Читать книгу With This Fling - Jeanie London, Jeanie London - Страница 10

MAC USUALLY ENJOYED an occasional night gambling at Harrah’s. It was a new pastime in his repertoire, one that Josh had introduced him to. Josh had also been the one to insist they drop by the casino tonight, after returning to the office after-hours to find Mac still working.

While Mac appreciated the attempt to take his mind off the case, he finally left Josh in the Blue Dog Poker Room to walk off his restlessness in the fantasy world that made up Harrah’s. His head was cluttered with questions about how best to recover the stolen items and he was struggling to think clearly while suffering a bad case of Harley on the brain.

So he wandered beneath the starry sky in the jazz court and tried to distract himself when the dueling pianos played music that reminded him of how good she’d felt in his arms when they’d danced at the wedding.

He finally made his way to the VIP lounge to get away from the music. Flashing his ID, he greeted the doorman, then stepped inside to savor the quiet…and find the very woman who’d been haunting his thoughts as if she’d materialized straight from his imagination.

Harley.

She sat alone, contemplating the drink she held with both hands. Gone was her requisite black—she’d dressed in cream leather, a formfitting pantsuit that molded her slim curves.

She presented him an unfamiliar opportunity to observe her without having to think on his feet or dodge physical blows. He simply admired the way the color emphasized her skin, how her delicate profile peeked through the tumble of red hair.

She seemed different tonight. Something more than the wardrobe change. Then he recognized what that difference was. Though Mac hadn’t made the connection before, hadn’t realized she functioned with shields up against the world, he suddenly understood now, when those shields were so noticeably absent.

Something about the slump of her shoulders. And the way she’d hooked her feet around the chair legs to lean forward, as if she needed the table to support her. She seemed somehow unguarded, all alone in the world.

This was Harley uncensored. The Harley he needed to seduce. They were making each other crazy with this unrequited lust and he didn’t understand why she couldn’t see that, why she fought him so hard. All they needed to do was satisfy their hunger and go their separate ways. It was simple. Inevitable.

Mac didn’t hesitate. Covering the distance, he slid into the chair across from her. She snapped her head up and blinked those deep blue eyes.

“You’re not seeing things, Harley. It’s me.”

She brought a shaky hand to her forehead. “I’m in hell.”

“No, you’re in Harrah’s.”

“No, you’re here. I’m in hell.” She dropped her face into her outspread hands and Mac thought he saw her shudder.

That was his second clue that all was not business as usual. The first had been her reaction to him—normally after she’d made the nasty comment, she would have taken off and left him to chase after her.

“Is everything all right?”

“Why are you here?” Her voice was muffled behind her hands.

“I came with Josh.”

That got her attention, and she lifted her head. “Josh is here, in the casino?”

Mac nodded but he didn’t get a chance to gauge her reaction, because she slid the chair back and got to her feet, treating him to a head-to-toe view of slim curves enveloped in leather.

That sensation clenched low in his gut again as he took in those curves, so beautifully shaped and well toned for her obsession with the marital arts. Leather hugged her long legs like a second skin, outlining the length of her thighs and the sweep of her calves. Her shoes were stylish, but the heels low enough to run in. She was ever ready for trouble.

“I am so out of here,” she said, staring down her nose. “Do me a favor and tell Josh you didn’t see me.”

Mac considered the logic of that statement and recognized his next clue that all was not right with Harley.

She was unsteady on her feet. Just the slightest waver, but enough to convince him that the nearly full drink she’d been nursing hadn’t been her first.

“Allow me,” he said, standing.

“I don’t need your help.”

She pulled away and there it was again. She wove a bit to the left like a ship listing in a breeze.

“I’m not offering my help.” Slipping an arm around her shoulders, he steered her away from the table. “I’m trying to cop a feel. I have a hard time getting dates, so I haven’t felt the real thing in a while.”

Miracle of miracles, she didn’t resist, just leaned into him so her shoulder fit neatly under his arm and her gun dug into his ribs. His next breath comprised of clean hair mingled with some spicy scent and Mac inhaled deeply, amazed and amused by the way the fragrance chased through his senses. He forced his legs into motion.

“You told me you didn’t have problems getting dates,” she said. “You said you went to the wedding alone because of me.”

“I lied.”

Tipping her head back, she lifted those big blue eyes to his. “Really? So you don’t want to sleep with me?”

Steering her past the buffet, he angled his mouth close to her ear and whispered, “There’s no want. I intend to sleep with you as soon as I can convince you to get naked.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Oh, I get it now. You’re desperate. You could have picked an easier mark, Gerard.”

“True, but I don’t want easy. I want you.”

He couldn’t have explained and didn’t bother trying, not when bracing himself for her comeback. But to his surprise, she only gave an exasperated huff and kept walking.

Mac took advantage of the moment and buried his smile in her sweet-smelling hair. Alcohol might not outwardly impair her much but it certainly made her chatty.

Guiding her toward the door, he told the doorman, “Nigel, please get word to Josh Eastman that I was called away.”

“I’ll take care of it, Mr. Gerard.”

He led Harley onto the floor where hundreds of slot machines flashed and beeped for attention. She blinked against the sudden glare.

“Sure you want to run off?” he asked. “It’s still early.”

Glancing at the slots, she said, “The night’s over for me.”

A cryptic remark from a woman who lived to be blunt? Mac suspected here was yet another clue that all was not well, although the fact she’d been drinking already confirmed it. The teamwork training session they’d attended had lasted a full five days, and during that time she’d declined even a sip of wine at dinner. He’d assumed her devotion to the martial arts meant she didn’t drink alcohol—an assumption reinforced at the wedding when she’d toasted the bride and groom with lime-laced water.

He should have known not to assume.

A doorman swung the door wide in the front lobby and Mac led Harley to the valet. “Where’s your ticket?”

She rummaged through her purse, bracing herself against him for support, before handing over her ticket.

The feel of her body pressed close did amazing things to his. He felt each smooth curve as a promise, the clothing separating them a reminder of the bare skin below. Pressing another smile into her hair, he treated himself to a breath filled with her faintly spicy scent, enjoyed a calm moment with a woman with whom calm didn’t usually factor into the equation.

She finally tipped her head back, and those blue eyes searched his, the color of midnight in the glare of artificial lighting that threw the night-dark city into shadows beyond. She must not have liked what she saw because she pulled out of his arms and said, “Will you stop—”

The rapid-fire rumble of a motorcycle’s engine drowned out her protest.

“Would you look at that,” Mac said, admiring the Harley-Davidson chopper the valet pulled into the driveway. Sleek lines of highly polished chrome showcased a bright red body and a low-slung front wheel that was much sparser in design than any hog built today. A very well-maintained classic.

The valet left the bike to idle and slid off in front of them. He must have noticed Mac’s interest because he shot him a smile and said, “It’s awesome.”

Mac watched in surprise as he handed the helmet to Harley. She accepted it, tipped the guy and turned to him.

“Harley on a Harley. That’s just priceless, Price.”

She ignored him, so he grabbed her hand. “I’ll drive.”

“It’s a one-butt ride.”

“It’s a two-butt ride unless you’ve decided to spend the night in this casino.” He brushed her aside, slid onto the smooth leather saddle and couldn’t stop a low whistle. “I had no idea you were a closet biker. My opinion of you has just jumped several notches.”

“Don’t let it go to your head. I’m only baby-sitting it for a friend. He’ll kill me if you ding his paint.”

He’ll kill me.

Well, here was unexpected info that fitted another piece of the puzzle into place. “I won’t hurt the bike.”

“You’re not driving the chopper, Gerard.”

“Neither are you, Harley.”

The valet shifted his attention between them, understanding finally dawning. Mac had to give the kid a lot of credit when he faced down a scowling Harley and asked, “Miss, would you like me to call a cab?”

She exhaled sharply, obviously not alcohol-impaired enough to miss that she’d lost this battle.

“No, thanks. Looks like I’ve got a chauffeur.”

The valet retreated and Mac kept his mouth shut as she tugged on the helmet and climbed behind him. His pulse kicked when she slipped her thighs against his and threaded her arms around his waist. He put the bike into gear, leaned into the throttle and steered onto the street.

Well, here was another perk to broadening his horizons. Mac hadn’t ridden a bike since college. And never a ride as sweet as this or with a girl so tempting. He wiggled backward to make her spread her thighs wider.

Mmm-hmm. The heat of her body contrasted nicely with the cooling night air. The bike maneuvered silkily, tires chewing up the road beneath a steady rough-velvet roar of engine. Mac maneuvered through the streets toward the Garden District, enjoying the whip of the wind, the way it snapped his clothes against his skin.

The only negative tonight was learning there was someone who might interfere with his plans for Harley.

He’ll kill me.

Who was he? Mac knew Harley wasn’t married. They’d worked together closely for the past five months and he hadn’t heard anything about a boyfriend or any sort of companion. He’d assumed Harley wasn’t involved.

Another reminder never to assume with this woman. But he was finding out more about her tonight than he had since they’d first met and he wasn’t about to retreat now. Not with a chance to find out what might be holding her back from a fling.

“Which house?” he yelled over the roar of the engine when he’d turned onto her street.

She directed him down several blocks then into the driveway of a mansion, only dimly lit in the glow of antique ironwork post lamps. Mac took in the pristine white facade, the huge classical pillars of the portico, tried to see if the mansion had been divided into apartments—the unfortunate fate of so many Garden District homes.

“Let me off,” she said, and he brought the bike to a stop in the driveway. “I’ll get the garage door.”

She slipped off and headed up the drive unsteadily. He walked the bike behind her, prepared to catch her if she went down. He parked beside two high-ticket sedans, neither of which were Harley’s cars. Plucking the helmet from her, he strapped it to the tail bar.

“Can you call someone to pick you up?” she asked.

He glanced at his watch, but couldn’t make out the time in the dark. “Don’t you want to invite me inside?”

“I’d rather you didn’t even know where I live.”

“Getting to know each other will help us get along.”

“Or make us dislike each other more.” Her bravado was slipping around the edges and he took the opportunity to wrap his arm around her shoulder and steer her out of the garage.

“That way.” She motioned to a flagstone walkway leading away from the house.

Clouds separated, allowing moonlight to illuminate the neat lawn and a sizable cottage on the north corner of the property that had likely begun life as a guest house.

He helped her up the steps and waited while she fished through her purse for keys. After unlocking the door, she flipped on the porch light and he glimpsed the interior, an open floor plan, sparsely decorated and very neat. He recognized the lines of antebellum architecture and the gleam of wooden floors.

“Are you going to call a cab?” She swayed slightly before leaning against the doorjamb for support.

“Are you okay?”

A beat of silence passed before she admitted, “I don’t usually drink.”

Opportunity knocked again and Mac didn’t hesitate. He scooped her into his arms and kicked the door shut.

“Gerard—”

“Hang on or I’ll drop you. You’re heavier than you look.”

She made an unladylike grunt but did as he asked, wrapped her arms around his neck and rested her head on his shoulder. He navigated through the cottage easily in the darkness and found her bedroom off the living room. He reached for the light switch but she grabbed his hand.

“No light.”

“You want the bathroom instead of the bed?” He’d already passed one but saw another doorway across the room that might lead to a private bath.

“No. My head is swimming. The bed.”

He’d been fantasizing about hearing those words and it figured that when she finally said them she wouldn’t mean them.

But he enjoyed the feel of her in his arms and took the opportunity to observe her inner sanctum. For a woman who made weapons and leather a fashion statement, her bedroom was surprisingly feminine. Tester bed with a lace canopy and a surplus of equally lacy pillows tossed over the matching comforter. Floral wallcovering. Filmy sheers on the windows.

So there was a real woman behind the shields. Wasn’t Harley just full of surprises?

Depositing her gently on the bed, he watched her curl up and close her eyes.

“Come on. Off with the jacket.” He lifted a boneless arm and tugged off the sleeve. She didn’t resist until he tried to move her to get at the other.

“Leave me alone,” she insisted. “Just let me sleep.”

“After I get some of these clothes off you.”

“You wish.” She gave another of those unladylike snorts, her sarcasm firmly in place.

“No surprise there. Now come on, give me the gun. You can’t sleep with it digging into your back.”

“I can.”

“No, you can’t.” Sinking to the edge of the bed, Mac lifted her into his arms to strip the jacket away. The instant he brought her up against him, awareness kicked in. She was a nice armful, much more appealing than when she was attacking him during training.

She helped him by shrugging off the jacket and each brush of her bare arms sharpened his awareness that they were sitting on her bed, at night, with the promise of skin between them.

He drew a deep breath. Another.

After dropping her jacket on the foot of the bed, he unfastened the holster. More contact with skin as he followed the leather straps down her back, around her waist. She shifted against him, her breathing growing shallower. He knew she must be aware of his hands hovering just through her clothes, because when he started on her one-piece pantsuit, she tried to brush him away and said, “Don’t.”

“Shh.” He swept her hair away from the zipper. “I want to put you to bed so you can sleep comfortably.”

Alcohol dropped her shields more than he’d realized, because she didn’t resist. Or maybe she was just as paralyzed by awareness as he was, a sensation that had grown almost palpable.

Resting her face in the crook of his neck, she let him peel away her bodice. He eased the sleeves away one-handed, his blood heating dangerously when he realized she wasn’t wearing a stitch below. Not a bra. Not a camisole. Not a thing to hide all that creamy skin.

She gave a shuddering sigh as he eased her back against the pillows, gifting him with a view of her full breasts and blush-colored nipples, delicate shoulders and the contour of her graceful neck up close and personal.

Just where Mac had longed to be. He couldn’t ever remember being broadsided by the sight of a woman before, had never known the sort of anticipation that arced his body from zero to sixty in less than a heartbeat that throbbed so hard it hurt.

His hands actually shook when he maneuvered the leather over her hips and he revealed her sleek curves, her long, long legs with a reverence that was so entirely unfamiliar.

Her cream-colored thong came as a surprise for a woman who went braless and loved leather. Mac wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but the sight of that lacy scrap of silk wasn’t it. He had to force himself to keep dragging the pantsuit away because he so didn’t want this show to end.

“Why are you fighting me so hard, Harley?” he asked, his voice raw in the late-night quiet. “You can’t tell me you’re not attracted to me. I know you’re feeling what I do.”

He shouldn’t reveal so much. She’d only use his need against him, but with her stretched out before him, all gleaming skin and sleek curves, his need made him reckless.

“I don’t want to feel anything for you.”

“But you do.” He couldn’t resist the urge to prove it. Trailing a finger up her shapely leg, he touched her warm skin.

“Gerard…” Her voice trailed off, breathless.

“Why not, Harley? A fling makes sense.”

He continued tracing a path up her thigh, a light touch that heightened the anticipation, a small defiance designed to entice the truth from her. Or maybe just entice her.

He wanted her to feel as reckless as he did right now.

Dragging his fingertip beneath her thong, he followed the lacy edge around her hip toward the juncture of her thighs.

She trembled.

He smiled.

She frowned. “Why won’t you take no for an answer?”

“Because I want you. I want you to admit you want me.”

Simple. Honest.

“What difference will it make if I admit it? I still won’t sleep with you.” Raising her arms above her head, she stretched, a languorous display of skin, a move meant to tempt him with the very thing he wanted.

Her move pressed her smooth abdomen into his fingertip, and he knew she was teasing him, inviting him, a boldness inspired by alcohol. But Mac couldn’t resist the opportunity to touch her. Rounding the mound of her sex, he tested her heat through the scrap of sheer silk.

She was hot, moist, definitely aroused.

“You want me.” He bent forward, pressed his mouth to that lacy triangle, breathed a hot breath through the silk.

Her muscles contracted sharply. “I do, but it doesn’t make any difference.”

Hearing her admission was such a bittersweet relief that he almost laughed at the irony. He wanted this beautiful woman sprawled before him more than he’d ever wanted before. His erection throbbed so hard he ached and he couldn’t even test her claim, tempt her as much as she tempted him or try to change her mind.

Because Mac knew she meant what she said.

She might want him, but it didn’t make a difference. She wouldn’t let it. Not when she was sober. Not even now when those heavy-lidded eyes, so lazy with arousal, reminded him that she’d been drinking.

It was over. No matter how Mac came at this, he was pushing the limits of polite behavior. Harley might be arching that smooth body against him. She might be rubbing her sex against his hand and purring breathy little sighs, but her actions didn’t change the fact that had she been clearheaded she’d probably be pointing her gun at his head.

Dragging his fingers from between her legs, he grazed them along her smooth stomach, a safe zone amid all that skin. Then with disappointment bitter in his mouth, he motioned her to roll over so he could pull the comforter out from under her.

She complied without argument, another reminder that she wasn’t in her right mind, and burrowed her face in the pillow. Her red hair waved around her face like a vision from one of his fantasies and he covered her, feeling a sense of loss wildly out of balance with anything he’d ever known before.

“Another question, Harley, and then I’ll leave you alone.” When she nodded, he continued. “What upset you tonight?”

“What makes you think I’m upset?” Her eyes shuttered closed.

“You let me drive you home. If you hadn’t been upset, you’d have drop-kicked me and told me to take a hike.”

She gave a sleepy laugh. “I don’t like you.”

“I know. I don’t like you, either.” He paused. “Well?”

“Bad news. Now go away, Gerard.” She gave an exasperated sigh. “And you were…decent.”

He wondered if she realized just how decent he’d really been. Gazing down at her sleepy expression, he figured probably not, so he accepted her thanks and retreated from the bed. “Sweet dreams, Harley.”

But Mac didn’t go away. Walking from room to room, he searched for clues to help him understand this woman. He wondered what sort of bad news would drive her to drink.

He didn’t have a clue. Companion problems? Ill health? Financial disaster? Death in the family? Now that he thought about it, he didn’t recall ever hearing she had a family. Amazing how two people could work so closely together, butting heads at every turn… He’d have to find out a lot more about Harley’s life if he intended to slip past her defenses.

And he did. Tonight had only fueled his resolve.

Flipping on a table lamp in the living room, he took in an elaborate computer system and a low-slung leather couch. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked an arbor that appeared to back up to the wall of the property. There was expensive music equipment housed in a unit on one wall, but no television.

Given the obvious age of the architecture, Mac suspected the walls had been recently refinished to their pristine condition and the wood beam floor had been brought back and polished to a gleaming luster.

The kitchen appeared to be a work in progress, with partially bald walls half stripped of dated wallpaper. And something about the way a wallpaper scraper and trowel sat side by side in the drainboard with coffee mugs and water glasses made him suspect Harley had been doing the work herself.

Another surprise—he wouldn’t have pegged gun-toting, black-belt, chopper-riding Harley for the home-improvement type. Which went to show how much Mac needed to find out about her before he stood any chance of convincing her to let their attraction make a difference.

While checking out Harley’s desk, Mac felt the first flutter against his cheek. He swatted away the offending critter and, as it was Louisiana in September, just assumed he’d left the door open too long when he’d carried her inside.

It wasn’t until the third bug dive-bombed at him that he took a closer look. Grabbing the lamp from an end table, he noticed a spray of spider veins along the seam of one of her nicely refinished walls.

He hoped that whatever bad news she’d received today hadn’t pushed her too close to the edge, because she was facing even more if she hadn’t already figured out that she had termites.

Making his way back into her bedroom, Mac sat down and considered his best course of action while he watched her sleep.

A headstrong woman with household pests. Well, he’d wanted a challenge.