by Jill Shalvis
“You’ve got work.”
He was trying to resist her, with all his might, and it gave her a wonderful, delirious sense of feminine power that she’d never felt before. He was attracted, and for whatever reason, he didn’t want to face it. But he didn’t want to hurt her, either. “You’re sweet, Kent.”
“Sweet?” A bark of hard laughter escaped him. “If you could read my thoughts when I look at you in that dress, you’d rethink that word.”
Smiling would definitely ruin the moment. “Would it be so bad if I knew what you were thinking?”
“Yes!”
“Why?”
“Because…dammit, just because!”
“There’s a good reason.”
“This is not going to happen.”
“What isn’t going to happen?” she asked innocently and he rubbed his temples and groaned.
“I mean it,” he told her. “Not happening.”
Her smile escaped then. “Okay, but-”
“No! No buts! God-” he swiped a hand over his face. “Are you going to look this way every day?
“Yep.”
He looked miserable. “This isn’t real. You do not suddenly look this…hot.”
Her smile widened and he pointed. “Stop that, stop that right now.”
“I’m just looking at you.”
“Yeah, you’re just looking at me. Like you want to eat me for breakfast. Now knock it off.” When she laughed, he glared at her. “I mean it. Be good.”
She shook her head and walked to him. “So what you’re saying is that you don’t feel anything when you look at me. Other than…friendship.”
He flattened himself to the door. “That’s right. That’s all I feel.”
On her tiptoes now, because he was very tall, she touched his rock hard jaw. “If you’re sure,” she whispered.
He groaned again, and beneath the hand she’d rested on his chest, she felt his every muscle tense. “And friends don’t…don’t touch,” he grated out.
The intercom buzzed, startling them both, and Cookie’s voice filled the air from the intercom. “Becca? Was that you that came through here a minute ago?”
Becca backed away from Kent and at the loss of her incredible body heat, he drew a careful breath.
What was happening?
“It’s me,” Becca said to the intercom, her eyes still on Kent’s.
He meant to look away, but couldn’t. He had no will left, it was busy warring between his need to grab and kiss her and run like hell.
Running seemed like a much smarter move.
“Well let me say, you look fab,” Cookie said.
“Thanks.” Becca blushed.
Kent had just enough blood left in his brain to find her embarrassment amusing. Yes, she was much more beautiful than he’d ever imagined, but that didn’t mean anything because they weren’t involved. Not at all. Not even one little bit. He cared for her, maybe more than he meant to, but he could control that.
No involvement with someone he cared about. None.
But because he did care, he waited until Cookie had clicked off the intercom and said, “Okay, come clean. What’s your next adventure?”
“Why?”
“I want you to be careful, that’s all.”
“Careful is my middle name.”
“This isn’t funny, Becca. You’re not going to a club, right? Because men are slime, trust me on this.”
“All men?”
“Most definitely all men.”
She actually looked intrigued by that but before they could discuss it, Dennis poked his head in and grinned at her. “Just wanted to tell you, I’ll pick you up at eight. Wear your dancing shoes.”
Becca frowned. “Dennis-”
The door shut again, effectively cutting off whatever she’d been about to say.
Slowly, she let out her breath.
“Slime,” Kent repeated. “Complete slime.”
THE CLUB WAS PACKED. First of all, it was a new place, and secondly, the hors d’oeuvres were on special. There was nothing the locals enjoyed more than a good deal.
Oh, and the band was hot.
That’s what the guy at the door told him. Kent reserved judgment, or attempted to as the big band sound from the forties bombarded his eardrums.
He preferred good old-fashioned rock and roll.
He had no business being here, but he’d been unable to think of anything except Becca being taken advantage of. He hoped to God she hurried up and got this adventure thing out of her system soon, because frankly it was exhausting trying to save her.
It took him a moment to adjust to the lighting, and then he wished he hadn’t. On the dance floor, in the arms of a friend he suddenly wanted to slug, was Becca. She had on one of those black, shimmery, mouth-watering, body-hugging dresses he had been drooling over just yesterday from her catalogue. Just like in the glossy pages, the spaghetti straps and scooped neck, snug body and short skirt were all systematically designed to drive a man insane with wanting.
Dennis had one hand on the small of her back, nudging her close so that there wasn’t a spec of light between their two bodies. His other hand held Becca’s as they gyrated to the music.
Becca’s face was flushed with her smile of concentration, and she nodded at whatever little secret Dennis was whispering in her ear.
Rejecting a server’s offer of a drink, Kent strode directly onto the dance floor. The music changed tempo, from lightning fast to soft and slow. Great, he thought with a groan. Make-out music.
Becca was a sitting duck.
Over her head, Dennis saw Kent coming, and winked.
With what Kent felt was a remarkable calm, he pushed his way between them.
“Kent!” Becca blinked at him in surprise. “Hello.”
“Move it,” Kent suggested to Dennis.
“You’re cutting in?” Dennis kept his hold on Becca. “But you hate to dance.”
“I. Love. It.”
Dennis laughed and shook his head. “No, you don’t. Remember last month? We took those blond twins out? Tish crushed your toe beneath her five inch heels, and you said-”
“I remember what I said,” he grated. “Now get your hands off Becca’s ass and go somewhere. Preferably somewhere far away before I decide I don’t want to pay you anymore.”
Dennis grinned. “You can’t fire me because I’m dancing with Becca.”
“How about for sexually harassing her?”
Dennis’s jaw dropped for a second, then he laughed before turning to Becca. “Are you being harassed, Becca? Sexually?”
She divided a curious glance between the two men and chewed on her full, lower lip.
A full lower lip that had on the most tasty-looking lip gloss Kent had ever seen.
“I’ve never been sexually harassed in my life,” Becca said quite seriously.
Dennis shot Kent a wide, guileless smile. “See? She’s fine. I’m fine. Now why don’t you go somewhere and be fine, too?”
Kent knew he should back off and let Becca make her own mistakes. In fact, that’s what he was going to do right this minute, and he turned away but not before he saw the flash of uncertainty on Becca’s face. Sighing, because he couldn’t very well leave now could he, and he held out a hand to her. “Do you want to dance with me?”
In a move that was both touching and terrifying, she gave him her hand in return. “Yes,” she said without hesitation, then blinked, horrified, as she turned to Dennis. “I- Oh, Dennis, I-”
With typical nonchalance, Dennis smiled and shrugged it off. “Go ahead. Dance with him. But watch out for your pretty toes, he’s got two left feet.”
“I’m sorry,” Becca whispered.
Dennis shook his head. “Don’t be, it’s just one dance.” He looked at Kent and leaned close enough so that with all the music and other conversations going on, Becca couldn’t hear him. “You’ve got it bad.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kent said.
/> “Don’t I?”
Kent grabbed Becca’s hand, moving her farther in on the dance floor. The music had changed again, and the tempo raced as fast as his thoughts.
Over the loud, drumming beat Becca asked, “What was that about?”
It was about rescuing you, dammit. “You looked like maybe you needed a break.”
Her eyes, the ones that had lit up at the sight of him only a few moments before, suddenly cooled ten degrees. “I look tired to you?”
No, not quite. She practically vibrated with life. Her hair, the shimmering color of a fawn’s coat, shone beneath the sparkling lights. Her skin glowed. There was just something about her, something that drew him, and it bewildered him because he didn’t want to feel this way.
Around them, people were dancing, swirling and rocking to the licentious, happy music. Becca stood there, a frown growing on her previously excited face.
Oh perfect, now he’d stolen her fun. “Becca-” He reached for her, but she backed away.
“No, don’t,” she said in an overly polite voice, looking like an infuriated goddess. Her dress glimmered, her lipstick beckoned him, and he wanted, quite recklessly, to nibble it right off.
“Let me get this straight,” she said over the throbbing beat. “We’re friends.”
“Yes,” he said with relief. One of them had to remember that.
“But earlier, when I touched you, you freaked.”
“Well actually, freaked is a pretty strong word.”
Her eyes glowed with some hidden emotion that made him nervous. “And you hate to dance, but for some reason you’re here, on the same day and at the same time I am.” Her foot tapped to the beat of her impatience. “Would this be a coincidence?”
“Not exactly.”
A man bumped into her from behind. She smiled when he apologized, then became serious again when she turned back to Kent. “Okay, look. I know you think this is silly, this whole new me thing.” She glanced down at her dress and shook her head. “And it’s really none of your business, but I turned thirty this year.”
Thirty had never looked so good. “You know I already know that. What different does that make?”
“Lots…I want more for myself. I want-”
“Adventure,” he said with her and she gave him a sad smile.
Again the music changed, deepened. Slowed. Helpless against the strange pull of it, and her, he stepped close, but she held up a hand to stop him. “You need to stop doing this,” she said quietly. “Stop following me, trying to save me from myself. It’s going to give me the wrong idea.”
He closed his eyes and let out a slow breath. “But I can’t get that ‘wrong idea’ out of my head.” He opened his eyes again to discover he was talking to air.
5
B ECCA STRODE DIRECTLY BACK to her table. Dennis was nowhere in sight. Still, she grabbed her purse and whirled, prepared to walk home if necessary.
But she was blocked, by none other than the man who had the singular ability to drive her crazy with the conflicting emotions of need and frustration.
Kent took in the sight of her purse slung over her shoulder and winced, even as he reached for her, putting his big, warm hands on her arms.
Now was not a particularly great time for her to feel that shock of reaction to his touch, a shock that shook her to the core.
He, too, went completely still.
A waitress stopped next to them with a tray of drinks, but when neither of them moved, she sighed with irritation and moved on.
Becca’s heart raced unnaturally. Kent was looking at her, really looking at her, with a slightly confused yet unmistakably desirous expression.
“More static?” she asked sarcastically.
“Or something,” he murmured, watching his hands on her with an intensity that made her want to melt boneless to the floor. “You look incredible.”
“It’s the lighting, and friends don’t touch, remember?”
He lifted his slumberous gaze to hers. “It’s not the lighting,” he said, ignoring her reminder.
“The dress then.”
“Well, it is an incredible dress.”
“Thanks.” She backed up so that his hands fell away from her. Definitely time to move on. “I’ll see you.”
“What? Where are you going?”
“Nowhere you need to worry about.”
He let out a breath. “You’re on your next adventure already, aren’t you? What is it?” he asked grimly, clearly bracing himself, which stirred her temper all the more.
“Obviously it bothers you greatly to even think about it, so why don’t you just let it go? I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She walked away from him, said her goodbyes to Dennis and exited into the cool night. And if she felt a strange yearning for what might have been, she firmly squelched it.
Kent Wright was not for her.
But adventure number four was, and she could walk right to it. The night was lit by a blanket of stars that dazzled her mind and boosted her spirits. The air blew chilly around her bare legs, but she welcomed the delicious scent of spring.
The town was alive with both tourists and locals, as people hustled between the eclectic mix of historical and new hotels, shops and galleries.
One block later she stood outside the sushi bar and smiled. It might seem really silly to most, but she’d eaten bland food all her life. Simple, easy dishes she could take right out of her freezer and toss into her microwave.
Never, not once, had she had the nerve to challenge her palate, though she’d thought about it.
“Raw fish? This is your grand adventure?”
Sighing, even as a secret thrill raced through her, she turned to face Kent. “You’ve been following me. What a surprise.” Without waiting for an answer, she entered the small restaurant and was immediately seated.
When Kent sat next to her, she said nothing. He didn’t order, but she more than made up for it by ordering a large sampler platter.
“Becca-” he started, but she glared at him. He lifted his hands in surrender. “I suppose you don’t want to hear that they say ten percent of all sushi can make you sick.”
“Who’s they?”
“I don’t know. They.”
“Humph.”
“They also say it’s bad for you. Rots your insides.”
She ignored him as the waitress brought her order.
“And they definitely say you ought to take it easy the first time,” he warned as she started eating.
She paused. “They say that about a lot of things?”
Tension and awareness crackled between them. Kent broke eye contact first. Telling, Becca thought, popping another bite into her mouth. She chewed slowly, absorbing the new taste.
Different, she decided as she swallowed nonchalantly because Kent was watching her so carefully. Very different. The rice part was good, but as for everything else, she wasn’t quite certain. She picked up yet another, then another. “I’m not as naive as you seem to think I am.” She licked her lips, then her fingers.
His gaze took in the motion of her tongue and she was grimly satisfied when his eyes darkened with heat. She ate two more pieces.
“Becca, do you have any idea how they get that stuff? They-”
“It’s delicious,” she said, lying only a little. Oh boy, was she ever full. But she’d ordered this huge platter and couldn’t imagine letting it all go to waste. “And I told you, you’d better be careful or I’ll get the wrong idea about all your touching concern.” Another bite before she looked at him. “Which comes from what again, exactly?”
“It’s a bit complicated.” He lifted a brow when she took yet another piece, but refrained from commenting.
“I do consider myself fairly intelligent.” She chewed carefully now, thinking that last piece might have been a mistake. Her stomach rolled. “Try me.”
“You’re not going to like it.”
Definitely a mistake, that last one had been. She pressed a hand t
o her grumbling belly. “Why is that?” she managed to ask, thankfully sounding perfectly normal.
His jaw clenched again. “Truth?”
“Preferably.”
“Okay then, I-”
Uh-oh. Her stomach roiled again, violently, and despite desperately wanting to hear what Kent said, she had no choice but to leap up and run for the door, her hand over her mouth.
Not here, oh God, not here. Please don’t let me be sick all over this nice carpeting, in front of the sexiest man she’d ever not wanted to be with.
“Becca, here.” With calm urgency, Kent pulled her out the door.
“Go away,” she said miserably, frantically pushing at him. She’d just had to have that last bite, she just couldn’t resist.
The pain in her stomach doubled her over, grayed her vision.
Kent whipped her around the corner of the building to the alley, by the dumpster.
She didn’t quite make it that far. But at least she didn’t throw up in front of him.
She threw up on him.
SHE WAS SITTING on the salon steps the next morning, wallowing in humiliation, when Summer came bouncing up.
At the sight of her sister’s troubled face, Summer stopped short, carefully popped the bubble she’d been making with her gum and sucked it in her mouth. “Uh-oh.”
“Tell me again why I wanted this makeover?” Becca demanded. “Was it so I could make a fool of myself over and over?”
“I take it you’ve done just that?” Summer jingled her keys until she found the one she needed. Eyeing her sister up and down as she let them in, she said with disgust, “I thought we tossed out all your jeans and T-shirts.”
Becca lifted a shoulder. “Little problem came up. I still had the clothes in my car and last night… Well, let’s just say I just dropped them all off at the dry cleaners.”
They entered the silent, dark saloon. Summer flipped on the lights and music, and immediately the place took on that warm, comfy air that went a long way toward calming Becca’s nerves.
Summer pushed her into one of the chairs. “You can borrow something of mine, soon as I fix that whirlwind hair. What did you do, sleep in a wind tunnel?”
“I didn’t sleep.” Miserable, she groaned. “I was with Kent last night.”
