by Joan Hohl
After placing her drink order—seltzer? Eric grimaced—he shifted around to her again, only to find that Tina had turned her back to him to join in on a conversation in progress between Vincent and Bill.
Lazing in the chair, Eric monitored the discussion on the pros and cons of the current professional football season, and various teams, primarily the Philadelphia Eagles, while at the same time doing some professional work of his own, that of evaluating the members of Tina’s close-knit group.
They appeared ordinary enough—all-American, clean-cut, ages running from the mid-to late twenties, upper-middle to middle class, well educated, motivated, career minded. Everyday, normal, innocent.
Maybe.
Then again, maybe not. Eric hadn’t remained alive by relying on guesswork. He wasn’t about to begin now. Although he regretted having to do so, he would have to go back to the well of information at the fingertips of one special agent for the FBI, his brother, Cameron Wolfe—referred to by his fellow agents as the Lone Wolfe.
Eric was prepared to endure the ribbing Cameron would most assuredly give him about a member of the force having to once again come begging for assistance from a federal agent. His brother’s teasing was nothing new, and it was a price Eric was more than willing to pay.
Raising his arm, Eric took a small swig from the long-necked bottle, swishing the beer around inside his mouth before letting the brew trickle down his throat. The bottle was his second for the night...his second and his last.
Eric knew better than to overindulge at any time. A soused undercover cop had even less value than a soused anyone else, and was potentially a lot more dangerous...to himself, to the force and to bystanders, innocent or otherwise.
“Aren’t you about ready for another beer, Eric?” Bill asked, almost as if he had tapped into the other man’s thought process. “You’ve been nursing that one since right after you sat down. Hell, the rest of us are on our fourth.”
No kidding? Eric mentally responded, lips curling into a rueful smile. “Two’s my limit,” he said truthfully. “I can’t tolerate more than that, it goes to my head,” he explained, lying without compunction.
“Bummer.” The unsolicited opinion came from Vincent. “I can knock ‘em back all night without getting woozy.”
“Yeah, you just can’t drive,” Bill retorted.
Vincent shrugged. “I don’t have to.” He favored Tina with a sweet smile. “We have a nondrinker in the group.”
Eric had known from the investigative report his brother had provided for him that Tina rarely indulged in any kind of alcoholic drinks, the exception being the occasional celebratory half glass of champagne at holidays, weddings and such. He hadn’t known that she was the designated driver for the less prudent members of her circle of friends. He again arched a brow at her.
“You’re the official D.C., huh?”
Tina frowned. “D.C.?”
“Drunk chauffeur,” he explained, grinning to ease the sting from the expression.
“Hey, I resent that,” Vincent protested, loud enough to be heard over Bill’s eruption of laughter.
“Sorry, no offense meant.” Though Eric offered the apology to Vincent, he kept his gaze steady on Tina.
“I don’t mind.” She was quick to the defense. “It doesn’t happen too often...and they are my friends. And I prefer having them alive.”
“Thatta girl, Tina,” Vincent crowed, raising his frothy mug in salute to her, while leveling a smug look at Eric. “She doesn’t want to see this handsome face and body all torn and mangled in a wreck of metal.”
“Oh, brother.” Bill rolled his eyes.
“No, it’s true,” Tina said, her smile soft, maternal. “I don’t want to ever see any of my friends or anybody else for that matter torn and mangled.”
Eric felt an odd little catch at the base of his throat at the softness of her smile, the caring sound of her voice. It was not the sound or look one would expect from a woman involved, even peripherally, with the pushing of narcotics.
Chill out, Wolfe, he advised himself, taking a sip of the now-warm beer to dislodge the catch. More than most, he knew how deceptive appearances could be.
Take this group, for example, he mused, shifting his eyes from Tina’s tender expression to sweep the occupants of the two tables with a swift but encompassing glance.
They all appeared to be perfectly normal, average, law-abiding citizens. But were they? Ah, there’s the question, Eric thought, appearing quite normal and average himself as he laughed at a quip from Bill. He was in a particularly good position to know that appearances quite often did not reflect reality.
From the bits and pieces he had picked up from the conversations around the table during the demolition of the pizza—which had actually exceeded its reputation—Eric had gleaned the information that the careers of the individuals were diverse, ranging from carpenter to corporate middle manager and several different job descriptions in between, including Tina’s ownership of the florist shop. All quite normal, with such a varied assortment of individuals.
Perhaps. Keeping his expression free of his speculative thoughts, Eric skimmed the faces around him. But on the other hand, he reasoned, for all he and the world knew, this varied assortment of individuals with diverse career pursuits might well be in the business of supplementing their incomes with the profits garnered by dealing in illegal substances.
Of course, the world would continue to revolve in its ignorance. Eric fully intended to glean the necessary information, first thing in the morning, or as soon as Cameron could gather it for him.
The search might prove fruitless. Eric hoped it would; he was enjoying their company. Nevertheless, the investigation and follow-up would be done, whether the results were good, bad or merely indifferent.
Meanwhile, there was a question about Tina. A very big, very unsavory question.
Was she mixed up in a narcotics mess?
Her attractive peal of laughter drew Eric’s attention—and his hooded eyes—to her profile. She was looking at Nancy at the end of the second table, laughing appreciatively at whatever the other woman had said. Once again he felt that odd catch in his throat.
Why did she have to be so damned appealing? Eric asked himself, studying her with an appearance of lazy disinterest. The problem was, there wasn’t a thing lazy or disinterested about his perusal of her.
Merely looking at Tina reactivated the memory of her slender thighs banding his hips and posterior, driving a wedge of heat to the apex of his thighs.
Damn. He was hard. Eric drew a long, slow breath and shifted unobtrusively in the chair, easing his leg to the side, away from the too-enticing touch of hers.
What was it about this particular woman? he wondered, sketching his gaze over Tina, from the top of her shimmering blond hair to the slender ankles beneath the hem of her wool slacks, lingering on the gentle curves in between.
She was attractive.... Okay, she was more than attractive, he conceded. Her petite frame held infinite allure. Her face, though not classically beautiful, was delicately featured, lovely, with that mass of honey blond hair contrasted with dark brown eyes and brows and an abundance of long lashes above a small, straight nose and a delectable pair of lips made for crushing by a man’s passion-hardened mouth.
Eric swallowed a groan and shifted again. What in hell was he doing to himself? Now he was not only hard, he was hot and uncomfortable, and he had completely lost the thread of the ongoing conversation.
Maybe it was time to cut out of here, he thought. Get some fresh air. Get some rest. Get a grip.
Lifting a hand to his mouth, Eric covered a manufactured yawn. “Well, I don’t know about the rest of you folks,” he announced, pushing his chair back away from the table, distancing himself from Tina. “But I’m ready for bed.”
“Yeah, me too,” Bill said, stifling a genuine yawn. “I’ve got to work tomorrow.”
Three of the others agreed that it was time to leave, since they also had to
work. The remaining members of the group protested. Tina stayed silent, but stared at Ted in mute supplication.
“But it’s not that late,” Helen pointed out.
“Only a little after twelve,” Mike said, glancing at his watch.
“We can stay for a while,” Ted insisted, seemingly unconscious of the appeal in Tina’s eyes. “You’re not ready, are you, Tina?”
“If you wouldn’t mind, Ted.” Though she smiled, she also sighed. “I’m tired, and I have a lot of orders to get out early tomorrow morning.”
Ted frowned.
Figuring it was worth one more shot, Eric spoke up. “I can take Tina along with me, Ted, if you want to stay. I live right up the street from her.”
“You do?”
Though Ted asked the question, all the others looked at Eric in surprise.
“Yes.” Eric smiled. “I moved into the neighborhood a couple of days ago.”
“Well...” Ted began uncertainly.
“No.” Tina’s smile was pleasant, but her tone was adamant. “We can stay for a little while, Ted.”
Good-nights were exchanged, and Eric turned to leave. As he did, he caught the glow of triumph gleaming in the brown depths of Tina’s eyes.
Think you’ve won, do you? A grin twitched Eric’s lips as he strode for the exit. Tina, my sweet, all you’ve won is a minor skirmish, he told her in silent amusement.
We’ll see who wins the war.
Three
The city transit bus ran over a pothole. The resulting bump shuddered through the vehicle and the few remaining passengers still on board near the end of the line.
The jarring sensation rippled up Tina’s spine to the back of her neck, aggravating the throbbing pain in her temples. The pain had been little more than an annoying ache when she awakened that morning. Not enough sleep, she had thought, dragging her tired body from the bed to the bathroom.
A stinging shower had not revived her lethargic body or relieved the ache in her head. Telling herself that she should have insisted Ted bring her home at a reasonable hour didn’t help much, either. Tina hadn’t insisted; Ted and the others who had remained in the tavern had lingered on long after the rest of their friends had called it a night, talking and drinking, until the bartender had shouted his nightly last-call-for-drinks warning. And even then she had not been able to go directly home, as she had assumed the responsibility of driving Ted and the others to their respective homes.
Then, with the prolonged goodbyes at each successive house or apartment, it had been very late when she finally crawled into bed.
When she left her house that morning, Ted’s car was parked in her driveway. Although Ted had urged her to use it to get to work, Tina had flatly refused, unwilling to take on the added responsibility of driving his fairly new car in the morning and evening rush hours.
And so, in consequence, simply getting herself out of bed and together and to the corner bus stop was like pushing a rope uphill...with her nose.
The thought had sprung to mind, more than once, that perhaps she should have accepted the offer of a lift home last night from her new neighbor. Tina had pushed the thought aside every time it insinuated itself into her consciousness—for what she felt were excellent reasons.
Eric Wolfe was too good to look at, too charming, too...too masculine. The merest consideration of the tall, gorgeous, tawny-haired hunk sent Tina’s pulses into overdrive and her breathing processes into decline, and set her thighs to tingling in remembrance of being pressed to his firm, jean-clad tush.
And it simply was not like her to react in such a manner to a man—any man. Her blatantly sensual response confused Tina; hadn’t her former husband cruelly accused her of being cold, lacking normal sensuality?
Upon long consideration of her unresponsiveness to Glen’s lovemaking, and the attempted advances made by other men since her divorce, hadn’t she been forced to concede to the validity of his claim?
Sadly, Tina had to admit that in all honesty, the answer to her own questions had to be yes.
But then, if Glen’s accusations, and her reluctant agreement with them were accurate, why did her mind persist in envisioning a man she hardly knew? Tina wondered, her headache made worse by the questions hammering at her.
Then, as if mentally dodging the tormenting images of one unmentionable man wasn’t enough, business in the shop had been brisk, demanding her scattered attention. Consequently, her headache had steadily increased throughout the seemingly endless day. And now, past six-thirty in the evening, all she wanted to do was swallow two aspirins, lie down and hopefully escape from her unwelcome contemplation of one particular man, while sleeping off the pounding pain in her head. But first she had to get home.
The bus creaked and groaned to a stop. Tina exhaled a sigh of relief; the next stop was hers. Then again...maybe some exercise in the crisp autumn air would be as beneficial as sleep and painkillers.
“Please wait!” she called to the driver as she jumped from her seat and made a beeline for the closing door. “I want to get off here.”
The driver muttered something in a tone of disgust about passengers dozing past their stops, but nevertheless reopened the exit door. Calling a sweet-voiced thank-you to the driver’s reflection in the rearview mirror, Tina alighted, and not an instant too soon, for the doors swished shut again just as she took a leaping step onto the sidewalk.
Holding her breath, she waited until the exhaust fumes from the departing vehicle had dissipated, then drew in a deep breath of the fresh evening air.
* * *
Eric noticed Tina walking toward him when she got to about the middle of the block. Sitting on his bike across the street from her stop, he had been watching for her for twenty-odd minutes. After nearly an hour spent that morning on the phone with his brother, with almost half of it listening to Cameron’s drawling-voiced heckling, then sitting all day fruitlessly watching the house across the street from his apartment, Tina Kranas was a delightful sight for his numbed mind and tired eyes.
Of course, with her lovely face and enticing body, the sight of Tina was also a kick to his lately reactivated libido.
Kick-starting the engine, he cruised down the street until he was opposite her, then making a U-turn, he glided up to the curb to keep pace alongside her.
“Hey, lady, want a lift?” he called over the growl of the powerful machine.
Tina tossed him a quick look, then, just as quickly, turned away to stare straight ahead. “No, thank you,” she said, in a voice also raised above the bike’s rumble. “I’d rather walk.”
“All the way to the restaurant?” His question got its intended result—her attention.
Coming to an abrupt stop, Tina swung around to frown at him. “Restaurant?” she repeated. “What restaurant?”
Eric killed the engine before answering. “The one out on the highway with the Colonial name and atmosphere—The Continental Congress Inn.”
“But why would I walk all the way out there?” she demanded, her frown deepening.
“To have dinner with me?” Eric answered, in all apparent innocence.
“Dinner?”
Eric couldn’t deny the soft smile that teased his lips; she looked so darned cute in a state of bemusement. “Yeah, you know, food, drink, congenial conversation.”
Tina sighed and raised a hand to massage her temple. “I have a headache.”
Eric suppressed a grin. “I haven’t asked you to go to bed with me,” he said solemnly, “only to dinner.”
She gave him a wry look and slowly shook her head from side to side. “I really don’t think...”
That’s as far as he let her go. “You’re not hungry?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“Please come,” he said in a coaxing tone, once again interrupting her. “I made reservations.”
Tina stared at him for long seconds, then heaved another, defeated-sounding sigh. “Oh, all right,” she said. “I skipped lunch, and I am hungry.”
Despite her less-than-enthusiastic acquiescence, Eric felt a rush of elation. Before she had a chance to change her mind, he steadied the bike and leaned forward, making room for her on the saddle. “Hop on,” he said, glancing at his watch. “The reservation is for seven, and it’s five-to now.”
* * *
Wryly reflecting that she had reservations of her own concerning the wisdom of her capitulation to his blandishments—and him—Tina shrugged, donned the helmet he handed to her and gingerly mounted the black-and-silver monster.
Surprisingly, the wild ride with the cold wind blowing into her face didn’t exacerbate her headache. On the contrary. When Tina dismounted in the parking lot of the restaurant, she was amazed to discover that her mind felt clearer; the throbbing in her temples had subsided to a dull ache.
Unfortunately, though the pain had diminished, the blast of cold air had not eased the inner turmoil Tina was experiencing concerning her unusual response to Eric Wolfe. How could it, when once again her thighs tingled in reaction to being pressed to the warm strength of his body?
Of course, she had only herself to blame, Tina acknowledged, too aware of him behind her as she followed the hostess to a table placed between a window and a large stone fireplace. The crackling fire in the hearth lent both warmth and light to the ambience of the restaurant.
And the place was loaded with ambience, she silently granted, skimming an appreciative gaze around the room, which, though spacious, retained a cozy, homey appearance.
The Colonial decor did not assault the eyes or insult the senses, but rather imbued a soothing effect conducive to relaxation and low-key conversation.
Now if only she could relax and enjoy it, Tina thought, giving the hostess a smile along with her drink order—seltzer with a slice of lime. But relaxing was nearly impossible with Eric sitting so close to her, watching her every move with his striking blue eyes. Feeling his intent stare as if it were an actual touch, she could barely concentrate on the large menu the hostess had handed to her.
