Now she simply stared up at him, the mocking laughter gone, the challenge nonexistent, the promise revoked as if it had never been. The expression in those fascinating, fathomless eyes was puzzled and searching, as if she were trying to work something out. There was a bit of anxiety there, too, as if she didn't quite know what to make of him, and wasn't sure she wanted to find out.
She was a chameleon, changing colors while he watched. Gypsy temptress, money-hungry opportunist, tongue-tied ingénue … which one was the real Zoe Moon?
And why was it suddenly so important that he find out?
"…invite the ladies to join us?" Eddie asked, punching Reed in the arm with a loosely curled fist as he spoke.
Reed had no idea what he'd just been asked. "Join us?" he said stupidly. "For what?"
"A beer, man. I just suggested to Gina here that the ladies might like to join us for a burger and a brew at Bruno's with the rest of the team."
"Bruno's? Oh, yes." Reed's eyes lit up. "Of course. Great idea," he agreed, wondering why he hadn't thought of it himself.
Every good businessman knew that spending time with people in a relaxed, informal atmosphere was an excellent way to get to know them. And he was a very good businessman. Bruno's wouldn't normally have been his first choice for a getting-to-know-you lunch, especially with a woman and most especially not with all his teammates there—that was probably why he hadn't thought of it—but he couldn't very well take her to Maison Robert or the Hampshire House, not dressed in rugby shorts and without a reservation, and not on a Saturday afternoon, in any case. Bruno's would have to do.
"How does that sound to you, Zoe?" he said, as naturally as if he hadn't insisted on calling her Miss Moon up to that point. "Are you up for a burger at Bruno's?"
Zoe hesitated, unsure of what she should do. She knew what she wanted to do, but she'd already decided that would be stupid. They were supposed to be developing a business relationship, not a social one. "Well, I … ah…" She glanced at her best friend for help, but Gina had tucked her hand into the crook of Eddie DiPasquale's arm and was smiling up at him as if he were Brad Pitt. Zoe's glance flitted back to Reed. "A burger would be okay, I guess, but…"
"Fine. That's settled, then. Here, let me get rid of that for you." He plucked the empty latte cup out of Zoe's fingers as he spoke, tossing it into a nearby trash can, and cupped his hand under her elbow in one smooth, seamless motion. "You can leave your car wherever you parked it. Bruno's is just across the street and down two blocks. Do you need to put any money in the meter before we go?"
Zoe shook her head. "No car. We took the T over from Haymarket, then walked."
"Even better," Reed said as he gently, expertly, inexorably maneuvered her through the thinning crowd and away from the rugby field. "One less thing for you to worry about." His smile was warm and charming, almost caressing in its solicitude. "And I get to play the gentleman and see you home after lunch."
It was a far cry from the hurly-burly way he'd escorted her out of his great-grandmother's house, but it was just as effective. As he deftly steered her down the street to Bruno's, Zoe felt a bit dazed, like a cartoon character who'd been run over by a steamroller and was still seeing stars.
* * *
Bruno's was cozy, crowded and noisy, its pseudo-English interior filled to overflowing with rowdy men in red shorts and grass-stained jerseys. The yeasty smell of beer predominated, underscored by the aroma of fried onions and the stink of cigar smoke. A college football game flickered on the TV screen at the end of the bar, action at the dartboard was fast and furious, and there was a game of eight ball in progress at the pool table in the back of the room.
Eddie was immediately hailed by one of the dart players, and headed off in that direction, towing a willing Gina in his wake. Zoe made an instinctive move to follow, but was brought short up by the hand still cupping her elbow.
"There are a couple of empty booths over by the far wall," Reed said, his lips so close to her ear she could feel his warm breath against her skin. "We ought to grab one while we still can. Eddie and Gina can join us as soon as he gets beaten at darts. It shouldn't take too long."
Zoe nodded and allowed herself to be maneuvered through the crowded tavern, wondering why she felt like a mare who'd just been cut out of the herd. He hadn't done anything untoward or encroaching. His hand was now resting lightly, politely on the small of her back, well above her rear end. His gaze was focused on the empty booth that was their destination. And yet she had the distinct—admittedly, not entirely unpleasant—feeling that if she suddenly did an abrupt about-face and headed for the door, he'd be right on her tail.
"Hey, Sullivan, you wuss. You finally made it." A very large man with a strip of black electrical tape dangling from his ear hailed them as they passed the small table where he sat facing another large man. Their right hands were clasped, elbows on the table, biceps bulging, as they pitted their considerable strength against each other.
"Some of the guys were beginning to think you were gonna try to skip out on us to avoid havin' your new lady friend see your humiliation," said the burly guy who had hailed Reed. His glance flickered over Zoe, then lingered appreciatively. "Not that I'd blame ya, considering." He grinned ingratiatingly. "Hiya, gorgeous."
Reed's hand flattened on Zoe's back, sliding around to ride the curve of her waist. She glanced at him, surprised by the move, but didn't shift away. To do so would have accorded the sneaky little maneuver more importance than it warranted. Besides, having the rest of the men in the pub think she was off-limits was fine by her; it reduced the possibility of her having to make the point herself. And she was quite capable of setting Reed straight later if she needed to. At least, she hoped she was.
"Zoe, this ugly mug is Bill Larson," Reed said pleasantly. "He's one of the Bulldogs' props, which, in case you're wondering, is why he's wearing electrical tape as a fashion accessory. It's supposed to keep his ears from being ripped—" he grasped the dangling end of the tape with his free hand and yanked "—off during a game," he said, smiling evilly as he dropped the strip of tape on the table.
Bill didn't flinch, even though the tape had taken hair with it.
"Bill's our official team badass. He leads the league in fouls this year," Reed informed her.
Zoe couldn't decide whether that was a recommendation or a warning.
"I lead the league in fouls every year," Bill said proudly.
Reed ignored him. "The quiet one on the other side of the table is Jake Warner. Jake is our other prop. Guys, this is Zoe Moon. Miss Moon to you bozos."
The one named Jake looked up briefly, nodded a quick, silent greeting, then turned his attention back to the contest between him and his teammate.
Bill smiled like a man who'd just seen heaven. "So, Zoe, what's a beautiful woman like you doin' hanging out with this—" he jerked his chin at Reed "—loser?"
"Oh, we're not hanging out," Zoe assured him airily, answering his flirtatious smile with one of her own. She could handle this kind of harmless come-on in her sleep, especially when there was no chance—due to Reed's proprietary gesture—that she'd be taken seriously. And Reed Sullivan IV needed to know he hadn't slipped anything by her … just in case he thought he had.
"Mr. Sullivan is a business acquaintance. I'm considering taking him on as my financial advisor." She leaned forward slightly, giving the seated man her full attention, ignoring the one who still had his hand on the curve of her waist. "Do you mind if I ask how he's going to be humiliated?" she queried, thinking of the Zulu dance she'd seen earlier.
"I think you just took care of that," Reed said dryly, stung by her denial that they were anything more than business associates—even though it was true—and wondering why the hell she was smiling at his teammate as if he were her long lost buddy. She'd certainly never smiled at him like that.
Bill gave a short bark of laughter. "Give me a second to finish this and you'll see for yourself, doll face." He turned his attention to his oppon
ent, grunted once—loudly—and slammed the other man's hand to the table. "Someone fill up the plunger," he bellowed as he stood up. "It's time for Sullivan to take his medicine."
Reed Sullivan's "medicine" turned out to be beer. And it was served up in the bowl of a red rubber toilet plunger.
Zoe couldn't help but wonder if his great-grandmother or any of his Beacon Hill friends had ever seen this side of him. She felt sure they hadn't. Moira Sullivan would undoubtedly faint dead away if she could see her elegant, debonair great-grandson swilling beer from a toilet plunger. And his ritzy friends would surely cut him from their guest lists for doing something so tacky and juvenile. Even after seeing him out on the rugby field, Zoe would never have guessed that a man like Reed Sullivan IV, upright, uptight scion of a respected Beacon Hill family, would have a boyish side. Let alone this rowdy, puerile boyish side. Much to her surprise, she found it rather endearing, and just the least bit reassuring, too. How could she possibly be intimidated by a guy who drank beer from a toilet plunger?
"That's really disgusting," she said, watching as Reed tilted his head back and proceeded to swallow the entire plungerful of beer in one long draft while his teammates showered him with good-natured verbal abuse.
"The plunger's clean," Eddie said. "Markus, the bartender, keeps it behind the bar and doesn't use it for anything else. At least—" he shrugged "—that's what he says."
"But why is Reed drinking out of it at all?" Zoe demanded.
"He made the worst play of the game today," Eddie said, and launched into an explanation that left Zoe sitting there with her forehead crinkled up in a frown. Gina just laughed. "…almost cost us the game. Would have if that new guy—" he nodded toward the formerly naked Adonis "—hadn't come out of nowhere and scored just before the whistle."
Zoe shook her head. "I don't get it. For making the winning touchdown—excuse me, the winning try—a guy has to strip naked in public and climb up the flagpole, but—"
"Goalpost," Eddie corrected her.
"Goalpost," she echoed obediently "—but for nearly losing the game because of making a bad play he only has to drink beer out of a plunger. It makes absolutely no sense at all."
"It doesn't have to make sense," Reed said as he slid into the booth beside Zoe. "It's rugby."
He looked so pleased with himself, Zoe couldn't help but smile. "Oh, I see. That explains it. It's rugby." She raised her glass. "A truly manly sport," she said, holding the beer aloft until the others at the table did the same. "Full of blood, sweat and public humiliation."
Reed laughed. "To manly sports." He lifted his glass to his lips, taking a long swallow, his gaze holding Zoe's over the frosty rim of the mug.
Zoe refused to let him fluster her with that look again, refused to look away. She had his number now. He was just a man like any other. Okay, better looking than most. And richer than most. And sexier than most, too. But still, just a man. Nothing she couldn't handle.
"You've got foam on your upper lip," she said prosaically, and handed him a paper napkin.
He took it from her and wiped his mouth, slowly, his gaze never leaving hers.
She quirked an eyebrow at him, head tilted, the corners of her mouth turned up in a teasing little smile. A mocking, challenging, gypsy-temptress kind of smile.
Testosterone surged through his veins. Without thought, without consciousness, without knowing what he was going to do until he'd actually done it, Reed reached out and curled his fingers around the back of her neck.
Zoe had time to gasp, but only just, her smile disappearing as her lips parted in a wordless sound of protest and surprise.
Perfect, he thought, and took her mouth with his.
* * *
5
« ^ »
"Trust me," Zoe said as Reed slowly cruised Salem Street
. "You'll never find a parking space. Just stop anywhere along the street and we'll hop out."
"That isn't exactly what I had in mind when I said I'd see you home," Reed objected.
What he'd had in mind was an intimate little scenario that would end with him getting invited into her apartment for coffee or … something. But Eddie had bailed out on him right after lunch, citing a prior engagement that left Reed with both women on his hands. Gina, instead of residing in a place where he could conveniently drop her off first, apparently lived right across the hall from Zoe. And Zoe herself had been as skittish as a Victorian heiress in a roomful of fortune hunters ever since he'd given in to the irresistible urge to kiss her.
It wasn't like him to misjudge a moment like that. He wasn't the spontaneous type, especially not where women were concerned. But she'd given him that look, that challenging, faintly mocking, I-dare-you, gypsy look and he'd… Well, he'd lost his head for a minute there. And it had been glorious. Her mouth was as luscious as it looked. As soft. As warm. As sweet. And it had left him itching—all right, aching—to repeat the experience as soon as humanly possible, preferably somewhere more private than a booth at Bruno's, someplace where he could do a thorough job of it and gain her full cooperation in the process. He had an idea her full cooperation would be even better than he could imagine, and his imagination had already proved to be pretty good where she was concerned.
If he could only find a damned parking space! Didn't people ever move their cars in this part of town?
"A gentleman always sees a lady—" he glanced in the rearview mirror "—ladies," he amended, smiling charmingly at Gina "—to their door."
"Maybe on Beacon Hill," Zoe said. "But in the North End a gentleman has to be a bit more practical, and a lady considers the street outside her door close enough. Really, Reed, this is fine. You can stop right here. This is our block." She curled her fingers around the door handle as she spoke and lifted it, causing a discreet red light on the dashboard to alert Reed to the fact that the passenger door was ajar.
He scowled through the windshield and eased the Jag from a crawl to a full stop. Zoe hopped out of the car before he had a chance to do more than turn toward her, hand extended along the back of the leather seat.
"Thanks for the lift," she said, leaning down a bit to look back in at him.
"Yes, thanks," Gina echoed as she scooted across the back seat and got out.
"It was very kind of you to go so far out of your way," Zoe said politely. "I really appreciate it."
"Enough to have brunch with me tomorrow?" The words just popped out. He'd had no idea he was going to say them until he heard himself speak, but dammit he had to get her alone. Soon. He couldn't wait until the meeting on Monday.
"Brunch? Well, I, uh—"
A horn blasted impatiently behind them. Reed ignored it. "I'll pick you up at eleven."
"No." Zoe shook her head. "I can't. I've already got a date for brunch."
"Dinner?"
"Sorry," she said firmly, determined not to let him steamroll her again. "I'm booked for din—"
The horn sounded again, longer and louder.
"I'd better let you go," Zoe said, silently blessing the impatient driver. "We're blocking traffic." She straightened, pushing the door shut with the flat of her hand. "Thanks again for the ride," she mouthed through the window, waggling her fingers at him as she backed between the bumpers of two parked cars and stepped up onto the sidewalk.
Reed curled his hands around the steering wheel, barely managing to restrain himself from leaping out of the car and hauling her back inside. What he'd do with her after that he didn't know. Well, he did know, but—
Zoe frowned and shook her head as if to say no. For a second, Reed thought the gesture was aimed at him—she'd certainly say no if she could read his mind at the moment!—but then he realized two things almost simultaneously. She was looking at the car behind him, and the clown who'd been hammering on his horn had stopped. Reed's glance flickered to the rearview mirror. The driver was stretched across the empty passenger seat of his sporty little Miata, hand extended, beckoning to Zoe as if she were a little girl he was try
ing to entice with candy. Reed's left hand dropped to the door handle, and he'd actually pulled up on it, releasing the catch, fully intending to drag the guy out of his sports car and punch his lights out, when Zoe turned away, dismissing her inopportune suitor with an insouciant little wave.
The guy straightened up behind the wheel, apparently accepting his rejection with good grace. And Reed was left wondering why he was acting like some love-struck, testosterone-ridden adolescent, all lathered up over his new girlfriend. But Zoe Moon wasn't his girl. She wasn't even his friend. In truth, he barely knew the woman. What he did know, he didn't understand. Or trust.
He tried to remember just why he didn't trust her, but couldn't quite bring his reasons—perfectly sound reasons, he was sure—into focus at the moment. The lingering scent of violets was fogging his brain.
There was something about the woman that reached out and touched—grabbed!—something almost primitive in him. Something instinctual. Predatory. Possessive. He wanted her. It was that simple. She sent his hormones into the kind of frenzied overdrive he hadn't known since he was a horny teenager, and he wanted her.
Desperately.
The very thought appalled him, suggesting as it did a lack of self-control. He had always prided himself—quite rightly, he thought—on his prodigious self-mastery. And in any case, a thirty-three-year-old man should have progressed beyond desperation where women were concerned. He'd certainly been operating on that assumption. But then Miss Zoe Moon sashayed into his tidy, well-ordered life with her wildfire hair, her pinup body and those hot, laughing gypsy eyes, and he wanted to strip her naked and press his mouth to every inch of—
The guy in the Miata pounded on the horn again, accompanying the strident sound with a rude hand gesture.
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