HOOKED

by Cathy Yardley

  Chapter 7

  Stacy took him up to Snoqualmie. It was only fifteen minutes away from Issaquah, where they worked, and where he lived. He'd been up this way plenty of times, usually to play video game marathons and crash over at his mate Adam's house, a project manager and one of the first people that Fezza had introduced him to when he'd made it to the States. Still, he hadn't really explored the town; he normally simply drove to Adam's and ate whatever was there. He did know they had fairly decent pizza, but as it was, he thought all pizza was fairly decent.

  Considering her car, her family, and the tossers that she'd been fighting off, he suspected they'd go to the ritzy Ridge region of the city--an area that Adam usually dismissed as being too "snooty," a far cry from Adam's own more modest accommodations in what they called "historic downtown." In this case, "historic" being ""old."

  Instead, she drove to a lively restaurant in the heart of downtown, not too far from Adam's own house. The place was packed. When the door opened, there was a crash of sound. People were watching an American football game on the televisions in the bar area.

  "Hi, honey," a waitress said, coming up to them and hugging Stacy. "Your girls are here already."

  "Oh, good." Stacy grinned, motioning him forward.

  "Your girls?" he asked, jostling through people to catch up with her. It wasn't what he expected--not a bunch of sports-bar fans. There were elderly people, laughing and chatting, and families with younger kids. It was anything but posh. Bit more like a pub, he thought, and felt himself inadvertently relax.

  "I told you, remember? I was supposed to have dinner?"

  "Of course." He cursed himself. So he'd thought the two of them would have a nice, quiet meal, did he? Well, that just got shot straight to hell. Instead, he'd be surrounded and grilled by her girlfriends. Fantastic.

  He wondered absently if her generosity in giving him a ride and buying him dinner was specifically for this--to run her past her coterie of girlfriends and get their opinion.

  He steeled himself. Auditioning, was he? Well then. Let them see how he performed under pressure.

  They approached a table where several women sat, laughing and joking. As soon as they noticed Stacy, they called to her, waving, and she hugged them in turn, some across the table. "Everybody, this is Rodney, one of the guys I work with. His car died, and he's had a rough day, so I thought I'd get him dinner."

  "Really?" A girl with short, spiky brown hair surveyed him, her eyebrows hitting her bangs. "Well, well."

  "Rodney," Stacy said, with a warm, almost mischievous smile. "These are my best friends. The girl with the pixie cut and the sarcastic smile is Mallory." She waved. "The girl with the retro 40's hair and the vintage dress is Hailey. The blonde with the Huskies sweatshirt is Kyla, our costumer extraordinaire." She glanced around. "Where's Rache?"

  "Rachel was just giving last minute instructions to Cressida, who'll be working the shop tonight while Rachel is out with us," the one called Hailey said, getting up and pulling over another chair. "Not that she has anything to worry about. The shop hasn't had customers after four since before Christmas."

  Whatever that meant, it seemed to dampen the mood considerably. "It's a pleasure to meet you all," Rodney said sincerely. He pulled out the chair for Stacy, who looked surprised, then sat.

  "A gentleman," Mallory drawled.

  "Is that what they look like?" Hailey replied. "I've wondered. I thought the last one was in a zoo somewhere in Boston or something."

  Oh, this is going to be fun, he thought, steeling himself for criticism.

  "Don't mind them," Kyla, the blonde, said with a friendly smile. "So you work with Stacy? What do you do?"

  "I'm a coder," he said, then cleared his throat. "Computer programmer. I work on the code for video games."

  Kyla smiled encouragingly, while Hailey rolled her eyes. Mallory, on the other hand, leaned forward, suddenly interested. "What kind of games?" she asked.

  "Um...we do puzzle games," he said. "Escape stuff, brain teasers, some mystery-slash-hidden object, though it isn't my preference."

  "Console, or web-based?"

  "Web-based." He took a sip of water.

  "What have your last five titles been?"

  "Ah..." He scrolled through his memory. "Devil's Sanctuary, The Lidless Box, Squander, Escape from Treborn Asylum, and...what was it...right. Imagisanity."

  "Were they successful?"

  "Three were top five ranked by GamerWorld," he said.

  "What are your plans for the next five years?" she asked, like a shot.

  "You mean professionally?"

  "Or overall." She leaned forward. "More to the point, what is your intention toward our friend Stacy?"

  Stacy groaned.

  "No offense, but do I need to retain counsel for this conversation?" he answered, with a small laugh.

  "He's just a co-worker," Stacy interrupted, shaking her head at Mallory. "Lay off."

  Mallory shrugged, relenting. "Sorry. Habit," she said.

  "Mallory's a lawyer," Stacy explained. "She's used to cross-examining."

  "You're good at it," he said.

  Mallory grinned. "You have no idea."

  Before she could take up the gauntlet again, he heard a dusky voice behind him. "Sorry I'm late! I was getting Cressida's dinner order."

  He stood up, mindful of his manners, and for a second his mind went blank. The woman had raven hair, full ruby lips, and huge violet eyes.

  She was, in a word, stunning.

  "Hi, I'm Rachel," she said, holding her hand out. "Sorry. I didn't know we had company."

  He quickly took a breath. "I'm Rodney," he said. "I work with Stacy."

  He glanced at Stacy--only to see her staring at him intently.

  Not just an audition, he realized abruptly. A test.

  Well, he had news for her: he'd seen more than his share of stunning women in his time. But he'd yet to react to one the way he reacted to Stacy, in her tailored khakis and no-nonsense ponytail.

  "Rachel, of the European vacation?" he said, pleased to see the surprised expressions on all of the women's faces.

  "That's the one," Stacy admitted.

  He shook Rachel's hand. "Stacy here invited me to dinner," he said, meeting her eyes. "My car broke down. She's been my hero this evening."

  Stacy flushed. "Really. Not a big deal."

  He sat down next to her. Rachel, he noticed, was studying him quizzically.

  "Oh! There's Gemma," Stacy said, putting a hand on his arm absently. He felt the warmth of her fingertips, and smiled. "She's going over to the bar... Would you excuse me? I wanted to ask her about New Year's, and the goody bags we were going to make for the shop."

  "Goody bags?" Rachel said, getting up and following her. "Wait, I thought we were just doing flyers..."

  The two women disappeared into the throng, leaving him surrounded by the other three.

  "So, you're hitting on Stacy," Mallory said, without preamble.

  "No," he said. "I am considering wooing her, however. There's a difference."

  Hailey smirked, taking a draw from her soda's red straw. "There are some things you need to know about Stacy."

  "I know that her last boyfriend screwed her over," he said, deciding to play some offense. "I know he stole from her. I know that he broke her heart."

  He looked at all of them in turn.

  "And last of all, I know that I'm not like him," he said firmly. "And I know that, since then, every rich ponce in Seattle, and every son or grandson or near acquaintance of her parents seems to have been added to her dance card. I'm not like that, either."

  "What? You're not eligible, or you're not rich?" Mallory asked.

  He sighed. Two of the things that Britain had thought were important about him. The only two things, really. He made a face.

  "I'm single," he said. "And I make a decent living at MPG. But if you're worried about me stacking up somehow, or being worthy...." His chin went up. "That's Stacy''s call, and
hers alone. Quite frankly, I don't need to prove myself to anyone else."

  They stared at him. "Good answer," Hailey said grudgingly.

  "Anything else you'd like to know?" he pressed. "Did I miss anything?"

  "Just one thing, that you need to know," Mallory said. "She's one of our best friends in the world."

  "She accepts us the way we are, and given our...histories, that hasn't always been easy," Hailey added.

  "Bottom line: if you hurt her, we will fuck you up beyond recognition." Mallory smiled, a vicious smile. "Gladly."

  "We never got our hands on Christian," Hailey said. "I still regret that."

  "And I still say we can rectify that," Mallory retorted.

  "He's in jail, Mal," Hailey said, rolling her eyes.

  "What's your point?"

  "Aren't you a barrister?" he couldn't help but ask. "An officer of the law?"

  Mallory's grin was evil. "Private practice now," she said. "And it means I'll know how to not get caught."

  He studied all of them. Kyla, the only sane one among them, was happily munching on some appetizers. "Well, at least I'm safe with you, then?"

  She smiled brightly. "I'm a mechanic," she said.

  "Oh?" He blinked, wondering what she was getting at. Was she trying to see if he was sexist? "That's a good field. I should bring my friend's car 'round."

  "If you hurt my friend," she continued, her smile still brilliant as sunshine, "I've got an acetylene torch, a hydraulic press, and a guy at a car wrecking yard with a crusher who owes me a favor."

  Rodney actually skidded his chair back an inch before he could stop himself.

  "She just looks like a short Marilyn Monroe," Mallory said with a smirk. "She's really the one not to piss off."

  Kyla clinked glasses with her.

  Rachel and Stacy chose that moment to return to the table. "Did I miss anything?" Stacy asked, taking the seat beside Rodney again.

  "Nope," he said. "Just getting to know your friends."

  "Oh?" Stacy looked at them suspiciously. They all returned the look with angelic expressions of their own.

  "They were warning me off a bit," he admitted.

  Stacy huffed. "Oh, come on, guys..."

  "They're right to," he said. "They're good friends. They just want to protect you."

  Stacy stared at him, her misty gray eyes surprised.

  "But I'm not a man who scares easily," he added, looking at Stacy's friends with equal determination. "Besides, the best things are worth taking some risk for."

  He was gratified to see grudging respect in their responding gazes. He opened the menu, glad to have thrown them off stride. "So tell me...what's good to eat around here?"

  Chapter 8

  A little while later, Stacy pulled up in front of Rodney's apartment complex. "Well, here you are, back in one piece," she said. "No thanks to my friends. I hope they didn't threaten you too much."

  "There may have been mention of torture, dismemberment, and ease of both body disposal and police evasion," he said.

  Stacy shut the car off. "They're protective of me."

  "They're your friends," he said, with a smile. "You're lucky to have them. I would've given my right arm to have friends like them--before I met Fezza, anyway."

  "How did you meet him?"

  He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Promise you won't think me an utter nerd?"

  She quirked an eyebrow.

  "Well, no hope of that, honestly," he admitted. "I was playing World of Warcraft online in London and met Fezza on a quest. We just hit it off."

  "He helped you?"

  "God, no. He killed me and stole all my gear," he said, surprising her, laughter bubbling to the surface. "Later on, I told him off and he felt a bit sorry, so he offered to let me join him on a mission in order to gain new, better gear, since apparently mine was crap. We wound up playing a lot, and then comparing other games, and emailing."

  "While he was here, and you were in England?"

  "Well, he was still in San Jose with his family, but yes," Rodney said. "We always kept in touch. I studied computer engineering and programming, and a lot of higher division maths...and then Mysterious Pickles started up, and Fezza got the job. He thought of me, put in a good word. And here I am."

  Here he was. "Do you ever miss home?"

  "Now and then," he said, shrugging. "But really, I never quite felt like I fit in there. I fit here."

  "Do you have family?"

  "Three sisters, four nephews, and a darling little niece," he said, and his smile was warm.

  "What about your parents?"

  "My father died, thirteen years back," he said. "I still have my mother, though."

  "Oh, I'm so sorry."

  He shrugged. The British stoicism, she thought. Stiff upper lip, and all that.

  "Were you close?"

  Now she saw a brief flash of pain. "Not as such. It isn't really our family's way."

  She sighed. "You must think my parents are lunatics," she said.

  "I think my mother would probably drink tea the same way as your mother," he said. "Which reminds me: how did you know how to make tea properly?"

  She laughed. "Like British tea is the only proper tea," she scolded, pleased by his answering grin. "I spent a year abroad, in Sussex. Tea was the one thing I really loved."

  "You're a natural," he said. "And thoughtful."

  She started to shiver. "Well, it's getting late," she said, "and cold..."

  He leaned toward her, slowly, and she couldn't help it. She held her breath, all thoughts of cold fleeing in the presence of, let's face it, his utter hotness.

  "I told your friends I was considering wooing you."

  She blinked. "You're what, now?"

  His cobalt blue eyes were black in the darkness of the car, staring at her intently. "I wanted them to know where I stood. Whatever they planned on threatening me with, whatever they eventually did...I don't care. They could have a gun to my head, I still wouldn't care."

  "Pretty brave words."

  "Words are easy. You, of all people, would know that," he said. His voice was low, that accent like mink across her senses. "But you're the only one whose opinion I care about. So I'm putting it to you, plain as I know how: will you go out with me?"

  "Go out?" That sounded so juvenile. That voice, that tone...it seemed designed for sexy, delicious whispers, seductive invitations.

  "Will you let me win you over?"

  "I'm not a prize," she said quickly.

  "I am," he teased, but she didn't answer with a smile. "If you don't want me, I'll walk away. I'll leave you alone, treat you like a perfect gentleman. All women have the right, the choice. I'll always respect that."

  "I..." She swallowed. "I shouldn't want you."

  "Because you don't trust your instincts."

  She nodded. "Have you ever screwed up so incredibly that you wanted to just die?"

  "No," he said. "I'll be honest, I haven't. I've screwed up plenty, but not to that point."

  "Thanks, actually," she said. "A lot of guys would've lied, or just tried to switch the conversation to talking about their experiences, or tell me I shouldn't feel that way."

  "You feel the way you feel," he said. "Again, I respect that."

  "You confuse me," she whispered.

  "As you do me," he countered. "What do you want me to do?"

  She thought about it. Then she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his.

  She just wanted a taste, she thought. She wouldn't forgive herself if she just let him out of the car, told him no, let him walk away, treat her like a polite stranger. Her whole body, her heart, rebelled against that with a surprising fire.

  He tugged at her, weaving his fingers into her hair, holding her against him. Their tongues tangled. She wanted him so badly that she ached with it.

  She pulled away.

  "I'll take it that's a yes," he said, out of breath.

  "That's a maybe," she said. "I can't trust mys
elf, but I swear, you are like heroin. Utterly addicting--probably dangerous. Definitely stupid."

  "Excuse you."

  She laughed. "The attraction. Not that you're stupid."

  And that was the other thing. He made her laugh. Christian charmed her, he wooed her...but he didn't make her laugh. Didn't make her comfortable. If anything, he made her feel inadequate, even with his charm.

  "I want you," he said. "I haven't had an attraction like this, either. I've been interested in you. Good lord, seems like everyone has been..."

  "Excuse you," she tossed back.

  "...but it's more than that," he said. "Damned if I know, but you kissed me, and it's like my brains poured out of my head. I thought you were interesting, funny, personable. But now..."

  His eyes blazed.

  "Now, I feel like I'd face a dragon to get you into my bed."

  She gasped. "That's straightforward."

  "No sense in lying about it," he said, shrugging. "You feel it, too, don't you?"

  She swallowed. "Is that all there is to it, then? Just this...chemistry?"

  She hadn't thought about that. Maybe that was the answer. Just a one night stand, something quick, purely physical. Her body started tingling in anticipation.

  "No," he said. "Whatever's between us, it's not going to be some one night stand."

  She blinked. "What, you read minds now, too?"

  His wicked grin was lightning fast. "Don't think I haven't considered it," he said. "Just inviting you up, then showing you just how much I want you. Until you scream my name." He let out a shuddering breath. "And that'd be fantastic, wouldn't it? You could keep yourself safe. No vulnerability. No emotional attachment. Just work you over, make you scream with pleasure, and be done with it."

  She shuddered. "Okay. Sign me up."

  "It's not that easy," he said. "It won't be. I'm not going to simply be used, and I'm not going to let you cheapen yourself out of some thought of self-preservation. It's cowardly. You're better than that."

  She glared at him. "Well, maybe one of the fifty or so eligible bachelors that are going to be crowding tomorrow night's party will have lower standards," she shot back.

  He leaned in, dangerous. Her body, traitorous to the last, thrilled a little bit.