Читать книгу Bad Behaviour - Kristin Hardy - Страница 8

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“NOW THIS IS A BAR,” Delaney announced as they threaded their way through the sea of warm bodies. Colored lanterns swayed in the breeze that drifted in off the whispering waves. Pulque bottles wrapped in netting hung from the thatched roof. The air felt sultry, full of invitation.

And Delaney felt alive.

“Well, it’s a bar. So was the last place we stopped, and we didn’t have to walk another mile to get to it,” Cilla grumbled.

“It wasn’t a mile. Only twenty or thirty feet, more like,” Delaney said, “and that other bar was exactly like some place you’d find in L.A. Bo-ring.”

“My feet weren’t bored,” Cilla sighed as they stopped. “My feet were happy with that bar. And the one before that.”

“You’ve got nobody to blame but yourself, wearing stilettos down here.” Delaney took in Cilla’s cranberry red spikes and matching skimpy silk dress. Versace, unless Delaney missed her guess. “Why didn’t you wear sandals?”

“You can look at these gorgeous shoes and ask me that?”

Delaney rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry, Granny,” she said, patting Cilla, “we’ll find you a chair.”

Just then, a couple moved away from one of the tall bar tables. Delaney pounced like a cat, neatly edging out a group of frat-boy types. “Sorry, guys, taken.”

“Why not share?” A guy with spiky orange hair winked at her. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

Delaney glanced at him and fought a smile. If he was twenty one, he was lucky. “I think we’ve got all the company we need.”

“I bet I could buy you a drink and change your mind.”

“It’ll take a lot more than that to change my mind.”

He moved in closer, cocky. “I’ve got a lot more than that, trust me.”

She laughed, the pure merriment melting away his bravado. “We’re all set for tonight, thanks,” she said, resisting the urge to pat the top of his head.

“And here I thought he was your type.” Kelly slid onto one of the tall stools as he left. “You go for the bad boys.”

“Bad boys, not underage boys. He’s about ten years too young to be interesting. I’d rather hold out for better.”

“Getting choosy in your old age?” Sabrina asked in amusement.

“Or slowing down,” Paige put in.

“Give me a break.”

“Think about it,” Paige said reasonably. “First, you skip the crowded, noisy bar and then you turn down a hot guy who’s hitting on you. I think it’s pretty clear what’s going on.”

“Oh, please.” Delaney rolled her eyes. “You keep talking like that, you’re going to drive me to drink. Speaking of which, I’m going to make a bar run, so figure out what you want.”

Slowing down? Absolutely not. Just because she didn’t want to walk into some neon-filled cave that was pumping with acid house music, or mash with a youngster didn’t mean she was getting old. Especially down here, Delaney thought as she waited for the rest of the gang to make their choices. The week ahead was wide open with possibilities for fun. No responsibilities, no place to be, just pure play, out on the town again with her posse. She wasn’t slowing down, she was merely getting started.

Reaching out, she caught the edge of the table and shook it a little.

Kelly raised her eyebrows. “Checking it for stability?”

Delaney moved her shoulders to the beat. “Who knows? We may be dancing on it before the night’s over. Okay, four margaritas, two piña coladas, one virgin daiquiri,” she ticked off. “I’ll order. Who’s going to help carry them back?”

“I’ll be there in a minute,” Cilla said.

Practically like old times, Delaney thought as she stood at the bar, nodding to the music and waiting to catch the bartender’s attention. The whole Supper Club, together again. Lately, it seemed, the group of them almost never managed to make it out, and if they did, it was only for a quiet dinner. Gone were the days of roving wild, of shutting down the clubs and hunting for after-hours joints. Something about finding a man had made all of the others more sedate, happy to relax at home for an evening.

And Delaney’s deep, dark, unsettling secret was that some nights she felt exactly the same way.

Working too much, that was all. It wasn’t that she was slowing down, getting boring. Never in a million years, not the way she felt in that moment. Definitely no way she was going to let herself get tied down. So maybe the rest of them had found their men and fallen in love. She was genuinely happy for them. But she also understood the obligations, the accountability, the compromises of a committed relationship. Sure, Sabrina and Trish and the rest never seemed to mind what had to be the ongoing frustrations and concessions that made up the fabric of their lives.

It would drive her nuts. Dating a guy for a few weeks, maybe a couple of months was one thing—she had her own space and she could walk away at any time. Commitment? That was different.

She’d grown up with parents who’d had too little of everything—money, living space, time. The only thing they’d had too much of had been kids, six of them, all close together. As the youngest, Delaney had always found herself fighting for her slice of everything. Not that she didn’t love her family, but when she’d finally moved out and gotten a place of her own, she’d sworn that she was done with sharing and compromising and living packed cheek by jowl with anyone else. She’d guard her space jealously, be extravagant, live exactly as she chose.

And if she found herself at loose ends every now and again, whose business was it but hers?

“Hola, señorita.” The bartender’s eyes gleamed at her with that unapologetic appreciation that never failed to give her a buzz.

“Hola, Rodolfo,” she read off his badge. “Quattro margaritas, dos piña coladas, y uno…” How did a person say virgin daiquiri in Spanish, she wondered. “Y uno daiquiri, no…rum, por favor.”

“No rum?” he repeated in English. “No fun.”

“Oh, we have fun.” Her eyes sparkled. “We always have fun.”

“I always have fun, too. Maybe you and I, señorita, we have fun together.”

“Are you hitting on me, Rodolfo?”

He frowned, even as his hands moved from bottles to blenders in an efficient blur. “What is hitting on you?”

“Inviting me to have fun.”

“Ah.” His teeth gleamed. “Señorita, only a dead man does not invite a woman like you to have fun. And I am not a dead man.”

Delaney winked at him. Flirting. It made her feel good. How could she settle with one guy and give that up? Give up the excitement of a first date? The anticipation of never knowing how a night might end—or with who?

The tap on her shoulder had her sniffing. “About time,” she said, turning. “I thought I was going to have to—”

The words died in her throat. And all she could do was stand there, staring at the man before her.

He was, purely and simply, gorgeous. He had one of those faces that was all intriguing planes and angles, the kind of face a sculptor might chisel for a statue of some dangerous god, Ares, perhaps. Or Eros.

Something fluttered in the pit of her stomach.

He was tall, tall enough that she found herself tipping her head back to look at him, and close enough that all it would take was leaning forward a fraction to have her mouth on his. His brows were dark and straight, the same color as the hair that flowed thick and unruly to his collar. His jaw was darkened by a rather overgrown Vandyke. His eyes were so black that in the dim bar she couldn’t see the pupils.

As she watched, some spark of humor flickered in them. “Your drinks are here,” he said helpfully.

Oh, and it was a bedroom voice, low and a little rough, perfect for late-night promises and demands. Anticipation sped through her. She paid Rodolfo and turned back. “Were you trying to get to me or the bartender?” she asked lightly.

He looked her up and down, his gaze warming her. “You. Definitely. How am I doing?”

Her mouth curved. “You’ve got my attention.” And that of her hormones.

“That’s a start. Small world, huh?”

Gorgeous, maybe, but not so great in the brains department. And Delaney required brains. “Gee, you’re right. You’re American, I’m American, both of us in Mexico.” She widened her eyes. “What are the chances?”

He studied her a second and laughed out loud, a sound that sent something vibrating deep inside her. “Pretty small. I’d call it fate.”

“You think?”

“Absolutely. What brings you down here, vacation?”

“No, I work down here.”

That seemed to surprise him. “What do you do?”

“Oh,” she cast about, “I’m a, uh, professional agouti wrestler.”

“Agouti?”

“You know, those little brown jungle animals that look like rats on stilts? No tails, just these underprivileged-looking behinds?”

“An agouti wrestler.”

Delaney’s lips twitched. “They’re a lot tougher than you’d think.”

“That must mean you are, too.” Before she realized his intent, he reached out to run his fingertips over the curve of her bare shoulder. “I guess I’d better watch out.”

It shouldn’t have sent heat bolting through her. Some banter, a smile, a quick touch was all it was. It shouldn’t have set her heart to thudding. So why was she standing there without a thought in her head, she who always had a comeback for everything? She moistened her lips.

And if possible, his eyes got even darker. “You know, you have a great mouth. I bet you played flute or something in school.”

“Flute?” she repeated blankly.

“Yeah. You’ve definitely got the lips for it.”

It was a guess, she told herself, a lucky one. “Now there’s a line I haven’t heard before.”

“Not a line.”

“No? So what are you, an orchestra director on the lam?”

He shook his head. “Nope. I don’t see you in an orchestra anyway. Band, I think. And every time you put that flute up to your mouth, I bet you broke some poor kid’s heart.”

“You’re betting a lot tonight.”

His smile widened. “I’m feeling lucky.” He watched her closely, his eyes unsettlingly intent. Amusement glimmered in his irises, something that suggested an inside joke—on her.

And suspicion dawned. “My friends put you up to this, didn’t they?” Delaney demanded, rising on tiptoe to stare at the rest of the gang. They were watching avidly, though, not a grin among them.

“Nope, no help,” he confirmed when she glanced back. “Why, am I right?”

She raised her chin. “Who’s asking?”

“You really don’t know?” He grinned. “Come on, don’t tell me your memory’s already going at thirty.”

“If you wanted to flatter me you’d have said twenty-five.”

“If I hadn’t known better, I would have guessed twenty-four.”

And like a seismic vibration, the beginnings of recognition quivered through her. “I don’t believe it,” she said slowly. A younger face, rounder, peach smooth with adolescence. Not him, but someone shorter, blonder. Someone who was… “Oh, my God!”

“What?”

“It can’t be.” She stared. “I know you. It’s Jake, right? Jake from South Junior High School. Jake—”

“Gordon,” he finished. “Hello, Delaney.”

HE’D RECOGNIZED HER THE minute he’d seen her, with the same hard punch of reaction he’d felt for her all those years ago. Back then, it had been a half-formed yearning that he hadn’t quite understood. Now, he recognized it, oh, yeah, he recognized it—plain, old-fashioned lust, as sharp and immediate as he’d ever known. Of course, generally when he felt this kind of need, it wasn’t coupled with the shock of seeing a face, a person resurrected from his past.

And from his dreams.

Approaching her hadn’t been a matter of debate. He couldn’t have stayed away if he’d tried. The fact that she hadn’t recognized him had only added a bit of spice to the game.

“But you’re…” She waved her hands feebly at him. “Different.”

He threw his head back and laughed. “That’s reassuring, considering it’s been, what, fifteen years?”

“Sixteen,” she corrected faintly.

Her scent was different now. When they were kids it had been light, playful. Now, it conjured up images of smoky jazz clubs and throaty laughter, of velvet-clad chanteuses singing over the husky tones of a saxophone.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Came down to take a break, do some diving.”

“Fifteen years go by—”

“Sixteen,” he corrected.

“Sixteen. And you live where?”

“Long Beach, more or less.”

“Once a surfer, always a surfer. I live in West L.A.”

“I thought you were an agouti wrestler.”

“I moonlight,” she said in exasperation. “Sixteen years. I never once see you after you go off to private school, not in Anaheim, not in L.A. I go to an obscure bar in an obscure town in Mexico and presto, you’re here?”

He looked hugely amused. “Like I said, small world.”

“I guess.” She folded her arms, looked him up and down. “You turned out well.”

“So did you.” It was Delaney and yet not Delaney, her face more angular, her hair shorter than he’d ever seen it, and silky looking enough to have his fingers itching to touch. He’d approached her because of the girl he’d once known, but she was a woman now, and that changed everything. “I think we should find somewhere quiet and do some catching up.”

She laughed as though she knew exactly what he was thinking. “Oh, you do, do you? I’ll tell you what I think, I think we should—”

“Are you holding our drinks hostage?” a voice demanded from behind them. Dom glanced back to see one of the women Delaney had come in with. Here to track down the cocktails, maybe, or to check him out. You never knew with the sisterhood. Always looking out for one another—and always curious.

“Aren’t your feet hurting?” Delaney muttered to her.

“They’ve recovered. Excuse me,” the woman said to him, reaching around Delaney to rescue a couple of the drinks. “I’m Cilla,” she added over her shoulder.

“Dom,” he said automatically.

Delaney, juggling three of the other glasses, sent him a sharp look. “Dom?”

He nodded. “Need some help?”

“The more the merrier,” Cilla said happily.

He picked up the other two and headed after them.

Delaney flicked a glance at him as they sidled through the growing crowd. “Wait a minute, I’m confused. When did you start going by Dom?”

“It always was my name. Jake was just a nickname my dad gave me because I was so into the wrestler when I was a kid.”

“Jake the Snake,” she said in sudden comprehension.

“Bingo. When I switched schools to St. Joseph’s, it seemed like a good time to drop it.”

“Not to mention a few other things,” she replied.

He gave her a quick glance. Her voice didn’t carry the slap of old anger so much as challenge. Then again, Delaney always had kept him on his toes. It could, he decided as they arrived at the table, be an interesting evening.

“Want to join us?” she asked.

He wanted a whole hell of a lot more than that. He wanted to be somewhere private where they had all the time in the world. Yeah, he remembered what it had been like to kiss her, he thought, staring at her mouth, and he was now imagining what it would be like to kiss her again. But he wasn’t fourteen anymore and kissing wasn’t enough to satisfy him. Not even close.

For now, though… “I’m here with a buddy. Let me go get him and then you can introduce us both at the same time.”

And then, because he couldn’t quite keep all his needs clamped down, he leaned in to brush his lips over hers before he turned and walked away.

“HE’S GORGEOUS,” WAS the first thing out of Kelly’s mouth. “I can’t believe you just walk into a bar and a guy like that falls into your lap. If I weren’t so deliriously happy I’d be jealous.”

“Where did he go?” Paige wanted to know.

It took Delaney a moment to respond because her lips were still tingling from his. It hadn’t been a real kiss, barely even a touch. So why was her heart sprinting in her chest?

And why could she still feel the warmth of his mouth on hers?

“Earth to Delaney,” said Paige.

“To get his friend. It’s Jake,” she added, trying to blink away the fog.

Cilla gave her a blank stare. “He said his name was Dom.”

“It’s him, Jake,” Delaney repeated. “My eighth grade boyfriend.”

“Your eighth grade boyfriend you weren’t in love with, that guy?” Paige asked incredulously.

“Well, he didn’t look like that in eighth grade,” Delaney defended. “Shorter, a lot shorter. And rounder. And no moustache.”

“At fourteen? Gee, imagine that.”

“And his hair was so light and he didn’t have those…” she waved in the direction of her shoulders. And when had he gotten that voice, that husky voice that made her want to rub herself all over him like a cat? She took a swallow of her drink. “I still don’t quite buy that it’s him.”

But it was. Somewhere down in her gut she knew, because she felt that same twisting, flipping feel that she’d had for him in eighth grade. Before he’d broken up with her and gone off to private school. And now here, three thousand miles from either of their homes, she’d run into him. Sixteen years later, she had another chance, to laugh, to give him a hard time for the heartache. To boink his brains out.

And to be the one to walk away.