by Bonnie Dee
A hand dropped on my shoulder, and I let out a squeak and spun around.
Micah stood behind me, loomed over me, in fact, blocking the light. It haloed his head and made him seem larger and more imposing than he already was.
“Hey, there, sweetheart. Glad to see you again. There are twenty angels in the world. Eleven are praying, eight are singing, and one is sitting right in front of me.” He pulled out a chair from under the table, reversed it, and straddled it so he faced me.
There we were, face-to-face. Him and his cheesy lines—did he have a book full of them or what? Me and my dead silence and beer menu clenched in my fist. All I could think about was what it felt like to have his mouth sucking on mine, and his big, warm body pressed hard against me.
“How’s Mrs. Heidelberg?” he asked. “You keeping her in line?”
“She’s okay. She’s with another caregiver right now, but I have to be back in a few hours. How’s—” I couldn’t think of anything. I was too caught up in flashback memories of how those arms, draped so casually over the back of the chair, had felt banding around my body like iron. “Um, how’s your bar doing?”
He glanced over his shoulder at the line of stools and hunched shoulders. “Pretty good. A normal day.” He focused those indigo eyes on me again. “I can get away for a while. If you have enough time, whaddya say we ditch this low-class joint and I’ll take you someplace nice for dinner?”
“Can’t. I drove Leah here, and I need to take her home.”
Leah and J.D. were seated across from us. J.D.’s gaze shot back and forth between me and Micah, a frown creasing his brow as if he were deciphering an impossible puzzle.
A little smile teased Leah’s lips. “That’s okay. I’ll hang around here until J.D. gets off. He’ll give me a ride home. You can go for dinner with Micah if you want to.”
I wanted to slap that smirk off her face. She’d put the ball squarely in my court, taking away my very good excuse not to go out with him. At the same time, I wanted to grab her and kiss her right on the mouth. She’d taken away my excuse not to go out with Micah, clearly leaving me with no other option than to say yes.
“All right. Sure. Why not,” I said as nonchalantly as a teenager pretending she didn’t really care about being asked to the school dance.
Micah wasn’t fooled. A goofy yet oh so sexy grin spread across his face. He rose from his chair, all six-foot-whatever feet of him, and held out his hand. “Milady?”
Acutely aware of J.D. staring and still trying to compute, I took hold of Micah’s hand and allowed him to pull me to my feet. What a strong, hard hand it was, and so big it enveloped mine, though I’m hardly diminutive.
I bit my lower lip. “It’ll have to be somewhere close. I’m pretty pressed on time.” And thank God for that, since it would ensure I kept this light and brief.
“No problem. I know a nice place within walking distance. The best steak in Chicago. You do eat meat?”
I nodded, but I couldn’t imagine packing away a sirloin with my stomach in turmoil. Not to mention I’d just had coffee and biscotti with Leah. Actually, I wasn’t hungry at all, but that didn’t stop me from walking with Micah out of the bar and toward our first—make that second—date.
Chapter Six
Micah
When luck delivers something right into your lap, it’s best not to argue. True, I hadn’t gone out of my way to contact Gina, but if she was going to walk right into my place, I’d take that as a sign the universe wanted me to have her. I sure as hell wanted to have her.
As we walked, I stole sideways glances. She wore a plain white T-shirt that molded a pair of gorgeous breasts. Didn’t need any bare cleavage to tell me all I needed to know about their size and shape. Her skinny jeans cupped a solid ass and stocky legs. Cute, short, and built like a brick house, just how I liked a woman. No willowy long-legged model types for me. I prefer a body that’s all there. The tangled dark hair framing her pretty face made me itch to plunge my hands through it. Her olive complexion popped against the white T, and her deep brown eyes flashed at me when she caught me staring.
“What?” she demanded. “Are you always this creepy, or are you making a special effort tonight?”
“Do you have a map? ’Cause I just keep getting lost in your eyes,” I shot back, making her bite her cheeks to avoid smiling.
“Are you ever serious?” she asked.
“I try not to be. Life’s too short, y’know?”
We were walking side by side on the pavement, and the back of my hand brushed hers. I caught hold of her hand and held it as we continued to stroll. She didn’t pull away.
“You’re Italian?” I asked to fill the silence.
“Half. My dad’s family is pretty pure Italian, but my mom’s a spice rack full of flavors.”
“A good mix of spices to whip up a dessert like you.” I trailed my thumbnail up her wrist and was rewarded by her soft intake of breath. I wondered if we could skip the meal and go straight to something more interesting than food.
“How about you?” she asked. “What’s your family background?”
“Redneck with a side of white trash,” I joked but couldn’t drum up a smile to take the edge off the description. I quit the wise-ass attitude to actually answer her question. “Mostly Scotts-Irish folks where I come from. I’m told we have a little Cherokee blood on my Daddy’s side.”
Or at least Jonah and J.D. did. I used to have strong doubts about whether Dad was actually my father. I sure as hell didn’t look much like him or my brothers, my mama either, for that matter. But one time there was a big blow out fight between my parents that resulted in a paternity test, so I guess I really am one-hundred percent Wyatt.
“So, tell me about life in Kentucky. Do you miss the mountains?”
“That’s about the only thing I do miss,” I admitted, glancing around at the tall buildings and traffic zipping by on the street. “Sometimes I feel a little trapped here in the city. But then I think of the rest of the crap, and I’m glad to be here. I own my own business, and I’m doing okay for myself.”
Her forehead puckered a little. “You don’t get along with your older brother?”
I shrugged. “He’s okay—four hundred miles away. I just couldn’t work with him anymore. Everything always had to be his way, and I was the designated screwup.”
She nodded. “I know about bossy older brothers. I have three: Michael, Tony, and Frank. They tend to be way overprotective and old-fashioned. I swear they’re stuck in a time loop where it’s always 1955 and women belong in aprons.”
Her description made me grin as I pictured three hulking stereotypical Italian guys trying to control their spitfire sister.
“Bet you never wore an apron in your life,” I said.
“I hate to cook.”
“Well, I understand their feeling. If I’d had a cute little sister like you, I would’ve made damn sure I kept her safe from the scum around where I grew up.” I swung our joined hands up and pressed a kiss to the back of hers. It was soft and smelled good, like lotion or perfume. I wanted to lick it but kept my tongue to myself.
“I don’t know whether to feel complimented or totally offended by that statement,” she said. “What is it with men thinking women can’t take care of themselves or make their own decisions about who to associate with? The more things change, the more they stay exactly the same.”
“Admit it, darlin’. You women kind of like a man who looks out for you. It shows he cares.”
“Well, I think it’s a two-way street,” Gina went on. “Sometimes it’s men who need to be protected—usually from their own stupid choices—and women who need to do the protecting. I just really resent the china doll image guys like my brothers still have about women. We’re not fragile, we’re not stupid, and we don’t need bodyguards.”
I let go of her hand to slip an arm around her back. “Trust me, you’re too warm and alive and forceful to ever be confused with a china doll. I promise never to t
reat you like you’re anything less than your own woman.”
I was really good at saying what ladies wanted to hear. I could gauge their type or their mood and become the man they needed me to be—for the moment. My talent was great for getting girls in the sack, and I usually didn’t think too hard about my words. But at that moment, I actually meant everything I said. I liked Gina, admired her even for the way she took care of people. The fact that she stirred those emotions in me pretty much scared the crap out of me.
“I appreciate that.” She looked at me as if she’d glimpsed something other than the joker, which was the only card in my hand I tended to show.
The strength of her gaze was like a searchlight. It made my skin itch, and I wanted to wriggle out of the too-bright light. A glib one-liner rose to my lips, a needle to puncture the moment and let out the heavy air. But we’d reached our destination, so I swallowed it down and held the door for Gina.
We’d have dinner, a couple of drinks, and then maybe make out for a while before she had to get to work. Hell, I might even get an invitation to go with her to the old lady’s house and carry on to the next level. That was the goal I should be focusing on instead of getting all swoony about Gina’s clever eyes or sharp comebacks or the cute way she laughed a little too loud like a braying donkey.
I’m not a guy who gets smitten, I reminded myself as we followed the hostess to a table and I pulled out Gina’s chair.
*
Gina
Well, damn, I thought as Micah pulled out my chair, which I had to admit I liked even though it went against every feminist principle I’d just stated. The guy is making it very hard for me not to like him.
But that’s what players do, isn’t it? Smother a woman with sweet talk and charming manners and overwhelming smoldering glances then evaporate the moment they’ve got what they came for. Tale as old as time, as the song says. I didn’t want to be the sucker who fell for it.
So long as I was aware that was the game we were playing, I’d be okay. Even if I decided to throw aside caution and give in to what my body desperately clamored for, I would at least be entering open-eyed, expecting Micah’s inevitable disappearing act. It wasn’t as if I didn’t know who he was.
“Frowning again,” Micah said as he sat across from me at the table. “This place isn’t that bad, is it?”
“No. It’s fine.” I glanced around the ranch-themed restaurant with its typical Southwestern décor, including steer horns on the wall.
“Here, I got something that will make you laugh.” He pulled out his cell phone, found what he was looking for, and handed it to me.
“Oh. A video.” I pressed Play. “A funny animal video. Cute.” Why did people always insist on sharing clips which were never as hilarious as they claimed?
I watched the montage of animals overdubbed by voices with British accents and began to smile. Brit accents always make everything better. When a little prairie dog began to shout random obscenities, my polite smile turned into a true grin. And by the time a warthog shamefacedly tried to cover for its farting—well, hell, I’m a sucker for basic potty humor. I was howling when the video was through.
I wiped tears from my eyes as I handed the phone back to Micah.
“Thought you’d like that.”
I snorted and clapped a hand to my mouth. I glanced around at the other diners, who were looking my way. “Too loud. Sorry.” I couldn’t stop snuffling and bursting into more laughter. “It’s embarrassing. I know I sound like a zebra or something.”
“A zebra?” Micah laughed too, a hearty, deep chuckle that hit me low in the gut. “Damn, I love your laugh,” he said, twinkling at me with those blue eyes. “You hold nothing back and laugh like you really mean it.”
Underneath the table, his foot tapped against mine. I let the toe of my shoe slide alongside his and graze up his calf a ways. Then the waitress came to take our drink orders, and I dropped my foot to the floor with a thump, as if she could see or would care that we were playing footsie under the table.
“You like animals?” I asked, referencing the video.
“Hilarious ones with British accents, yeah.” He smiled, and a crease curved one cheek. Almost a true dimple but not quite. It was friggin’ adorable.
“And you like dinosaurs,” I teased. “Leah mentioned that’s why you named your bar The Raptor’s Roost.”
The crease disappeared as his lips tightened. “J.D. told her that?”
“I suppose so. Why? Is it a secret?” The abrupt change in his mood was mystifying and intriguing.
“Naw.” He straightened his shoulders and shook his head, tossing off whatever bothered him. “It’s not a big deal. I was pretty obsessed with dinosaurs as a kid, like for a really long time. So I thought it’d be…a fun name for the bar.”
“You should have raptors hanging from the ceiling.” I kept my tone light, though I was dying to know why the mention of the dinosaurs had affected him so visibly.
“Yeah, I don’t think my regulars would like that kind of décor.” He picked up a menu and opened it. “You know what you want to eat?”
“Honestly, I’m not really hungry at all,” I admitted. “I just had something a little while ago.”
“Me either.” He closed the menu and set it down, rested a hand on it, and tapped his fingers. “Just drinks, then? We could go in the bar and play a game of pool.”
“Sure. You looking to get trounced again?” I referred to the beating I’d given him on our first date. “If you’re up for it, I’m willing to take your money.”
He bent low over the table and beckoned me closer with a crook of his finger. I leaned toward him, and he whispered, “I let you win last time. I wanted you to feel good about yourself.”
“Oh, is that so? Well, why don’t you give me your A game this time, and then we’ll see if you’re as good as you think you are. I got twenty bucks says I whip you again.”
“You’re on. But I have better stakes than that in mind. If I win, I win you. Whatever I choose to do with you for an entire evening.”
My mouth went dry and heat rushed through me like a freight train. Those eyes. Those hands. That mouth. I wanted to know exactly how he would use them for a whole evening.
“And if I win?” I asked as flippantly as if my pussy weren’t clenching like a fist.
“You win me. Whatever you want to do with me for a night.”
So then I’d be a winner either way.
“You’re on,” I said. “Two out of three games for the win. Just don’t forget, I have three brothers who taught me a helluva lot about how to shoot pool.”
Chapter Seven
Micah
I broke with a shot that scattered the balls like bullets over the green felt. The fifteen landed in a corner pocket, the nine dropped into a side, and the cue ball set up nicely for my next shot. Within three moves, I’d sunk four stripes, putting Gina on the defensive. I looked at her and smiled as I set up for my next shot.
She gave me a not impressed face and shrugged, one of her well-curved hips cocked as she leaned against her cue. The stance made her chest thrust out a little. Distracted by her body, I lost focus and missed my next shot.
Gina scoped the table like a tiger hunting quarry, stalking around, dropping low to check angles before making her choice. I couldn’t take my eyes off her sensual movements. The way she handled her cue drove me wild and made my cock grow hard. When she bent over to take her shot and her rear jutted out, I swallowed and discreetly adjusted my growing erection.
I took a sip of whiskey and forced my gaze to the table instead of Gina’s very fine ass. She dropped the two, then the four with a neat backspin that saved the cue ball from dropping in the pocket, but set up a very difficult shot.
She stepped back from the table to assess. Her lips pursed, and mine ached to seize a kiss from them.
“Got yourself in a bit of a bind,” I said.
“Maybe.” She shot me a look. “You think I can’t make it. Want
to bet on that?”
Having played the game with her before, I actually had every reason to believe she could make the shot. I’d known going into this she might beat my ass, but it was a fun wager and I had nothing to lose by playing the game.
I nodded, agreeing to the side bet. “What do you have in mind?”
“I make this shot, and you have to answer a question. Truthfully. No joking around.”
Suddenly, I didn’t want to play anymore, but I’d already agreed and didn’t want to wuss out—anyway, I could always lie if her question was too personal. “Okay.”
Gina lowered herself to the table, her back straight, hands holding her stick like a pro. She drew back and pushed forward with the cue a couple of times, testing the pattern, and then she hit a bank shot that sent ball seven into a pocket.
“Beautiful,” I complimented her. “That was a gorgeous shot.”
She straightened, blew the tip of her cue to suggest it was on fire, and asked me her question. “What’s your middle name?”
I couldn’t believe she was letting me off so easy. “Gage. Micah Gage Wyatt,” I answered promptly. “What’s yours?”
She smiled. “You’ll have to win the right to ask me that.”
Hah! I was going to ask her a helluva lot more interesting things than that on my next shot.
Gina cleared another couple of balls, and I began to sweat. She was up one and showed no signs of stopping. At this rate, she’d clear the table before I got the chance to play again. No use thinking I’d been hustled, because she’d told me how good she was.
Luckily, her next shot wouldn’t be easy. My balls blocked all access to hers. She’d have to make an insane maneuver to get to any of them.
She stood for a few moments regarding the table, took a sip of her drink, then looked at me. “Another question for a shot?”
“Sure. Why not?”
I watched with fascination as she set herself up, gave a short, sharp tap to the cue that made it leap a stripe before hitting her five into a corner.
