by Lori Foster
Jack studied her body as she started back toward him, the graceful way she moved while still being very aware of the press of bodies around her. She touched no one as she slipped this way and that, not even a brush of arms. Her sweater barely met the waistband of her jeans, and twice he got a glimpse of her smooth, pale stomach.
Fuck the food. He’d had enough.
Standing, he put some money on the bar and waited for her. If he wasn’t careful, he’d get half hard just imagining what was to come.
Right before she reached him, someone said, “Hey, Jack. The house is looking good.”
He gave an offhand “thanks,” not even sure who’d said it. Everyone around here knew him, his brother, and his mother, and they were all friendly.
She stopped, her made-up eyes flaring. “Jack?”
He didn’t have a problem with names, so he held out a hand. “Jack Crews. Feel like sharing now?”
Instead she slapped his hand away and surged forward in one big step, going on her tiptoes to glare up into his face. “You’re supposed to be slick.”
“I am?” This close, he could see her individual lashes and he detected the faint perfume of flowers—an odd contrast to her sharp appeal.
“Yes!” Dropping back, she gestured at him. “You are not supposed to be messy or rugged.”
With no idea what was going on, Jack folded his arms and leaned back on the bar. “Is it against the rules if I’m all of the above?”
She appeared to be sawing her teeth together. “Thanks for nothing.” Turning on her heel, she started out the door.
What the hell? Jack bolted after her, following her through the door and out to the walkway. “Where are you going?”
To the tune of furious stomping, she said, “The hotel.”
Were they still on, then? Unsure, he offered, “I have a truck.”
“Alone.”
Yeah, that was plain enough.
He easily caught up to walk beside her. “So...that’s it? You changed your mind and I won’t see you again?”
She muttered something low and mean.
Jack leaned closer. “What?”
Halting, she stared down at her feet a moment, and when she raised her face, she looked almost calm again. “I’ll see you tomorrow as a matter of fact.” Her smile could wound. “At your office.”
Jack still didn’t get it.
“We have an appointment first thing.”
“I have an appointment with Ron Ashford.”
She held out her arms. “That would be me. And if you don’t mind, I’d like to forget about this. Tonight, I mean. That we might have...” Lips compressing, she shook her head. “Just forget it.” And with that she continued on her way, her behind swishing, her legs eating up the pavement.
Very slowly, Jack smiled. Forget about it? Like hell.
And damn it, now he was getting hard.
* * *
OF COURSE SHE hadn’t slept. It had turned into one of those nights, the nights where demons visited and her skin itched while her thoughts traveled back in time to moments better forgotten. As if. Some things burned into the brain, branded there forever.
Sex usually helped and had the added benefit of giving her a warm body to snuggle against. Not being alone meant she wasn’t as vulnerable, even if the person with her was a stranger.
But after the mix-up with Jack Crews, she didn’t feel like searching out new game.
She probably could have found an agreeable man. After all, when it came to sex, most men were absurdly easy.
The problem was that after her high expectations for Jack, no one else would have measured up. A man like him would be a hard act to follow.
Now she was bleary-eyed, grouchy—and running twenty minutes late. Ronnie locked her jaw as she stared up the stone steps to the business. No one had told her she’d have to climb. She shook her fist at the imposing steps, put one foot forward—and someone beeped.
She swiveled around to see a superhunk in a red Mustang smiling at her. Oh, wow. Now if only she’d met him last night—
Through the driver’s side window, he asked, “You going up to Mustang Transport?”
Ronnie nodded. “Who had the bright idea to build it up there? And why isn’t there a sign warning people? What if I was old, or physically challenged in some way?”
His grin widened. A lethal grin that made her tingle almost as much as Jack had. “If you drive on around the bend, you’ll see a road that leads you right up to the door.”
She propped her hands on her hips. “Well, a sign saying so would be nice.”
“Yeah, that’s what my wife said, too.”
His wife? Ugh. She dropped her hands. “She’d be right. Thanks for the tip.”
Ronnie turned away, heading for her Chevy hatchback. Next to the Mustang, it looked pretty drab.
“I could drive you up,” he offered. “I’m headed there myself.”
She stalled with her back still to him. Her shoulders might’ve cringed a little. He’s in a Mustang. Heading to Mustang Transport.
Well, hell.
With a huff she faced him. “You’re the brother, aren’t you?”
With a grin that’d do wicked things to a woman’s imagination, he confessed, “Guilty.”
I just bet you are. She looked at her car, then his. “If I rode with you—”
“I’ll show you where to go, then bring you back when you’re ready. No biggie.” He surprised her by getting out and circling around to the passenger side, where he opened the door and then waited for her.
Presuming she’d do as he asked.
Why not? Ronnie strode forward with a purpose—then paused again when she saw a gigantic dog sitting in the small back seat, eyeing her. “Uh...”
“Howler’s friendly.”
Since the dog’s tongue was already out, lapping toward her in anticipation of giving her a wet lick, she believed him. “I love animals.” She got into the seat, turning sideways to coo at the big dog.
His tail wagged so hard that it hit the seat with a loud thumping drumbeat.
Ronnie laughed. “Well, aren’t you a sweetheart.” She stroked his head, around his long ears and neck. “Is he smiling at me?”
The brother got back behind the wheel. “Probably. He digs the chicks.”
“Chicks?” she repeated, her tone soft with warning.
Not that he took heed. He put the car back in gear and drove forward. “I’m Brodie, by the way.”
Honest to God, she just didn’t have the energy this morning to spar with a guy like him. “Jack’s brother.”
“You know Jack?”
“Not really, but I have a meeting with him this morning.”
His brows climbed up. “You’re Ron Ashford?”
“Guilty,” she said, mocking him. “Ronnie to my friends.”
“So why does the appointment calendar say Ron?”
Shrugging, she explained, “I use Ron for business contracts, so bozos don’t dismiss me out of hand just because I’m female. Mostly I go by Ronnie.”
Not in the least insulted by her bozo comment, he asked, “Not Veronica, huh?”
Some of her warmth iced over, but she hopefully hid it with a smile. “Well, Veronica is my given name.”
“Used only by family?”
She gave a stiff nod. Family...and reporters.
That sexy grin of his returned. “Jack is going to be surprised.”
No, he wouldn’t, since he’d met her last night, but she saw no reason to clue in the ape. Already he’d turned the bend and drove up a road that circled around behind the business. Off to the side, Ronnie saw a looping track, then thick woods. The position of the business put them atop a rise overlooking the small town and guaranteed privacy from the rest of their neighbors.
She l
iked it.
In the light of day. She imagined at night it’d only feel dark, isolated, and creepy.
“Here we are.” Brodie pulled right up to a door and turned off the purring engine. “I’m running late, so that means you are, too.”
“Had a rough morning?” she asked him.
“More like a late night. Not that I’m complaining.” He grinned with meaning. “You?”
“Late night, yes. Not so lucky with the reason why.”
“Ah, too bad.” He gave her a commiserating look. “Since it was something else, is there a way I can help?”
She almost choked. If you weren’t married, then yes, you could help. But no, actually he couldn’t. He was also Jack’s brother, and he worked at the business.
His brows lifted. “Is your silence a yes or a no?”
“No—but thank you.”
He nodded but didn’t pry beyond that. “There should be coffee inside,” he said, as if that’d make everything better. He started around to her door.
To do the gentlemanly thing? Ronnie gave the dog one last stroke and stepped out on her own. She would not start this meeting as the “little helpless lady.”
Brodie didn’t comment, he just pulled her seat forward and unfastened the dog. Howler unfolded himself from the car, long limbs going everywhere as he gained the ground and then stretched.
“How in the world does he even fit?” she asked, eyeing the small seat in back.
From some distance away, a deep voice said, “He considers it cozy.”
It was a voice she recognized.
Slowly, Ronnie straightened and looked toward the office. There stood Jack, arms crossed over his chest, one shoulder propped against the glass entry door, his dark gaze direct and oddly suspicious.
Today he’d dressed closer to what she’d expected, in black slacks and a button-down striped shirt—but he wasn’t too buttoned up, not with the collar open and the sleeves rolled to his elbows. Though a cool morning breeze played with his hair, it remained neat, and she could see from here that he was freshly shaved.
God help her, he looked even more devastating.
Resisting the urge to fuss with her hair, Ronnie rounded the car and started toward him. “Sorry I’m late. No one told me to drive around past the sign to enter.”
Jack’s gaze didn’t waver. “I see you met Brodie.”
Why was he almost growling? She wasn’t that late.
Moving up beside her, Brodie asked, “You two know each other?”
She said, “Not really.”
At the same time, Jack replied, “You could say that.”
Alarm shot through her. Narrowing her eyes in warning, Ronnie turned to Brodie. “I ran into him last night. Very briefly.”
“Yeah?” Brodie looked more curious by the second. “Where was that?”
“Freddie’s,” Jack explained.
“Ah.” After his gaze bounced back and forth between them a few times, Brodie grinned. “Am I missing something?”
“As a matter of fact—”
“No,” she interrupted, “you’re not.” Then with more vinegar, she asked, “Will we have this meeting in the yard, then?”
Without a word, Jack pressed the door open with one hand and waited for her to enter. He didn’t leave her much room to get around him, and because she thought he did that deliberately, she got irate.
Her being irate was never a good thing. Couple it with lack of sleep and unrequited lust for his very fine body...
Pasting on a fake smile, Ronnie said, “Why, thank you,” as she moved past him. Very closely. Close enough that the side of her body brushed all the way across the front of his.
She felt him go still, heard his inhalation—and then the dog nearly plowed her over as he shoved in past her. Ronnie tripped forward but righted herself quickly.
“Sorry,” Brodie said, still sounding amused. “Howler isn’t the patient sort.”
Jack still stood at the door, staring at her.
She stared back, trying to look smug so he wouldn’t know how he affected her.
“Coffee?”
They both answered Brodie with an affirmative, and finally Jack stepped forward. “Through here.” Pressing open an inner door, he waited as if in expectation.
“Thanks.” This time she passed with plenty of space between them. Her heart could only take so much.
He closed the door and went behind a desk. “Have a seat, Ms. Ashford.”
If he wanted a belated business tone, fine, she could handle that. It would probably make things easier for her. She crossed her legs and sat back in her seat. “Thank you, Mr. Crews.”
Then he blew it by saying, “Your hair is different today.”
Yeah, it was. Without any sleep to motivate her she’d only finger-combed it after her shower and let it dry naturally, meaning it hung in chunky layers to the side. “My hair is always different, depending on my mood.”
Sitting forward, he folded his arms on the desk. “You look tired.”
“Not at all,” she lied with credible conviction. “I slept like a baby.”
That dark, sensual gaze flicked over her, taking in her loose black sweater, then her jeans, and finally her boots.
His eyes met hers and he growled softly, “I didn’t.”
Damn, those two gruff words nearly melted her. Had he lain awake thinking of her, of what they might have done?
She knew she had.
Brodie shouldered open the door, three cups of coffee balanced in his hands. “Howler already a-t-e and now he’s sleeping, so we should have a few minutes.”
Jack took two cups from him and handed one to Ronnie. “Cream or sugar?”
“Black is fine.” She glanced at Brodie. “You spelled that...why?”
“Because the dog is alert to anything that has to do with e-a-t-i-n-g. And his hearing is damn good.” He drew a long sip and sighed. “At least he doesn’t like coffee.”
“Hmm.” Ronnie wasn’t sure if he was teasing or not. “So if I mentioned, say, a snack—”
“Don’t.”
The sound of claws scrambling on the floor came ahead of the big dog and a second later he skidded in, ears up, alert, his gaze darting to each of them expectantly.
Jack blew out a breath, opened a drawer, and pulled out a dog treat. He tossed it over Ronnie’s head and into the hallway, but the dog moved so fast that he caught it.
Brodie said to Jack, “She’s the type that has to test it, huh?”
And Jack, as if he knew her type, replied, “Apparently so.”
Dazed by how fast that had all happened, Ronnie glared at both men. “Don’t you—?”
“Shh,” Brodie said, lowering his voice. “Of course we f-e-e-d him. You can see he’s healthy. But to his mind, it’s never enough.”
“That’s ridiculous—”
“It’s a long story,” Jack explained. “I’ll tell you all about it another time.”
She didn’t intend to be with him long enough to hear a story. Though, damn it, now she was curious.
“The short version is that the dog was mistreated before Brodie got him, and now he’s a little spoiled.”
“Just a little,” Brodie agreed.
This wasn’t going at all as Ronnie had planned. She’d wanted to come in, state the parameters of the job, convince Jack he didn’t want it, and then be on her way, confident of the fact that she’d spared herself.
She hadn’t counted on meeting Jack in a different setting first, but she had.
She hadn’t counted on wanting him, but boy, she did.
She definitely hadn’t counted on liking them both, but as each second passed, that’s what happened.
“Well, hell.”
CHAPTER TWO
JACK COULDN’T STOP looking at her
—and thinking.
About what might have happened last night if she hadn’t learned his name.
What her trim body might look like under those clothes.
How her mouth and skin would taste and feel...
He almost groaned. It was like being offered a gift—then being told he couldn’t unwrap it while it remained close to taunt him.
Even now, with her muttering to herself and looking more cross than usual, he still wanted her. That said something, since he was discovering that she wore that disgruntled look more often than not.
Maybe if he hadn’t known her initial plans for him. Maybe if her frank honesty hadn’t already appealed to him. Maybe if he hadn’t already thought to have her—then he could put things in perspective. But it was too late for that.
Insane.
He’d never been a damned masochist, never enjoyed insults and barbs. He couldn’t say he actually enjoyed them now.
But he did enjoy her. Every shift of expression, the way her slender body moved.
He imagined it moving under him and...
Clearing his throat, Jack asked her, “Something wrong?”
She ran her fingers through her hair, flipping it to the other side. “No.” Abruptly she sat forward and drew a paper from her purse.
Not a briefcase. No, not for this lady. Her purse was more like a colorful bohemian sack, big and shapeless, which meant the paper was a little crumpled.
“Here’s the job.” She shoved the paper across the desk toward him. “The thing is, my bosses think I need someone to escort me to different pickups. But I don’t.”
“Why do they think that?” Brodie asked.
She flagged a hand, as if it didn’t matter. “A few misunderstandings during exchanges.”
“Like?” Jack prompted.
“Different things.”
Jack frowned. “Be specific.”
With an exaggerated eye roll, she said, “There was...an incident recently. The seller had more than one interested buyer, but I got there first.”
“And?” Brodie now stared at her, eyebrows lifted.
“And I outran the jerk. End of story.”
