Bad Behavior

by Kristin Hardy

  “Poor little Tinkerbell,” Cilla said, leaning over to take Delaney’s empty glass. “Will another margarita ease the pain?”

  Delaney eyed a strapping, dark-haired man as he walked by, shirtless in his blue-and-yellow swim trunks. “Several more margaritas and maybe a naked massage from Mr. Hunka Hunka Burnin’ Love over there.”

  “I think he’s part of the entertainment staff,” Paige observed as they all tipped their sunglasses down to watch him.

  “Heaven knows I need entertaining,” Delaney said.

  “YOU’RE THINKING ABOUT it, aren’t you?” Erik asked.

  Dom looked over at him. “Who, me?”

  “Yeah, you. You’re making that face.”

  They sat in an open-sided beach bar near the ferry dock in Playa del Carmen. The thatch of the roof rustled in the light offshore breeze. At the back, a band was milling around on a low stage hung with blue, scarlet and orange batiked cloth. On the horizon, the lights of Cozumel twinkled in the darkness.

  Dom picked up the glass of tequila that the bartender slid across to him. “You really need to talk to someone about this paranoia you’ve got.”

  Eric put a pinch of salt on the web between his forefinger and thumb. “Yeah, well, you obviously—”

  “Need to teach you how to drink quality tequila,” Dom interrupted.

  “What’s wrong with the way I drink tequila?” Eric asked, lifting his shot glass.

  Dom gave him a pitying look. “Tequila’s like whiskey. The cheap stuff will strip the enamel from your teeth, which is where the salt and lime come in. Añejo tequila like this, though…” He swirled a sip around in his mouth and swallowed. “Slides down like twenty-year-old bourbon.”

  Eric eyed him. “This wouldn’t be your idea of a joke, right? Watch me take a drink and have steam come out my ears?”

  Dom smiled. “You lawyers are too suspicious.”

  “You start your career owing fifty grand in student loans and see how suspicious you are,” Eric invited.

  “Your call, buddy. Stick with your lime and salt if you want, but you’ll be missing out.” Dom took another swallow and waited for the liquor to ease the tension that crouched in his shoulders.

  Eric tipped the salt into an ashtray and took a cautious sip of his drink. His eyes brightened and he took another swallow. “Nice.”

  “One good turn deserves another.”

  “Good. Then tonight I’m going to take away your laptop when we get back to the hotel.”

  “What?”

  “You’ve been checking your e-mail again, haven’t you?”

  “What makes you say that?” Dom asked, his voice elaborately innocent. Behind them, there was a thump of bass as the drummer of the band took his seat for the second set. Around them, the bar was filling up.

  “You’re going to scare all the chicks away with that weight-of-the-world-is-around-my-neck expression on your face. This is supposed to be party central, not a boardroom.”

  “If I scare ’em away, it’ll leave more for you, won’t it?”

  “But who’s going to entertain my overflow until I get to them? That’s a logistical problem.”

  “I’ve got faith in you, Eric. You’ll figure something out.” Dom tipped back his barstool a little and fought a smile. “Me, I’m just kicking back.”

  Eric signaled the bartender. “You’ll kick back better with another shot, my man. As your lawyer, I advise you to drink heavily.”

  “Ripping off Hunter S. Thompson, now?”

  “It’s not a rip-off, it’s an homage.”

  “You lawyers do have a way with words.” Dom clinked his glass against Eric’s. “To hitting it big.”

  “Hah!” Eric pounced. “I knew you were thinking about that damned IPO again. You had that look.”

  “What look?”

  “The look that says you’re running through your road-show pitch. Dude, you’re on vacation. You’re supposed to be having a good time, not working.”

  “Do I look like I’m working?”

  “Yeah. Either that or thinking about what’s her name.”

  Dom flicked his gaze to the ceiling and back. “Her name was Lynn, and trust me, I wasn’t thinking about her.” Their breakup a couple of months before had been a relief as much as anything. Lynn had been one more thing to manage, one more demand on his time, and as things got crunchier and crunchier between them, all pleasure had bled away.

  “Well, you definitely don’t need to worry about the IPO,” Eric advised. “The numbers in the prospectus will sell the stock for us.”

  Scowling, Dom took a swig of his tequila. “IPOs don’t happen by magic, you know. And if it doesn’t fly, I’m the one who’s on the hook.” Meaning, he should have been back in the room working the way he had every other night they’d been there, not blowing off the evening in a bar. Diving all day, sure, that was why he’d come. But there was a price for every pleasure, he’d learned that the hard way.

  Eric, however, wasn’t buying it. “Number one, you’re on the hook to your mother and little brother and sister, who all worship the ground you walk on. Even if the IPO tanks, they’ll still walk away with more money than most of us have ever seen at one sitting, so you’re taking care of them. Number two,” he continued, warming to his topic, “we have a week of dead time anyway while the SEC combs over the draft of the prospectus. Then we go on the road to do the presentations, and I want you fresh for it. You’re supposed to relax. That’s the whole point of being here.”

  Dom stared at Eric. “Really? It didn’t have anything to do with you wanting to dive the Colombia Deep and practice your Spanish on the señoritas?”

  “Just looking out for your welfare,” he responded blandly.

  “Because I could have relaxed at home.”

  Eric snorted. “You wouldn’t have relaxed at home. Hell, you’re not even relaxing here.”

  Dom thought of his e-mail inbox, piled high already with things he couldn’t handle long distance. “Too much going on right now for that.”

  Eric sighed. “Look, Dom, there’s time. In a couple of days, you’ll be in the office. You can go back to being a workaholic then. But I’m telling you—”

  “Give it a rest, Eric.” Even Dom could hear the edge in his voice. “Why are you busting on me about this?”

  “Maybe it’s enlightened self-interest. You were a lot more fun in the old days.” The joking look disappeared for a moment. “And maybe because I’m your friend and I don’t like what I’m seeing. You’ve been doing this nose-to-the-grindstone thing for five years now, ever since—”

  “Got it,” Dom interrupted. “You don’t need to remind me.”

  Eric hesitated. “You’re fried, my man, and I don’t mean sunburned. Time for a break. You’ve got competent people on staff and if they can’t handle things, they know where to find you. So do us all a favor, including yourself—for the rest of the week, kick back and have a good time. Tonight, you’re not a minitycoon in training, you’re not the next Wall Street phenom. You’re just a guy who runs a garage.”

  “Oh, great. That’ll turn women on.”

  “You kidding me? I bet there are a dozen grease monkeys between here and Cancun who are going to get lucky tonight. And at least one uptight millionaire-to-be who’s not, unless he lightens up a little.”

  The night air was humid, but the breeze coming off the water was fresh enough to keep it from being oppressive. It had been a while since he’d been with a woman, felt soft, warm skin, driven himself into her heat. Maybe Eric was right. Maybe a quick, no-strings hookup with the right woman would be the way to forget his responsibilities for a night.

  The problem was, thinking about the business had become a habit.

  “Look around,” Eric invited. “This bar is packed with gorgeous women. Smile at one of them for a change. Shoot, I’ll even let you have first pick to show you what a generous guy I am. What about that redhead over there? Or the blonde? Or—oh, honey.”

  At the
change in Eric’s voice, Dom’s glance flicked over to see what occupied his friend’s gaze.

  And found himself dumbstruck.

  She was slender and blond, her hair cut short like some kind of little wood sprite, strands of silver and gold scattering over her forehead. She was dressed like a wood sprite, too, in a short, flippy dress of green that showed a lot of long, sleek leg. Something in the curve of her mouth suggested mischief, something in her eyes sparkled with devilry. She’d walked in with a half dozen other women, but she was the one he’d fixed on.

  “That one with the long dark hair, she’s a model, I know it,” Eric said feverishly.

  “I doubt it.” But Dom didn’t even bother to look.

  “No, for real. I saw her in the Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition about eight, ten years ago. Look at that face, and, buddy, you wouldn’t believe her body.”

  “Uh-huh,” Dom said, unable to take his eyes off the blonde. It was as though more light gathered around her than around anyone else in the bar. She walked—no, sashayed—into the room with an exuberance that made him wonder if she carried it over into everything she did.

  Including making love.

  When she leaned over to whisper something to one of her girlfriends, he could hear the husky murmur in his own ear, feel the warmth of her breath. He looked at her mouth and he knew what she would taste like, how soft her lips would be. She might have appeared as a pixie but she’d feel all woman in his arms. She’d press up against him and her breath would catch when he touched her just so.

  And if he didn’t know how she’d look naked, his imagination was already efficiently painting the picture for him.

  With a click of drumsticks, the band launched into a fast salsa number. The blonde swung her hips a bit, moving to the music. A night, Dom thought feverishly. An hour. Five minutes, even.

  They could do a lot of things in five minutes.

  “She ought to have a license to be so fine in public.” It was only when he heard his voice that he realized he’d spoken aloud.

  “Hey, you can’t go after her,” Eric said aggrievedly.

  “You were the one who was talking about relaxing.”

  “Yeah, but not by hitting on her. That’s my job. Go after one of your own.”

  Reaching for his tequila, Dom knocked it back in one swallow and stood.

  “Trust me, buddy, I am.”

  2

  “NOW THIS IS A BAR,” Delaney announced as they threaded their way through the sea of warm bodies. Colored lanterns swayed in the breeze that drifted in off the whispering waves. Pulque bottles wrapped in netting hung from the thatched roof. The air felt sultry, full of invitation.

  And Delaney felt alive.

  “Well, it’s a bar. So was the last place we stopped, and we didn’t have to walk another mile to get to it,” Cilla grumbled.

  “It wasn’t a mile. Only twenty or thirty feet, more like,” Delaney said, “and that other bar was exactly like some place you’d find in L.A. Bo-ring.”

  “My feet weren’t bored,” Cilla sighed as they stopped. “My feet were happy with that bar. And the one before that.”

  “You’ve got nobody to blame but yourself, wearing stilettos down here.” Delaney took in Cilla’s cranberry red spikes and matching skimpy silk dress. Versace, unless Delaney missed her guess. “Why didn’t you wear sandals?”

  “You can look at these gorgeous shoes and ask me that?”

  Delaney rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry, Granny,” she said, patting Cilla, “we’ll find you a chair.”

  Just then, a couple moved away from one of the tall bar tables. Delaney pounced like a cat, neatly edging out a group of frat-boy types. “Sorry, guys, taken.”

  “Why not share?” A guy with spiky orange hair winked at her. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

  Delaney glanced at him and fought a smile. If he was twenty one, he was lucky. “I think we’ve got all the company we need.”

  “I bet I could buy you a drink and change your mind.”

  “It’ll take a lot more than that to change my mind.”

  He moved in closer, cocky. “I’ve got a lot more than that, trust me.”

  She laughed, the pure merriment melting away his bravado. “We’re all set for tonight, thanks,” she said, resisting the urge to pat the top of his head.

  “And here I thought he was your type.” Kelly slid onto one of the tall stools as he left. “You go for the bad boys.”

  “Bad boys, not underage boys. He’s about ten years too young to be interesting. I’d rather hold out for better.”

  “Getting choosy in your old age?” Sabrina asked in amusement.

  “Or slowing down,” Paige put in.

  “Give me a break.”

  “Think about it,” Paige said reasonably. “First, you skip the crowded, noisy bar and then you turn down a hot guy who’s hitting on you. I think it’s pretty clear what’s going on.”

  “Oh, please.” Delaney rolled her eyes. “You keep talking like that, you’re going to drive me to drink. Speaking of which, I’m going to make a bar run, so figure out what you want.”

  Slowing down?Absolutely not. Just because she didn’t want to walk into some neon-filled cave that was pumping with acid house music, or mash with a youngster didn’t mean she was getting old. Especially down here, Delaney thought as she waited for the rest of the gang to make their choices. The week ahead was wide open with possibilities for fun. No responsibilities, no place to be, just pure play, out on the town again with her posse. She wasn’t slowing down, she was merely getting started.

  Reaching out, she caught the edge of the table and shook it a little.

  Kelly raised her eyebrows. “Checking it for stability?”

  Delaney moved her shoulders to the beat. “Who knows? We may be dancing on it before the night’s over. Okay, four margaritas, two piña coladas, one virgin daiquiri,” she ticked off. “I’ll order. Who’s going to help carry them back?”

  “I’ll be there in a minute,” Cilla said.

  Practically like old times, Delaney thought as she stood at the bar, nodding to the music and waiting to catch the bartender’s attention. The whole Supper Club, together again. Lately, it seemed, the group of them almost never managed to make it out, and if they did, it was only for a quiet dinner. Gone were the days of roving wild, of shutting down the clubs and hunting for after-hours joints. Something about finding a man had made all of the others more sedate, happy to relax at home for an evening.

  And Delaney’s deep, dark, unsettling secret was that some nights she felt exactly the same way.

  Working too much, that was all. It wasn’t that she was slowing down, getting boring. Never in a million years, not the way she felt in that moment. Definitely no way she was going to let herself get tied down. So maybe the rest of them had found their men and fallen in love. She was genuinely happy for them. But she also understood the obligations, the accountability, the compromises of a committed relationship. Sure, Sabrina and Trish and the rest never seemed to mind what had to be the ongoing frustrations and concessions that made up the fabric of their lives.

  It would drive her nuts. Dating a guy for a few weeks, maybe a couple of months was one thing—she had her own space and she could walk away at any time. Commitment? That was different.

  She’d grown up with parents who’d had too little of everything—money, living space, time. The only thing they’d had too much of had been kids, six of them, all close together. As the youngest, Delaney had always found herself fighting for her slice of everything. Not that she didn’t love her family, but when she’d finally moved out and gotten a place of her own, she’d sworn that she was done with sharing and compromising and living packed cheek by jowl with anyone else. She’d guard her space jealously, be extravagant, live exactly as she chose.

  And if she found herself at loose ends every now and again, whose business was it but hers?

  “Hola, señorita.” The bartender’s eyes gleamed a
t her with that unapologetic appreciation that never failed to give her a buzz.

  “Hola, Rodolfo,” she read off his badge. “Quattro margaritas, dos piña coladas, y uno…” How did a person say virgin daiquiri in Spanish, she wondered. “Y uno daiquiri, no…rum, por favor.”

  “No rum?” he repeated in English. “No fun.”

  “Oh, we have fun.” Her eyes sparkled. “We always have fun.”

  “I always have fun, too. Maybe you and I, señorita, we have fun together.”

  “Are you hitting on me, Rodolfo?”

  He frowned, even as his hands moved from bottles to blenders in an efficient blur. “What is hitting on you?”

  “Inviting me to have fun.”

  “Ah.” His teeth gleamed. “Señorita, only a dead man does not invite a woman like you to have fun. And I am not a dead man.”

  Delaney winked at him. Flirting. It made her feel good. How could she settle with one guy and give that up? Give up the excitement of a first date? The anticipation of never knowing how a night might end—or with who?

  The tap on her shoulder had her sniffing. “About time,” she said, turning. “I thought I was going to have to—”

  The words died in her throat. And all she could do was stand there, staring at the man before her.

  He was, purely and simply, gorgeous. He had one of those faces that was all intriguing planes and angles, the kind of face a sculptor might chisel for a statue of some dangerous god, Ares, perhaps. Or Eros.

  Something fluttered in the pit of her stomach.

  He was tall, tall enough that she found herself tipping her head back to look at him, and close enough that all it would take was leaning forward a fraction to have her mouth on his. His brows were dark and straight, the same color as the hair that flowed thick and unruly to his collar. His jaw was darkened by a rather overgrown Vandyke. His eyes were so black that in the dim bar she couldn’t see the pupils.

  As she watched, some spark of humor flickered in them. “Your drinks are here,” he said helpfully.

  Oh, and it was a bedroom voice, low and a little rough, perfect for late-night promises and demands. Anticipation sped through her. She paid Rodolfo and turned back. “Were you trying to get to me or the bartender?” she asked lightly.