When he was gone, Alice looked at Maggie. “He wants into your pants.”
“Because he offered me lunch?”
“Yeah, I think you should go for it. He’s rich and he’s hot. And rich. Which always trumps hot. My boyfriend’s rich. Or his family is.” Some of her perpetual anger made room for that hurt again. “Unfortunately he’s also a dick.”
Maggie squeezed her hand in sympathy. “Neither hot nor rich are important criteria for me.”
Alice seemed baffled by this. “What’s more important than rich?”
Maggie sighed. “Scott’s my type.”
“The bastard.”
“No, I mean…I’m trying a new thing. I’m going for the opposite of my type. I’m going for Mr. Wrong.”
Alice put down her sandwich. “Okay, this is interesting. Go on.”
“It’s my sister’s idea. She made me promise that my Christmas present to her would be me ignoring all the Mr. Rights and going for Mr. Wrong.”
“So have you found him yet?”
Maggie hesitated, and Alice pounced with glee. “You have, haven’t you?” She grinned. “Who is he, that geek in accounting—what’s his name, the one who actually carries pencils and pens and a calculator in his shirt pocket?”
“Alan, and he’s a great guy, but no. He’s not a Mr. Wrong, he’s…” Her own type. The overeducated thinker, nice but distracted, and to be honest, a little aloof. She wanted passion, she wanted aggression, she wanted…wild sex.
Oh, God, it was true. She wanted wild sex from her Mr. Wrong. “I’m not really ready to share.”
Alice sighed and packed up the trash from lunch. “Fine. It’s none of my business and it’s going to end badly anyway, these things always do.”
“Alice—”
“I have to go. It’s time to get filing. Hey, maybe I’ll learn something.”
Maggie got back to work. At the end of the day, she closed up and left her lab. The place was completely void of Data Tech employees, which was typical of Christmas week. Everyone wanted to rush home to their families.
Their significant others.
She sighed again and kept walking, trying not to notice the boughs of holly, the lights…the noise of the construction workers. Two of them were mumbling about the long night ahead and their looming deadline, and she wondered if their boss was still in the building. Maybe like her boss, Jacob had deserted his workers. Maybe he was home drinking eggnog with his friends, enjoying the holiday; maybe he was on a date, which for some reason tightened a knot in her gut and made her head hurt. She rubbed her forehead and—
And tripped over an open tool box, hitting the floor on all fours. Her briefcase went flying, and the pen she’d forgotten she had behind her ear skittered across the floor. “Dammit.”
“So much for watching where you’re going.”
Accompanying this most annoying statement, two big, warm hands gripped her waist and hoisted her up. When she tilted her head back, her gaze collided with a set of dark brown eyes. Terrific. Now he showed up. She bent to look at her burning knees, which were both skinned good and already starting to bleed. “Dammit.”
“You said that.” Jacob crouched down, seeming big and bad and just a little irritated. He had drywall dust and sawdust all over him, and was hot and sweaty, and clearly not exactly thrilled at the interruption. He picked up all her things, easily tucking them beneath one arm. “Shit, you’re bleeding,” he said, looking at the trickle running down her calf. “Tommy, bring me a clean rag!”
“It’s okay.” She sucked in a painful breath. Liar, liar…
But she smiled into his solemn eyes as her heart kicked hard. “The human heart can create enough pressure to squirt blood thirty feet, so this is nothing, relatively speaking.” Even if her knees were on fire…“I’m fine,” she said, and stood up.
He straightened, too, and she suddenly became aware of exactly how close they were. Inches apart, which was waaaay closer than they’d ever been. Someone, presumably Tommy, tossed him a rag, which he caught over her head and handed to her.
“Thanks.” She hadn’t skinned her knees in years and she didn’t remember it hurting this bad. She dabbed at her knees and hissed out a breath. “You don’t by any chance have a Band-Aid? Or two?”
“Sure do.” He led her down the hall, past the elevators. The building was in a U-shape, curved around a courtyard six stories below. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched him walk, his broad shoulders stretching the seams of his shirt, his Levi’s lovingly cupping a most drool-worthy butt.
Odd to be so attracted to a Mr. Wrong, but her body was humming again in spite of her knees. He hadn’t gotten himself a haircut, and the dark strands of his hair looked soft and silky. He hadn’t shaved that morning, and maybe not yesterday morning either, and that growth didn’t look soft and silky at all. It would be rough against her skin, which for some reason, gave her a little shiver. “I was wondering…” If I could ask you to do me.
Still walking, he glanced over at her. His jaw was square, his mouth generous, but it was his eyes that held her. They were fathomless, and in those swirling depths was a mix of emotions with a barely restrained impatience leading the pack. He was busy, needing to get back to work, and at the knowledge, her nerve packed up and went on vacation. “Never mind.”
Two years without sex, her good parts whined….
They turned a corner, tight with stacks of boxes. “Watch where you’re going,” Jacob reminded her.
Right. Watch where she was going instead of watching him and daydreaming. Time to stop daydreaming! “Yes, well, in my defense, I rarely do watch where I’m going.”
“And we’ve got a mess all around you, I know. But your boss promised he’d give you all this week off so we’d have the empty building to ourselves. Then he didn’t.”
“Tim’s a good guy, but he’s tight with his money, so tight he squeaks when he walks.” She smiled when he laughed. He had a good laugh. “He’s never given us a week off.”
“We’re attempting to not miss our deadline. Some of us have flights to catch out of here tomorrow, if we finish.”
“You’ll finish.”
He looked a little surprised, and a little amused. “How do you know?”
She was doing her best not to limp. No limping in front of the cute guy from high school—but she wanted to. “In high school, you finished everything you started, even when it was hard. Basketball, chemistry…” The 36-D blonde in that empty classroom… God, she’d been so jealous of that girl. “You just seem like a guy who still finishes what he starts.”
His eyes heated, and oh, Lord, so did her body, but had she really just said he looked like a guy who finished what he started? Why didn’t she just strip down right here and ask him to finish her? “Where are you flying out to?” she asked instead, desperate for a subject change. “New Orleans?”
“You remember.”
She remembered everything about him, but gave a slight shrug. Playing it cool.
“My mom lost her house in Katrina,” he said. “She’s in a new place now and we’re all meeting there for Christmas.”
“Sounds lovely.” She was happy for him, but wistful for herself. Yes, she had Janie, but she missed having her mom, too.
Jacob stopped at an empty lab on the far side of the building, which he and his crew used as an office and for tool storage. Knees on fire, Maggie sat on a chair while he dug into a large toolbox and came up with a first-aid kit.
“Here’s some antiseptic spray,” he said. “It’ll take out the sting. Pull up your skirt.”
No can do. Not when she’d just remembered she hadn’t shaved her legs. “I’ll do it.” She held out her hand for the spray, which she shoved beneath her skirt, gave a cursory spritz and gritted her teeth. “All better.”
“Maggie, I can see the blood dripping down your calves. This is my fault, so let me see.”
“I’m good.”
With a sigh, he reached for the hem of her skirt
himself.
3
J acob’s fingers brushed Maggie’s skirt, and suddenly he wasn’t thinking about her knees but other things altogether, until Maggie put her hands over his, flashing a quick and definitely fake smile. “I just remembered. I have my own Band-Aids.”
He pushed a smile of his own, one that usually got him a lot more than a peek at an injured knee. “Maggie, it’s just your knees.”
“It’s not my knees I’m worried about.”
She was blushing. Was she for real? He had a million other things to do, and yet he was crouched before her watching her most mesmerizing face. She was the ultimate science geek fantasy, if one was into that sort of thing. And apparently, given his pheromone level whenever she got within sight, he was. Her hair was still piled on top of her head, her lips fully glossed, and that smoking body covered up with her coat. Her killer eyes were magnified behind her lab glasses, which she’d clearly forgotten to take off. She’d put the pen behind her ear again.
She flashed another fake smile and rose, then winced and sat back down. “Honestly, it’s not hurting at all.”
“God, you are such a liar.” He shuffled through the kit. “Damn, I don’t have Band-Aids. I can’t believe it. Joe must have used them all last week when he staple-gunned his finger to the ceiling. The spray should help, though. Did you get a lot of it? Come on, let me see.”
“Can’t.”
“Why not? You have ugly knees?”
She rolled her eyes. “If you must know, I didn’t shave my legs.”
“Jesus, really? I’ll call the fashion police, stat.”
She wasn’t amused at his grin. “It’s not funny. I haven’t been as diligent lately since I’m not dating.”
He sat back on his heels, fascinated by this, by her. “So you only shave your legs for a date?”
“Well, it’s a time sink otherwise, and—Never mind.” She lifted her chin. “My point is, I can’t show you my legs if I haven’t shaved them.”
“Maggie, I don’t care.”
With a look that said she was prepared for his disgust, she finally pulled her skirt up past her knees.
His smile caught in his throat. Disgust was the last thing he felt. She was definitely wearing silk, which had torn and snagged at both knees, but that wasn’t what caught his interest and held it. Nope, that honor went to the fact that her silk stopped at mid-thigh, or one did; the other had sagged down just above her bloody knee, held there by what appeared to be an inch-wide strip of stretchy lace.
If she’d been this sexy in high school, he’d been blind. He tried to control himself, but suddenly all he could think about was what she’d look like in that silk and her white lab coat and nothing else.
As if she could see his wicked, dirty little thoughts, she let out a sound that managed to convey what she thought of him, and snatched the antiseptic herself. “I got this.”
“Okay.” He straightened and jammed his hands in his pockets, waiting for her to deal with it, letting out a slow, long breath, practicing some multiplication problems in his head…anything to make sure his brain didn’t focus in on those sexy as hell thigh-highs. But she slowly rolled the stocking down, past the scraped knee, and—
“Don’t look!”
“I’m not.”
“You are so.”
Yeah, he was.
“What, you’ve never seen a clumsy woman tear her stockings before?”
“I’ve never seen a beautiful woman so unaware of herself before.”
Her gaze snapped up to his, and he let her look her fill, which she did with a wary hunger that quite frankly turned him on more than the stockings, more than any woman had in a long time.
“So I have a little thing for lingerie,” she said defensively, and sprayed her knees again. “And dammit, ouch.”
He put a hand on her thigh, bent, and blew on the scrapes.
She gasped.
Nope, he wasn’t alone in this odd and inexplicable attraction. “Maggie?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re crazy if you think I have a problem with your lingerie.”
“It’s not that I’m crazy. Although in general, women are thirty-seven percent more likely to need a psychiatrist.”
That made him smile. “You know some interesting things.”
“I know, it’s odd. I’m…odd. I dress in lab coats every day and I wear glasses, and my hair—Well, just never mind about my hair. I know what I look like. Wearing sexy underwear gives me the illusion of being sexy, at least in my own mind.”
He took in her slightly disheveled, sexy-as-hell appearance and shook his head. “Hate to argue with someone thirty-seven percent more likely to need professional help, but there’s no illusion here. You are sexy as hell.”
She blushed beet red. “And not that it’s any of your business, but the thigh-highs are far better for the female body anyway, and—” She broke off when he slipped his hand around the back of one calf and lifted her leg enough to get a good look at her trashed knees.
“And…?” he prompted, when she didn’t finish.
“And…” She slid her eyes to his hand on her. “I lost my train of thought.”
“You were talking about your lingerie fetish.”
She pushed him back a step. “It’s not a fetish!”
“Okay.”
“It’s not!” She shook her head and let out a breath. “Oh, forget it.” She thrust the antiseptic spray at him and got up. As she straightened her legs, she sucked in another breath.
“Still hurt?”
“It’s just scraped knees.” She shoved her nose up into nose-bleed heights. “I’ll be fine.” She put a hand to his chest to push him out of her way, then frowned down at her hand.
“Yeah,” he said, feeling the pull at the touch. “Quite a punch, huh?”
“What’s quite a punch?”
“The chemistry. Our chemistry. Fitting, I think, since chemistry is where we first met.”
She paused. “You think we have chemistry?”
“I guess it could be static electricity.”
She choked out a laugh, looking down at her fingers, still spread over his chest. “Do you remember me catching you in that empty classroom with that girl?”
He went blank a moment, then grimaced. “Oh, shit. Yeah. Look, in my defense, I was an idiot back then.”
She limped to the window, which looked over the courtyard, and farther, back to her own lab. “Hey, my light’s on,” she said with surprise. “I didn’t leave my light on.”
“Maybe you forgot.”
“No. I shut down my laptop, locked my files, filled my briefcase with everything I need to work at home tonight, and then shut off my light. Like I do every single night.”
“It happens.”
“Not to me.” She took a hobbling step toward the door, and he sighed. “Give me your keys. I’ll run back and flip it off for you.”
She hugged her keys to her chest. “That would be against the rules.”
“And you always follow the rules. Even if your gut tells you otherwise.”
“Well, yes.”
“Doing my homework for me was against the rules.”
“I didn’t look at it like that.” She sagged a little. “I was trying to help you, and…”
“And?”
“And I had a crush on you. Which you had to know.”
He paused, then let out a breath. “Yeah, but like I said, I was an idiot back then.”
“No, I think you’re onto something. Not about breaking the rules, but about following your gut. I need to do that for this situation.” She looked very determined. “Follow my gut.”
“Which situation?”
She hesitated.
“Tell me.”
“You’re very different,” she said. “Direct.”
“Saves a lot of time. Save time, Maggie.”
“Okay, if you must know, I’m determined to need to shave my legs more often. How’s that for direct? But n
ot for my usual Mr. Right, because my usual Mr. Right always turns out to be Mr. Wrong. Using reverse psychology, when I shave my legs, it’s going to be for a Mr. Wrong, and a night I won’t easily forget. One night, and then we both just walk away. Do you understand?”
He blinked. “You need a razor.”
With a frustrated sound, she walked out of the lab. He followed her limping form back down the hallway. “At least let me give you a lift.”
“No, I’m good.”
He watched her hobble another moment, then grabbed her, and turning his back to her, bent at the knees and hoisted her up.
“Hey—”
“Just a piggyback, relax.” Which he realized was going to be next to impossible for the woman who probably never relaxed, just as she never broke the rules.
“Don’t touch my legs.”
How did a woman like this even have sex? “Hold on,” he commanded, locking her hands together across his chest.
“Oh, God.”
Yeah. If their accidental touch had set off sparks, there was a fire blazing now that she had her breasts smashed to his back and her legs around his waist. He lowered his hands to her thighs to hold her up. Her skirt was long and gauzy, and stretchy enough that she wasn’t flashing anyone behind him. Her modesty was perfectly intact, except for the fact that her crotch was pressed against his lower back, but he decided not to mention that.
But he felt it, felt the heat of her, and suddenly he needed to do some relaxing of his own, especially when he spread his fingers to touch as much of her as he could and she shivered, pressing her forehead to his shoulder.
He understood. But it was one thing to fantasize about the pretty scientist geek, and another entirely to think about doing more than just fantasizing.
As he strode with her down the hallway, a few of his men gave him a second look, some even taking a third and fourth look. No one said a word, though, as he carried her, trying not to enjoy the feel of her legs hugging his hips, her breasts up against his back, and utterly failing as he took her past the offending tool box and to her closed lab.
Which was locked up tighter than a drum.
To All a Good Night Page 12
