Kane tried to catch her eye, but she avoided him and seemed to flounce on her return to The Beard. So he stared at her ass, appreciating each twitch and decided it served her right for that little display of temper.
She was mad at him.
Well, he was mad at her, too.
Because…why?
He threw metaphorical cold water on himself and sat, stony, as she continued to exhibit signs of having the time of her life. Good for her.
How much time passed, he couldn’t say, but she added Red Bandanna and Droopy Mustache to her dance card. She drank a third beer.
Not that Kane was counting.
Finally, he noticed her in intense conversation with The Beard, even as she snuck a few looks at Kane. They should have come up with that signal he’d mentioned. He’d eat his kayak if that biker wasn’t angling for some alone time with the ethereal blonde.
When she got up and headed toward him he knew he was right.
Faking a calm he should feel, he sipped at his beer and let her make the opening salvo. Stopping in front of him, she licked her lips. “So…” Her gaze sought her feet.
He broke the awkward silence, unable to extend her discomfort. “Hey, glad to see you’re enjoying yourself. You heading out?” Panic iced his gut as he thought about what to do if she said yes. Insist on taking a photo of the guy’s ID? Insist on going along? Insist she be manacled to Kane’s side?
“We’re thinking about going to another bar Deuce knows of.”
“Right.” As she hesitated, he gave her a sharper look. “Is that what you want to do?”
“Uh…” She glanced over her shoulder. “Yes?”
Fuck. He was no expert at figuring out women, but something wasn’t sitting right with him. “You danced with your sweaty biker. That’s enough anti-Goody progress for one night.”
She bit her lip, clearly uncertain.
“Or not, baby. Whatever you want.” Baby again, man, he was so fucked.
“Deuce seems very nice.” Her hands slicked down the sides of her jeans. “It’s just a short trip to another bar.”
“Sure.” Then Kane reached into his pocket, so fucking calm. “But take this, in case.” He pressed the foil packet into her palm.
She stared at the condom.
Kane didn’t know what to think when her fingers closed over it. Then she turned and walked back toward The Beard—or Deuce. Good God, of course he called himself Deuce.
But it’s just what she wants, Kane reminded himself. Dance with a biker had always been a euphemism, he’d known that. It’s why he’d flashed the fucking condom, after all.
The Beard and his crew rose from their table. Kane expected them to head for the door, Audra in tow, but instead they parted ways. The bikers left. The blonde headed for the bathroom.
A few minutes later she was at Kane’s side again, and she hopped onto the stool that had been hers at first. The one beside him.
Her hand slid the condom packet in his direction. He pocketed it without a word.
“Thank you,” she said. “I…I owe you.”
“You do,” he said, his voice grim because he despised the relief flooding him. “And payback starts tomorrow, ten a.m.”
He had someplace to go the next day, and with that list burning a hole in her metaphorical pocket, she was a danger to herself and others. Okay, maybe herself and him, but no way was he leaving her alone.
Chapter 6
Kane glanced over at Audra, who sat in the passenger seat of his vehicle—the Jag this time, not his truck—quiet in a way he did not like. “What’s going on?” he asked. They’d been driving for forty-five minutes and she’d not said a word. “You’re too quiet.”
She didn’t turn her head his way, only continued looking out the windshield, her eyes heavy-lidded. “Maybe I’m not a morning person.”
He snorted. “You admit to the pleaser gene. Anybody with even a whisper of a pleaser gene is annoyingly cheerful in the morning. I know this because both my sisters can out-shine the sun even before an ounce of caffeine. Makes a man want to strangle them.”
“I haven’t met your sisters,” she said. “I’d like to.”
“Don’t try to change the subject. Something’s bothering you.” He cleared his throat. “Up all night dreaming of your sweaty biker?”
She didn’t answer. Shit. Maybe he’d manipulated the situation last night by handing over that condom. Maybe the guy’s intention had been that simple drink off-site, not an opportunity to nail her fine ass. She could have been perfectly fine hanging out at another bar while squelching her goody-goody side for a couple more hours.
Glancing at her profile and its perfect, clean lines, he knew that thought to be a lie. His gaze ran over her, from the top of her blonde head, to the swell of her lower lip, along her navy-and-white striped dress, all the way to her flat sandals. A tan belt ran twice around her slender waist and when she crossed her legs the hemline rode up to reveal inches of smooth thigh.
The Beard definitely had intended to nail Audra’s fine ass.
“Look…” he began.
“I don’t know why I agreed to this,” she said over him, her pretty mouth setting in a mutinous line that he figured he shouldn’t dare call a pout and live to tell about it. “Did you put something in my beer last night?”
He just looked at her.
Her eyes cut to him and she flushed. “I’m in a bad mood. Sorry.”
“You agreed to this because I promised we could knock off another couple of items from your list. You’re in a bad mood because you need breakfast.” He steered toward the nearest exit and they were silent again until they seated themselves at a booth in the small diner he’d found.
She perked up after looking at the menu.
He loved a woman who would eat. “Baby,” he said, smiling, about to share that with her, then heard that word in his head and felt the curve of his lips. Shit. Why did he keep calling her that? Why did she keep making him smile?
“Hmm?” she asked, her focus fixed on the food offerings.
“Nothing,” he muttered, holding up his own menu as a barrier between them.
Soon they’d ordered and there was nothing to hide behind unless the table settings and two ice waters counted. She picked up her glass, held it aloft. “Cheers,” she said, and moved it to tap the edge of his.
“Christ, no,” he said, sliding his away and out of reach. “That’s bad luck.”
Her blues rounded. “What is?”
“Toasting with water can bring about death by drowning…of you or the person you’re toasting.”
She looked amused. “You don’t believe that.”
“No sense pressing your good fortune though,” he said, prevaricating. “Not when we’re going to be around water all day.”
“Ah, the mysterious task at hand. Are you going to tell me about it now? And how it leads to ticking off items on my list?”
“I’m not taking you to a tattoo parlor, that’s for sure,” he said.
“It’s on the list,” she protested. “I want to get a tattoo.”
“Not on my watch,” he told her, thinking of all that smooth, soft skin. “Too common, and with your tendencies you’d end up with a butterfly on your shoulder or a teddy bear on your ankle. You’d hate it next week.”
Her expression turned mutinous.
He pretended some serious consideration. “I’d take you to get a piercing, though.”
She squeaked and he stifled a laugh. “A piercing?” she repeated.
“Mm.” Kane nodded, trying to look sincere. “I promise thorough and attentive aftercare.”
Unfortunately, the food arrived just then and she applied her attention to her plate instead of expressing her appalled reaction to his proposal. He stifled another laugh anyway.
Back on the road post-breakfast, she pressed her nose to the window and took in the view as they drove northward on the 101—scrub and mountain, sand and ocean. “How far are we going?”
&nbs
p; “Not much longer,” he said, deciding he’d squeezed what cooperation from her he could with secrecy. “It’s not all that interesting, I confess. I have to check out this property that we recently acquired and determine if it’s worth remodeling for corporate events or perhaps for a bed and breakfast.”
“I don’t know anything about that kind of thing.”
He shrugged. “Maybe I just wanted the company. And there’s a pool, so you can put a check by skinny dipping.”
“I didn’t bring a swimsuit—oh, yeah. Skinny dipping.” Her gaze darted away from his.
“There’s also an infamous nude beach adjacent to an equally infamous surf break. Isn’t strolling naked along the sand on your list too?”
She made a half-smothered noise of agreement.
“You’re quite fixated on shedding your clothes, aren’t you?”
Now she gave him a pointed look and he grinned. “Okay, maybe as much as I’m fixated on you shedding your clothes.”
Laughing, she slapped his thigh and the silence became quite companionable as they made their way to 14372 Shore Road.
“Oh,” Audra said, as they pulled up to the residence, with its weatherworn shake siding and bright white trim. It was a rambler of a place, with a four-car garage and a sprawling one-story structure that led to two stories that seemed part of the ocean bluff. Steps of railroad ties led around a garden and down to the beach.
The front door was the blue of Audra’s eyes.
Digging out keys from his pocket, he let them both inside. Her head swiveled as she took in the sunlit space, with its wide windows and ocean views, signs of rehabilitation in the drop cloths and cans of paint. “Decisions have already been made?” she asked, nodding to them.
“I think the previous owners got started and then they had a change of plans.” His and Audra’s footsteps echoed as they wandered about the other large rooms, including a farmhouse-style kitchen with doors leading onto a wide deck overlooking the ocean. Bathroom and bedrooms were in the two-story part of the structure on the other side of the living area, five generous bedrooms each with its own en suite.
Kane considered. The separation between lounging areas and sleeping areas would work fine for any purpose, really, and the layout used the property boundaries to their best advantage. But if he didn’t stay on with the Hathaway corporation, it wouldn’t be his final decision. They retraced their steps until they were in the room adjacent to the kitchen, a place perfect for several couches and a big-screen TV.
“It’s very home-like,” Audra said, as he spied something disturbing in the small den on the other side of the kitchen. Swift steps took him there and he immediately lifted one of two mirrors mounted on opposing walls.
Feeling eyes on him, he glanced over his shoulder. “Mirrors facing each other create a doorway for the devil.”
Audra’s brows rose toward her hairline.
“Or so I’ve heard,” he said, setting the one he’d removed carefully against the wall, glass side in. To prevent her voicing the question he sensed on the tip of her tongue, he swiftly moved past her, with an inspired distraction in mind.
“This way,” he called out, back in the first space they’d explored, with its paint, brushes, and drop cloths. He pried open the top of one can. “You’ve got some work to do, baby.”
Gah. Baby.
The tap-tap-tap of her feet told him she obeyed.
Shit, he had to get that word out of his head too. But it was just so easy to remember soft, yielding Audra, the gratifying manner in which she aligned herself with his body, their flesh pressing, their hearts beating hard against each other.
“What kind of work?”
He managed to cool his blood and turn around. “Graffiti, right? That’s on the list.” Nodding to the paint and brushes, he gave her a smile. “Have at it.”
Her head tilted as she looked at him. Her own smile toyed with her mouth and he thought of kissing her again, tasting her softness and sweetness.
And cleverness, he decided a few moments later, as she began to apply white paint to the soft gray wall and he guessed where she was going with her dips and swirls. “I’m no artist,” she warned, “and I’m not sure this really qualifies as tagging, but…”
Sometimes you have to settle for the next best thing.
The words floated between them, unspoken, and he knew they were both thinking of kissing again. Kissing each other.
Finally, Audra stepped back. “Why?” he asked.
“It seems to suit the house.”
And suit her? Because she’d drawn across the wall a family, like those decals people put on their rear car windows, stick figures of white. A father, mother, three kids, a dog, a cat. He could see it, well, maybe not Audra having something like that on her back windshield, but he could see her with that family. The husband, the children, the pets.
What she’d likely been hoping for when she agreed to marry the fucker who’d rejected her. What she’d never get with a man like Kane.
“Like it?” she asked now.
He stepped over to take the brush from her hand and moved to the wall, added his own mark after hers.
Her quick, in-drawn breath was audible. “How did you know I’ve always wanted a turtle?”
Because of course Audra would always have wanted a turtle. And she’d nurture the little bugger, infusing it with a personality it did not possess because she believed in goodness and light and humanity, even when it came to cold-blooded reptiles. He set the brush down, swung around to look at her.
She was staring at him, her color rising, and that sexual awareness snapped to life between them, humming and spitting, a live thing that there was no denying. Kane swallowed a groan, and glanced back at the “graffiti” family. He cleared his throat. “Your future?”
Shrugging, she looked away. “What about you?” she said, addressing the magnificent view out the window.
There was a means with which to answer her that didn’t require words. Kane snagged the paint brush again and walked to the opposite wall. He drew a single male stick figure. Though he liked animals, he’d never had one, because his parents refused to allow him and his sisters any pets. They’d neglect to feed them, they’d been told. They’d leave them outside when it rained. Projection, of course. They’d assumed Kane, Amber, and Jessie would treat Spot or Whiskers like they did their own children.
So Kane left that white-painted singleton unattended and unaccompanied and returned the brush to its original tray. Then he looked at Audra to see that she was focused on him, her color still high. The electricity in the air still hummed.
God, he wanted to kiss her.
Fuck her until she didn’t remember what she wanted for herself besides him.
“How about a walk on the beach?” he suggested instead.
She went along with it, and he breathed deeply of the fresh air, trying to purge from his body this unwelcome desire for the exact wrong woman. More importantly, he hoped the ocean breeze purged her desire too, because her life had already been screwed by one bastard.
Their feet made hardly a dent in the thick, soft sand. The waves rushed in, good form and shoulder-height, and the surfers were out, taking advantage. Kane shaded his eyes, watching the action as wetsuited figures rode the waves. More ambled down the cliff on their way to the water, and others bellied into the white foam and then rolled off their boards to trudge up the beach to the several narrow paths leading to the coastal road.
Beside him, Audra’s foot caught on a low hillock of sand and she pitched forward, but Kane managed to catch her arm. The movement swung her into his body and Christ, there wasn’t enough cool air in the world to stop the combustion when her breasts met his chest. His fingers tightened on her flesh and she sucked in a breath, audible even over the waves.
Shit. He told himself to move back, let her go, find some flippant remark to pass off the heated moment, but instead he only stared into her eyes, losing himself in that cool blue that warmed as he watch
ed her.
Like before, she melted against him like wax.
“This isn’t going to work,” she whispered. “I don’t think this is going to work.”
“What?”
“Pretending. I’m not good at it.”
“You were Glinda the Good Witch in fourth grade. You should be good at pretending.”
“You remember about Glinda.”
I remember everything you’ve ever said. “It was only a couple days ago.”
“Right.” She swallowed. Her gaze had shifted to his mouth and he knew begging for a kiss when he saw it. Her body was trembling too, and he couldn’t stop himself from gathering her closer, his arms circling her.
Audra tipped back her head to meet his gaze. “But Glinda or no, I’m no good at ignoring this.”
He didn’t try to pretend either, by saying he didn’t understand what the “this” was she was going on about. “We’re wrong ships that just happen to be at the same place at the same time.”
Her brows lowered, and her expression turned adorably confused.
“We should make an effort to pass in the night, baby,” he explained, though he made no move to drop his arms and his hard cock stayed just inches from heaven. “It would be best if we act as if we never saw each other.”
His breath backed up in his lungs and he waited, hoping like hell she would agree, break free of his hold, and move on to the future she deserved. The one with the kids and the turtle.
“Oh, Kane,” she said, shaking her head. “I get it. You have misgivings—”
“They’re not just misgivings. It’s much more than that.” He willed her to believe him. “I’m wrong for you. Completely wrong for you.”
She sighed, leaning into him instead of pulling away. “I’m not looking for right, okay?”
He didn’t believe her. Despite her list and her idea that accomplishing the items on it would somehow alter her essential nature, she was a woman who wanted permanent, not casual. Her happy future came with all the committed-relationship, monogamous trimmings.
Me and Mr. Jones Page 8
