Unexpected
Page 27
The chase was on.
Feeling like a bull in rut, he trailed into the bar after her. Impatiently, he waited while she looked around, located a booth at the back of the room, and headed in that direction.
With one nod, Ben let the waitress know he’d take care of this particular customer. He followed along and when she slid into the bench seat, Ben propped his hip on the table. He tried for a nonchalant smile of welcome, but he knew his eyes were glittering, that his smile was more wolfish than not. He couldn’t help that; he hadn’t felt this sexually alert in a long time. “Hi.”
She glanced up, saw it was him, and pinched off her automatic smile in an effort to keep her expression impassive. “A Coke, please. Plenty of ice.”
The interior lights this time of night were dim to accommodate all the drinkers. Ben couldn’t see the color of her eyes, but the shape was exotic, tilting up on the outsides, heavily fringed with dark lashes. Ben studied her face and attempted to determine what it was about her that lured him.
Her mouth looked sinful, and very soft.
Her freckles looked playful, a bit impish.
Her body . . . Well, it was hard to tell in her sloppy clothes, but he sure as hell intended to find out.
Even with his obvious perusal, she looked away, reached for the menu, and effectively dismissed him.
Ben’s interest escalated. Oh yeah, she was good at this, at playing the game. So, she wouldn’t make it easy for him? Good. He nearly rubbed his hands together in anticipation of the coming night.
Feeling challenged and loving it, he straightened away from the table. “I’ll be right back with your drink.”
She didn’t reply.
Taking her at her word, Ben filled a glass with crushed ice and then poured in the soda. She had her head propped up on a fist, her exotic eyes closed tiredly when Ben returned.
Her nails weren’t painted. They weren’t even clean. Wherever she’d worked today, it had been a dirty job, and the stains on her fingers proved it. But that didn’t bother Ben. He was too pleased to make note of the lack of a ring. Not married, not engaged.
Perfect.
He set the drink down and waited.
Very slowly, her eyes opened. She had a sexy, full mouth, which stretched wide in a yawn before she mumbled through her hand, “Thank you.”
Her voice was smoky and deep, her expression orgasmic. Or maybe exhausted. Hard to tell when he was so aroused.
Rather than take a drink, she lifted the icy glass to her forehead and sighed at the cool touch. “It’s so hot outside tonight.”
It was hotter than hell inside, too.
A drip of condensation rolled down the frosty glass, fell onto her upper chest, and trickled down between her breasts. Ben held his breath.
Damn, everything about her seemed devised to push his buttons. Only he couldn’t ever recall a bedraggled, sweaty woman in work clothes turning him on before now.
In an effort to diminish the lust and further his association, Ben cleared his throat. “You work next door?”
A proud, friendly smile lit up her eyes. “Yeah. I’m the new owner. We’ve spent the past couple of weeks getting the place into shape. But today we finally started business.”
She owned the business. She’d be close by.
Damn. Any woman who would constantly be so close could be trouble. Starting something that would be difficult to end due to proximity would be plain foolish. He had to be cautious, to consider all the possible problems . . .
Using two fingers, she fished an ice cube out of the glass and sucked on it.
Ben drew in his breath. To hell with caution.
He held out a hand, anxious to touch her even in a platonic way. “Welcome to the neighborhood. I’m Ben Badwin, and I own this motel.”
She looked at his extended hand. “Is that right? Wow, great place.” She swiped her fingers across the top of her thigh, on the coveralls to dry them, then took his hand and pumped twice in a mannish way. “Sierra Murphy. It’s nice to meet you, Ben.”
Sierra—an unusual name for an unusual woman. Her hand was small, slim, warm. And callused. She looked far too young to own a business, and far too appealing to be working in the dirt. Reluctantly, Ben released her. “You’re out late.”
ZEBRA BOOKS are published by
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Copyright © 2003 by Lori Foster
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