Читать книгу Hot Night - Shannon McKenna - Страница 11

Abby crossed, uncrossed, recrossed her legs. Clasped her hands, unclasped them, wrapped her arms across her chest, sat on them.

“Put your seat belt on, please.”

Zan’s voice was gentle, but she jerked three inches up off the seat.

He gave her a cautious, sideways peek. “What are you so uptight about? Is it your shadowed past? Our disgusting and sordid liaison?”

“Don’t start,” she warned. “Don’t tease me. I’m too wound up.”

“Look, if you feel the urge to yield to your darker impulses, give me fair warning so I can pull over in time, OK?”

“Very funny,” she snapped. She wrestled with the seat belt. “That pompous creep. Do you know what he called me?” She swiveled to face him. “A nexus of chaos and negativity!”

Zan made a low choking sound. “Come again?”

“He thinks it was my fault that he locked his keys in his car! He thinks I literally jinxed him! Rat-faced, butthead bastard!”

“Wow. That’s, ah, awful,” Zan said. “So rude. Just horrible.”

“Don’t make fun of me, if you value your life,” she warned him.

“God, no,” he said hastily. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Just because my love life is a blasted wasteland doesn’t mean that I’m a curse to everyone I get near.” She tried to control the quaver in her voice. She didn’t want to look the part of a weepy, crazy girl whose life was one chaotic, unpredictable disaster after another.

She didn’t recognize the street they were driving on, which gave her a fresh jolt of adrenaline. “Where are you taking me?”

“Home,” he said calmly.

“I don’t know this way home!” Her voice vibrated with tension.

“I’m taking the scenic route. Lookout Drive, and we can look at the bay. The moon might even be peeking through the clouds. You can tell me about your monster date. Get it all off your chest.” He gave her an inscrutable glance. “After all, it’s not every day a person gets accused of being a nexus of chaos and negativity.”

Her giggle was so waterlogged, it was more of a gurgle.

“I mean, that’s not just an insult,” he continued. “That’s a mega-galactic insult. You should have told me back at the restaurant. I would have pounded that rat-faced butthead for you before we left.”

“Thanks, but once was enough. I don’t really approve of indiscriminate butthead pounding. Unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

“Neither do I,” he agreed. “In last night’s case, it was.”

“Oh, come on. Once you made Edgar stop groping me, you could have passed on the nose bashing, and the wrist twisting, and the—”

“Nope. He bonked your head. How is your head, by the way?”

“Ah, it’s just fine, thanks,” she said. “But he—”

“He’s lucky I didn’t break his neck.”

His flat, uncompromising tone took her aback. “You don’t know me, Zan,” she said warily. “What do you care if my head gets bonked?”

“I just do.” He turned into the viewpoint as the moon sailed into a cloud window, flooding a patch of ocean with light. He parked the van. “I think an insult on that scale calls for a burger and a beer.”

“I just had artichoke bruschetta, grilled eggplant, and black truffle ravioli. I don’t actually need any more calories for about a week or so.”

Zan pondered that. “Wow,” he said. “Sounds fancy.”

“It was,” she said fondly. “It was marvelous. The only worthwhile thing about the evening. I adore that restaurant. Do you like Italian?”

“Well…I like SpaghettiOs,” he offered. “That’s Italian, right?”

He had to be yanking her chain. “Uh…you’re joking, right?”

“I just pour a can of cream of mushroom soup on top of just about anything, stick it into the oven, and I’m good to go.”

She studied his solemn expression. “You are joking, right?”

“Dead serious. Speaking of food, I had a ham sandwich and a pickle about twelve hours ago.”

“Twelve hours! You must be starving!”

“Yeah,” he admitted. “Would you accompany me to a burger joint? Maria’s Bar and Grill is good, if you don’t mind going back down to the boardwalk. I’ll buy you a Coke, or something innocuous like that.”

Abby stared out at the ocean. Long-term personal goals, she told herself. She’d wasted enough time on dead-end relationships.

But he’d been so gallant, to rescue her from Reginald. To say nothing of saving her sorry butt the night before, from Edgar. The least she could do was have a Coke with the man. What was the harm?

Unless it made her start pining after something she just couldn’t have. She turned to Zan and opened her mouth to tell him to take her straight home, but his smile flashed in the shadows before the words could form. So gentle. So seductive. So incredibly attractive.

“Just a Coke, sweetheart,” he said. “Who’s gonna know?”

Back off. Take it easy. Don’t shoot yourself in the foot.

The litany repeated in Zan’s head as they pulled into the parking lot, but his frantic self-censorship was choking off all conversation, leaving him tongue-tied, like a nervous little boy.

He’d been tempted to fake like he was some big gourmet, but by the age of thirty-six, a guy should know better than to lie about himself to impress a woman. He wouldn’t have been able to pull it off anyhow. Chris could have, or Jamie, with their highbrow tastes in food and beer.

Then again, maybe he’d overdone it with the SpaghettiOs crack. He had a tendency to be contrary. Or so he’d been told.

Nope. Honesty was the way to go. When he got hungry, he ate whatever presented itself. It just never occurred to him to be picky.

“Here we are.” He immediately kicked himself for that scintillating conversation starter. She looked nervous, too, twiddling with the strap that barely held her dress on her body. That outfit was sexier than the one she’d worn the night before, which was saying a great deal.

He wrenched his gaze away. “Shall we?”

He headed around the van to open her door, but she’d jumped out on her own. He met her coming around the van and ran smack into her.

He steadied her. She was so warm and resiliant and soft, under the smooth fabric of her slip. Dress. Whatever the hell it was. He felt her shiver in reaction to his touch. He stared into her face, transfixed by the shiny loose locks of hair that had fallen forward to frame her chin.

Everything about her was so fine-grained and smooth, every exquisite detail. She shimmered and glowed. As if he’d captured some mythical creature in an enchanted forest, like a unicorn, and persuaded it to come to a bar and have a beer with him.

She smiled, and the gleam in her eyes broke the spell. She was all flesh-and-blood woman, with those full, sensual, gleaming lips.

He wondered how that lipstick would look smeared all over him.

“Let’s go,” he said hoarsely.

Maria’s was crowded. He spotted a booth in the back and made for it, keeping a hand on Abby’s elbow as they wove through the crush.

Abby looked around. “They’re staring at me like I have two heads.”

He couldn’t hold the words back. “It’s not your two heads they’re staring at, sweetheart.”

She gave him a narrow look. “Yeah, my super slutty dress. I know you hate it.” She slapped her purse down and slid into the booth.

“I don’t hate it.” He slid into the opposite seat. “I’d like it just fine in the privacy of my own bedroom.”

Abby looked down, drawing her lower lip between her teeth.

The waitress swung by. “What’ll it be for you folks tonight?”

“Cheeseburger deluxe, medium rare, fries and a beer,” he said.

“Just a Diet Coke for me,” Abby said.

“You got it.” The waitress plunged back into the crowd.

Zan’s eyes fastened hungrily on to Abby again. He wished he were dressed better. She started tucking up the hair that had fallen down around her face. Raising her arms did interesting things to her bosom.

She twisted a lock into place, and another tumbled down to take its place. “You’re staring,” she accused.

“That happens, when a woman with a body like yours goes out in public dressed in an incredibly expensive slip,” he observed.

“Oh, stop going on about my dress, already. You’re bugging me.” A wisp she’d just tucked slipped down again. “Damn.”

“Why don’t you just take it all down?” he suggested.

“You told me you liked it up.” She stabbed a hairpin in.

“Sure, I like it.” He glanced around. Dozens of pairs of male eyes slid innocently away. “So do eighteen other guys.”

Her lips tightened and she began plucking out pins, slapping them down onto the table. She unwound the coil, pulled it forward, and draped it over her tits. “Happy now? Am I decent?”

It only made her look that much more tousled and seductive.

Their drinks arrived, and Zan waited until the waitress was gone to reply. “You look beautiful, Abby,” he said.

“How do you know my name?”

“The stuffed shirt called you Abby when he was lecturing you about your sexual addiction and the dark shadows of your past. Besides which, it was printed on your check.”

Her cheeks reddened. “Which you still have not taken. Speaking of which, you did overcharge me! A hundred and twenty, my butt!”

“I did not overcharge you,” he said.

“You charged Reginald twenty dollars less and you didn’t even ask for his phone number!”

He laughed and picked up a hank of her hair, shifting it under the light to admire the glimmering red highlights. He caught a tantalizing whiff of her perfume. “Yeah, but Reginald called at 9:48 PM, and you called at 11:39 PM. Big difference in base rates,” he countered.

He let go of her hair. It settled, featherlight, across her wrist. He touched the soft skin of her wrist with his forefinger. Her rosy lips parted, breath quickening. She wanted him, he exulted. He could feel it. She started to say something and choked the words off as his finger slid into her cupped palm. Exploring velvety, secret inside places.

He shifted uncomfortably on the hard wooden seat.

His heart hammered. She was softer than anything he’d ever touched. The waitress chose that moment to bring him his burger.

He withdrew his hand with a sigh, uncapped the ketchup and dumped some on his fries. He opened his burger, glopped some more on.

“What kind of cheese is on your burger?” Abby asked.

The question puzzled him. “Damned if I know.”

“Lift up the bun. Let me see,” she directed.

Bemused, he lifted up his ketchup-smeared bun.

“Ick,” she commented with a shudder. “That presliced processed stuff tastes like wax. Why didn’t you ask for Tillamook, or Gruyère?”

The question stank of a trap, but he could think of no way to evade it. “Never occurred to me,” he said stoically. “Never would have. Are you sure you don’t want something to eat?”

“How are the fries?”

“Don’t know yet. Help yourself,” he offered.

She plucked one from his plate, dipped it into ketchup, and popped it into her mouth. He was relieved at the approval on her face.

French fries might not be much to go on, but they were a start.

Abby was floating. The sensual heft of Zan’s jacket felt wonderful over her shoulders, even though it hung halfway down to her thighs.

They’d reached the end of the boardwalk, where the lights began to fade. Beyond the boardwalk, the warehouse district began. They’d walked the whole boardwalk, talking and laughing, and at some point, their hands had swung together and sort of just…stuck. Warmth seeking warmth. Her hand tingled joyfully in his grip.

The worst had happened. Aside from his sex appeal, she simply liked him. She liked the way he laughed, his turn of phrase, his ironic sense of humor. He was smart, honest, earthy, funny. Maybe, just maybe, she could trust herself this time.

Their strolling slowed to a stop at the end of the boardwalk.

“Should we, ah, walk back to your van?” she ventured.

“This is where I live,” he told her.

She looked around. “Here? But this isn’t a residential district.”

“Not yet,” he said. “It will be soon. See that building over there? It used to be a factory of some kind, in the twenties, I think. The top floor, with the big arched windows, that’s my place.”

There was just enough light to make out the silent question in his eyes. She exhaled slowly. “Are you going to invite me up, or what?”

“You know damn well that you’re invited,” he said. “More than invited. I’ll get down on my knees and beg, if you want me to.”

The full moon appeared in a window of scudding clouds, then disappeared again. “It wouldn’t be smart,” she said. “I don’t know you.”

“I’ll teach you,” he offered. “Crash course in Zan Duncan. What do you want to know? Hobbies, pet peeves, favorite leisure activities?”

She would put it to the test of her preliminary checklist, and make her decision based on that. “Don’t tell me,” she said. “Let me guess. You’re a martial arts expert, right?”

“Uh, yeah. Aikido is my favorite discipline. I like kung fu, too.”

She nodded, stomach clenching. There it was, the first black mark on the no-nos checklist. Though it was hardly fair to disqualify him for that, since he’d saved her butt with those skills the night before.

So that one didn’t count. On to the next no-no. “Do you have a motorcycle?”

He looked puzzled. “Several of them. Why? Want to go for a ride?”

Abby’s heart sank. “No. One last question. Do you own guns?”

Zan’s face stiffened. “Wait. Are these trick questions?”

“You do, don’t you?” she persisted.

“My late father was a cop.” His voice had gone hard. “I have his service Beretta. And I have a hunting rifle. Why? Are you going to talk yourself out of being with me because of superficial shit like that?”

Abby’s laugh felt brittle. “Superficial. That’s Abby Maitland.”

“No, it is not,” he said. “That’s not Abby Maitland at all.”

“You don’t know the first thing about me, Zan.”

“Yes, I do.” His dimple quivered. “I know first things, second things, third things. You’ve got piss-poor taste in boyfriends, to start.”

Abby was stung. “Those guys were not my boyfriends! I didn’t even know them! I’ve just had a run of bad luck lately!”

“Your luck is about to change, Abby.” His voice was low and velvety. “I know a lot about you. I know how to get into your apartment. How to turn your cat into a noodle. The magnets on your fridge, the view from your window. Your perfume. I could find you blindfolded in a room full of strangers.” His fingers penetrated the veil of her hair, his forefinger stroking the back of her neck with controlled gentleness. “And I learn fast. Give me ten minutes, and I’d know lots more.”

“Oh,” she breathed. His hand slid through her hair, settled on her shoulder. The delicious heat burned her, right through his jacket.

“I know you’ve got at least two of those expensive dresses that drive guys nuts. And I bet you’ve got more than two. You’ve got a whole closet full of hot little outfits like that. Right?” He cupped her jaw, turning her head until she was looking into his fathomless eyes.

Her heart hammered. “I’ve got a…a pretty nice wardrobe, yes.”

“I’d like to see them.” His voice was sensual. “Someday maybe you can model them all for me. In the privacy of your bedroom.”

“Zan—”

“I love it when you say my name,” he said. “I love your voice. Your accent. Based on your taste in dresses, I’m willing to bet that you like fancy, expensive lingerie, too. Am I right? Tell me I’m right.”

“Time out,” she said, breathless. “Let’s not go there.”

“Oh, but we’ve already arrived.” His breath was warm against her throat. “Locksmiths are detail maniacs. Look at the palm of your hand, for instance. Here, let me see.” He lifted her hand into the light from the nearest of the streetlamps. “Behold your destiny.”

It was silly and irrational, but it made her self-conscious to have him look at the lines on her hand. As if he actually could look right into her mind. Past, future, fears, mistakes, desires, all laid out for anyone smart and sensitive enough to decode it. “Zan. Give me my hand back.”

“Not yet. Oh…wow. Check this out,” he whispered.

“What?” she demanded.

He shook his head with mock gravity and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “It’s too soon to say what I see. I don’t want to scare you off.”

“Oh, please,” she said unsteadily. “You are so full of it.”

“And you’re so scared. Why? I’m a righteous dude. Good as gold.” He stroked her wrist. “Ever try cracking a safe without drilling it? It’s a string of numbers that never ends. Hour after hour, detail after detail. That’s concentration.” He pressed his lips against her knuckles.

“What does concentration have to do with anything?”

“It has everything to do with everything. That’s what I want to do to you, Abby. Concentrate, intensely, minutely. Hour after hour, detail after detail. Until I crack all the codes, find all the keys to all your secret places. Until I’m so deep inside you…” his lips kissed their way up her wrist, “…that we’re a single being.”

She leaned against him and let him cradle her in his strong arms. His warm lips coaxed her into opening to the gentle, sensual exploration of his tongue. “Come up with me,” he whispered. “Please.”

She nodded. Zan’s arm circled her waist, fitting her body against his. It felt so right. No awkwardness, no stumbling, all smooth. Perfect.

She was undone by his gentleness, his teasing humor, his big, gorgeous, yummy body. She couldn’t wait to peel that T-shirt off him and take a good look at those hard, ropy muscles.

Her hands tingled, thinking of touching his hot skin, running her fingers through the cool silk of his hair and over the rasp of his beard stubble. She was so dazed, she didn’t even register the sounds from behind the building.

Zan stopped, stiffening. Those were bad sounds. She heard blows, gasps, shouts. A bloodcurdling screech, choked ominously off.

Zan shoved her back. “Wait. I’ll see what the hell is going on.”

Abby grabbed his arm. “Forget it. I’m sticking with you.”

He started to object, but she just hung on to his arm and peered over his shoulder as he rounded the corner.

It was a scene from a nightmare. A crowd of guys circled around two men who were fighting. The onlookers jeered and howled. The two men waved broken bottles at each other. They were drenched with blood. One feinted to one side, tripped the other when he fell for it, and lunged, slashing at his throat. Blood spurted. Abby shrieked.

Zan sucked in a harsh breath. “Holy fuck, that’s…Jamie!”

He hurtled into the melee, breaking through the ring of onlookers, and dove at the two men locked in a bloody embrace on the ground.

Everyone started yelling. Five guys leaped onto Zan. Abby backed away, hand clamped over her mouth to choke off the terrified mewling sounds. Don’t panic, you stupid bimbo ditz.

She wanted to wade into the fray like that chick from Alias, save Zan with a few kicks and karate chops. But there were over fifteen guys in that heaving clump of men, and she was no TV ninja babe. Zan was on his own. The best she could do for him was run for the cops.

She kicked off her sandals and sprinted for the boardwalk while she fumbled for her phone. Her feet barely touched the ground.