the man was saying. “The public is still divided almost equally on whether they want the team to remain the Bisons or keep the new name, the San Antonio Hawks.”

The female reporter laughed. “Like it or not, Kurt Gillette won’t be changing it back. Since the big switch, with a new logo, new colors, and new uniforms, the team has rebounded from the slump it’s been in since the loss of star quarterback Tate Manning.”

“Gillette says they’ll get used to it as the team keeps racking up wins. You have to admire the man for taking such a bold step, but it seems to be working.”

God! It seemed no matter where she went, Tyler couldn’t get away from her father or his precious effing football team. As the television reporters continued to discuss the topic, nausea roiled up into her throat. She needed to get out of here. Fast. Get away from both Dewey and yet another news blast about the vaunted Kurt Gillette.

She slid from the bar stool and grabbed the thin strap of her purse. “Be right back,” she said, slurring just a little.

“Hey, wait.” He grabbed her upper arm with his thick fingers. “You’re not gonna run out on me, are you? I got drinks invested in you, Marie.”

She forced a smile. “Would I do that? I just need to head to the little girls’ room for a minute.”

She glanced pointedly at where he held onto her. With a frown, he released her, but took the moment to stroke his fingers the length of her arm. Tyler managed to keep from spitting in his face. After all, the whole thing was really her fault. If she hadn’t been here in the first place, having her usual pity party—

She shook herself. “I’ll be right back. Promise.”

“You’d better be.” The tone of his voice had an unpleasant cast to it. “If you take too long, I might have to come after you.”

She lifted her eyebrows. “In the ladies’ room?”

“Wherever.” He grabbed her arm again. “I don’t let my women run out on me. Not until I get my money’s worth.”

“Your women? Damn, Dewey, all we had was a couple of drinks.”

“You gave me the come-on, sweetie. Don’t try to deny it.”

She yanked her arm away again and took a step back. Arguing with him would get her nowhere so she dug up a smile. “I told you. I’ll be right back. You just order us another round of drinks.”

As if he needed one. She managed to make it to the restroom although inside she was shaking. Usually she was a pretty good judge of the guys she met. If they got a little too aggressive, she could back off and they looked somewhere else. Apparently Dewey didn’t fit into that category.

Inside the ladies’ room, she took a good look at herself in the mirror. What a mess. The hair she’d arranged so artfully to fall just so to her shoulders looked as if she’d been combing it with her fingers. Okay, so she had. BFD. The black dress that she’d thought so sexy when she got dressed now looked like a cheap come-on. Her makeup, well, it didn’t look too bad, but her vision wasn’t quite as sharp as it had been early in the evening. All in all, she was bordering on a mess.

She was doing herself in. At this rate, she’d be dead before Kurt Gillette had a change of heart.

She had another little problem to deal with, too, one she hadn’t told a single soul about. Mostly because she had no idea who to bring it to. She really hoped it would just go away.

Yeah, right. Like that was going to happen.

Sighing, she took care of business, washed her hands, and pulled her cell phone from her purse. She’d taken a cab so she didn’t have to worry about driving, but she needed an alternative now. She was pretty damn sure good old Dewey would put up a huge fuss if he saw her trying to get into a taxi. No, she needed a better solution to the mess she’d gotten herself into.

Taking out her cell, she dialed her friend, Betsy. She’d definitely come and bail her out. But all she got was Betsy’s “Leave a message.” She tried ten more numbers, people she felt comfortably asking to help her with this ugly situation, but she only got their voice mails.

Damn! Damn! Damn!

Did no one have their cell phones on tonight, when she desperately needed to reach someone?

Bam, bam, bam.

The heavy pounding on the door startled her.

“Hey, Buttercup. You comin’ outta there tonight?” Dewey’s voice was edged with anger, an anger no doubt fueled by his consumption of alcohol.

Holy crap. No way was she opening the door. Still, she couldn’t spend the night in the ladies’ room.

“Miss?” A strange man’s voice. Oh, wait, it sounded like the bartender. “Miss, are you okay in there? You need to open the door.”

Not for any amount of money. But she had to get herself out of this mess and away from a drunken Dewey.

She had one more number she could call. She referred to it in her mind as her when-the-sky-is-falling-and-no-one-else-is-around number. The number for a man she’d been lusting after for a long time, who was unfailingly polite to her whenever their paths crossed yet as much as possible avoided her. She had hoped she’d never have to use it, for a number of reasons. A woman didn’t want to call the man she’d dreamed about for so very long to get her out of this kind of trouble, a mess of her own making. She didn’t want to see the disgust and censure in his eyes. But the sky was definitely falling tonight and this number would reach the one person she knew would get her out of it swiftly and cleanly.

She’d probably have to pay for it by listening to a good lecture and beg him not to tell her father.

Swallowing her misgivings, she dialed the number with hands that trembled. No one knew she had his number, that she’d programmed it in just in case. This was definitely a just in case. She prayed that he wouldn’t hang up on her. Surely he couldn’t refuse a plea for help, right? After all, he worked for her father, so how could he say no?

* * * *

“Okay, Ortiz, what do you think of the big name change for the Bisons?” Cal Hopewell looked at his poker hand, pulled out two cards, and threw them down on the table.

Rafe Ortiz studied his hand while he tried to form an appropriate answer. As the head of security for the San Antonio Hawks as well as Southern Bank Stadium, he had to be careful what he said, even in the company of his closest friends.

He slipped a single card free and tossed it down. “I’ll take one,” he told Andy Milliken, who was dealing, as he took his time putting his thoughts together. This wasn’t the first time he’d been asked this question.

“The name change,” Cal prompted.

“I think Kurt is a smart businessman who wants to inspire both his team and his fans. Whatever you might think of this, it’s working.”

“Yeah, but you played for the Bisons,” Andy reminded him. “Don’t you feel a disconnect to this new, so-called revitalized team?”

“Not at all. Some of the guys I played with are still on the active roster, and I want success for them. My relationship is to the team, whatever it’s called.”

“Well, whatever the circumstances,” Cal said, “we’re glad Gillette didn’t forget about you. He gave you a nice cushy job when you decided to retire.”

“Cushy?” Rafe laughed. “Did you say cushy? You come down to the stadium any Sunday and watch my staff wrestle drunks, sore losers, and bullies. Or corral some of the team members when they’re loose in a new city. Then tell me it’s cushy.”

Not that he was complaining. He loved his job, more money than he’d ever use and a circle of friends he was comfortable with. Friends who didn’t care about the celebrity status that still dogged him.

“Come on,” Andy teased. “How hard can it be to herd all those groupies?”

The ringing of Rafe’s cell phone broke into the conversation, saving him from having to answer. Because of his position with Lone Star Security, he kept the phone on twenty-four/seven. He pulled it out of his pocket and looked at the readout, expecting it to be one of the players or, worst case, Kurt, with a problem. When he saw who it was, he cursed silently.

Shit!

Kurt’s spoiled, pampered princess. The wild child of Texas.

And the woman he’d been secretly dreaming about for ten years.

Just what he needed.

He pressed the Talk button. “Ortiz.”

“Um, Rafe?” Her voice was soft and a little unsteady.

His stomach clutched, nervous apprehension dancing up and down his spine. What trouble had Tyler gotten herself into now? And why was she calling him, of all people? She never called the security team, never had anything to do with the Hawks unless she was forced to. And certainly never with him. Whenever he’d run into her, he was very careful not to show any interest that could be misconstrued. It hadn’t been just the reputation she seemed intent on building. No, it was actually the fact she was Kurt Gillette’s daughter with a big out-of-bounds sign on her. Getting involved with the boss’s daughter was a sure recipe for disaster.

So often he’d been struck with the feeling that her entire lifestyle was just one big masquerade. That beneath her outrageous exterior was a woman in a lot of pain, determined to tell the world to go to hell. But he wasn’t about to get in the middle of whatever complicated relationship she and her father had. Nope, not at all.

So he’d kept his distance, despite feelings that he ruthlessly suppressed. Now here she was calling him in the middle of the night.

How in the fucking hell had she gotten this number, anyway?

“Yeah, it’s me.” He tried not to let his irritation show.

“This is Tyler. Tyler Gillette.” Didn’t she know her ID showed up on his screen?

“How did you get this number?” he demanded. Rude much, Ortiz?

“Can we please, please talk about that later? Right now I really need your help.”

He could hear loud conversation and music in the background. Obviously she was at one of her usual dive bars. Her activities were legend. Rafe gritted his teeth. If she’d called him it must really be bad.

“What’s up?”

There was a long pause and he wondered if he’d lost her. If she’d hung up. Then her voice came back, a little lower as if she didn’t want anyone to overhear her. Although with all that noise, he wondered how she could hear herself.

“I—uh—I hate to bother you, but can you come and pick me up? Please?”

Pick her up? He held the phone out and stared at it for a moment.

“Where’s your car?” he asked.

“I took a cab.” She was practically whispering now. “I am so sorry to bother you, but I-I have a bit of a problem and I seem to be having trouble reaching people. I would really appreciate it if you could see your way clear to coming to get me.” Slight pause. “Please. I’m in, uh, kind of a bind.”

He just bet she was. Probably the reason she was being excessively polite. His gut told him there was real trouble, and she had focused on him as the solution. He heard a sudden Bam! Bam! Bam! Wherever she was, it sounded as if someone was banging on a door near her.

“What’s going on, Tyler? Where are you? What’s that noise?”

“I—I’m in the ladies’ room at a bar. Uh, Rafe? Please?”

Rafe frowned. Come and get her? Swooping up Tyler Gillette wasn’t on his roster of responsibilities and he’d made damn sure to keep it that way. He had the feeling that no matter what he did he’d end up in trouble.

“Why can’t you take a cab home?” he asked, hating himself even as he heard the callous tone in his voice. Nice, Rafe. “If you’re too blitzed, have the bartender call one for you.”

“I can’t. I—You don’t understand.”

Bam! Bam! Bam!

“You in there, bitch?”

Okay, that really did not sound good. What the hell was going on?

“Fine.” He let out a heavy sigh. If something really did happen to her, he’d never forgive himself. “Give me the name of the bar and lock yourself in the ladies’ until I get there. If the guy busts in just scream, and the bartender will come running. I’ll get there as fast as I can.”

He disconnected the call and tossed his cards on the table. “Wouldn’t you know it. Two queens with an ace back.” He shook his head in disgust. “You guys can divvy up my money; I gotta dash.”

“Man.” Cal shook his head. “You don’t get too many late night calls like this. It must be pretty damn important for you to break out of the game. Or something.”

“Or something,” he repeated and headed for the door of Cal’s town house. “Just deal me out. I think I’m in for a long night.”

God, he really did not want to be doing this. He’d spent a lot of years keeping as much distance between himself and Tyler Gillette as possible. Long years of sticking his hormones in deep-freeze where she was concerned. From the first moment he saw her he’d wanted her, with the passion that only a twenty-two-year-old could have. His need had been hot, strong, and gripping. And for one fleeting moment when they’d been introduced, he saw an answering spark in her eyes.

“Stay away from that one,” Moe Dempster, a linebacker, had warned him the first day. “She’s poison.”

But he hadn’t needed to be told. He’d been a rookie who needed to prove himself to his new owner, and she was that owner’s daughter. And young, besides. He’d known from the get go she was off-limits. She was brash, brassy, over the top, the continuing star of tabloids. She might as well have had trouble tattooed on her forehead. Anyway, her lifestyle was so foreign to the way he lived. He could never be with a woman who defied every rule of good behavior the way she did, even if he did have a sneaking suspicion it was all an act. It wasn’t the way he was raised, and it wasn’t the way he lived.

In the intervening years, each time they’d run into each other, the air fairly shimmered around them with sexual electricity. He knew she’d be willing. The signals were very easy to read, but there was too much holding him back, such as his career and her reputation. She was such a contradiction, that girl. Woman. Not girl. Defensive, go to hell, fuck the world, yet whenever he was with her, he saw the vulnerability beneath the facade.

If there was one woman he didn’t need to hook up with, she was that person. Yet here he was, on his way to clean up whatever her latest mess was. And then what?

Yeah, then what, idiot?

Thankfully, there wasn’t all that much traffic on the streets at this time of night. Still it took some time to get from the north end of San Antonio to a bar on the south side. Miraculously, he found a space across the street and jogged over to the Tequila Sunrise. The moment he opened the door, he knew there was trouble. Almost everyone in the place was crowded toward the little back hallway, and he heard men shouting at each other.

“Damn it, Dewey.” A man with a nasal voice was speaking. “I said get the fuck away from there.”

“Not until I get that bitch out of there.” And that, no doubt, was the cause of the trouble Tyler was in.

“Excuse me.”

Swallowing a sigh, Rafe pushed his way through the crowd. No one wanted to give up their spot watching the action, so it took a few elbow digs and a look that said, “Get the fuck out of my way.” But then he was in the short hallway. Two men filled up the space between the door to the ladies’ room and the wall, both of them large and beefy. One of them was still banging on the door, even as the other tried to pull him away.

“Come on, Dewey. Don’t make me get my baseball bat out.”

Rafe guessed it was the bartender speaking.

“I’m not leaving till I get my hands on this bitch,” the other man shouted in a nasty, drunken voice.

“Did you call the cops?” Rafe asked the bartender.

The man’s face reddened. “I try to keep the cops out of things whenever possible.”

“Even if someone is in danger?”

“Aw.” The man scratched his head. “She wasn’t in any real danger. I could conk Dewey over the head and put us all out of our misery.”

“Next time remember that,” Rafe warned. He turned to the man still banging on the door and shouting. “My turn now.”

The bartender looked at the former defensive lineman for San Antonio, saw the expression on Rafe’s face, and backed away. Dewey wasn’t quite that smart. He ignored the fact that while he and Rafe were about the same size, Dewey’s flab would be no match for Rafe’s still-solid muscle. He took a step backward and put up his fists.

Rafe sighed again. He really didn’t want to have to do this, but the asshole wasn’t leaving him any choice. He reached out and grabbed the man by the throat with his powerful fingers, pressing his thumb into the hollow and pushing him away from the door. When Dewey still tried to fight back, Rafe just coldcocked him, and the guy dropped to the floor in a big messy heap.

“Thank you,” the bartender said. “Dewey just gets a little feisty sometimes when he’s had a drop too much to drink.”

“Seems like you should have cut him off before he got too—what did you say?—feisty.” He knocked softly on the restroom door. “Tyler? It’s me.”

“Rafe?”

“Yeah. In the flesh.”

There was a long moment of silence and then the door eased open a crack. Tyler peered out, fear in her eyes before relief washed over her face when she saw it really was him.

“You can come out now.”

Tyler opened the door wider. When he got a good look at her, he swallowed back a bitter taste. Everything was a mess—hair, makeup, dress. How in hell did she do this to herself? And why?

He reached for her hand and tugged her out into the hallway. Despite the fact she had a rep for being a gigantic pain in the ass, despite the present circumstances, the moment their hands connected electricity arced between them. There it was, that invisible crackle that had never waned and still sizzled his nerve endings. More like his brain.

No. She was off-limits and a disaster to boot. He had to keep telling himself that. Keep dragging his eyes away from the swell of her breasts visible over the cut of her dress, away from the sweet curve of her ass so lovingly outlined by the fabric. Even with her tawny hair mussed and tumbled around her face and her makeup streaked, there was something so—

So what, asshole? She asked you here to get her out of trouble, not to act out your fantasies.

He could do this. He was famous for his incredible control in all situations. He just needed to keep it in place for this one. Holding tightly to her hand, he towed her through the crowd of onlookers, concentrating on getting out of danger rather than getting into her pants.

“Come on. We’re getting the hell out of here.”

Rafe was tense, alert, prepared for anything as they headed toward the exit. Situations like this could go sideways in a minute. However, apparently not looking for the same treatment he’d given Dewey, people moved out of their way to let them go. Still, he held his breath as he guided Tyler through the tiny side parking lot and across the street to his car. He made sure she was belted in before he cranked the engine and pulled out into the street.

They drove in silence for a long time, tension humming in the car like low-level electricity. Not touching her would be a real test of his self-discipline. He wanted to ask her what the hell she’d been doing in a place like Tequila Sunrise, but he really didn’t have to. He’d heard all the rumors, read all the stories. He knew this was one of many dives where she hung out. It puzzled him why a woman who had absolutely everything she could ask for lowered herself like this, but it was none of his business and he didn’t want it to be. He didn’t want to know anything, just to deliver her to her doorstep and get the hell away from her.

He shot a quick glance at her huddled in the seat. At last she spoke up, in a very small, tired voice, a trace of fear still clinging to it. “Thank you. I’m sorry I had to bother you.”

“I’m sorry you did, too. You should know better than to put yourself in that kind of situation. What the hell were you thinking, anyway?”

“Nothing,” she snapped, obviously irritated by his response. “Thinking can get you into trouble.”

“And exactly what do you suppose tonight was?”

From the corner of his eye, he saw her glance over at him. “So I guess the price of my rescue is a lecture?”

“No lecture. Just a word of warning.” He glanced over at her to see if she was paying attention. Only the tightly curled hands fisted in her lap gave her away. “You live a very destructive lifestyle, Tyler. One of these days you’ll get yourself in a situation that no one will be able to get you out of.”

“Then everyone’s problems will be over, right?” she snapped. “Yours, mine, and especially the holy king Kurt Gillette.”

He had no idea what was going on between Tyler and her father nor did he want to find out. Everyone on the team speculated, but if anyone had any answers, they were keeping quiet about them. It was none of his business, and he intended to keep it that way, for his own sanity.

As they rode through the silent streets he noticed that she kept tugging on the hem of her dress, seemingly uncomfortable in her outfit. If she was so uncomfortable in it why did she wear it? Why dress like that? Did she really want to attract men like Dewey? What was really going on with her, beneath the image she showed the world?

Silence descended and filled the car until at last he pulled into the driveway of her town house. Before she could move, he was out of the car, around the other side and had her door open. He extended a hand to help her out and guided her to the front door with a hand at the small of her back.

On the little porch, she turned to him. “Thank you again for answering my call and coming to pick me up, Rafe. I know I had no right to ask you, but you can’t imagine how much I appreciate it.”

“Next time pick your entertainment in a safer place,” he cautioned. He studied her face. “Just out of curiosity, why did you call me, of all people? We can barely stand each other.”

Hurt flashed so quickly in her eyes he wasn’t even sure he had seen it.

“Maybe you’re the only one I know who could have gotten me out of there.” She flicked her fingers against his chest. “Don’t worry. I won’t make that mistake again.”

“Fine. Good night, Tyler. Stay out of trouble if you can.”

Before he could turn away, she launched herself at him, reaching up and wrapping her arms around his neck as she plastered her body to his. He reacted automatically, holding her against him, inhaling the tantalizing scent of her perfume. She was warm and pliant and his body reacted before his mind caught up. Before he realized it she had him in a lip-lock, her tongue halfway down his throat. It took him a moment to recover himself, but when he did, when he realized what he was doing, he lifted her gently but forcefully away from him.

“You don’t want to do that, Tyler. You’re drunk and tomorrow you’ll regret it and be embarrassed.”

She looked up at him, something like pain glittering in her eyes. “And what if I don’t regret it? What if I’m serious?” Her lips curved in a sloppy semblance of a come-hither smile. “I could give you a very good thank-you, Rafe Ortiz. Very good. It’s what I do best.”

He sighed. He seemed to be doing a lot of that tonight. “Go inside, Tyler. Go to sleep. You’ll feel differently in the morning.”

He took her keys from her hand, unlocked her door, and eased her inside. Dropping the keys on a little table in the foyer, he gave her one last searching look before he closed the door and headed back to his car. He didn’t fire the engine right away. Instead, he sat back in his seat, eyes closed. He could still feel the softness of her round breasts pressed to his chest, the hard tips of her nipples poking into him. He was sure she hadn’t been able to miss his swollen dick imprinting itself on her mound. That damned dress was just too thin.

He ran his fingers over his lips where the taste of her still lingered, her own sweetness mingled with the flavor of whatever she had been drinking. The combination should have been a turnoff, but instead it gave his hormones a mega jump-start. And her tongue. God, when she’d thrust it into his mouth all he’d wanted was to suck hard on it and wrap his own around it. He silently cursed the unwanted boner pushing at his fly.

Tyler Gillette was a hot mess, a disaster waiting to happen. He wondered how a man like Kurt Gillette had let his daughter get so out of control and why he didn’t figure a way to rein her in. Yeah, that “trouble” tattoo seemed like a good idea.

He was allergic to women like her, especially when the woman was Kurt Gillette’s daughter. The man would eviscerate him if he stepped out of line with her. That alone was enough to throw cold water on his feelings.

He was so preoccupied with his body and Tyler’s effect on it that he barely noticed the dark sedan that followed him through the quiet residential streets and out to the interstate.