Burning Up

by Susan Andersen

  “Easy there,” she advised and signaled for the waitress. “Let’s get you that Perrier.”

  “Good idea. You get what I’m saying, though, right? If I were a doll I’d probably be the namby-pamby sidekick.”

  “You’re pretty hard on yourself,” Shannon commented, then narrowed her eyes. “Does this have anything to do with why men are a big freaking mystery?”

  “Nah. I always knew I’d be the sidekick doll. Still, it prob’ly doesn’t help that Gabe dumped me.”

  “He what?” Macy snapped upright, her heart pound ing. Oh, God, oh, God. She didn’t know what she felt. The “good” her longed to bitch-slap the man for hurting Grace.

  The “bad” her did a few secret handsprings and thought, He’s no longer another woman’s man. Crap. She hadn’t felt this fixated on a guy since her horrendous crush on Andrew Mayfield in high school.

  And just look at how well that had turned out.

  Obviously not sharing her conflicts, Shannon spat, “That pig.”

  “Well, see, that’s the thing,” Grace said. “He really isn’t. We had a lot of fun together, and I consider him my friend, even now. But as much as I hate to admit this, there wasn’t any spark.”

  Macy damn near blurted, “Are you serious?” Luckily her brain kicked in. Because she of all people ought to know that sexual attraction was subjective. Look how everyone thought she and Jack were an item when, as much as they enjoyed teasing each other as if it were so, they’d never even gone through a phase of feeling that way about each other.

  “Well, well,” a voice sneered. “Would you look at what the cat dragged in.”

  Macy shifted her focus beyond their table and inwardly sighed. I suppose it was too much to hope for one lousy evening without confrontation. For, as if her vagrant thought of a moment ago had summoned him, Andrew Mayfield, the author of her reputation as a tramp, strolled up to the table, trailed by what looked like the same coterie of sycophants he’d had in high school. God, things changed slowly in this town, and she had a feeling the narrowness of their minds topped the list. “Oh, goody. Asshole Andy and the Toady Team. My night is complete.”

  “Slept your way through the baseball team since you rolled into town?”

  “Not yet. But I did play a round of golf with your daddy. He said I was the son he never had.”

  Andrew’s face flushed, since everyone and their brother knew he’d been chasing his father’s approval his entire life, to mixed results. He gave her a scathing once-over, taking in her blue bobbed wig, feathered headband, single long strand of beads and fringed flapper dress. “You’re as fucking weird as ever, I see.”

  For a second she was thrust back to a time when she’d been the oddball outsider, scorned by her peers. But she shook it off, because the days when she would allow idiots make her feel like a loser were be hind her.

  And if the shaking off took several seconds longer than it should have, well, that would remain her secret. Hooking an arm over the back of her chair, she studied the man who had once taken her rejection of his sexual overtures so poorly he’d convinced an entire school she would roll onto her back for any guy who asked. “There are worse things. I could be a stone liar like you.”

  The woman at his side made indignant noises and, transferring her attention, Macy noticed for the first time that it was Dawn Thurborg, Liz Picket-Smith’s best bud. The woman glared at her as if she’d flashed her boobs at the crowd in the bar. What was it with this group? The rest of the world got that ten years had passed, but this clique still seemed stuck in the archaic attitudes forged in high school.

  Well, she’d attempted to play nice with Liz, and it hadn’t gotten her anywhere. She wasn’t wasting her breath here. “Hey there, Twilight.”

  “It’s Dawn!”

  “Oh. Sorry. You’re looking perky as ever. Let me guess. Reunion committee chair, am I right?”

  The other woman’s chin shot up. “Second chair.”

  A snort escaped her. “Not a joint position, huh?” She waved an indolent hand. “But what was I thinking? Like Liz would ever share top billing.”

  She saw resentment flash across Dawn’s face for both the truth of her statement and the fact that Macy would say it aloud where others might hear. “You are not invited,” the other woman said coldly.

  “To the reunion?” As if she had some huge burning desire to attend that to be vilified for three or four hours straight. Still, who elected Dawn the reunion monitor? And apparently she was no more capable now of turning the other cheek than she’d been in her Sugarville High days. “So the ten-year reunion is just for your friends, huh?” She gave the other woman a crooked smile. “Small party.”

  The two young women at the table next to them laughed, and one leaned back in her chair to look at her. “You can come to ours.”

  She grinned at them. “Why, thank you. I just might take you up on that.”

  Janna raised her eyebrows. “You rescinding my invitation, too, Dawn?”

  The other woman blinked but then shook her head, looking as if she wondered where Liz was when she needed her. “Um, no. You can come.”

  “Well, lucky, lucky, me.”

  Dawn nodded. “You didn’t ruin three guys’ lives.”

  Eyes narrowed, Janna shot upright in her chair. “Listen, you—”

  Macy gripped her cousin’s arm to hold her in place and leaned down until Janna met her gaze. “Let it go,” she said quietly. “That, at least, makes more sense than riding me about so-called sexual exploits from ten freaking years ago.”

  “Neither thing makes sense,” Janna said fiercely, then turned to give Andrew and Company the stink-eye. “Time for you to scoot along, Mayfield.”

  “Yes,” Shannon agreed. “You really could use a course at the Thumper School of Charm. If you can’t say anything nice, then why don’t you go find your own table where you can slam each other to your heart’s content?”

  “Stay out of this, Chunketta,” Andrew snarled. “It isn’t your fight.”

  “No, you stay out of it!” Grace surged to her feet. She swayed slightly, but bracing her hand on the tabletop she faced Mayfield like a fierce little cat. “What are you, twelve? Boy, Macy was right—you are still stuck in high school. But I’d like to know where you get off insulting my friends like that. We were sitting here minding our own business—nobody invited you to come over here and start acting like a braying ass. Your father must be so proud. In fact, forget twelve—that’s an insult to that age group. My gawd, I know nine-year-olds better-mannered than you.”

  “Is there a problem here?”

  Grace collapsed back into her seat as if she’d had her legs chopped out from under her, and Macy looked past Andrew’s group to Johnny Angelini. She didn’t respond, and neither did her friends. They all merely raised their collective brows at the Idiot Brigade.

  “No,” Andrew muttered, his cheeks flushed. “No problem. We were just leaving.” And he turned and walked away, his posse trailing behind him.

  Johnny remained where he was, looking down at them inquiringly. Maybe that was the reason Macy jumped when she heard Jack’s voice say, “What the bloody hell was that all about, luv?”

  But the shock factor of seeing her friend with the deputy was nothing to the way her heart started to hammer when Gabe strode up, a pitcher in one big fist, the handles of three mugs clutched in the other. He thumped his load down on the table, threw a long leg over the chair next to hers and dropped down, one muscular thigh wedged against her seat.

  “Excellent question,” he said. “What the hell kind of trouble have you gotten yourself into this time?”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  RAISED MALE VOICES in the pool room shouted in victory at the same time that Gabe heard an indignant “Hey!” at his own table.

  Pulling his attention from Macy, he looked past her to see Janna leaning forward to glare at him.

  “Don’t put this on Macy,” she snapped. “I’m tired of everyone automatically ass
uming she’s to blame for every little thing that happens around here.”

  “Yeah, because trouble sure as hell doesn’t follow her,” he agreed with amiable sarcasm.

  “Were you here, Gabe?” Grace demanded, and he looked across the table to find her regarding him without her usual warmth—which up until this moment not even his gently breaking up with her had managed to chill. She’d been so sweetly understanding, which was more than he’d deserved and for which he was eternally grateful.

  Yet there was something funny about her that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Then he snapped upright. Jesus. Was she trashed?

  Guilt hammered him. Only…

  If she was loaded, and it was due to him calling their relationship quits, she wasn’t letting it slow her down any.

  “We were minding our business, having a nice girls’ night,” she said in her I-mean-business teacher’s voice, “when that buffoon strolled up with his gaggle of goons and started acting like a jackass, accusing Macy of absurd sexual doings and calling Shannon a rude name.”

  Say what? A muscle ticked in his jaw. No one accused Macy of absurd sexual doings—except maybe him. He did wonder, though, what constituted absurd.

  “But Gracie here gave him a come-to-Jesus talk,” Macy said, shooting the brunette an affectionate smile. “You’re way more action figure than you give yourself credit for, girlfriend.”

  Gabe didn’t know what the hell that was supposed to mean, but he watched it paint Grace’s cheeks pink with pleasure.

  “You think so?” she demanded with patent delight.

  “Definitely,” Macy said, and Janna and Shannon chimed in their agreement

  “Oh, my. If that’s not just one of the nicest things anyone’s ever said to me—” Still smiling her enjoyment, she turned her attention back to him. “But as Janna said, Gabe, don’t put this on Macy.” She regarded him with big eyes that weren’t fully focused. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

  Beats the hell out of me. One minute he’d been sitting around shooting the breeze with Johnny and the next thing he knew he was here, sitting next to Macy, way too aware of her scent, which was heady like musk and citrusy like oranges.

  At least he was spared having to limp out an explanation. Jack grabbed a chair from another table and plunked it down next to Grace. Propping his elbow on the table, he braced his head in his hand and flashed her his rock-star smile.

  “I got tired of my own company and found Gabe and the Garda here on Miz Watson’s front porch, knockin’ back lemonade. When I discovered you birds were out having all the fun, I talked them into accompanying me on a—what did you call it, mate?”

  “A reconnaissance mission,” Johnny supplied with an unapologetic grin as he wedged his own chair between Macy’s and Janna’s. “None of us have ever been on a girls’ night before.”

  “Do you suppose that could be because it’s—hel-lo!—girls’ night?” Janna demanded.

  “That might explain it. All the same, we were curious, y’know? But not without apprehension. I mean—” he waved a hand at the three women “—all chicks, no guys. What if we get caught in the crosshairs when you decide all men are scum?”

  “Oh, trust me, deputy, that was discussed and decided years ago.”

  Gabe’s attention wandered from the conversation, his gaze drawn to Macy’s hair or wig or whatever the hell it was. The thing was blue, for God’s sake, and should have made her look ridiculous. Instead she looked edgy and exotic. Eye-catching.

  Compelling.

  Still, it bugged him, and he leaned into her space. “Blue?” he demanded, staring into her darkly made-up eyes. “What’s with you and the costumes? You’re a pretty woman—”

  “Pretty is boring,” she said.

  He blinked. “No, it’s not. Pretty’s…appealing. Nice.”

  She yawned in his face and, scowling, he leaned closer. “Why are you so compelled to play dress-up all the time?”

  Because it’s armor when the assholes are trying to drag me down. But Macy couldn’t say that aloud. So she simply gave him an insouciant smile. “Because it’s fun.”

  “Not to mention she looks cute in costume,” Jack added from across the table.

  She gave him a crooked smile. “Yes, not to mention that.” But it was as though the pull of the large man at her side was the moon and she was the damn tide. She had a near irresistible urge to turn back to him, to get in his face and make him feel as on edge as he made her. Instead, she casually leaned back in her chair and looked around until she got the waitress’s attention. Once she had it, she flashed the woman a sunny smile.

  “Another round here, please?”

  GRACE WAS HIGHLY conscious of Jack Savage at her side. Not that her awareness was a big surprise. Not only was the man hot and a celebrity, he wasn’t the least bit shy about checking her out.

  She knew darn well how she stacked up against his usual Playboy Bunny types. It didn’t prevent a shiver from snaking down her spine when he suddenly leaned closer and murmured, “Lace or sheer?”

  Politely, she turned to face him. “I’m sorry?”

  “Your knickers, luv. I was just wondering if they were lace or sheer?” He looked at her as if he had X-ray eyes. “My guess would be lace.”

  Certain she was going to stutter and not be able to stop, she was proud to instead manage a haughty, “You’d be wrong.” They’re sheer. “This conversation is so inappropriate I don’t even know where to begin.” Exciting, though. It was exhilarating not be treated like a lady for a change. “My underwear is certainly none of your business. But I’ll satisfy your curiosity just this once. They’re cotton. White. To the knee.”

  He laughed, and she had to turn away, because he made her feel so, God, just so… So.

  Either people didn’t ignore him, however, or he wasn’t one to take a hint. He leaned right back into her space and breathed, “It’s like a verbal wall-bang, isn’t it?”

  The spot deep between her legs clenched and she nearly gave herself whiplash turning her head to stare at him once again. “What?”

  He indicated Gabe and Macy with a thrust of his chin. “I can’t hear the specifics over the eejits in the back room, but if that conversation between Donovan and my friend Mace isn’t a verbal eff, I don’t know what is.”

  She knew her jaw was agape, but she couldn’t seem to do anything about it. She didn’t even glance at the subjects of this bizarre conversation, but simply stared at Jack. “You’re certifiable.”

  “No, lass. I’ve seen it when a man gets that look.” He reached out and hooked a strand of her hair behind her ear and goose bumps cropped up from the point of contact clear down to her ankles. “I imagine I get the same one when I look at you.”

  “Now I know you’re punking me!” Angry that he assumed he could just mock her with impunity, she turned away once again, leaning into the table to compliment Janna on what a nice, bright kid Tyler was. But her ire rose all the while—this time directed at herself. Because she suspected Jack had every reason to believe he could get away with toying with her. If she didn’t call him on his bull she was pretty much giving him permission to persist.

  Equally as galling was that Savage was right about the other stuff, too. The tournament or whatever was going on in the poolroom did make conversation iffy unless you were right next to the person with whom you were attempting it. And looking at Gabe and Macy, she had to admit he might have a point about them as well, damn him.

  From the little she could hear, it sounded as though they were trading their usual slings. But Gabe’s posture defined sexual awareness as he leaned in, towering over the blue-haired bombshell. And although Macy didn’t look as intense—she lounged in her chair with her usual insouciance—Grace couldn’t help but notice, even in this dim lighting, that her cheeks were stained with color.

  She felt as if she should be a little indignant—but she just couldn’t work up the steam. She and Gabe simply had better-friend-than-lover chemistry. And wa
sn’t that the sorry story of her life.

  Grace reached for her wine, only to murmur a swear word most people wouldn’t dream she even knew when her hand encountered the Perrier. Picked a helluva time to go back to your boring, sober ways, she thought sourly, even as she wondered about Gabe. Had he ever looked at her that way? And if he had, how had she failed to notice?

  Feeling Jack’s rough-tipped fingers brush her nape, she jumped, twisting toward him. She might be cursed with nice-girl manners, but the knowing slant of his mouth, that barbell piercing his flesh just beneath the curve of his eyebrow and his heavy-lidded eyes watching her as if she were a timid mouse to his swaggering cat made something inside her snap.

  She swatted his fingers away. “You think you can just make fun of me and I’ll sit here and take it? Think again, Savage. I don’t care if you are some hotshot rock star—I’m not nearly as mealy-mouthed as you seem to think I am—” occasionally, anyway “—and darned if I’ll sit here listening to you ridicule me!”

  He had the gall to shoot her a lopsided smile that displayed white, slightly crooked teeth. “Ooh, there’s a temper under that mild-mannered exterior. I like it when you get all feisty—it makes me wonder what else I’d get if I scratched that silky surface. Although, just for the record, I’m not—”

  “Excuse me,” a female voice interrupted. “But aren’t you—”

  Breaking eye contact, Grace looked up and could practically feel her heart plunge. The young woman staring down at Jack was everything she was not. Now that was Playboy material, what with the woman’s bottled red maximum-volume hair and shrink-wrap minimal clothing. A hummingbird tattoo rode the generous swell of the other female’s cleavage just above her low-cut neckline.

  “Omigawd,” the redhead breathed reverently. “It is you. Can I have your autograph?”

  “Sure thing, luv,” Jack agreed amiably. “Got a piece of paper?”

  “No, but here.” Handing him a pen, she leaned forward, running scarlet-tipped fingernails along the edge of her top before tugging it farther down her breast. “Sign this.”