Читать книгу Under Fire - Jamie Denton Ann - Страница 10

IF THERE WAS one thing Ben Perry didn’t need tonight, it was the attention of a woman. Unfortunately his steadily rising testosterone had given him other ideas the minute he saw a stunning, slender blonde with a body that put air-brushed supermodels to shame, headed straight for him.

Big, mesmerizing eyes, the color of rich jade, held his gaze with a determination and intensity that snared not only his attention, but jolted his libido with the force of a bolt of lightning. Before he had time to consider the consequences, he made the drastic error of encouraging her with a smile.

He stood in the middle of the crowded bar as if he’d been planted there, unable to look away as she neared. The teasing grin curved her full lips. She had the kind of mouth destined to stir a man’s erotic fantasies.

Okay, so a beautiful, intoxicating woman sparked his interest. A lot. That didn’t mean he had to act on the impulse. He hadn’t come to the Ivory Turtle looking for some fun for the night. In fact, he wouldn’t have come at all if Scorch and Brady hadn’t hijacked his pickup truck. Although he deeply appreciated their show of support after the emotionally charged week they’d all been through, he would’ve much rather spent the night alone in his quiet beach house.

He wasn’t like them; he didn’t feel the need to raise a little hell in a desperate reaffirmation of life in the face of tragedy. They all knew the dangers of the job, accepting and facing them on a daily basis. Despite stringent safety measures, accidents still occurred. The bitch of it was, this one had happened on his watch, to one of his men.

The blonde closed in on him, granting him the opportunity of an enlightening inspection. She was tall, more willowy than his first impression of her, with gentle curves and an intriguing sway of her hips as she walked purposely toward him. She was dressed conservatively for a Friday night, at least compared to ninety percent of the other female patrons. Her sleeveless blouse showed off the remnants of a summer tan and was tucked into a long straight skirt that fell just past her calves, shielding her legs from view. That didn’t stop his testosterone-induced imagination from running just a tad on the wild side. Sensible low-heeled brown pumps covered her feet, rather than the pair of CFM heels conjured by his wicked imagination.

She stopped in front of him, and her smile faltered slightly. Despite her height, the top of her head barely reached past his shoulders. He waited, wondering what kind of line she’d attempt to hand him, or if she had some unique approach to picking up guys in a bar. Not that he had anything against a woman who knew what she wanted, if he was in the market, which he wasn’t. Not by a long shot.

“I hope this isn’t too clichéd.” Her silky, smooth voice was confident, belying the slight frown tugging her honey-blond eyebrows downward in a show of apprehension. “But, would you allow me to buy you a drink?”

His standard reply, a polite, thanks, but no thanks, hovered on his lips, until she cast a nervous glance over her shoulder. He looked over the top of her head to the other two women he’d spotted at her table earlier on his way to the men’s room. The flamboyantly dressed platinum blonde gave her an enthusiastic thumbs-up, while the other, a cooler-looking brunette dressed in a jewel-toned silk blouse and dark slacks, crossed her arms and arched her brow in apparent skepticism.

He didn’t need to be a rocket scientist to figure out what was going on. Obviously, she’d either been coerced by her friends to approach him, or she was making good on some bet. Considering he’d been in on the giving end of similar antics himself, the signs were easy to spot.

The blonde turned to face him again, her apprehension clearly tangible now. She smoothed her palms down her slim skirt, then balled her delicate hands into tight fists. “You’d really be helping me out if you said yes.”

He’d reached his self-imposed two-drink limit over an hour ago, and quite honestly, was more than ready to go home for the night. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of his brother Drew, just as he nudged Tom “Scorch” McDonough hard in the ribs, then pointed in his direction. Scorch had the audacity to whistle.

Just great, Ben thought. Could his timing be any more rotten? In no mood for the good-natured ribbing they’d surely hammer him with when he returned to their table if he blew off the blonde, he weighed his options. His youngest brother, Drew, would no doubt be the worst offender. Ever since he had surprised everyone by becoming involved in an actual monogamous relationship, the constant reminders of Ben’s sorry excuse for a love life had tripled, and had become twice as irritating. Even his other brother, Cale, and his new sister-in-law had begun to chide him gently about his single status, and they’d only returned from their honeymoon two days ago.

Against his better judgment, Ben decided a harmless drink with a beautiful woman was the lesser evil. Anything was better than being ragged on by the guys for allowing a looker like the one standing in front of him to slip through his fingers.

“Did you win or lose?” he asked her.

She tilted her head. A stray wisp of light-blond hair slid from the clawlike contraption holding her hair in place and brushed against her cheek. “Excuse me?”

“The bet with your friends,” he added with an inclination of his head in their direction. “Am I the prize or the parting gift?”

Her wide, kissable-looking mouth split into a full grin and she laughed, the sound warm and inviting. “You would definitely be the prize. Except it wasn’t exactly a bet.”

“No?” Damn, she intrigued him. Not a good sign.

“How about I buy you that drink and tell you about it?” she suggested.

He had nowhere in particular to go besides home, where he’d sit in the quiet, mulling the incident over and over in his mind, dissecting each and every move he and the others had made once they’d arrived on the scene. Nothing would change. The end result would remain the same, and he’d still have to come to terms with the probability that he could very well be the one solely responsible for the death of Ivan “Fitz” Fitzpatrick.

Suddenly, being alone held about as much appeal as a root canal. “Sure,” he heard himself saying. “Why not?”

Her eyes brightened considerably, as did her smile. “Jana,” she offered by way of introduction, then extended her right hand.

He clasped her small hand in his, impressed by the confident strength in her grip. “Ben.” No last names, he thought. Nothing too personal, which managed to convince him she wanted nothing more than to satisfy whatever wager she’d made or lost to her friends.

Her high-voltage smile faltered for a brief instant, and she pulled her hand away. “We’re in luck,” she said, indicating an empty booth.

Thankfully they’d be far enough away from his pals so she couldn’t discern their ribald comments or witness their raucous behavior. Not that he could blame them. It wasn’t every day he fell victim to a come-on by a beautiful woman.

He’d always had plenty of offers, he’d just never been all that good at lasting relationships. He dated, if a woman interested him enough to ask her out, but eventually they all moved on once they realized he wasn’t looking for emotional intimacy.

He had his reasons, and in his opinion, they were valid. After his mother had died when he was only ten years old, Ben had witnessed his father’s slow deterioration. Assuming the care of his younger brothers and attempting to shield them from the old man’s self-destruction had been tough, but he had learned a valuable lesson and had sworn he wouldn’t be like his father. Ben had been in his teens when he’d realized he had more in common with his mother, a woman who hadn’t allowed anything to interfere with what was really important to her. Something his father had resented so deeply he’d let it destroy him.

Physical intimacy, however, was another matter altogether, and had never been a problem in his opinion. In his experience with women, most of them wanted what he refused to give them—a commitment. His last girlfriend had accused him of being emotionally bankrupt because he hadn’t allowed her to clutter up his home with her personal things.

He caught the waitress’s attention as Jana slid into the booth. One drink, he told himself, then he’d thank her and leave. Granted, his body might be responding to the awareness starting to take hold, but just because she’d approached him didn’t necessarily translate to her wanting more.

More male laughter rose above the din, causing him to glance over his shoulder to the round table in the corner. Sure enough, his brother and friends were roaring with laughter. Ben didn’t care much one way or the other if they’d made him the butt of one of their jokes. They needed to blow off steam after the day they’d had. If he was the punch line, then he figured that was the least he could do for them.

JANA TOOK a slow, even breath in a vain attempt to convince her insides to stop jumping with nervousness. The hard part was over, and she had nothing to worry about—she hoped.

She smoothed her moist palms down her skirt again. All she had to do was get through one drink without making a total fool of herself. After a little inane, meaningless conversation, she’d hightail it to the relative safety of Chloe and Lauren and lie through her teeth that Mr. Wonderful was either too dull or gay.

So then why could she still feel the touch of Ben’s hand over hers? And what was with the electrifying warmth uncurling in her belly? All because she’d shaken his hand? Ridiculous. And tempting beyond belief.

“What about your friends?” she asked him as he slid into the booth opposite her.

He smiled, and the corners of his eyes crinkled slightly. “They’re big boys,” he said with a chuckle. “I think they can figure it out for themselves, don’t you?”

Another round of raucous male laughter drifted toward them. Her mind took a definite left turn down a treacherous path as she imagined exactly what had been so uproariously funny. To her dismay, she felt heat creep up her neck and settle in her cheeks. “Yes, I imagine they can.”

Oh yes. She most definitely could imagine what they’d said, and couldn’t help the wave of embarrassment rising to the surface and nearly strangling her with dread. Dare or no dare, she couldn’t go through with it.

She inched toward the edge of the booth, preparing to make her escape before she humiliated herself further. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea,” she said, trying to keep the edge of panic from her voice. “I’m sorry.”

“Wait!” The urgent tone of his voice stopped her, but he still reached over the table and grabbed her arm before she slipped away.

“Don’t go,” he said, gentling his tone as he released her. “It’s okay. You don’t normally do this sort of thing, do you?”

She wanted to ignore the sparks skittering along the surface of her skin from his touch, but failed miserably. Her insides tingled, too, with acute awareness. When was the last time something like that had happened to her? Not in recent memory, of that she was dead certain.

“You mean pick up men in bars?” The laugh she managed sounded more caustic than casual, but she slid back to the center of the booth anyway. Apparently women were as ruled by their hormones as men were. “That obvious, huh?”

“A little,” he said with a confirming nod and a smile that reached his eyes, yet failed to chase away the shadows she suddenly sensed lurking there. “So why did you?”

A waitress appeared to take their order. Since Jana had bucked tradition enough for one night, she decided on a safe glass of chardonnay. “A dare,” she said, once Ben placed his order for a beer.

He settled back against the imitation leather booth. The laugh lines bracketing his eyes deepened, as did his smile. “A dare?”

“Yes,” she admitted sheepishly. “A triple, double-dog dare.”

His robust laughter salved her badly dented pride. “I haven’t heard that one since I was a kid.”

“Yes, well, no one ever said grown women had to behave rationally or exhibit maturity at all times.”

“That’s still tough, though, even at the ripe old age of…”

“Twenty-seven,” she told him, wishing she had as smooth a method for him to reveal his age. She figured he couldn’t be much older than thirty-two or three.

He leaned forward and folded his arms on the table-top, the smile still lingering on his handsome face. “Everybody knows you can’t back off from a triple, double-dog dare.”

“Exactly,” she said, relaxing somewhat. “Chloe and Lauren weren’t playing fair, but I had no choice.”

“Of course you didn’t. Your reputation was under fire.”

Jana reached into her purse for her wallet when their drink order arrived. “I’m so relieved you understand,” she said, paying the waitress.

He waited until they were alone, then asked, “Why did your friends feel they had to resort to such drastic measures?”

Because she’d found him incredibly attractive, and if her friends hadn’t dared her, she never would’ve approached him. Because now that Lauren and Chloe knew the truth, they’d stop at nothing to see she became one of the sexually enlightened. Because she really did want to see the size of his hands for herself.

“Ah, now if I told you that,” she hedged, “then I’d be putting the feminine mystique in jeopardy.”

“Risk it.”

Those two words, combined with the pure male interest in his magnetic gaze, had the power to send her into sensory overload, effectively obliterating her common sense in the process. “We were discussing orgasms.”

“I’m intrigued,” he said slowly. The deep, rich, velvety smooth tone of his voice made her think of whispered words lovers shared after midnight. Sated lovers.

She wished.

“I suppose now I have to explain why we were discussing orgasms?” From this day forward, nothing but a single glass of house wine—preferably white and boring—will ever pass my lips.

He shrugged his big, wide shoulders, and Jana reached for her wineglass, reminding herself not to gulp the contents. “I really should’ve ordered coffee.” She drained a third of her glass in one swallow. Forget name, rank and serial number. If she had the keys to Fort Knox, she’d hand them over.

“Because I’ve never had one,” she admitted, and she didn’t even blush.

Much.

Ben nearly choked on his beer. He stared at her long and hard, struggling to comprehend her outrageous statement. “You’re a virgin?”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she blurted. “No. I’ve just never…” She shrugged. “You know.”

Heaven help him, he still couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. In fact, he couldn’t believe she’d told him something so intensely personal. He had a million questions, but only one managed to get past his shocked-to-the-core mind. “Why not?”

She let out a sigh. “If I had the answer to that, then we probably wouldn’t be sitting here because there’d have been no need for Chloe and Lauren to issue that stupid dare.”

“Can I ask exactly what this dare consisted of?” An endless stream of sensual possibilities swamped him, all of which concluded with him, Jana, tangled sheets and bodies glistening from exertion—sexual exertion.

Her big green eyes widened. “Oh! No. Not that,” she said quickly. “Your virtue is perfectly safe with me.”

Disappointment nudged him. Especially with that tangled-sheet fantasy still going strong.

“So. Ben.” She made a huge production out of folding her napkin into a small triangular shape. “What is it you do for a living?”

“I think I’d rather hear you talk about orgasms.”

She reached for her wine, her slender fingers wrapping around the tall, slim glass.

He shifted in his seat.

“That does appear to be the hot topic tonight, doesn’t it?” she mused.

“It could be a very hot topic.” The only thing more dangerous than lust was ego, and both of his had just redlined.

Her eyes took on a sassy glint and she raked her nails over the damp napkin she’d been folding, shredding it.

He swallowed. Hard.

“Read any good books lately?” she asked him.

“You’re changing the subject.”

“I’m trying to,” she said, then let out another sigh. “You never did tell me what you did for a living.”

He slipped his hand over hers, settling his fingers over her wrist. The rapid cadence of her pulse was a huge turn-on, not that he had far to go in that department. The night suddenly held a wealth of possibilities, and not a single one of them included him returning to his place alone for the night. He was starting to understand why people needed to reaffirm life in the face of tragedy. Maybe, for once, he could forget about being the responsible one, the one always in charge. Maybe Jana could help him forget.

“Let’s not talk résumés when there are so many other interesting subjects up for discussion. Like that orgasm you’ve never had, for instance.”

“Ooh,” she practically purred. “I bet you’re great at seducing women. Do you seduce a lot of women, Ben?”

He detected a hint of apprehension in her voice and understood the import of her question. “No,” he told her honestly. He’d never been accused of being a player. In fact, just the opposite. “Not a lot.”

The tip of her tongue slid across her bottom lip. His libido spiked.

She dropped her gaze and slowly twisted their hands until his was cradled, palm up in hers. She traced the tip of her finger over his ring finger as if feeling for an impression. She continued her inspection of his hand, spanning the length with her fingertips. A sultry smile curved her mouth. “Very impressive,” she said, her voice a low, throaty whisper.

Drawing his next breath took a concentrated effort. When she lifted her gaze to his, his heart stuttered dangerously at the desire he detected in her gaze. One word from Jana was all it would take for him to open the door to a night of incredible pleasure. A night he wouldn’t have to spend alone with his own miserable hide for company.

One word.

“Ben? Let’s talk orgasms.”

She’d just said the magic word.