Читать книгу Fire And Ice - Tori Carrington, Tori Carrington - Страница 7

THE FRICTION OF SKIN against skin sliding one way then the other. Chest tight, nipples bunched into tight points, sending shivers cascading over her body. Stomach trembling, limbs languid yet restless. The sense of moving toward something terrifying and freeing all at once gathered deep in her belly, making her want to pull back and rush toward that place at the same time. Her wet tongue darted out, flicking hungrily over her bottom lip as her breathing grew shallow, air more difficult to come by.

Air whooshed, but not from Jena McCade’s tingling lips. Rather she blinked to find that she wasn’t in the king-size hotel bed she had spent the night in three months ago with hockey player Tommy “Wild Man” Brodie. Rather she was in her office at Lomax, Ferris, McCade and Bertelli, Attorneys-at-Law on a gray Monday morning in late November. And Mona Lyndell, the secretary they all shared, had just dropped an overstuffed manila folder on top of Jena’s desk.

Jena’s cheeks burned as she took a deep, calming breath. She managed a smile at the fifty-something secretary. “Talk about your daydreams,” she whispered.

A frown marred Mona’s clean brow as she smoothed back her salt-and-pepper hair that was ceaselessly pulled into a bun. The style reminded Jena of something an old schoolmarm would wear. Only she couldn’t remember any of her teachers looking like Mona. Instead it looked like something she might have seen in an old Little House on the Prairie episode.

“I was talking about depositions,” the secretary said.

Mona had been talking? Boy, she was in worse shape than she’d thought. Not only hadn’t she heard Mona come in but apparently she’d missed an entire conversation.

“Depositions,” Jena said aloud, trying to jerk her mind away from the heat of her thighs generated by her rubbing them together during her daydream. “Yes.” She pulled the file in front of her. “Good. Good. The lead witness deposition in the Glendale case.”

“Just came in by messenger ten minutes ago.”

“Very good.”

Mona lingered a moment longer.

“What?” Jena said, sounding irritatingly snippy even to herself, which was definitely not normal. When she was snippy she usually intended to be.

Mona’s brows lifted above her large-framed wire glasses. “Did I say anything?”

“No, but I know that look.”

“I was just going to ask if everything was okay. Lately, you seem to be, well…I guess distracted is the word I’m looking for.”

Oh, she was distracted all right. But she wasn’t about to share the reason for that unfortunate state with Mona. Not that she thought the secretary couldn’t keep a secret. Rather she was having a hard time coming to terms with her borderline adolescent musings. She did, not fantasized about doing it.

Jena eyed the now even larger pile of papers regarding the Patsy Glendale murder case taking up the better half of her desk. “Have you given any thought to what I said yesterday?”

Mona’s spine snapped slightly straighter—if that were possible. “You mean about my hair color?”

Jena knew her best friend and partner would absolutely kill her for saying something like this to the older woman. Dulcy Ferris would tell her she was being callous and controlling. The thing of it was Jena thought she was being helpful.

So, okay, the suggestion that Mona might want to reconsider her decision to age naturally and instead look into a good colorist—had even given the secretary the name of her own hairdresser—had come on the heels of an incident just like the one they were experiencing now. Jena had been daydreaming about Tommy, Mona had come in on some urgent business matter or another, and Jena had made the comment on her hair.

And now she was following up on it.

“It was just a thought, Mona.” She sighed, briefly propping her head on her hand, then shoving her fingers through the fine, jet-black strands of her shoulder-length hair. “I can only imagine what you think of the comment.”

“Is that an apology?”

Jena smiled. “No. It’s a statement of fact.”

“I see.”

Jena noted the glimmer of amusement in the other woman’s eyes, although there was no way that Mona could know that much of Jena’s state was due to one singular night of passion with a man she hadn’t seen since…well, that night.

Her. Jena. A woman unafraid of her own sexuality who changed men as often as she changed her bed sheets, preoccupied with a man who had so clearly been a one-night stand. In fact, he not only wasn’t in her life…he wasn’t even in the same city.

Which hockey team had he played on? Oh, yes. The L.A. Aces. Fitting, since Tommy was the highest scoring card in her black book. Not only did he live up to all the things she’d said about hockey players having, um, big sticks and being smooth, he’d surpassed them. And then some.

Mona cleared her throat. “I’ll be at my desk if you need anything.”

Jena waved her hand. “Thanks, Mona.”

The instant the secretary exited the office, Jena wanted to groan aloud.

She made an attempt at continuing the notes she was making on a secondary case but the words refused to make sense. A latent case of dyslexia? Hardly.

Okay, so the sex with Tommy had been good. Great. Mind-blowingly fantastic. But it wasn’t like her to revisit one-night stands, even in her daydreams. And, for cripes’ sake, the night had been in September and now it was late November. She glanced out her office-wide window. She supposed part of the reason for her overheated, sappy condition was that things had been quiet on the dating front as of late.

Well, actually, things had been nonexistent ever since…

Ever since three months ago.

She nearly choked at the revelation. No, that wasn’t possible. She’d dated since then, hadn’t she? She swiveled her chair to the bureau behind her desk and took her purse out of a drawer, rifling through it for her Day-Timer. Surely she’d gone out since then? Had some sort of midnight encounter?

Yes, yes. There was that John Pollero she’d met at a gallery opening.

She flipped through the pages of her personal calendar, but aside from the notations of her monthly menstrual cycle, white paper stared back at her.

But she was sure…

There was the notation. She’d gone out to dinner with John a week before Dulcy’s bachelorette party and Jena’s night with Tommy.

She pulled a face, refusing to admit it.

So she’d grown lax in keeping her Day-Timer up to date. She slapped it back into her bag then the bureau. That was all. She’d never gone three months without some sort of interaction with the opposite sex. She adored men and loved sex. Especially great sex with adorable men. She’d merely forgotten to note the dates, that’s all. After all, as Dulcy and Marie constantly told her, others found it impossible to keep up with her. It was understandable that she was having trouble keeping up with herself.

“Knock, knock,” Dulcy Ferris said from her open doorway.

Jena blinked at her incredibly blond, incredibly beautiful friend, then frowned. Something she seemed to be doing a lot of lately whenever she ran into one of her two best friends.

“Who’s there?” she said wryly.

Dulcy laughed quietly then stepped into the room. “Well, obviously no one worth mentioning given the expression on your face.”

“Never mind me. It’s this Glendale murder case, that’s all.”

“Are you sure?”

“How do you mean?”

Dulcy sat down in one of the two high-back leather chairs in front of Jena’s desk. Chairs she’d bought when she was on the track to partnership at Scott, Dickey and Jolson, one of Albuquerque’s premier law offices. The long hours, the cutthroat competition, the high-profile cases, the drive to succeed seemed to have all happened long ago, although barely nine months had passed since she and Dulcy and Marie had resigned from their respective jobs as attorneys and signed on with Bartholomew Lomax, fulfilling a lifelong dream of running their own firm. With Lomax’s help and weight in the legal community, they did so without having to build from the ground up. Barry came with a long list of established and well-paying clients and a reputation that would have taken the three women years to shape.

Dulcy and Barry went way back, but Jena was still a bit fuzzy on the full extent of their relationship. No, there was nothing sexual between the sixty-something Lomax and her thirty-year-old friend, but the two shared a close connection Jena couldn’t figure out.

“And here I thought I was the one having trouble concentrating,” Dulcy said, tugging Jena from her reverie.

“Hmm?” She watched as Dulcy smoothed her hand over her flat stomach, reminding her that her friend was nearly three months pregnant and had good reason to be distracted, what with that American Indian stud of a husband of hers waiting for her at home. Of course, a dusty old horse ranch a good three hours outside of town wasn’t Jena’s idea of a good time, but she had the feeling Dulcy’s husband Quinn Landis could make anyplace seem like a sexual playground built for two.

“It’s been awhile since we’ve had a chance to talk,” Dulcy said, “what with my commuting to the ranch every Wednesday night and returning Sunday.” She caught herself rubbing her stomach and smiled. She put her hand on the armrest. “So who’s the man of the hour?”

Jena was still staring at her friend’s stomach.

“Hmm?”

“You know, who’s the hottie you’re dating now?”

Now that was the question of the hour, wasn’t it?

“Okay. Let me try to narrow the parameters of my question a bit. Last night, who did you go to the McClellan reception with?”

Jena shrugged, attempting nonchalance although she was a little irked by the reminder. “No one.”

“No one as in no one worth mentioning?”

“No one as in…well, no one.”

“You didn’t meet anyone there?”

“Nope.”

“You didn’t meet anyone worth pursuing?”

“Not even worth a second glance.”

Dulcy looked skeptical. “Okay, what’s going on? I haven’t heard you brag about any sexual conquests for at least a couple of weeks.” She made a face. “Actually, I think it’s longer than that. Odd.”

Definitely odd, Jena admitted inwardly. In fact, she found it terrifyingly strange that she couldn’t remember one single male face from the McClellan reception. She, the woman who usually surveyed a room the instant she entered it, sizing up every male in the place then putting them into selection order. Choice number one. Choice number two.

Jena felt Dulcy’s very penetrating gaze on her. “What?” she said in much the same way as she had to Mona.

Dulcy shook her head, wearing the same amused expression Mona had. “Oh, nothing. It’s just that, well, your behavior lately has been a little outside the norm, that’s all.”

Jena vaguely wished that Dulcy had reacted the same way Mona had, namely with a smile as she left her office.

“Maybe I just need to get laid.”

Dulcy’s bark of laughter made Jena smile. “God, that is such a man thing to say.”

“Not something I could see Quinn saying.”

Dulcy twisted her lips and tucked her pretty blond hair behind her ear. “No. But we weren’t talking about my man. We were discussing yours. You know, the type you tend to go out with.”

“The type just looking to get laid.”

“Uh-huh.”

Jena squinted at her friend. “What’s going on? It’s not like you to fish for intimate details. You’re usually telling me when to stop—which, I might add, is the instant I get started.”

Dulcy shrugged her shoulders and leaned back in the chair. “Yes, well, I was just noticing that you hadn’t even tried to share anything recently.”

“And you missed it?”

“No, I was just wondering what brought about the change.”

Jena found her gaze drawn to the window and the nearby Sandia Mountains. “I wish I knew.”

“Well, at least Caramel is keeping you company.”

Jena gave an exasperated sigh. “No, Caramel is making my life a living hell,” she said of the four-month-old puppy Dulcy had given to her a month ago. A blond boxer, it had to be one of the ugliest dogs she’d ever laid eyes on. Then again, all dogs were ugly to her. They…drooled all over you. And Caramel also seemed to have a gastrointestinal problem that no food the vet recommended solved.

It had taken her awhile to figure out that one. She’d suffered through countless noxious clouds before she’d finally determined the smell wasn’t coming from a backed-up sink or a neighbor’s garbage but was instead from the little dog that constantly panted at her feet.

“Can’t you, please, please take her back to the ranch?” Dulcy was already shaking her head. “I just got her back from obedience school and she still doesn’t have a clue that ‘no’ doesn’t mean squatting on my bed.”

“Maybe because ‘no’ is the only word you’re saying to her.”

Jena made a face as the phone at her elbow chirped. “Ha ha. You, a comedian. Who would have guessed?”

“Lunch?” Dulcy asked, getting up.

Jena reached for the receiver. “Love to but I can’t. Meeting with a client,” she lied.

She answered the phone and began talking to the secretary of opposing counsel in a third case, not lifting her gaze again until Dulcy was on her way out the door. The instant her friend was gone, she put the caller on hold, then flopped back in her chair. She’d never lied to either Dulcy or Marie before. And to get out of a lunch that the firm would probably pick up…well, that was another first.

Yes, something was definitely wrong with her. And she wasn’t all that sure she wanted to find out what.

No, she was positive she didn’t. And she knew the one, surefire way to put it out of her mind. Continue on with business as usual—not only at work, but in her personal life.

Yes. That was it.

She punched the button to bring the caller back. “So, Iris, what can I do you for?”

“THAT DOES IT. I NEED A wife.” Jena stared into her empty refrigerator later that night, making a face at the container of half-eaten strawberry yogurt, the bottle of orange juice, and an unappealing container of Chinese takeout food. At her feet, Caramel looked from the refrigerator, to her, then back again, her tongue forever lolling out of her mouth. Jena asked her to move her tongue so she could close the refrigerator door.

“Hmm. I don’t suppose you would know how one goes about getting a wife?”

Caramel tilted her head, either trying to understand what she was saying or else questioning her sanity. It had been a month since Dulcy had dropped the little fleabag off with detailed instructions on how to care for her—too bad it hadn’t been an operating manual—and the number to a nearby vet.

Jena stared at the smelly canine. Okay, so she was cute. And she did make the apartment seem less…empty somehow. Not that she’d thought it empty to begin with. She only wished Dulcy had given her a later model that was already properly trained. Between arranging for a neighbor to walk the boxer, and rearranging her own familiar routine to accommodate the animal, she thought that having the pet came very close to having a child. She depended on Jena for everything every moment of the day. And that entire concept had scared the hell out of her.

But now that they’d both settled into a routine of sorts, it actually wasn’t so bad. If Caramel would stop mauling Jena’s favorite XOXO shoes, would pick a food she liked and didn’t cause her to stink up the joint, life would be perfect.

Well, almost perfect. There was still the man matter. And the little problem of what she was going to eat tonight.

She went through her cupboards one by one. Empty cracker box. Dusty cans of lentil soup she couldn’t remember buying. A jar of peanut butter that was useless without jelly, even if she had the bread to spread it on. And her large collection of art deco plates was completely useless without anything edible to put on them except dog food. Dog food, she had.

It was just after 7:00 p.m., dark as Hades outside, with absolutely nothing on television. And Jena was about to go crazy trying not to think about the realizations she’d come to with Mona and Dulcy’s help earlier in the day.

Imagine, her without a man for three months.

She stilled, her hand in the process of closing one of the cupboards, and wondered why then she wasn’t out on the prowl even now.

Pizza. So what if she’d had it twice so far this week? A nice, thick Sicilian from Mario’s would do the trick right about now. And—who knew?—maybe the delivery boy would make her stop thinking about the sad state of her sex life.

Within moments she had her pizza ordered, poured herself a glass of ever-present wine, fed Caramel a treat, then stepped into her large living room decorated in various shades of black, gray, red and white. There wasn’t a single mid-western or Indian piece in the two-bedroom condo. Well, aside from the foot-high iron Kokopelli on the side table next to the lamp. But that had been a gift from Marie and she was required to display it, so that didn’t count. Her tastes tended toward the more modern, citified look. She put her wineglass on the gray swirled marble coffee table, then picked up the remote control, flipping through the channels idly. Out of the corner of her eye she caught Caramel nosing in a flowerpot in the corner. The mutt had turned the plant over no fewer than ten times in four weeks. And, it seemed, obedience school had merely heightened the dog’s interest in the forbidden plant.

“No!” Jena said, shaking her finger at the dog.

Caramel looked at her, her snout covered with dirt.

The doorbell echoed through the apartment.

Jena frowned at the dog, then glanced toward the door. Strange. The pizza place had never been this quick before. Sure, they were only five minutes away, but she didn’t think even that amount of time had passed.

She tossed the remote to the couch, shooed Caramel away from the plant, then headed for the door.

But standing on the other side wasn’t some post-adolescent teen with bad skin and braces, holding a pizza. Instead there in all his sexy glory stood the focus of her daydreams as of late: Tommy “Wild Man” Brodie.

Jena smiled so wide her face hurt. “How did you know you were just what I was looking to eat?”

ONLY MOMENTS BEFORE, Tommy’s recovering knee had been throbbing, the pain made more acute by the thin chill of Albuquerque, his mood dark and grouchy. He’d been wondering what he’d been thinking, flying from L.A. on a whim, tired of sitting around his apartment by himself, sick of his own company, and not up to another round of smothering from his mother, albeit via the phone from Minnesota.

But as he stood looking at the woman he’d been thinking about nonstop for the past three months, his mood lightened, he forgot about his knee, and certain body parts that had been dormant since that one incredible night with Jena McCade sparked to life.

Hell, but she looked good. Damn good. Her shoulder-length black hair was slightly tousled as if she’d been running her fingers through it, her purple short, short nightgown shimmered in the light as she moved, and her violet eyes first looked large as hockey pucks, then squinted at him as she smiled that provocative smile he remembered so well.

“Get in here,” her lush mouth said as she grabbed his arm and yanked him inside.

And in Tommy went, the door slamming closed behind him, his duffel bag dropping to the ground as Jena practically launched herself into his arms. He automatically balanced his weight on his good knee as she wound her arms around his neck, then used them to pull herself up and straddle his hips, locking her bare feet behind his back.

Pain shot up Tommy’s right knee, but he purposely ignored everything but the flames of craving licking through his bloodstream, filling him with a need for the woman even now launching a ravenous assault on his mouth.

Absently, he noticed the yapping of a dog. But he was too far gone to look around for it. Instead he groaned and curved his hands up Jena’s legs then her bottom to support her. He wasn’t surprised to find that she wore nothing under the slinky number. Her skin was hot under his fingers as he dipped his tongue into her mouth, his eyes watching her under half-closed lids.

She was even prettier than he remembered. Her angular features might have looked sharp on another woman, but they fit Jena to a T. She was as unpredictable as she was beautiful, and was the only woman up to this point in his life who had been able to match him stroke for stroke, lick for lick. In fact, in the twelve straight hours they’d spent together, she’d nearly undone him. Which was saying a lot considering his eight years on the professional hockey circuit spent sampling the willing fans and strangers alike offered up at every turn.

Jena finally paused for breath, resting her forehead against his as she laughed huskily.

Tommy slid his hands toward her slick flesh, stopping mere millimeters short. “Now that’s what I call a welcome.”

“I aim to please.”

“I know.”

She glanced over his shoulder at his duffel. “How long you in town for?”

He followed her gaze to find a blond boxer sniffing around the perimeter of the bag. “A couple of days.”

Her provocative smile sent shivers down his spine. “That should do.”

He chuckled as she unwound her legs from his hips and began to slide down. Her foot hit his knee brace.

“Here, let me help,” he said, easily grasping her hips and putting her down on the floor.

“What’s that?” she asked, feeling his brace through the loose denim of his jeans.

He shrugged, following the ends of her silky dark hair with a fingertip. “Let’s just say I’m in need of some primo T.L.C.”

She twisted her lips as she made a production out of looking him up and down. “I don’t know how tender or loving it’s going to be, but if it’s a workout you’re looking for…”

“That’ll do.”

“Good.”

He grinned.

She took his hand and began leading him back, presumably to her bedroom. Halfway there, she halted. “Wait a minute.”

“I don’t know if I can.”

“Well, you’re going to have to, unless you want a devil on four legs drooping on your face while you sleep.”

“Who said anything about sleeping.”

“Oh, a man after my own heart.”

Tommy sniffed. “What’s that smell?”

“Don’t ask.”

He watched as Jena comically chased the puppy around the living room then finally nabbed her next to a large potted plant that teetered ominously. He’d never have guessed that Jena was a dog person. Then again, it appeared the role was a new one. He watched her lead the puppy to the kitchen as if the pup were the boss instead of her. She held up one finger to Tommy, then disappeared into the other room. The rustling of paper, the murmur of Jena speaking to the dog, then she was again in front of him, the kitchen door firmly shut.

She slid her tongue over her lips. “Now, where were we?” She smiled. “Ah, yes.”

She took his hand again and picked up where she’d left off, namely en route to her bedroom.

He eyed her firm backside as she swayed her hips in front of him. Oh, yeah. Exactly what the doctor ordered. Not his doctor, but the one lurking in the corner of his mind. The truth was, he’d missed this spitfire. Some would argue that he didn’t even know her. He would tell them that he knew her better than he had any other woman in his life outside his mother and four older sisters.

But, of course, no one would argue anything with him, simply because no one knew about Jena McCade or the night they’d shared together. No one knew where he was now, either. They had the number to his cell phone. That was enough. And even that he’d turned off as the taxi had pulled up to the apartment building he’d found via a simple check of the phone book. He’d spent the past seven weeks going to physical therapy sessions and various sports doctors and he’d had enough of all of it. He didn’t want to talk about his career and where it went from there, especially midseason and it was looking like he wouldn’t make it back until next season, if then. This morning when he’d woken to the sound of his sports agent calling to remind him of his physical therapy session, all he could think of was getting out of L.A. And Jena was the first person who popped to mind. The person who had been on his mind constantly since before his injury during the game against the Detroit Red Wings seven weeks ago when he’d taken a stick to the skates and done the equivalent of an acrobatic twist a full fifteen feet in the air before landing in an inhuman position on the hard ice. Initially the dozen or so doctors the team had called in had wondered if he’d ever be able to walk on his shattered knee again, even after surgery. Their opinions reinforced the uncertain prognosis he’d given himself. Now…

Well, he didn’t want to think about now in connection to his knee and what his own medical background told him might or might not happen. Not when Jena had entered the darkness of her bedroom and was tugging off her nightie, tousling her sexy hair all the more.

Oh, no, he didn’t want to think of any of that. All he wanted to do was touch and be touched.

Jena tucked her fingers into the waist of his jeans and tugged him toward her.

And, oh boy, had he ever come to the right place to do that.

The injury he would survive. But as Jena kissed him again, he briefly wondered if he’d survive her…