Murphy's Law

by Lori Foster

  “Yeah, my sentiments exactly.” She wrinkled her nose. “But you should try it wearing pink taffeta.” She turned, opened the padlock with deft movements, swung open the squeaky metal door, and shoved her purse onto the top shelf inside the locker. “Let me tell you, humiliation takes on new meaning.” She slammed the locker shut with a little more force than necessary.

  “Hold up.” Quinton put a hand to her shoulder and turned her to face him. “You’re not getting married?”

  “No way.” And with annoyance, “Where’d you get a dumb idea like that?”

  Relief sank into him. “So who’s the lucky bride?”

  “My best friend.”

  “And she’s getting married when?”

  Her head dropped back against the locker with a clatter. “In a couple of days. And I’ve got all this crap to remember—”

  “Crap?”

  “Yeah, you know. Like how to do that idiotic walk on the rice paper, and to move her train out from behind her when she turns to go back down the aisle.” She closed her eyes and huffed. “And to not say crap in front of the minister.”

  “Such a predicament,” he teased.

  “Yeah, well, for me it is.” She screwed up her face. “I have a tendency to speak first and think later.”

  Without really considering all the repercussions, Quinton said, “This is where I can come in handy.” Then he felt like cursing. He detested weddings almost as much as funerals. Still, he had the entire weekend free and if it’d get him that much closer to her… “As your escort, I’ll assist you in minding your manners.”

  Ashley’s eyes snapped open again. “Ho, no.” She shook her head. “I’ll pass, thank-you-very-much.”

  “Why?” He sidled closer, getting used to the idea. “Come on, Ashley. You know you don’t want to do this alone. I’ll make excellent backup.”

  “What makes you think I don’t already have a date?”

  Something cold, mean, and dark settled into his stomach. His humor fled in the face of jealousy. “Do you?”

  She scoffed at his stern expression. “Don’t go all caveman on me. My personal business is no concern of yours.”

  True—but at that moment it didn’t seem to matter. “If you’re dating someone else, why did you kiss me?”

  “You kissed me.”

  “And you kissed me back.”

  “Let’s don’t split hairs.” She grinned. “Besides, it doesn’t matter because I’m not dating anyone else.”

  “You’re sure?” He didn’t entirely trust her attitude or her quick tongue.

  “Well, I know I’m busy, but I think I’d notice a guy accompanying me around town.”

  After several seconds of contemplation he decided to believe her. The last thing he wanted was another contender in the picture, muddying things up. “So you planned to go to the wedding alone?”

  “Unheard of, I know, but that’s the way I roll. I’m the solo queen.”

  “I’m glad I don’t have competition.”

  “Yeah, well, I could have a date if I wanted one.”

  The blustering of her pride had him smiling again. “That I don’t doubt for a single second. After all, I just offered, right?” Ashley might be deliberately abrasive, but that didn’t conceal her innate sensuality. It was a little earthy. Maybe even gritty. But it was there. Any man with eyes would see it. “So why don’t you?”

  She threw up her hands. “You really should pay attention. Like I said, I’m busy. Why should I waste my time on a guy who’d probably only get under my skin, then walk away?”

  Interesting revelation. He pointed out the obvious. “I’m not walking away.”

  “Not yet.” And though she tried to hide it, he glimpsed her vulnerability again. “But that’s because you haven’t gotten what you want, yet.”

  “Sex?”

  “Bingo.” And then, “Don’t try to deny it.”

  The way she challenged him, her chin raised, her eyes narrowed, was both amusing and endearing. “We’ve already established that I want to make love to you. I’m a man. You’re a very attractive woman.”

  “You’re shoveling it on a little thick, aren’t you?”

  “You don’t think you’re attractive?” This had to qualify as one of the strangest conversations he’d ever had.

  Again she rolled her eyes. “Why are we even talking about this?” She caught him by the collar. “My looks have nothing to do with it. It’s because I’m not falling at your feet that you think you’re interested.”

  “Ah, so that’s what it is.”

  “Yeah. I figure a guy with your face, bod, and money probably has women chasing him all the time.”

  Deadpan, he said, “It can be so bothersome.”

  “You’re used to having your pick of the babes. But here I am, a small-town Podunk, giving you the old heave-ho.”

  “I’m confident I can change your mind on that.” Most of what she said now sounded like bluster, as if she felt she had to give lip service to her refusal before giving in.

  “If I slept with you,” she insisted, “you’d be over me like that.” A snap of her fingers punctuated her statement.

  As seriously as he could, Quinton suggested, “Let’s test this theory.” Her cheek was soft beneath the brush of his fingertips. “Make love with me today, right now, and I’ll prove to you that I won’t lose interest. I’ll still escort you to the wedding.”

  Her lips twitched. “You want me to do the horizontal mambo here in the basement? Up against the lockers?”

  “You have no idea how much.” Gently he cupped her chin—and tried to win her over. “But Ashley, if you want to wait, I’ll wait. I’m happy to spend time getting to know you better. You can trust me.”

  Her palms flattened on his chest, holding him at bay. “It’s not about trust. It’s about me having a limited amount of time right now.”

  “You can’t tell me you never date.”

  “Wanna bet?”

  “But…” She looked to be in her midtwenties. Maybe five or six years younger than he was, which made her far too young to sit home alone knitting or watching old black-and-white movies.

  Ashley was the type of woman who exuded energy and determination. She would never be content with idle time alone.

  Giving up, Quinton asked, “Why?”

  “Men aren’t on my list of priorities right now.” With a shrug, she added, “Maybe after I get my degree and net a good job and can save up and get my own house—”

  “So in, say, ten years, I should ask again?”

  “Yeah.” Her grin left a dimple in her cheek. “Maybe by then I can spare you a few hours. But right now I don’t want any distractions from the big goal. And you, Quinton Murphy”—she patted the center of his chest—”would be a big distraction.”

  Quinton shook his head. The woman possessed a special knack for pushing him away while at the same time enflaming him. She spelled out her interest but claimed it didn’t matter.

  Her refreshing honesty frustrated the hell out of him. “So let’s don’t date.” Who needed dinners out or movies or dancing? He’d gladly bypass it all. “We’ll attend the wedding together and then see how it goes.”

  That suggestion made her laugh. “After that kiss, we both know exactly how it’d go.” Her smile slipped. “Even though I come across as a sex-starved nympho, I’m not really that easy.”

  “Trust me, easy is not a word I’d use to describe you.”

  “It’s just that you make me…”

  “Hot?”

  “More like scorching.”

  Somehow Quinton managed not to groan. “The feeling is mutual. So where’s the problem?”

  “ You’re the problem.” She tweaked his chin. “I suspect you’d be addictive, and all my well-laid plans would go down the toilet.” And with that she turned her back on him and walked away.

  Again.

  Incredible.

  He’d need some careful maneuvering to win her over to his way of thin
king. For whatever reason, Ashley had sworn off men, as if they had no place at all in her life. He’d have to give her good reason to accept him. “I’d like to offer a compromise.”

  Still walking, she clipped a CD player to the waistband of her jeans and connected a pair of soft headphones to it. “This ought to be good.”

  He caught up to her. “I’ll protect you from yourself.”

  That stopped her in her tracks. “Come again?”

  Pretending a nonchalance he didn’t feel, Quinton said, “If you say you don’t want intimacy with me, I’ll ensure it.”

  “Uh-huh.” She pursed her lips, considered him, then raised a brow. “And how will you do that?”

  “My willpower is stronger than yours. I’ll save you from yourself.” He took a tiny step closer—and her attention moved to his mouth. Voice lowering, he whispered, “I’ll still kiss you, and I’ll still touch you.”

  Her eyes darkened. “Your plan is doomed to fail.”

  “But I won’t let it go any further than that.” He leaned a little closer to whisper, “Even if you beg.”

  Warm color shot into her cheeks. “Right. Dream on, big boy.”

  “Oh, I do. Dream. About you. But regardless, I won’t let things go too far. You have my word that I’ll accompany you to the wedding and return you safely home. Nothing more.” He held out his hand. “Deal?”

  She took a long time considering his proposition. A dozen emotions flashed over her face, but skepticism seemed most prevalent. And suspicion. She didn’t yet trust in his integrity, but she would. He’d see to it.

  And maybe, just maybe, she’d end up in the same desperate state of arousal that he was in.

  Finally she nodded. “All right. Just to watch you squirm…” She took his hand and gave it a firm shake. “Deal.”

  When she started to retreat, Quinton held on, pulled her up to her tiptoes, and wrapped an arm around her waist. “Until then, Ashley…” He sealed their bargain with a kiss hot enough to leave her clinging to him. He used his lips, his tongue, his teeth… And she reciprocated every inch of the way.

  He’d win this battle of wills one way or another. And judging by her small moan when he ended the kiss, it’d be sooner rather than later. “Give me your number,” he whispered. “I’ll call you.”

  Very slowly her eyes opened. “Wow.”

  Wow indeed. She had a knack for understatements, too. “Your number?”

  “My phone is either in my locker or turned off when I’m working.”

  But he knew when she got off work. “If need be, I’ll leave a message.”

  She licked her lips as if savoring his taste before nodding, then rattling off a phone number.

  Quinton added it to the memory on his cell phone and then tucked his phone away again. “Thank you.”

  Composure restored, she said, “You’ll probably regret this.”

  He just smiled. “You won’t. I promise.”

  With one last stroke of her silky hair, he made his escape before he lost sight of the prize. But before he got too far away to hear, the prize started mumbling to herself.

  And she didn’t sound happy.

  Too bad. The laws of nature, of man and woman, dictated he was bound to win. And that made him very, very happy.

  Chapter 2

  Whatever could go wrong, did.

  Murphy’s Law.

  In her case it was more like Quinton Murphy’s Law because when she got near him, she made mistakes left and right. One look at the man and she forgot common sense, self-restraint, and her touted goals for the future.

  She knew how important goals were because her parents had never had any. They’d been more than content to scrape by on the generosity of others.

  Being the charity case of the neighborhood didn’t make life easy for a gangly, shy kid with overly strict parents. In fact, her life had bordered on hellish until she and May became best friends. Thanks to May, she’d learned to conquer insecurities, stand up to bullies, and separate herself from her parents’ way of life.

  At seventeen she’d escaped their suffocating environment of rigidity and poverty by disowning them and moving out on her own. For years it had been all she could do to make ends meet, and sometimes they hadn’t. She’d done without food, without adequate clothes, occasionally without shelter—but she’d never taken charity.

  She was nothing like her parents, who still took advantage of good people with big hearts.

  Now, finally, she had enough money to attend college, to set herself up to be fully self-sufficient and plan for a proper future.

  She prided herself on making it on her own. Someday she’d have everything she wanted—her dream home, a new car, money in the bank, a retirement fund… She’d have it all.

  Involvement with Quinton would only distract her from her long-term goals.

  But… she couldn’t help thinking about it, about him. She wasn’t an unhappy person, but around Quinton she felt almost… bubbly. So stupid. She had to stick to the plan of work, school, and savings.

  Unfortunately Murphy’s Law wasn’t content with blowing her state of mind. She also had to contend with the air-conditioning going on the fritz, leaving the building stuffy and her body sheened with sweat. From that point, she broke both the industrial-sized vacuum and a foyer lamp after accidentally sucking up an extension cord. Then she dropped a bottle of cleaner, spilling it everywhere. She spent more time cleaning up her own messes than the building, when usually she prided herself on a job well done.

  She blamed Quinton for her clumsiness. After that consuming kiss, no one could expect her to function properly. Her knees still shook, her heart still thumped, and a strange tingling in her midsection made concentration iffy at best.

  A single glimpse of Quinton and she wanted to drag him off for some hanky-panky. He personified the term stud with his dark blond hair arid fierce green eyes and that confident smile that proclaimed enough experience for ten men. For a corporate type he had an incredible body, tall and strong and roped with lean muscles.

  Suits had never appealed to her. But the way Quinton wore a suit, with such relaxed ease, only amplified his masculinity.

  Maybe if she’d expected to see him tonight, she might have been prepared. But after catching him with Zara Trilby in what had appeared to be a very intimate discussion, she’d overreacted big time. Luckily, not in front of Quinton, but she’d been eaten up with jealousy, proving she was in over her head. Even though she later discovered that Zara was a very nice lady and no more than a client for Quinton, she’d thought to avoid him.

  She’d already resolved to ensure he’d left the office before entering to clean. The only reason she’d entered the first time was that she’d planned to ask him to the wedding. Big mistake.

  One look at poised, refined, beautiful Zara, and she’d indulged in private comparisons that had her quickly chickening out. Pure fate had Zara at the rehearsal dinner as the best man’s date. And to Ashley’s surprise, the woman was actually nice. But even after Zara’s assurances that she and Quinton were only business associates, Ashley had planned to forgo anything personal with him.

  He was wealthy; she was poor.

  He was drop-dead gorgeous and she was just plain funky in looks and demeanor.

  He was CEO of a lucrative consulting firm while she still had college to finish.

  Doing her best to keep him blocked from her mind had been easier than she’d expected with her thoughts bouncing between worry over the headlights that kept flashing in her rearview mirror, and the wedding that thrilled her, even as she dreaded it.

  She loved May, and she loved seeing May so happy.

  But… she’d never in her life dressed up. Her childhood wardrobe had consisted only of secondhand clothes. Many times what she wore had holes, stains, and didn’t fit. Humiliation had become her constant companion. Whenever her parents got money, they indulged personal vanities that didn’t involve their only child.

  Naturally she’d avoided p
roms and other school formals. By the time she got her GED, she’d been on her own, completely estranged from her folks. Other than May, no one had really cared what she did or where she went.

  Now she could afford finer things, but she had college loans, rent, and insurance. Whatever was left over went into saving for a house. She dressed for function, period. If it kept her warm and dry, that was a plus.

  In the worst times of her life, May was her salvation—more so than May realized, and more so than Ashley could ever tell her. So for her, and only for her, would she wear a formal gown and dressy shoes and have her hair done and all the rest of the fuss that went with being a maid of honor.

  But that didn’t mean she’d enjoy it.

  She had to admit to relief that Quinton would accompany her. But that brought out a completely new set of problems. He skewed her perspective on things. He toyed with her libido. Without even trying, he chipped away at the willpower necessary to see her dreams through.

  Even when it didn’t appear deliberate, Quinton got to her. All he had to do was stand there looking good, or smile in a way that made her feel special, or touch her so carefully, and she wanted to molest him.

  Diabolical. That’s what he was. Downright diabolical. Somehow he knew her weaknesses, and he used them against her.

  Lost in conflicting thoughts, it wasn’t until she left the building at four in the morning that she recalled her nervousness earlier. Had someone been following her? Or was she just overly nervous?

  She reached the center of the silent, empty garage—and her cell phone rang. Expecting it to be May, who knew her schedule and often acted like a mother hen, Ashley retrieved the phone from the bottom of her purse. “What’s up, toots?”

  “Toots?” asked a now-familiar, masculine voice.

  Oops. Not May. Ashley smiled as she strode to her car, no longer feeling so alone. “Hey, Quinton. You’re up early. Or late. Or something.”

  “I have a question.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Are you really going to wear pink taffeta?”

  Catching the phone between shoulder and ear, Ashley dug out her car keys. “It’s four o’clock in the morning, and you’re thinking about women’s wedding attire?”