“Brothers,” she reminded him. “Lots of them?”
“But I’m not one of them,” he said. “So I don’t have those same privileges.”
Jenn was so surprised, she spoke without thinking, “I don’t remind you of your sister?”
He laughed loudly at that. “Jesus, no. Not even close. Eden-she’s … gone.” His smile faded. “I lost her a long time ago, before Katrina even. And Sandy … ? You dress a little bit like her, but…” He turned slightly to face her, to look at her appraisingly. “She’s about four hundred years older than you are. In substance abuse years, I mean.”
Jenn nodded. She understood. Her father’s heart wasn’t the only thing that was failing on him, relatively early in his life. He’d abused his body, and it showed. Even fifteen years sober, next month.
“You’ve got this … I don’t know, freshness,” Dan continued. “It’s not really innocence. …”
He was studying her face, and she had to look away, embarrassed and oddly shy.
“You’re … unbroken,” he told her.
It was such a strange word for him to use, and she looked back at him, deep into his eyes, and something shifted inside of her. Was he … ? Seriously … ?
“Whatever happened with your father,” he continued, holding her gaze, “you survived it with your faith intact. You know, faith in the basic goodness of humanity?”
“You can really tell that, just from looking into my eyes?” she asked, putting Fwed-the-bunny down on the empty seat between them, because it looked as if he were going to move closer. And she wasn’t sure how she felt about that.
“Absolutely.” Dan nodded. And he did move, but it was only to turn to face her. He pulled his right leg up on the couch, moving Fwed so that the rabbit now sat on his knee. “And from talking to you. Although, you know, I read palms, too.”
He held out his hand as if he expected her to offer up hers for him to read—yeah, right. She laughed, because it was all so … ridiculous.
“Are you right-or left-handed?” he asked.
“Right,” she told him. “Extremely. Like, my left hand is useless.”
“Oh, man,” he said, “mine was, too. But when we train—you know, the SEALs—we have to be as ambidextrous as possible. So before I even applied to be a SEAL candidate, I spent two weeks with my right hand tied behind my back. I’m talking fully tied, 24/7. I started out at about the speed of a clumsy first grader. Now I can do just about anything with my left hand that I can do with my right. You gotta keep practicing though. I still give myself what I think of as left-hand training days about once a week.”
God, he was charming. And handsome. And he was talking to her as if there were nowhere else he’d rather be, no one else he’d rather be talking to.
And she didn’t remind him of a sister. Not even close, he’d said.
“Gimme,” he said, holding his hand out to her again. “Your right hand. Come on, LeMay. Let’s have it.”
Jenn didn’t put her hand in his. That felt too weird. Instead, she just held it out, palm up, as she laughed to show that she didn’t take this—or his bedroom eyes and quicksilver smile—at all seriously.
But he took hold of her, pulling her closer, the heat of his own palm warm against the back of her hand. And again, something moved inside of her.
It was a swirling mix of attraction and desire, because instead of looking down at her hand, he was gazing into her eyes, and he smiled as if he liked what he saw. Which was, again, ridiculous. He was Brad Pitt handsome, and she was …
Available.
Ah. There it was.
He was spending the night here, and he wanted to spend it not on the kitchen floor.
“You know, I’m not an idiot,” Jenn said, but the words came out sounding breathless and, yes, faintly idiotic. Because even if he were the absolute King of Immediate Gratification, ruler of Love-the-One-You’re-with-Land, and even if she were the Queen of Available—which, okay, she was—this was far from the way the scenario usually ran.
That look in his eyes was anything but brotherly.
He was, as the saying went, a Sure Thing.
Assuming she was into a really hot night of completely casual sex, no strings attached.
“I can see that you’re not,” he told her, glancing up from her palm. “An idiot. This right here”—he traced the line in the middle of her palm—“is your head line. Not headline, like, extra extra, read all about it. But the line for your head, as opposed to the line for your heart—which is this one, right here.” Again he traced her palm—at the top this time—with the tip of one big finger.
His hands were really huge, she realized. Bigger than hers, with her long, skinny, ET-phone-home fingers. They were callused, too, his hands—with nails that were neatly trimmed. His skin was quite a few shades darker than hers, as if he spent a lot of time in the sun and tanned effortlessly.
She burned and peeled, so she usually remained pretty solidly cavefish white, even in the heat of the summer.
“Both your head and your heart lines are well defined,” he told her. “You’re well balanced—maybe even a little too pragmatic. See, your heart line goes straight across. If it goes up here”—he traced his finger up between her first and middle fingers, which felt sinfully good—“moving away from your head line, you’re more of a dreamer. But look at how close the two lines come together. Judging from that, I’d say it’s highly unlikely you’re going to run off with Emilio, the man on the flying trapeze, to join the circus.”
She leaned over to get a better look, and when she glanced up at him, their faces were much too close, so she backed off. It was hard not to smile, though, when he was smiling at her like that. “I think you’re making this up.”
God, but he smelled good—like her brother Alan’s best friend John, a John that she didn’t ever actually date, but had desperately wanted to. He was an avid snowboarder, and he, too, always smelled like a mix of sunscreen and fresh air, even in the winter.
“Wait, I’m not done,” Dan said, laughing as she tried to pull her hand free. He wouldn’t let her go. “And I’m not making this up. I’ve spent some serious vacation time in N’Orleans. I’ve had my own palm read plenty. And I paid attention.”
“And what did they tell you—the myriad of wise palm readers who bamboozled you? You will go to New York,” she intoned, “and have Chinese food in a very small, very hot studio apartment…”
He laughed. “It’s never that detailed. Although one of them said—I’ll remember this one forever. Wait, let me get it right…” He paused, and then recited, “You’ll get what you want, but whether or not you realize, before it’s too late, that you truly want what you get, is up to you.”
“Ooh,” Jenn said. “Deep. And how much did you pay for that gem of wisdom? Because I got a fortune cookie? In the kitchen? That’s probably going to be just as profound, but mine came free with my dinner.”
“Scoff all you want,” he said. “But you might want to be careful because look, your fate line is pretty fractured.”
He pushed the palm of her hand slightly together, then traced a jagged line that appeared right down the center, going from her middle finger to her wrist.
“It’s solid to your heart line,” he informed her, “and solid after your head line, but in between the two? It’s a mess.”
It was. “Let me see yours,” she said, and he finally let her go, in order to hold his hand out for her.
“Solid fate line, right here,” he said, pointing to it.
“I don’t know why I’m looking. For all I know, mine’s the way it’s supposed to be and you’re the one with the crazy fate of doom or… whatever.” She had to get closer to see it, and as she peered down at his hand, she laughed. “Here’s where, if you were one of my brothers? You’d smack me in the face and shout something like Boo-yah! You share the fate of the moron!”
Jenn felt the exhale from his laughter move her hair—he was that close. And when she looked up at hi
m, he didn’t move back. He just smiled into her eyes.
“Your brothers were harsh,” he said.
And he kissed her.
Jenn saw it coming. He telegraphed it, totally, his gaze flickering down to her mouth, once, twice, lingering that second time before he looked into her eyes again and leaned toward her, catching her mouth with his.
It was gentle and sweet—reverent, almost. As first kisses went, it was quite possibly the loveliest she’d ever had. He smelled even better up close, his lips a soft contrast to the stubble on his chin.
She kissed him back, until the logical part of her brain overcame her total surprise and she pulled away, but she was still dumbstruck, so all she did was stare at him. He’d just kissed her. He’d just kissed her.
“Sorry,” he said, but it was supremely obvious that he didn’t mean it. “I couldn’t resist. I just… I like you. You’re … really cute.”
It was his word choice that brought the fantasy crashing down around her, and gave her back her ability to speak. Cute? Was he serious?
“Unbroken,” she reminded him. “Fresh and unbroken. Cute tends to be petite or maybe … freckled. With curly hair. But definitely petite.”
He actually had the balls to argue with her. “Cute has nothing to do with—”
“You should’ve gone for funny,” she said. “I’ve been called funny before, and that works. Particularly when it’s combined with smart. I like smart.”
“Petite’s way overrated anyway,” he insisted. “I’m not petite, so why would I want—”
“What do you want?” Jenn asked.
Of course, that question, direct and to the point, silenced him.
She waited, raising her eyebrows.
“Well,” he said. He took a deep breath. “I want to get to know you better, so—”
“Bullshit,” Jenn said. “At least be honest. Are you going off assignment here, or is this, like, a standard part of the Troubleshooters save me from the pig-heart-wielding madman personal security package? Round-the-clock bodyguarding with an optional bonus orgasm. A Save me, Fuck me two-for-the-price-of-one?”
He laughed at that. “You are funny,” he said.
“Too late,” she told him. “You went with cute.”
“I went with I like you,” he countered. “You are cute, and I do like you, and I guess I thought you maybe liked me, too—”
“No, thank you,” Jenn said. “Okay? I’m going to make it easier for both of us, and just say no thanks to whatever you have in mind. Yes, you’re a fabulous kisser and I’m sure I’ll regret this for the rest of my life. But I have a set of rules and guidelines for how I live my life and I absolutely do not have one-night stands with—”
“I’ve got two weeks.” He interrupted her. “You want honesty, Jenn? I’ll give you honesty. I don’t do one-night stands either and, okay, for the sake of transparency and full disclosure, I’ve done plenty of one-nighters in my life, yeah, but I don’t like ’em. Well. I don’t not like ’em, but…” He exhaled hard and started over. “I like the kind of sex you have around day five, you know? The kind where we’re out at a restaurant and we order dinner and we’re talking about movies or books or something and you look at me and smile and there’s this crazy spark and the waiter brings the food right at that moment, and we both go, We’ll take it to go, and the anticipation is so sweet, because we both know exactly how great it’s going to be when we get home and fall into bed.”
Jenn was silent and he just waited, watching her with those eyes and that face and that incredible body beneath that T-shirt and those cargo pants.
“You’re good,” she finally said. “You’re really good. My bullshit meter’s totally pinned, and yet a part of me’s still going, wow, yeah, day five …”
“It’s not bullshit,” he said, and his nose should have grown a good ten inches, and God, don’t think about anything growing like that, but he was a rather large man, with those big, big hands, so it was hard not to think about it… “I like you, Jenn. So I’m going to put it all out on the table and be completely honest here. I would love to hook up with you, starting tonight. I can stay in town for two weeks, if you don’t mind me crashing here with you when the Trouble shooters assignment ends. After that, though, I’m heading back overseas, and although I can’t tell you exactly where I’m going, it’ll probably be to Afghanistan, and I’ll probably be there for months.”
Oh, God. It was as if he knew exactly the kind of chaos she felt when he so much as mentioned Afghanistan.
“Two weeks,” Dan said again, as if he also knew she was actually considering his crazy proposal. “I can’t promise you longer than that. I’m not going to lie to you—”
“Yes, you are,” she said. “You’re lying your ass off right now.”
“No, I am not,” he insisted.
“Yeah, you are,” she said again, “but even if you weren’t, you don’t know me. How can you sit here and know that day … three I’m not going to be driving you crazy because I laugh like a horse or … or …”
“You don’t laugh like a horse,” he said, laughing himself.
“Or do that awful baby talk thing and call you pookie in public,” she continued, “or… dress up your penis in Barbie clothes?”
He laughed again at that. “Wow. That’s, um …” Still grinning, he scratched his head.
Jenn was laughing now, too. “Crazy? Yes. It’s definitely crazy. And that’s my point. How do you know I’m not crazy?”
“I don’t,” he said. “But I think that Barbie clothes thing might really work for me.”
“Yes,” she said. “Right. You might be crazy. That’s an equally good point.”
“Okay,” Dan said. “Here’s the deal. If I turn out to be crazy, then you say—on day three—when the, um, fucking you’re getting isn’t worth the … fucking you’re getting, if you’ll pardon the crassness of my French, then you say, Pookie, it’s just not working out, and I’ll immediately slink off into the sunset.”
Jenn shook her head. “I just don’t—”
He kissed her again.
This time she didn’t see it coming. This time, he grabbed her and locked lips before she knew what was happening. This time, it wasn’t sweet or soft. This time it was a kiss for the record books, with his arms tightly around her, his body—all those muscles—against her, and his extremely talented tongue in her mouth.
And this time, that treacherous desire that had started heating her from the inside out didn’t just shift in her chest. It slid through her, leaving her breathless and weak, clinging to him, her fingers and toes tingling.
“All the words in the world,” he said between kisses, “can’t explain this. It’s not rational. It’s fire—it’s hot and I know that it’s mutual.” He pulled back to look into her eyes. “And we can tiptoe around it and waste this precious time, or we can be honest about it, and have the greatest two weeks of our lives. You’re not looking for forever, and you know it. What would you do with a boyfriend who hung around for more than two weeks, anyway?”
She didn’t say anything, because she was afraid if she opened her mouth, Kiss me again would come out. And there was so much about this that absolutely didn’t work, she didn’t know where to start.
“Dan. I don’t—”
“If we do this,” he cut her off, “and right now, I’m praying that we do, because I like you and I really want you, but if we do this, it needs to be exclusive, because I don’t share well. And I know you have a crush on that detective—”
“What?” she said, pulling free from him—something she should have done many long moments ago. “I do not.”
“Yeah,” Dan said. “You do. But he’s all about Maria—”
“You’re all about Maria,” she said. “Or you were, before you got stuck here, guarding me!”
“Okay,” he said. “You know what? Yes. I will cop to the fact that I noticed her. But I would bet my entire savings account, which is undeniably meager since I currently
pay my mother’s rent, that Maria—and she is beautiful, that’s a fact—but she would never, in a million years, make a joke about dressing my penis in Barbie clothes.”
Jenn laughed. “Okay, the way you keep bringing that up is bordering on frightening.”
“I love that your brain came up with that. It’s the funniest thing I’ve heard in a long time and … Jenni, I want to laugh,” he said, and it was, quite possibly, the most honest, most serious thing he’d said to her all evening. “I want to get laid, yeah, it’s true, but I also want to laugh. I got two weeks where I know I’m not going have to watch one of my friends die—which is the fucking worst thing that can happen to you. Trust me on that.”
“Oh, God,” she said.
And there they sat, just gazing at each other.
He broke the silence. “I want to kiss you again,” he said. “Please don’t say no.”
“Dan.”
He moved toward her.
“No.”
He backed down, but said, “Not a lot of conviction there, Jenn.”
“I can’t,” she said.
“But you want to.”
God, he was arrogant, but he was also right. She didn’t stand up. Didn’t take her plate and his back into the kitchen. Didn’t put some distance between them—between herself and the most attractive man she’d ever met, let alone who wanted to kiss her.
She just shook her head.
He nodded as he took a pen from his pocket, took her hand, uncapped the pen with his teeth.
“Dan,” she said, letting her exasperation sound in her voice. What was he doing? “Don’t.”
But all he did was draw a very small X, right in the middle of her palm.
“That’s me,” he said after recapping the pen, as he repocketed it. “Right there. Right in the chaos of your fate line, between what you really want to do, and what you think you should do—based, I would bet, on someone else’s set of rules—rules that have nothing whatsoever to do with Jennilyn LeMay, who is independent and strong enough to recognize that a two-week relationship with a man who will be the best lover—and the best boyfriend—she’s ever had, is exactly what she needs to bring balance and passion and vitality to her equally chaotic life.”
Hot Pursuit Page 13
