Читать книгу It Started With... Collection - Miranda Lee - Страница 28

THE bar Curtis Marshall frequented every Friday night was called the Cellar, so Jessie shouldn’t have been surprised to find that it was downstairs from street level. Narrow, steep stairs. Stairs which made her walk oh, so carefully in her four-inch-high heels. The last thing she wanted was to fall flat on her face.

The music reached her ears only seconds before the smoke.

Jazz.

Not Jessie’s favourite form of music. But what did it matter? She wasn’t there to enjoy herself. She was there to do a job.

The bouncer standing by the open door gave her the once-over as she slowly negotiated the last few steps.

‘Very nice,’ he muttered as she walked past him.

She didn’t answer. She straightened her shoulders and moved further into the smoke haze, her eyes slowly becoming accustomed to the dimmer lighting as they scanned the not-so-crowded room. Nine o’clock, she reasoned, was between times. Most of the Friday after-work drinkers had departed, and the serious weekend party animals had not yet arrived.

She’d never been to this particular bar before. She’d never heard of it. It was Jack who’d informed her that it had a reputation as a pick-up joint.

The décor was nineteen-twenties speak-easy style, with lots of wood and leather and brass. Booths lined the walls, with tables and chairs filling every other available space. The band occupied one corner, with a very small dance floor in front of it.

The bar itself was against the far wall, semicircular in shape, graced by a dozen or so wooden-based, leather-topped stools. A long mirror ran along the back behind the bottle shelves, which gave Jessie reflected glimpses of the faces of people sitting at the bar.

There were only half a dozen.

She recognised her target straight away. He was sitting in the middle, with a blonde sitting next to him on his left. There were several vacant stools to his right. As Jessie stood there, watching them, she saw the blonde lean over and say something to him. He motioned to the barman, who came over, temporarily blocking Jessie’s view of the target’s face in the mirror.

Had the blonde asked him to buy her a drink? Was he right at this moment doing exactly what his wife suspected him of?

Jessie realised with a rush of relief that maybe she wouldn’t have to flirt with the creep after all. If she got over there right now, she could collect evidence of his chatting up some other woman without having to belittle herself.

Jessie’s heart pounded as she headed for the bar, nerves cramping her stomach. She still hated doing this, even second-hand.

Think of the money, she told herself as she slid up on the vacant stool two to the right of the target. Think of Emily’s beautiful, beaming face on Christmas morning when she finds that Santa has brought her exactly what she asked for.

The self-lecture helped a little. Some composure returned by the time Jessie placed her bag down on the polished wooden bar-top. Very casually she extracted the mobile phone, pretended to check her text messages, turned on the video then put it down in a position which would catch what was going on to her left, both visually and verbally.

‘Thanks,’ the blonde purred when the barman put a glass of champagne in front of her. ‘So what will we drink to, handsome?’

When the barman moved away, Jessie was able to watch the target’s face again in the mirror behind the bar.

There was no doubt he was handsome, more handsome than in his photograph. More mature-looking, too. Maybe that photo in her bag was a couple of years old, because his hair was different as well. Not different in colour. It was still a mid-brown. But in place of the longer waves and lock flopping across his forehead was a short-back-and-sides look, with spikes on top.

The style brought his blue eyes more into focus.

That was another thing that looked different. His eyes. In the photo they’d seemed a baby-blue, with a dreamy expression. In reality, his eyes were an icy blue. And not soft at all.

They glittered as he smiled wryly and swirled the remains of his drink. He hadn’t noticed her arrival as yet.

‘To marriage,’ he said, and lifted his glass in a toast.

‘Marriage!’ the blonde scorned. ‘That’s one seriously out-of-date institution. I’d rather drink to divorce.’

‘Divorce is a blight on our society,’ he said sharply. ‘I won’t drink to divorce.’

‘Sex, then. Let’s drink to sex.’ And she slid her glass against his in a very suggestive fashion.

Jessie, who’d stayed surreptitiously watching him in the mirror behind the bar, saw his head turn slowly towards the blonde, a drily amused expression on his face.

‘Sweetheart, I think you’ve picked the wrong guy to share a drink with. I’m sorry if I’ve given you the wrong impression, but I’m not in the market for what you’re looking for tonight.’

Jessie almost fell off her stool. What was this? A man with some honour? Had Dora been right about Mr Marshall after all?

‘You sure?’ the blonde persisted with a sultry smile playing on her red-painted mouth.

‘Positive.’

‘Your loss, lover,’ she said and, taking her glass of champagne, slid off her stool and sashayed over to sit at a table close to the band. She wasn’t by herself for more than ten seconds, before a guy who’d been sitting further down the bar had taken his beer with him to join her.

Jessie glanced back into the mirror to find that her target had finally noticed her presence, and was staring at her. When their eyes connected in the glass her heart reacted in a way which it hadn’t in years. It actually jumped, then fluttered, then flipped right over.

Her eyes remained locked with his for longer than was wise, her brain screaming at her to look away, but her body took absolutely no notice.

Suddenly a man plonked himself down on the vacant stool that separated them, snapping her back to reality.

‘Haven’t seen you in here before, gorgeous,’ the interloper said in slurred tones, his beery breath wafting over her. ‘Can I buy you a drink?’

He was about forty, a very short, very drunk weasel of a man in a cheap, ill-fitting business suit that bore no resemblance to the magnificently tailored Italian number the target was wearing.

‘No, thanks,’ Jessie said stiffly. ‘I like to buy my own drinks.’

‘One of them feminists, eh? That’s all right by me. Cheaper this way.’

‘I also like to drink alone,’ she added sharply.

The drunk laughed. ‘A sexy piece like you shouldn’t be doing anything alone. What’s the matter, honey? Last guy do you wrong? Or ain’t I young enough for you? Trust me. I’ve still got it where it counts. Here, let me show you…’

He was actually fumbling with his fly when two big hands grabbed him and literally lifted him off the stool.

‘Let me show you something, buster,’ the target said. ‘The door!’

Jessie watched, open-mouthed, as her unexpected knight in shining armour carried the drunk over to where the bouncer was frowning at them both. Words were exchanged after which the bouncer escorted the weasel up the stairs personally whilst Jessie’s champion headed back for the bar.

She found herself admiring more than his handsome face this time.

There was the way his broad shoulders filled out his expensive suit. The way he’d just handled the situation. And the way he was smiling at her.

That smile was pure dynamite. As well as something else that wasn’t at all pure.

Suddenly, Jessie was catapulted back to earlier that evening when she’d been thinking about how pleasurable it would be to be in some gorgeous man’s arms.

She started thinking about how pleasurable it would be to be in this man’s arms. He was definitely gorgeous.

But he was also married. And sitting back down, she realised breathlessly, not on his old stool but the one right next to hers, the one the drunk had occupied.

Dora’s words came back to haunt her, the ones that she’d said about how it wasn’t fair to send someone like her to flirt; that she might tempt her target tonight to do something he might regret.

But logic argued against this concern. That blonde had been very attractive. If he was going to be tempted, then why hadn’t she tempted him?

Maybe he doesn’t go for blondes, came back another voice, just as logical. Maybe he likes leggy women with wild black hair. Maybe he likes women who aren’t quite so obvious.

There were many reasons why men were attracted to one woman over another.

And he was attracted to her. She could see it in his eyes. And in that heart-stopping smile.

‘Th…thank you,’ she stammered.

‘You can buy me another Scotch and soda in gratitude if you like,’ he said, and downed what was left of his drink. ‘Unless you really meant what you said about preferring to drink alone.’ And he smiled at her again.

Jessie’s heart ground to a shuddering halt.

Get out of here now, girl, her conscience warned. This guy is not just dynamite, he’s downright dangerous!

‘I was just trying to get rid of him,’ she heard herself saying.

‘I was hoping that might be the case. So what can I get you? After all, a gentleman doesn’t really expect a lady to buy his drinks for him.’

Jessie swallowed. What are you doing, girl? Stop looking at him that way. Stop it right now!

I’m just doing my job, she tried telling herself. This is what I get paid for. Flirting with my target. Seeing what kind of man he is.

Yes, but you’re not supposed to be enjoying it!

‘Just a diet cola, thanks.’

His straight brows lifted in the middle. ‘You come into a bar for a diet cola? Now, that’s a strange thing to do. You can get one of those from a vending machine.’

‘Maybe I came in looking for some company,’ she said leadingly, and hoped like hell he’d put his foot in his mouth right away so she could get out of there.

‘I can’t imagine a girl like you would have to do that too often. You must have men asking you out all the time.’

Actually, she did. But no one she’d give the time of day to. The men who asked her out had her tagged as one of two types: waitressing slut or single-mother-and-desperate, depending on when and where they met her.

Either way, Jessie always knew exactly what they wanted from her, and it wasn’t witty conversation.

She always said no to their invitations.

One-night stands held no appeal for her. Sex of any kind had held no appeal for her.

Till tonight…

‘Give me another Scotch and soda,’ the target directed to the barman. ‘And get the lady a Bacardi and cola. Diet cola,’ he added with a quick grin her way.

She swallowed. ‘What if I don’t like Bacardi and cola?’

‘Come, now, you and I both know that the amount of Bacardi they put in drinks in places like this is barely detectable. All you’ll taste is the cola.’

‘True,’ she agreed.

‘So was that other chap right?’ he went on whilst the barman busied himself with their drinks. ‘Did your last boyfriend do you wrong? Is that why you’re all alone tonight?’

She shrugged. ‘Something like that.’

‘Aah. A woman of mystery and intrigue. I like that. It makes for a change.’

‘A change from what?’

‘From women who launch into their life story as soon as you meet them.’

‘Does that happen to you often?’

‘Too often.’

‘Did the blonde over there do that?’

‘Actually, no. But then, she had other things on her mind tonight. Looks as if she finally hit the jackpot.’

Jessie flicked a glance over at where the blonde was now leaving with the man who’d joined her earlier. It didn’t take a genius to guess that they were going back to her place. Or his. Or maybe even a hotel. There were several within easy walking distance of this bar.

‘Most men would have jumped at the chance,’ she remarked.

‘I’m not most men.’

‘Yes. Yes, I can see that.’

Their drinks came, giving Jessie a breather from the tension that was gripping her chest. As cool as she was sounding on the outside, inside she was seriously rattled. She liked this man. More than liked. She found him fascinating. And sexy. Oh, so sexy.

‘What about you?’ she asked, deciding to deflect the conversation on to him, make him admit he was married. Anything to lessen her worry over where their conversation might lead.

‘What about me?’ he returned before taking a deep swallow of his drink.

‘Did your last girlfriend do you wrong? Is that why you’re alone here tonight?’

He drank some more whilst he gave her question some thought. Suspense built in Jessie till she wanted to scream at him to just confess the truth. That he was the one in the wrong here. Regardless of how stressed he might feel with life, he should be at home with his wife and kids. She’d heard him say that divorce was a blight on society. Did he want to find himself in the middle of one?

Finally, he looked up and slanted a smile over at her. ‘You know what? I’m going to take a leaf out of your book. No talking about past relationships tonight. I think sometimes I talk way too much. Come on,’ he pronounced and put his drink down. ‘The music’s changed to something decent. Let’s dance.’

Jessie stiffened, then gulped down a huge mouthful of Bacardi and cola. ‘Dance?’ she choked out.

He was already off his stool, already holding out his hand towards her.

‘Please don’t say no,’ he said softly. ‘It’s just a dance. Mind the lady’s bag, will you?’ he asked the barman. ‘Better put your cellphone away as well. You don’t want a natty little number like that to get swiped.’

She did hesitate, she was sure she did. But within moments she’d put the phone away and was placing her hand in his and letting him lead her over to that minute dance floor.

It is only dancing, she told herself as he pulled her into his arms.

The trouble was, there was dancing…and dancing.

This was slow dancing. Sensual dancing. Sexy dancing. Bodies pressed so close together that she had no choice but to wind her arms up around his neck. Her breasts lifted, rubbing against the well-muscled wall of his chest. His hands moved restlessly up and down her spine till one settled in the small of her back, the other moving lower. The heat in his palms burned through the thin material of her dress, branding her. Her heartbeat quickened. The entire surface of her skin flushed with her own internal heat. She felt light-headed. Excited. Aroused.

And she wasn’t the only one. She could feel his arousal as it rose between them.

When her fingertips tapped an agitated tattoo on the nape of his neck, he stopped, pulled back slightly and stared down into her eyes.

‘Would you believe me if I told you that I haven’t done anything like this in a long, long time?’ he murmured, his voice low and thick.

‘Done what?’ she replied shakily.

‘Picked a girl up in a bar and within no time asked her to go to a hotel with me?’

She stopped breathing. Stopped thinking. Her world had tipped on its axis and she felt every ounce of her self-control slipping. A voice was tempting her to blindly say yes. Yes, to anything he wanted. She had never in her life felt what she was feeling at this moment. Not even with Lyall.

This was something else, something far more powerful and infinitely more dangerous.

‘Will you?’ he said, and his smouldering gaze searched hers.

She didn’t say a word. But her eyes must have told him something.

‘No names,’ he murmured. ‘Not yet. Not till afterwards. I don’t want to say anything that might spoil what we’re sharing at this moment. Because I have never felt anything quite like it before. Tell me it’s the same for you. Admit it. Say you want me as badly as I want you.’

She couldn’t say it. But every fibre of her female body compelled her to cling to him, betraying her cravings with her body language.

‘You do talk too much,’ she whispered at last.

His lungs expelled a shuddering sigh. Of relief? Or was he trying to dispel some of the sexual tension that was gripping them both?

‘Then you will come with me,’ he said. ‘Now. Straight away.’

They weren’t questions, but orders.

He would be an incredible lover, she realised. Knowing. Dominating. Demanding. The kind she had used to fantasise about. And which she suddenly craved.

‘I…I have to go to the ladies’ first,’ she blurted out, desperate to get away from him. Once some distance broke the spell he was casting over her, she would recover her sanity and escape.

‘I suppose I could do with a visit to the gents’ as well. I’ll meet you back at the bar.’

She didn’t meet him back at the bar. She spent less than twenty seconds in the ladies’ before dashing back to the bar, collecting her bag from the barman and bolting for the exit. She ran all the way to Wynyard Station, where she jumped on the first train heading north.

It was only half an hour since she’d walked into that bar. But it felt like a lifetime.