The ragged football jersey had teased his imagination. What was underneath? A lacy bra or no bra at all? He'd hustled her out of the room, before he'd grabbed her and jerked up the shirt to find out. He longed to caress her, feel her breasts in his hands and his mouth. Since Monday night, that's all he could think about. Kissing Claire. Touching Claire.
Yeah, he'd changed his tune all right. He wanted Claire and intended to have her.
Dillon started across the cafe toward the lounge area. He wanted to wake Claire with his kisses. See her brown eyes shine with desire for him. Damn, he was getting hard just thinking about it.
The more Dillon saw of Claire, the more his first impression changed. She was good with her employees and she was good with her customers, too. No holding herself aloof or staying locked in her office all the time. Claire mingled with the students and other customers, offering help when needed. It hadn't taken long to figure out she wasn't a snooty high society bitch.
And that made her fair game.
Dillon still didn't trust Claire and he wasn't looking for a relationship. He just wanted to sleep with her. Like he'd said, he was in Austin temporarily. It was the perfect setup. They could explore the attraction, enjoy each other. And he'd be the one doing the leaving, not her.
Surprisingly, Brozek's advice about asking the lady out held merit. So, Dillon had asked Claire to dinner. Okay, maybe coerced was a better word. The lady in question was wary around him. Didn't trust him, either. He'd have to work on that.
In Claire's background check, he found out she'd been married and divorced. Dillon had run a check on the ex-husband. The Hamiltons of Boston were rich, elite and powerful. Claire must have been burned by the bastard. That was probably the reason behind her wariness.
Had Claire come to Texas to get away from Bennett Hamilton and his family? She'd obviously cut all ties, even reverted to her maiden name.
Dillon stopped beside the chair where Claire lay sleeping and looked down at her. She was so damned beautiful. Dark, thick lashes rested on her white skin. High cheekbones were dusted with the barest of pink. Diamond and emerald studs twinkled in her delicate earlobes.
The jewels proclaimed her background and wealth. The reminder gave Dillon pause. He shook away any misgivings.
It didn't matter. He would be the one leaving, not her. He would not allow Claire to get under his skin. He just wanted to have a good time. No one would get hurt.
He intended to play his cards close. Make Claire feel comfortable with him. She was determined not to act on the attraction. But he could tell she was fighting a losing battle. Just like he had fought. And lost. But he was going to turn it around and win. There was really no reason he could think of not to enjoy spending time with Claire. In bed and out. It was temporary. Perfect.
Dillon squatted on his haunches and touched her shoulder. "Wake up, Claire."
Those long lashes fluttered, but she remained asleep. He jiggled her shoulder. Damn, she felt good under his hand. What would she do if he hauled her out of that chair and into his arms? He slid his hand down her shoulder and rubbed her arm. She felt fragile beneath his fingers.
Giving into temptation, Dillon touched Claire's cheek. Caressed her skin; traced her smooth jaw. She turned her head into the caress and made a purring sound that almost made Dillon come unglued. He wanted to sit in that chair with her on his lap and caress more than her cheek. He wanted to feel the weight of her on his groin. He wanted inside of her.
"Sacre bleu! What is this?"
Dillon jerked his hand away and jumped to his feet.
Claire woke with a start and sat up straight in the chair. "Richard? I didn't know you were here," she said, blinking away the sleep.
"What are you doing here?" Dillon asked.
"Me? I have been working as usual, naturellement."
"On Sunday?" Something about the little chef rubbed Dillon the wrong way.
"But of course. It is often, I work on Sunday. I make the dough. I organize the week. What is wrong with this?"
Claire rose and smoothed her ponytail. "You didn't hear us come in?"
Richard shrugged. "I had the radio on my ears. I was busy in the kitchen."
"In the kitchen? Making the dough?" Dillon frowned. Was it his imagination or did the Frenchman seem uncomfortable? "That is correct." Richard stepped closer, waving his wooden spoon. "But what, may I ask, are you doing here, monsieur? I will not allow you to touch mademoiselle, especially while she is sleeping."
Claire looked at Dillon, a question in the dark brown depths of her eyes.
Damn, he didn't like to explain himself. He didn't like the chef's nosy questions, either. "I was trying to wake you."
"Well, I'm awake now. Are you finished here?" She blinked again and stretched.
"Yeah. Let's go." Dillon forced his eyes away from the enticing bit of flesh below the hem of her sweater.
"Not so quickly," Richard said. "You have not answered my question."
Dillon sighed. "Claire's the boss. I don't answer to you, Pierre."
"She has no one to protect her," Richard said. "I will protect her from the likes of you."
"From the likes of me?" Dillon said softly. He started walking toward the annoying chef.
Claire tugged on his shirt. He glanced over his shoulder. She shook her head slightly, her eyes dancing with amusement.
She turned to the chef. "Richard, I appreciate what you're doing, but I don't need protection. I can take care of myself."
"Humph. You are too innocent, mademoiselle. Too delicate. Too beautiful. You do not realize what you do to a man." He gripped his spoon and held it to his heart.
Dillon's patience snapped. Enough with the high drama. "Look, Pierre--"
The Frenchman stiffened. "My name is not Pierre."
"Right, whatever. Why don't you go back to your kitchen and do whatever you were doing. Claire and I are leaving."
"Where are you taking her?"
"Dinner. I'm taking her to dinner. You make it sound like I have wicked designs on her or something. And now you have me talking like you."
Claire chuckled. "You don't have wicked designs on me?" she whispered.
"That's beside the point," he said under his breath.
Richard untied his apron. "I am famished. I will accompany you."
"No you won't. You're not invited. Be sure to lock the place up when you're finished." Dillon grabbed Claire's arm and hauled her toward the door, leaving the Frenchman sputtering curses behind them.
CHAPTER FIVE
"Where in the world did you find Pierre?" Dillon set his frosted beer mug on the red-checkered tablecloth. "And why the hell do you put up with him?"
Claire looked at him over the top of the menu. "Richard applied for the job and turned out to be an excellent gourmet chef. I know he's temperamental and a bit dramatic--"
"A bit dramatic?"
"Okay, a lot." She reached for a breadstick. "Anyway, his pastries melt in your mouth and his éclairs helped establish my cybercafés. I didn't name them e*Claire's for nothing, you know."
Dillon smiled. "Cute name. Catchy."
"Thanks." Claire bit into the breadstick. That devastating smile shot straight down to her toes. How was she supposed to resist Dillon, when he was pouring on the charm like this?
She glanced around the restaurant. It was a nice little Italian place; nothing fancy, but nothing second-rate about it, either. For late Sunday afternoon, business was brisk. Several families with small children sat eating dinner, along with the ever-present college students.
"I didn't know Pierre had a key to the cafe." Dillon snapped a breadstick in two.
Claire returned her attention to Dillon. She couldn't fool herself any longer. She wanted to get to know him better. And she enjoyed the feelings he evoked in her. "Sometimes he comes in on Sundays, like today. He starts the baking early in the mornings, too. Real early." She frowned. "Except on the days he's late."
"Late? Mr. My-kitchen-is-my-kingdo
m? I don't believe it."
Claire pointed the breadstick at him. "Did I mention he's possessive?"
"Not only about his kitchen."
Her blood hummed in response to the low intimacy in Dillon's voice. "What do you mean?"
"I mean the way he came to your defense this afternoon. What did he think I was going to do? Rape you?"
"Of course not."
"I think he has the hots for you."
"Don't be absurd. Richard only has one thing on his mind and that's cooking. But I have to admit, he's been acting strange the past few months."
"Strange? Like how?"
"When I first hired him, he was always punctual. But there've been several days when he hasn't shown up at all. And he's jumpy and nervous all the time."
She caught Dillon's eye. "Don't even think it. Richard can't be the hacker."
"Can't he?"
"No, absolutely not."
Dillon picked up his menu. "Whatever you say. How does pizza sound?"
Claire leaned over the table. "It's not Richard."
"I didn't say it was, did I? Is pizza okay with you?"
She sat back. "Sure."
"What kind do you like?" He sipped his beer and watched her over the rim.
"Cheese and mushrooms."
"That's it? Nothing else? You really are a vegetarian, aren't you?"
"You have a problem with that?" She nibbled her breadstick.
He shook his head and shuddered. "It's not natural."
"It's very natural," Claire said. "Much healthier than meat."
"What's wrong with meat?"
"I've always found it disgusting." She plopped the last of the breadstick in her mouth.
Before Dillon could answer, the waiter walked up. "Ready to order, folks?"
"Yeah, we'll have a large pizza--half with the works," Dillon threw a look of resignation at Claire, "and the other half with cheese and mushrooms."
The waiter jotted the order down. "Got it. Help yourself to the salad bar. Your pizza will be out shortly. Anything else I can get for you?"
Dillon motioned to his mug. "I could use another beer and bring the lady a glass of merlot."
Claire didn't comment until after the waiter left. "I didn't say I wanted wine."
"You've got something against wine, too?"
"Yes. No." She bit her lip. "I don't drink."
"Never?"
Claire shook her head.
"Maybe it's time you did. Have some fun. Loosen up. Walk on the wild side and have a glass of wine." He smiled that killer smile again.
"You sound like Natalie."
"She wants you to walk on the wild side?"
"Never mind." She adjusted her napkin on her lap.
He leaned forward expectantly. "No, I want to hear this." Claire's tummy tipped over. The table was small, tucked in a corner of the restaurant. Next to her elbow, a candle flickered in a red glass holder. Dillon loomed before her. He was big and made her feel small--feminine to his masculine. And his aftershave smelled oh so good. She glanced at his mouth and remembered the kiss. Suddenly, she needed space. Needed to get away.
"I'm waiting," he said, his eyes locked on hers.
She shoved back her chair and stood. "Too bad, because I'm not telling you. I'm going to the salad bar. You do eat salads, don't you?"
Dillon followed her. "I'm not much into rabbit food."
"Why doesn't that surprise me?" she said over her shoulder.
"You want surprises?" he whispered in her ear. "I have several in mind just for you, babe." He handed her a plate and took one for himself.
Babe? Sharp tingles of desire flowed through Claire's body. Dillon stood close behind her. She could feel the heat of him. So much for wanting to get away. Now all she wanted was to plaster herself against his hard-muscled frame and feel his arms wrapped around her. Damn, the man was pure temptation.
She worked her way down the salad bar, filling her plate with lettuce, mushrooms, olives and tomatoes. Every time Dillon reached for something, they touched. He seemed to deliberately brush against her every chance he got.
Claire realized he wasn't fighting the attraction anymore. In fact, he was playing the seducer. A thrill of anticipation blasted through her. She wanted him to seduce her, yet at the same time, she didn't. Sex without caring wasn't her style. She never wanted to care for a man again. And she certainly didn't want to care for Dillon Anderson.
This whole situation was temporary, Claire reminded herself as she wove her way across the room back to the table. Dillon didn't trust her. She wondered if he still suspected her of being the hacker?
The good-looking private eye had turned her world topsy-turvy. He'd thrust her into a world of espionage, or something close to it. And he made her dissatisfied with the cozy, safe life she'd carefully constructed after her divorce.
Temptation. Pure and simple. Could she take a walk on the wild side? Claire knew she'd have to be careful if she did. Very, very careful.
****
Dillon walked Claire to her condo and waited while she unlocked the door. The night air blew crisp and cold. A direct contrast to the state of his body. Hot, edgy. Aroused.
She turned and faced him. "Thank you for dinner."
"You're welcome." He took her by the shoulders. Those coffee-colored eyes widened and she bit her lip. Lips he hungered to taste again. "I want to kiss you, Claire."
"I thought you had to get back to your partner," she said, her voice breathless. "I thought you had a job to do. Urgent, you said; it couldn't wait until tomorrow."
He pulled her closer. "It can wait a couple more minutes."
"This isn't smart."
"Aw, come on. Live dangerously. You enjoyed the wine, didn't you?"
"Yes, but this is different."
"One kiss."
"Okay, but--"
He silenced her with his mouth. She resisted for maybe half a second, then Dillon felt her melt into his embrace and her arms slide around his waist. He tightened his hold, wanting to devour her. She tasted better than he remembered. Her lips were sweet and soft, her tongue wet and hot. His body hardened to rock solid.
Claire shivered in his arms, pressed her lower body against him and groaned deep in her throat. Liquid fire. The woman turned his blood into flames. It might be forty degrees outside, but Dillon felt sweat drip down his collar. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been this hot and bothered.
She shivered again. Dillon backed her into the entry hall of the condo and closed the door. Claire went rigid and started to pull away.
"Shh, babe. It's just a kiss. One kiss."
"You need to redo the math," she whispered.
"To hell with the math."
He captured her mouth again and plunged in. He couldn't let her go yet. He wanted her with a fierceness that startled him. He knew he should move slowly, but he wanted her yearning and hungry. Like he yearned and hungered. For her.
Dillon ended the kiss and leaned his forehead against Claire's. She kept her eyes closed for a moment before opening them. Her breath came in gasps. He felt the warm wisps on his chin. He wanted to kiss her again, but thought better of it. With reluctance, he put her from him.
"I'll see you tomorrow at work." He let himself out. He had to get away before he broke his resolve. He couldn't rush her. She wasn't ready. He didn't know if he was ready either. His feelings for Claire were complicated. Just like the woman.
Damn! When had sex ever been complicated?
Dillon drove back to the apartment. Brozek was waiting at the door.
"You make a move on her yet?" His partner leaned on the jamb with his arms folded across his chest.
"Shut up." Dillon walked past him into the living room. He dropped the computer disks on the coffee table and headed for the kitchen. "Start looking at those files I downloaded. Is there any beer left?"
Brozek sank down on the sofa. "Should be plenty. I stopped by the store this afternoon."
Dillon popped the top on
his beer and sat at his work station. "Where'd you go?"
"Is this an interrogation?" Brozek asked. "You're not the only one entitled to time off, you know."
"Weren't you supposed to be studying the surveillance video this afternoon?"
"That only took a couple of hours. I went out. All work and no play--remember?"
Dillon scowled. "Did anything show up on the video?"
"Nothing much. Except for the little French guy."
"The chef?"
"Yeah, he's been in and out of all three offices at different times during the week, when they were unoccupied. I spotted him on a computer in the cafe early one morning before hours. You need to keep an eye on him."
"Claire swears it isn't Pierre." Dillon didn't think so either. The chef didn't fit the profile of a hacker.
"How would she know?" Brozek asked.
"She wouldn't. Anything else?"
Brozek accessed the first disk and brought up the files. "Yeah, how'd dinner go?"
"We're talking about work, not my social life." Dillon reached for his beer.
"Man, you are no fun anymore. You need to make your move and relieve the tension or you're going to explode. And that will not be pretty, let me tell you."
Dillon's grip tightened on the can. The thought of exploding inside Claire filled his mind and body. Damn, she'd felt good in his arms. All soft and supple against him.
"Shove it, Brozek," he said, tossing back half the beer.
His partner started humming an old Beatles tune as he looked over the data. "I'll scan the files from the chef's computer first. See what's going down."
"You do that. I want to take a look at the video. Pierre's up to something and I intend to find out what it is."
****
Claire stared at the columns on the spreadsheet and sighed in exasperation. Three times she'd entered the wrong numbers and three times deleted and started over. Enough was enough. She saved the file. Other things required her attention right now and she'd get back to the spreadsheet later.
Walking across the hall, Claire opened Nat's door. Frank Winslowe was seated behind the computer with Natalie nowhere in sight.
He looked at Claire and smiled, pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and continued pecking on the keyboard.
Texan Undercover (Romantic Suspense) Page 6
