Hart and Soul

by Lori Foster

  Her shoes hit the closet wall with a thump.

  Of all the men out there, why did he have to be the one who got her motor running?

  She could curse him and call him unkind names, but it wouldn’t be truthful. Hart was a great guy, friendly to everyone, courteous, talented.

  As an artist, he showed great sensitivity.

  As a lover, his instincts were remarkable.

  He enjoyed being a bachelor, and she couldn’t very well fault him for that. After all, he’d been honest and up-front about everything. She knew before she slept with him that it would go nowhere.

  And she’d thought that would be enough.

  She almost ripped her dress in her haste to remove it. The long, hot shower did little to ease her tension. And when she tried to sleep, visions of Hart Winston’s sexy abs played in her mind.

  Lordy, when he’d lifted his shirt to flaunt that too-perfect body, she’d wanted only to touch him. But therein lay additional disaster to her heart, so she’d laughed it off instead.

  She wasn’t laughing early the next morning when she woke before sunrise.

  Needing the exertion, she stuck her hair in a ponytail, dressed in a sports bra, T-shirt, running shorts, and her favorite sneakers. Hitting the pavement always served as a good way to relax her. And this early, she wouldn’t run into many people.

  More than an hour later, damp with sweat and breathing hard, Lisa returned to her apartment—to find Hart sitting on the front steps with a box of donuts and two carryout cups of coffee.

  No. Blast the man, she’d just shaken off the coiling need, and then, with only one look at him, everything inside her tightened again.

  Though mirrored sunglasses hid his eyes, she felt certain that he saw her. The corners of his mouth tipped up in that too-sexy way of his, and a new alertness showed in the set of his shoulders, the tilt of his head.

  Slowly sitting up from his sprawled position on the steps, he waited for her to reach him.

  Lisa considered turning around and jogging away again, but that’d be too obvious. She ran from no one, definitely not from Hart Winston.

  Instead, she strode up to him and, as she went right on past, asked, “What are you doing here?”

  He picked up the food and followed after her. “I came to see you, naturally. To talk.”

  Lisa could feel him right there behind her. Probably looking at her behind in the snug shorts.

  Oh, God.

  “You should have called first, Hart. I’m busy.” He stayed far too close.

  In a voice too deep, he said, “So I see.”

  A quick glance over her shoulder confirmed his interest. He’d removed the sunglasses and was indeed looking at her backside. Breath escaped from her lungs. “Now is not a good time. I need to shower and get dressed—”

  “Want some help with that?”

  Yes. “No.” After unlocking the door, Lisa turned to face him. Without benefit of heels, she felt extra small compared to him. Not only was he tall, but he was also broad shouldered with a solid chest and impressive biceps.

  She stared up at him, got sidetracked by his mouth, then by the glossy darkness of his hair. Her chest hurt. “You’ll have to come back later.”

  Juggling everything into one hand, he stretched out a long, muscled arm and flattened his hand on the wall beside her head.

  She felt caged—and, shamefully, liked it.

  “Come on, Lisa,” he cajoled. “Cut me some slack. I even brought donuts as a peace offering.”

  As if the man needed a bribe. “I’m a mess, Hart.”

  His gaze moved over her face, down to the sweat-damp front of her T-shirt, then down to her legs. “That’s not quite how I’d describe you.” He looked into her eyes, smiled, and said low, “You grub up real good, woman.”

  How could he make that sound like such a sensual compliment? Lisa forced a benign smile. “Don’t be ridiculous. I have sweat on my sweat.”

  “You smell earthy and warm. I like it.”

  He could smell her? That broke the spell. Horrified, Lisa pivoted on her heel to make a hasty entrance into her apartment. “I need to get a shower.”

  Before she could get the door shut, he stepped in behind her. “Fine. Don’t mind me. I’ll wait for you in the kitchen.” She was about to protest that when he added, “Hard as it’ll be, I promise to behave myself. I’ll even save you a donut or two, so take all the time you want.”

  Yeah, right. No way would she feel comfortable lingering naked in the shower while Hart Winston moseyed around her place unattended. “Stay in the kitchen,” she ordered.

  He crossed his heart and grinned like the rascal she knew him to be.

  Rather than waste more time debating it with him, Lisa went into her bedroom, gathered a change of clothes, and ducked into the bathroom. When the lock on the door gave a loud click, she heard Hart laugh.

  Her reflection in the mirror was the stuff of nightmares. Sweaty, lank hair that had escaped her ponytail stuck to her neck and temples. Exertion turned her complexion ruddy. Heat had left her soft T-shirt limp and shapeless. She looked like a hag.

  So why had Hart acted so turned on?

  Lisa answered her own question—because the man was always ready, no matter what.

  The sooner she answered his questions, the sooner she could get him out of her life again. Much as that thought dismayed her, she knew it was the wisest choice.

  In record time, Lisa showered, washed her hair, and brushed her teeth. Dressing in her favorite pair of stay-at-home faded jeans and a beige tank top, she girded herself with a pep talk. After combing out her wet hair and leaving it loose, she put her glasses back on and was ready to rejoin Hart. Not more than fifteen minutes had passed.

  The second she came into the hall, he left his seat. For an extended moment in time, he just stared at her, from her bare feet to her snug, comfy jeans, to her beige tank.

  Lisa lifted her chin, almost daring him to comment.

  Instead, he cleared his throat and held out a chair for her at the kitchen table.

  She shook her head. No way was she getting that close to him. Not yet. Not with that particular gleam in his eyes.

  Sounding a little hoarse, Hart asked, “How do you like your coffee?”

  “In someone else’s mug.” She’d never quite gotten the taste for coffee. She preferred tea.

  “That’s what I thought, so I put the teakettle on to boil.” He no sooner announced that than the kettle began to whistle. “Where do you keep your tea?”

  That he offered to wait on her took her by surprise. “Sit down, Hart. I’ll take care of it.”

  “But this is my treat—my way of apologizing.”

  “Not necessary.” But it was still nice that he went to so much trouble.

  Did he really feel that bad about sneaking out the proverbial morning after, or was this more about him wanting her cooperation in sharing the details of what she’d overheard?

  He didn’t go to the table, choosing instead to prop his big body against the counter. Lisa inched around him to reach for a cup from the cabinet and then found a tea bag in the canister beside the stove. As she poured boiling water in the cup, she glanced at Hart.

  The man had the most tactile gaze imaginable. She felt his attention, and it unnerved her.

  “You have a good time last night?”

  “Hmmm?” She stirred her tea to buy herself some time.

  “Last night. Your big date?” He studied her. “Things go as planned?”

  “I didn’t have a plan.” Not after Hart had dropped in on her.

  “You were going to jump his bones, remember?” His brows came down in consternation, and he sidled closer. Softly, as if in commiseration, he asked, “Didn’t quite work out, huh?”

  Of all the . . . “None of your business.”

  Scrutinizing her, he drew his own co
nclusion and let out a relieved breath. “Right you are.” He gestured toward the table. “Let’s take a seat and chat.”

  Since that served her purpose, Lisa didn’t argue. “Fine, let’s.”

  He held out her chair first, then seated himself, lounging back in easy comfort and gazing at her with expectation.

  Lisa cleared her throat. “I thought about everything last night.”

  “While you were with the other dude?”

  Why did he keep pressing her on that? If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was jealous. “No, after I got home,” she lied.

  “Mmmm.” His fingers tapped the tabletop. “When was that, exactly?”

  Exasperated, Lisa gave him a long look that showed her impatience with his attempts at prying.

  Hart held up both hands. “Sorry.” He tipped his head to watch her. “So after prolonged consideration, what did you decide?”

  “I accept your explanation about being busy and out of touch. I overreacted, I think, in getting annoyed that you hadn’t called back.” She fiddled with the teacup. “Truth is, I realize things are different for you.”

  One eyebrow lifted. “Different?”

  Lisa gestured. “Most people return phone calls as a matter of common courtesy. But I assume you get a lot of calls from a lot of women— Hart Winston, you can wipe that smug grin right off your face.”

  He laughed. “I’m sorry, but you’re cute.”

  “Now you’re just being condescending.” Her appearance had improved with the shower and clean clothes, but she’d deliberately left herself as plain as possible. Nothing cute in that.

  He leaned forward. “No, I mean it. You’re so damn nice all the time that you’re even willing to make up excuses for me.”

  “You’re saying you don’t have women calling all the time?”

  Almost as if on cue, his phone rang.

  They locked eyes. Hart winced; Lisa sighed.

  “Answer it.”

  Chagrined, he glanced at the number and shook his head. “Ah, no. It’s not important.”

  Unbelievable. “That was a woman, wasn’t it?”

  He hesitated. “Yes?”

  “You don’t know?”

  “It feels like a trick question.”

  Of all the idiotic . . . “My point is,” Lisa said, determined to get this over with, “you probably thought I was trying to hit on you after we’d both agreed that our time together was a one-shot deal.”

  “Not really, no.”

  Her head started to spin. “What does that mean?”

  “It means that you’re wrong, that I didn’t blow off your calls, assuming you wanted another go-around. It’s just that I really was busy with a training camp and—”

  His phone rang again. Apologetic, Hart glanced at the number, then put the phone back down without answering.

  Lisa’s teeth clicked together. “Is there a reason you don’t just turn it off, seeing as you don’t answer anyway?”

  “There’s a reason.” He sipped his coffee before answering, then met her annoyed gaze. “Family has this number, as do some of the fight promoters and my training coach.”

  “I see.” Apparently everyone was more important than the women he dated.

  Lisa wanted to throw her tea at him, but she refrained.

  He wedged a hand into his jeans pocket, pulled out his wallet, and withdrew a card. He slid it across the table to her. “I don’t think I ever gave you my cell number.”

  No, he hadn’t. She’d had only his apartment number and the number she’d found for his cousin Joe. “Thank you, but I no longer have any reason to call you.” And then, because she couldn’t help herself, she added, “Not that you’d answer anyway, right?”

  He looked far too serious when he said, “If you call me, Lisa, I’ll answer. I swear.”

  That rattled her. She didn’t understand him or why he said the things he did.

  His card lay on the table between them.

  “So . . . to get back to the point here. I realize now that I overreacted. Getting angry with you serves no purpose at all.”

  He slouched a little more. “And?”

  “I’m happy to share with you what I overheard.”

  “No kidding?”

  She nodded. “You’re right. I don’t want any injury to you to be on my conscience.”

  His brows pinched. “And that’s it? Your conscience is the only reason you’re willing to warn me?”

  “What else did you expect?” Unsure of his swift moods, she sipped her tea and waited.

  “I don’t know, exactly.” He stewed in silence for a few moments, then snatched up the box of donuts and offered them to her.

  Lisa shook her head. “No, thank you. I try to avoid that much sugar.”

  He didn’t remove the box. “Live a little.” Eyes darkening, he said, “Again.”

  That flustered her enough that she picked out a cream-filled donut before she knew what she was doing. Hart set the box down, put his elbows on the table, and leaned toward her, waiting for her to take a bite.

  As soon as she did, he smiled. “Good?”

  It was. “Sinful, almost.”

  “Yeah.” He watched her so closely, she felt self-conscious. “A little sinfulness is good for you.”

  “Depends on the sin, I’d say.”

  “And who you’re sinning with.”

  Okay, enough of that. She couldn’t banter with him. Not this early. “Let’s get started.”

  He went very still. “Yeah, let’s.”

  “You’re incorrigible.” She couldn’t help but laugh at him. “Now, have any—”

  The ringing of his cell cut her off.

  Again he glanced at the phone, then at her, and he shrugged. “Sorry. Go ahead.”

  Curiosity burned her. “If it’s the same woman calling, then perhaps—”

  “No.”

  Maybe she’d throw her tea at him after all. The cup was small and dainty, so it wouldn’t hurt him overly, and the tea had cooled, so . . .

  “Lisa?”

  She gave up on that particular fantasy. “Have any new women come on to you?”

  “Define ‘new.’ ”

  Her eyes narrowed. “A woman you aren’t already familiar with. A woman you haven’t dated before.”

  “Or slept with?”

  Meaning he slept with women he hadn’t formally dated? Of course he had. “Yes.”

  Hart hesitated. “Maybe, but like I said, I’ve been busy training, and not dating.”

  He had to be kidding her—but he didn’t look like it was a joke. “Not dating?”

  He shrugged. “Aka, not seeing anyone.”

  Lisa snorted. “Aka, not—”

  “Sleeping with anyone. Exactly.”

  Astounded, she dropped back in her seat. “You’re telling me that you’ve been celibate? Since when?”

  “For far too long, honey.” He left his seat and moved toward her. “Since I slept with you, actually.”

  Three

  Hart saw Lisa’s chest expand with a sharply indrawn breath. He knew what she expected him to do, but he was done being predictable. She thought she had him all figured out, and he wanted to surprise her.

  He paused beside her, smiled, and moved on past to get a napkin off the counter.

  When he returned to his seat, she still looked shell-shocked.

  And his stupid phone rang again.

  Cursing under his breath, Hart glanced at the number with disinterest. “Lisa, I don’t want you to think—”

  “No,” she said, and she scurried from her seat to get a notepad and pen. “This is good.”

  She sounded rattled—which he counted as a good thing. If he confused her enough, maybe she’d give up her rock-solid and not-too-complimentary impressions of him, and really get to know him.

 
She tossed the pad and pen toward him. “Start keeping track of the women trying to reach you. And you’ll have to answer, to see who wants to hook up.”

  Damn, but she looked good today. He’d never imagined her in jeans, but the casual clothes suited her. And her sexy little toes . . . she must keep up on her pedicures, because her feet defined femininity: narrow and soft with a high arch . . .

  “Hart, are you listening to me?”

  “I was fantasizing about your feet, actually. Sorry.”

  She stared at him. “My feet?”

  “Yeah.” He shook his head. “You were saying . . . ?”

  After snatching up another donut, she pointed to the paper. “You need to track any woman who is interested in you.”

  Smiling, Hart picked up the pen and wrote down a name.

  She peered across the table, trying to see, so Hart turned the pad for her to read.

  She saw her own name written there, and laughed. “Uh, no. Scratch that.”

  He shook the pen at her. “I know women too well, Lisa. You’re interested, all right. But you’re denying us both because you think I’d just play you.”

  After a long look, she let out a breath and folded her hands in her lap, as if in preparation for a serious discourse. “Hart, really, the thing is, you’re fun to play with.”

  “Fun?”

  “Definitely. I did enjoy our night together. But I’m a serious woman with serious responsibilities, and we’ve had our one-night fling.”

  Meaning one night was enough for her? Too bad. He’d already decided that he wanted more. A lot more.

  After that short lecture of hers, and his lack of response, she settled back, content to eat her donut.

  Hart didn’t mind the silence. With Lisa, it was pleasant. Comfortable. His phone stayed silent, sunshine slanted through her kitchen window, the coffee was good, the donuts were better.

  “This is a real nice way to spend a Saturday morning.”

  She turned thoughtful. “It is.” With her donut finished, she wiped off her hands and considered him. “But we need to get down to business, so think—who would want to hurt you?”

  “No one. People like me.” He was the type of man other men found easy to befriend, and women had always shown a preference for his company. Even after things ended, women—other than Lisa—didn’t hold it against him.