Читать книгу Murphy's Law - Lori Foster - Страница 8

Whatever could go wrong, did.

Murphy’s Law.

In her case it was more like Quinton Murphy’s Law because when she got near him, she made mistakes left and right. One look at the man and she forgot common sense, self-restraint, and her touted goals for the future.

She knew how important goals were because her parents had never had any. They’d been more than content to scrape by on the generosity of others.

Being the charity case of the neighborhood didn’t make life easy for a gangly, shy kid with overly strict parents. In fact, her life had bordered on hellish until she and May became best friends. Thanks to May, she’d learned to conquer insecurities, stand up to bullies, and separate herself from her parents’ way of life.

At seventeen she’d escaped their suffocating environment of rigidity and poverty by disowning them and moving out on her own. For years it had been all she could do to make ends meet, and sometimes they hadn’t. She’d done without food, without adequate clothes, occasionally without shelter—but she’d never taken charity.

She was nothing like her parents, who still took advantage of good people with big hearts.

Now, finally, she had enough money to attend college, to set herself up to be fully self-sufficient and plan for a proper future.

She prided herself on making it on her own. Someday she’d have everything she wanted—her dream home, a new car, money in the bank, a retirement fund…She’d have it all.

Involvement with Quinton would only distract her from her long-term goals.

But…she couldn’t help thinking about it, about him. She wasn’t an unhappy person, but around Quinton she felt almost…bubbly. So stupid. She had to stick to the plan of work, school, and savings.

Unfortunately Murphy’s Law wasn’t content with blowing her state of mind. She also had to contend with the air-conditioning going on the fritz, leaving the building stuffy and her body sheened with sweat. From that point, she broke both the industrial-sized vacuum and a foyer lamp after accidentally sucking up an extension cord. Then she dropped a bottle of cleaner, spilling it everywhere. She spent more time cleaning up her own messes than the building, when usually she prided herself on a job well done.

She blamed Quinton for her clumsiness. After that consuming kiss, no one could expect her to function properly. Her knees still shook, her heart still thumped, and a strange tingling in her midsection made concentration iffy at best.

A single glimpse of Quinton and she wanted to drag him off for some hanky-panky. He personified the term stud with his dark blond hair and fierce green eyes and that confident smile that proclaimed enough experience for ten men. For a corporate type he had an incredible body, tall and strong and roped with lean muscles.

Suits had never appealed to her. But the way Quinton wore a suit, with such relaxed ease, only amplified his masculinity.

Maybe if she’d expected to see him tonight, she might have been prepared. But after catching him with Zara Trilby in what had appeared to be a very intimate discussion, she’d overreacted big time. Luckily, not in front of Quinton, but she’d been eaten up with jealousy, proving she was in over her head. Even though she later discovered that Zara was a very nice lady and no more than a client for Quinton, she’d thought to avoid him.

She’d already resolved to ensure he’d left the office before entering to clean. The only reason she’d entered the first time was that she’d planned to ask him to the wedding. Big mistake.

One look at poised, refined, beautiful Zara, and she’d indulged in private comparisons that had her quickly chickening out. Pure fate had Zara at the rehearsal dinner as the best man’s date. And to Ashley’s surprise, the woman was actually nice. But even after Zara’s assurances that she and Quinton were only business associates, Ashley had planned to forgo anything personal with him.

He was wealthy; she was poor.

He was drop-dead gorgeous and she was just plain funky in looks and demeanor.

He was CEO of a lucrative consulting firm while she still had college to finish.

Doing her best to keep him blocked from her mind had been easier than she’d expected with her thoughts bouncing between worry over the headlights that kept flashing in her rearview mirror, and the wedding that thrilled her, even as she dreaded it.

She loved May, and she loved seeing May so happy.

But…she’d never in her life dressed up. Her childhood wardrobe had consisted only of secondhand clothes. Many times what she wore had holes, stains, and didn’t fit. Humiliation had become her constant companion. Whenever her parents got money, they indulged personal vanities that didn’t involve their only child.

Naturally she’d avoided proms and other school formals. By the time she got her GED, she’d been on her own, completely estranged from her folks. Other than May, no one had really cared what she did or where she went.

Now she could afford finer things, but she had college loans, rent, and insurance. Whatever was left over went into saving for a house. She dressed for function, period. If it kept her warm and dry, that was a plus.

In the worst times of her life, May was her salvation—more so than May realized, and more so than Ashley could ever tell her. So for her, and only for her, would she wear a formal gown and dressy shoes and have her hair done and all the rest of the fuss that went with being a maid of honor.

But that didn’t mean she’d enjoy it.

She had to admit to relief that Quinton would accompany her. But that brought out a completely new set of problems. He skewed her perspective on things. He toyed with her libido. Without even trying, he chipped away at the willpower necessary to see her dreams through.

Even when it didn’t appear deliberate, Quinton got to her. All he had to do was stand there looking good, or smile in a way that made her feel special, or touch her so carefully, and she wanted to molest him.

Diabolical. That’s what he was. Downright diabolical. Somehow he knew her weaknesses, and he used them against her.

Lost in conflicting thoughts, it wasn’t until she left the building at four in the morning that she recalled her nervousness earlier. Had someone been following her? Or was she just overly nervous?

She reached the center of the silent, empty garage—and her cell phone rang. Expecting it to be May, who knew her schedule and often acted like a mother hen, Ashley retrieved the phone from the bottom of her purse. “What’s up, toots?”

“Toots?” asked a now-familiar, masculine voice.

Oops. Not May. Ashley smiled as she strode to her car, no longer feeling so alone. “Hey, Quinton. You’re up early. Or late. Or something.”

“I have a question.”

“Shoot.”

“Are you really going to wear pink taffeta?”

Catching the phone between shoulder and ear, Ashley dug out her car keys. “It’s four o’clock in the morning, and you’re thinking about women’s wedding attire?”

“I was thinking of you, actually, picturing you as you looked when I last saw you.”

Meaning agog from a kiss, with wet noodles for knees? “Yeah, so?”

“I kept trying to align the image with pink taffeta, but it’s not working. Or were you just pulling my leg?”

She unlocked her car and slid into the seat. For October the weather remained stifling and humid. It wasn’t much cooler outside in the fresh air than it had been inside with broken air-conditioning. Her shirt stuck to her back, and her hair hung damp and limp on her shoulders.

“I don’t even know what taffeta is, but the truth isn’t much better.” After starting the car, relocking the doors, and cranking up the air-conditioning, she asked, “You really want to hear about my dress right now?”

“Can you not hear the anticipation in my voice?”

Funny how talking to Quinton on the phone made all her exhaustion evaporate. Dangerous. “All right, then. You asked for it.” She began backing out of her spot. “It really is pink, but a pale pink. Silk, not taffeta, but it’s got some itchy lace on it. V-necked, floor length…”

His voice darkened. “Sounds lovely.”

“Hey,” Ashley teased, “is this turning into one of those perverted phone calls?”

“I’m just visualizing you in silk.”

“Yeah, well, if you start breathing heavy, I’m hanging up.”

Quinton laughed. “I promise to behave.”

“Good. Because I’ve had a hard enough night.”

She heard some rustling, as if he’d just settled back in bed to get comfortable. “How’s that?”

“The air went off and Flint couldn’t reach anyone from maintenance.”

“Flint the security guard?”

“That’s him.” She carefully steered the car from the garage, and though her nervousness had dissipated, she still glanced around at all the shadows, looking for she didn’t know what. She saw nothing but debris. No lurking madmen or threats of any kind. “The death of the air conditioner set the tone, and everything else went wrong, too. I’m sweaty, hungry, tired, and cranky.”

“Now that’s an image I can reconcile better than pink taffeta.”

“Ha ha.” But he was right. She couldn’t see herself all dressed up, either. She just knew she’d end up looking stupid. “Right now I’m aiming to eat, shower, and hit the sack, in that order. No time for phone sex, sorry.”

“Another time then.” In the middle of her laughing, he added, “I haven’t eaten yet, either. Breakfast sounds terrific. Where should I meet you?”

Her punching heartbeat ended the laughter. Butterflies started a brawl in her stomach. Her fingers hugged the steering wheel. “Who says you’re invited?”

He gave an exaggerated sigh. “You tell me that you have no time to get to know me. Well, I’m up at this ungodly hour, and we’re both hungry, so sharing breakfast is the perfect plan.”

“If the hour seems ungodly to you, why are you up?”

Ashley could almost hear him thinking.

“I have some things to do today.”

To her ears he sounded evasive. “Before dawn?”

“Soon. And no, I didn’t get up just to shanghai you for a meal. Actually, I assumed you’d be going straight home to bed. When I called, it was with the intent of hearing your voice, that’s all.”

Ridiculous how badly Ashley wanted to believe him. With the offer out there, going home to sleep no longer seemed so appealing.

So what would one meal hurt? A public restaurant would be a natural block to her explosive sexual urges. She’d have to keep it in check, and so would he.

“Besides,” he said, intruding on her thoughts, “we should discuss the wedding. You haven’t even told me what time to pick you up, or where we’re going.”

He had a point. Ashley glanced at the clock on her car console. “I was going to grab a bowl of cold cereal at home, but…” She decided to take a chance. “Know where the Squirrel is?”

“Up a tree, I’d assume.”

Ashley couldn’t help grinning. “The Squirrel is a little mom-and-pop diner in Stillbrooke, close to where I live.” She gave him brief directions. “They serve a lot of truckers, so they’re open now, and they make a mean ham and eggs breakfast. I’ll meet you there if you’re still interested.”

She was sure he wouldn’t be. She doubted Quinton had ever been in a greasy spoon, much less dined on their fare.

“I can be there in fifteen minutes.”

Her jaw fell open. “No joke?”

“Don’t back out on me now, Ashley.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” New life entered her tired muscles. He was going above and beyond to see her. That had to count for something, right? “Fifteen minutes. Bye.”

After she hung up, she found herself grinning. She wouldn’t get much sleep before her classes started, but these days, sleep was an elusive commodity anyway.

She had work, school, a wedding…and once again the steady beams of headlights filled her rearview mirror.

Damn it, she was being followed. Now she had to decide what to do about it.

Quinton parked his Bentley a good distance from the entrance of the diner. The light of the moon reflected off Ashley’s little Civic, situated among a variety of work vehicles. His Bentley wasn’t the best choice for detouring to the Squirrel, but he’d made a promise he intended to keep.

Gravel crunched beneath his feet as he crossed the cluttered lot for the open door of the diner. A warm glow, accompanied by the sounds of laughter and conversation, spilled out into the otherwise quiet night. Leaning against a fence, a man and woman embraced. Standing alongside a rig, two truckers conversed quietly behind the red smolder of cigarettes. Quinton glanced around the rest of the area, enjoying the quaint atmosphere, the small-town familiarity.

That’s when he felt it.

Someone watched him with ripening tension. Being rich hadn’t made him an idiot, and he didn’t ignore his instincts. He did a subtle perusal and spotted the junker parked across the street. A shadowed figure sat behind the wheel.

Reminded that Ashley had also had a feeling of being watched, Quinton’s temper slipped up several notches. A coincidence? He tried, but couldn’t convince himself of that.

In his position of wealth, he was used to being followed, photographed, and sometimes stalked—and he had no problem ignoring it most of the time. But he’d be damned before he let anyone harass Ashley.

He started across the street with a purposeful stride.

Before he even reached the curb, the car burped and gurgled to life, then sped away on balding tires.

Damn it. He watched until the taillights disappeared around a corner before striding into the small restaurant. He located Ashley sitting in a booth toward the back. Turned sideways in the bench seat, her spine slumped against the wall and her legs stretched out, she looked to be half-asleep.

Quinton’s frustration eased away, replaced by sexual awareness, tenderness, and an odd and inexplicable pleasure.

For long minutes he just looked at her. Even in repose her face seemed so expressive to him. Signs of exhaustion eased away the cockiness and defensiveness. He wished for some way to protect her from herself and her staunch determination for independence. He didn’t yet know her background, but he had a feeling her life hadn’t been an easy one. Unlike him, she most likely came from moderate means.

Why else would she just now be working her way through college?

When the waitress eyed him, Quinton smiled at her and unglued his feet from the entrance. Ashley didn’t stir until he slid into the seat across from her. Then her head turned toward him, her eyes opened, and her lips curled in greeting.

“Tired?” he asked, needing to say something to break the spell of intimacy.

As her eyes adjusted, the automatic nod of agreement froze. While slowly looking him over from his gray sweatpants to the print on his Rolling Stones T-shirt, she straightened at the table.

Feeling a little self-conscious with her visual examination, Quinton ran a hand over his hair. “Have I grown a third eye that I’m unaware of?”

She shook her head while her gaze crawled all over him, as effective and stimulating as a touch, before finally coming to rest on his face. She licked her lips, but said nothing.

Quinton felt like he’d just been the recipient of sizzling foreplay. Every place she’d looked at him now tingled with awareness. He cleared his throat. “Cat got your tongue?”

“It’s…shocking. That’s all.”

The way she reacted, you’d think he’d shown up naked. “Excuse me?”

“You look even better in sweats than you do in a suit. And I didn’t think that was possible. I mean…you look really hot in suits.”

Ah. She liked him in casual clothes. Too bad he wouldn’t be comfortable wearing them to the office. “Thank you.”

“Makes me wonder what you’d look like…” She whistled. “Never mind.”

“No, please.” He crossed his arms on top of the table and leaned toward her with a smile. “Say it.”

Not one to let a challenge pass, she gave her own cheeky grin. “All right. I’m wondering if you look as good in the buff.”

“Want to find out?”

She shrugged, slid her gaze over him again, but said, “I’ll pass.”

“Chicken.”

“Naw. It’s just that I don’t want you to get arrested for indecent exposure.”

Laughing, Quinton indulged his own quick perusal, and couldn’t resist reaching across the table to smooth her hair away from the side of her face. “You’re a terrible tease. But you do indeed look sweaty. I hope they get the air fixed before I go in at noon.”

Rather than be insulted, she chuckled and lounged back in her seat—out of his reach. “So what has you up and about so early, and dressed so comfy?”

He didn’t intend to share his plans for the day. What he did in his spare time, well, it was personal and private, his alone, something he did because it made him feel good. He’d decided years ago that parts of his life would not be for public consumption, so he shrugged off her question.

“Personal business.” To keep from expounding, he picked up a menu. “So what are we ordering?”

“Personal,” she insisted, “as in intimate? With a female?”

That she pressed the issue when he’d made it clear he hoped to avoid it shouldn’t have surprised him. Naturally, Ashley didn’t bow under the pressure of good manners; he should have known that. And given the look on her face, she wouldn’t give it up any time soon. Still, he tried a nonanswer to distract her. “When I get intimate, rest assured it’s with a female.”

She propped her chin on her fists. “Look, if you’re seeing another woman, it’s no skin off my nose. I didn’t ask to—”

He took her hand and gently squeezed her fingers. “I haven’t looked at, haven’t even thought about another woman since I first met you.”

She hesitated only a moment before jeering. “If you say so.” Sarcasm dripped from her tone. She might as well have called him a liar outright.

He released her and dropped back with a scowl. “You have absolutely no idea what it’s like to walk around with the start of an erection all day, do you?”

“Uh…no. Can’t say as I do.”

“Well let me tell you, it’s not comfortable. But I can’t seem to help it since every available second, I’m thinking of you. As to that, I’m spending all available seconds chasing you. I’ve done everything in my power to get to know you better. Do you honestly believe I react that way often?”

She gave an indolent roll of one shoulder—and his temper ignited with a growl. “Ashley—”

Her chuckling cut him off. “Hey now, don’t get in a snit.”

“I don’t get in snits, damn it.” He was insulted. And frustrated. And getting desperate. And he hated the way she zeroed in on his reactions. He was in a snit, blast her. But most women wouldn’t have put it that way.

She flashed a grin. “I bet women never give you a hard time, do they?”

Not usually, but he wasn’t about to admit it to her. “There’s been a challenge or two. But I have to admit you’re the most difficult.”

“I’ve been clear about my position.”

“Absolutely.” He tapped his fingers on the tabletop. “You compliment me, admit you want me, admit to thinking of me in very involved ways, but then tell me to get lost.” His smile mocked her. “How could you be any clearer?”

Pretending to wince, she asked, “I was too honest?”

She toyed with him, but Quinton couldn’t tell if it was a deliberate ploy for control or a cover for uncertainty.

That was the thing about Ashley—she was neither predictable nor common. Rules that applied to other women had no bearing on her. “You kiss me like you want to eat me alive.”

She sighed. “Yeah, I know.” Her gaze avoided his. “That’s probably because I sort of do.”

Shit. When she said things like that, his body just reacted. She made him insane with her push-pull rejections.

He sat forward to twine his fingers with hers. “One way or another, Ashley, we will get together. Then you can kiss me anywhere and everywhere you want.” Before she could deny him, which she looked ready to do, he added, “But I meant it when I said I’d keep things platonic for now. I’m willing to give you as much time as you need. As long as you don’t ever think I’m filling that time with another woman—because I’m not.”

She tested his grip, trying to ease her hand away, but when he pretended not to notice, she relaxed again.

While he had her attention, he decided to clear up any notion she had of other women fulfilling the desire he had for her. “Understand, Ashley. You might see me with other women—”

Her gaze clashed with his.

“But only in a business sense.” His thumb rubbed over her knuckles. “I have lunch and dinner with a lot of prospective clients. It’s part of business.”

“Whatever.”

He shook his head. “No, don’t act like it doesn’t matter. I haven’t forgotten how you reacted to Zara Trilby.” She’d immediately jumped to the wrong conclusion, which had set him back on his courtship. Zara was known for flamboyance and lots of hugging and kissing. But she wasn’t his type. “That particular client—”

“Don’t worry about it. I know it didn’t mean anything.”

“Do you?”

“Yeah. She’s dating a friend of mine now.”

Further explanations died on his tongue. Zara Trilby was a beautiful, voluptuous, very demonstrative and outgoing businesswoman. But she was also rich as Midas, so it surprised him that she and Ashley might mingle socially. “You’re serious?”

“Yeah. She seems nice enough.” Ending that subject, she curled her fingers around his. “I’m just busting to know…what’s the appeal?”

Lost to her meaning, he raised a brow. “Excuse me?”

Gesturing between them with her free hand, she said, “You, me, this little lust-fest you have going on. I’m not stacked. I’m not gorgeous. I haven’t been all that nice. And other than a few unruly comments, I haven’t led you on, not deliberately, anyway. So…” She lifted her shoulders. “Why me?”

“You’re serious?”

She nodded. “Believe it or not, men aren’t throwing themselves into my path. They don’t chase me. For the most part they ignore me just as I ignore them.”

“You didn’t ignore me.”

“I tried. You wouldn’t let me.”

She looked genuinely perplexed, prompting him to kiss her knuckles. He was used to women who knew their own allure and used it to the fullest. He’d dated women whose charm got them anything and everything they wanted. He enjoyed the feminine guile—but he appreciated Ashley’s in-your-face attitude more.

“It’s a lot of things.”

“Like?”

“You’re sexy.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re into teen bras and skinny legs?”

“I love your fashion sense.”

Laughing, she said, “Yeah, I can tell rummage sale couture is your speed.”

“You’re unique and fun. And honest. I adore your hair. And your long legs. And your smiles. I see you, I hear your silliness, and I want to kiss you.”

She tilted her head. “My silliness, huh?”

“That audacious way you have of talking.” He’d seldom heard such imprudent bluster from grown men, much less a slip of a woman in outrageous clothing. “You’re honest to a fault, uncaring of the consequences. You know what you want and what you don’t want, and you spell it out.”

She chewed her bottom lip before meeting his gaze. “Some would call me obnoxious.”

“Maybe someone threatened by your confidence.”

Her smile went crooked. “Is that how you see me? Confident?”

“You have a candid approach to life that I find very sexy. And I can’t help wondering if you’ll be that decisive in bed.” He rubbed her knuckles again. “I hope so.”

With an odd look on her face, she eased her hand away from him. “Uh, no, I wouldn’t.”

“I don’t believe that. One feature of life always reflects another. You’re assertive, a woman in control. A woman who spells it out without shyness. Experienced. Forceful.”

She looked so dumbstruck by his observations that he thought to reassure her.

“I’m not criticizing, Ashley. I find your brazenness a real turn-on.”

Her lips twitched before parting on a full-blown laugh. “This is too funny.”

“It is?”

With a shake of her head, she said, “Sorry, Quinton. But you’ve based your attraction on some huge misconceptions.”

Very softly, Quinton said, “No, I don’t think so. I think I’m getting to know you pretty well.” And the more he knew her, the more he liked her.

“Well, you missed something somewhere because I’m not what you think I am.”

“In what way?”

“First off, I’m not so hot in the sack, so get that idea out of your head.”

Quinton settled back, ready to be enlightened. And about damn time. He’d spent too long trying to get her to open up. If she’d had a bad experience with a man, that’d explain much. “You’re saying a past lover failed to satisfy you?”

Her face went hot. “No.”

He’d never thought to see Ashley blush. “I refuse to believe it was your fault. Men have it easy when it comes to sex. For a woman it’s more complicated.” His voice dropped. “Pleasure isn’t something that can be rushed or taken for granted.”

“Okay… This is way out of hand. I’m not going to talk about this.” She snatched up the menu and stared blankly at it.

“Come on, Ash, don’t do that. Don’t shut me out. And don’t judge me by other men.”

Through her teeth, and with her gaze still glued to the plastic menu, she growled, “I’m not.”

He caught the edge of the menu and lowered it so he could see her face. Her cheeks were pink, her gaze elusive. “If other men haven’t encouraged your dynamic personality, especially in bed, then they’re fools.”

She groaned, covered her face, but then spread her fingers to glare at him. “There weren’t any other men.”

He heard the words but they didn’t make sense. “Excuse me?”

“Jesus, Quinton. Hello!” Her palms slapped the booth. “Catch on, will you? There are no past lovers. No bad experiences and no good experiences. None. Nada. I’m a…” Her voice dropped like a stone off a cliff. Another groan, and she went back to hiding behind her hands.

Shock had a stranglehold on his throat. “You’re a…” He had as difficult a time saying it as she had. Finally he rasped, “Virgin?”

Her bravado burst to life right before him. Her head snapped up; her lip curled. “Yeah, so?” She actually jutted her chin toward him in defiance. “Don’t say it like it’s a dirty word.”

Quinton stared back. A virgin? With her mouthy comebacks and lack of discretion? Impossible.

Yet…In an absurd way, it sort of made sense. “You’re not ribbing me?”

“Horrible, huh?” Affecting an indolent attitude of unconcern, she slouched back. “I hear there’s an isolated island somewhere that houses other oddities like me.”

Doing his best to reconcile what he knew with what he’d just learned, he shook his head and stared some more.

She snapped her fingers in front of him. “Come alive, Quinton. Now’d be a good time for you to scramble out of here.”

“Scramble out?” He wished for something more intelligent to say, but he couldn’t manage it. He kept thinking of initiating her, being her first. That image obliterated everything else.

“Yeah. Virgins are scary things. What’s the stereotype? Oh yeah. Prudish and pining for marriage. You better get while the getting’s good.”

She was making verbal mincemeat out of him, and he was letting her. He gathered his wits. “No one would ever call you prudish, and I assume if you wanted to be married, you would be.”

The smugness of her grin raked along his nerves. “Haven’t you made enough assumptions to last a lifetime?”

A coffeepot-wielding waitress saved him from having to answer that. She apologized for the delay, and Quinton pulled himself together enough to accept the coffee and quickly peruse the menu.

Without looking at him, Ashley did the same. They both agreed on the “special” of ham, eggs, hash browns and toast. By the time the waitress departed with their orders, Quinton had himself back in full command of his senses.

Ashley still acted antagonistic, but now he didn’t mind. Things were starting to come together, at least in bits and pieces. He sipped at his coffee, watched her, and waited.

After several tense moments, she slapped her hand on the table and glared up at him. “Well? Let’s have it.”

“It?”

“You know you’re just dying to laugh.”

He slowly shook his head. “Oh no. Trust me, I’m a long way from humor. But I will tell you that you’ve sealed your fate.”

Her expression darkened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’ll be your first.” He gave in to a smile. “And honey, I can hardly wait.”