Lynda saved her file, then leaned back in the chair. “There’s a reason I don’t get involved with anyone—”
“Yeah, you’re socially stunted and a coward.”
“I’m not socially stunted. I just choose to not be burdened by personal relationships. And I’m not a coward. I don’t really want a relationship. I don’t want to get married. I have enough going on career-wise that I want my personal life to be quiet and uneventful.”
“Yeah, sure. And every night when you go to bed, you pray to grow four inches taller, to gain fifty pounds, and to have your mother live with you for the rest of your unnatural life.” Melina made an irritated gesture. “Save the lies for someone who’ll believe them.”
“I believe them.”
“Yeah, well, you think you don’t want a hot, steamy fling with Ben Foster. You’re obviously delusional.” She gazed out the window for a moment, then said, “You know, Lyn, it’s possible to disapprove of someone’s actions and like or love him anyway. I don’t like everything you do, but I still love you.”
Lynda gave her a sour look that didn’t encourage that line of conversation, so Melina got to her feet. “Come on. Treat me to dinner at the Starlite, then we can drown our sorrows in a couple of beers … or a couple of good-looking pickups.”
She was surprised when Lynda readily agreed. No argument, no trying to beg off, just a sighed “All right.”
It was a few minutes after six when they arrived at the tavern, but the parking lot was half-full. Melina parked the Bug near the door and hopped out, buzzing with energy, while Lynda dragged out. She swore, if she met Mr. Right tonight and had to turn him down because of Ms. Sad Sack over there, she was giving up forever her attempts to help Lyn enjoy life. All future visits would be restricted to activities suited to a stuffy, prissy thirty-four-year-old old maid.
There was a nice crowd in the tavern. The dance floor was mostly empty, though a sign on the stage announced live music in an hour. Melina stood just inside the door, sizing up the men, and decided there were decent pickin’s tonight. She might not get lucky, but she would have some fun.
“See that big guy in the last booth?” It was tricky business, pitching her voice loud enough for Lynda to hear but not so loud that she could get caught shouting at the end of a song. “If I weren’t here visiting you, I’d take him home with me tonight.”
“That’s Sebastian Knight. He was at Harry’s last time you were here.”
Oh, yeah. Carpenter, lived outside town, wife had run off and left him and their little girl. Somehow, the fact that he was so amazingly masculine had escaped her that night—probably because Lynda and Ben had both been in pissy moods and she’d been trying to keep them from each other’s throats.
The man looked as if he stood close to six and a half feet tall. His shoulders were broad, his hair dark brown and stylishly casual, and his features were rugged. She wouldn’t say he was particularly handsome, but macho? Yeah. Impressively male? Absolutely. He looked quiet, steady, and strong—and those were the ones a girl had to watch out for.
She followed Lynda to a booth and took a seat facing Sebastian. They ordered burgers, and beer for Melina, Diet Coke for Lynda, and they talked about nothing in particular. More people wandered in, the noise level increased, and a few minutes before seven, the band took the stage.
“I’m going to ask Sebastian to dance,” Melina said, sliding from the booth. “Want me to get his companion for you?”
“No, thanks.”
She wound her way between tables and past the pool table, where some guy got fresh. Looking back, she smiled warningly. “Do that again, sweetheart, and I’ll … buy you a beer.”
The guy moved as if he would do it again, but she was quicker. To the sound of his friends’ laughter, she approached the back booth … where she received a pleasant surprise, along with a not-so-pleasant one. Sebastian’s companion was none other than Ben Foster, and his companion was Kelli. “I didn’t know you were here, darlin’.”
Ben responded with his heaviest drawl. “It’s a Saturday night in the squeaky-clean town of Bethlehem. Where else would an unattached man go?”
“Last Saturday night you went to dinner with Lyn and her parents.”
“Lucky for me, that’ll never happen again.” He took a drink from his beer, his green gaze never wavering from her face. “Did she send you over here?”
“She doesn’t know you’re here. If she did, she would have walked out a long time ago.”
“Then what do you want?”
“Nothing from you.” Deliberately shifting away from him, she gave Sebastian her best smile, the kind that made friends of men and small children and caused women to hate her irrationally. Judging by the way Kelli wrapped herself possessively around Ben, it was working. “Hi. I’m Melina Dimitris, and I surely would like to dance with you.”
Sebastian’s gaze moved over her, from the top of her wild curly hair over her short, snug red dress, all the way down to her heels and red-painted toes. Appreciation darkened his hazel eyes as, without a word, he slid from the bench and took her hand.
Before walking away, she managed to unobtrusively bring one heel down hard on Ben’s foot. “Y’all have fun,” she said sweetly. “I certainly intend to.”
Chapter Thirteen
Fresh air. Quiet. Her pajamas. A cool breeze. Ice cream.
Lynda sat in the booth, not giving even half an ear to the man who’d invited himself to join her, and made a mental list of the things that would bring her pleasure at that very moment. It was a short list, and incomplete, but it made her long to walk out of the Starlite and set about fulfilling it. If only Melina would come back, and Mickey, Ricky, or whatever the hell his name was, would take the hint that she wasn’t interested and go away. But he’d been there long enough for her to finish her drink and showed no signs of leaving.
She was debating ordering another drink, maybe even beer, when Ben stopped beside the booth. “Melina just waltzed out the door with Sebastian, and I don’t think she’s coming back. Do you have a ride home?”
Lynda stared at him, disconcerted by the facts that he’d been in the same room all this time and she hadn’t known it, that Melina had left her on her own, and that Kelli was plastered to his side. “I … No, we came in her car.”
“Hey, no problem, doll,” the guy across from her said. “I’ll take you home.”
Ben’s gaze shifted from her to him and narrowed. “I don’t think so.”
The man took her hand as if staking his claim. “Look, pal, this is between the lady and me.”
Ben easily removed her hand from his grip. “No, pal, it’s between you and me. The last guy I argued with in a bar couldn’t eat solid food for six weeks. Don’t mess with me. Come on, Lynda.”
“Why don’t we let her decide?” the guy challenged, and Kelli chimed in, “Ben, I thought we were going to my place. Let him take her. Mickey’s harmless, aren’t you, hon? At least, most of the time,” she clarified with a giggle.
“I can find my own—” The look Ben shot her was so forbidding that Lynda’s words ended abruptly.
“Kelli, I told you I would take you home. I also told you I wasn’t staying,” Ben said impatiently. “Mickey, stay the hell away from her. Lynda, come on.”
It didn’t strike her as a particularly good time to argue, especially when he was offering what she’d just been longing for. She grabbed her handbag and slid to her feet, and, with his hand at the small of her back, was unceremoniously hustled from the bar.
Kelli accompanied them only to the parking lot. “You’re serious? You weren’t planning to spend the night?”
“That’s what ‘no thanks’ means where I come from,” Ben said irritably. “Do you want a ride or not?”
She planted one hand on her hip. “I have my own car here. Jeez, did you think I walked? You know, Ben, for an unattached man, you certainly seem attached to the ice queen there. Well, you’re welcome to her, sweetheart. You’ve blown your
last chance with me. As far as I’m concerned, you can go to hell.”
Lynda watched over her shoulder as Kelli spun around and flounced back inside. Though she resented the ice queen remark, she admired the very feminine show of temper. She couldn’t toss her head, spin around, or flounce like that any more than she could sidle up to a stranger and say, Hey, baby, wanna take me home?
But maybe she didn’t need that questionable skill. After all, Kelli was very good at it, but she’d tried it twice with Ben and failed both times.
He opened the GTO’s door for her—because he didn’t trust her to get in on her own, she suspected—then slid in beside her. He remained silent all the way to her house, a fierce scowl marring his features as if he were mad at the world … or her.
When he stopped next to her car, she sat motionless a moment. She owed him several apologies, but couldn’t find the words. She got out, then bent to speak through the window. “Thank you for the ride. Though it wasn’t necessary. I could have made it home on my own. And I could have dealt with Mickey on my own, too. Still, thank you.” Figuring she’d said more than enough, she started toward the house.
She was at the steps when the car door slammed, then Ben’s angry voice called out. “How? How would you have dealt with Mickey? Would you have let him bring you home, then given him a prissy little ‘Thank you for the ride,’ and expect him to be a good boy and leave again?”
She unlocked the door as he took the steps two at a time.
“Would you have tried to intimidate him into leaving without something for his trouble? Would you have gone into your frigid, aloof, so damn superior routine to keep him at arm’s length? ’Cause I’ll tell you something, darlin’. It wouldn’t have worked.” As he spoke, he advanced on her, his voice growing softer as the distance between them narrowed. “A guy like Mickey is too stupid to be intimidated, macho enough to take your untouchable act as a challenge, and egotistical enough to believe you’ll enjoy it so much once he gets started that you’ll forget the force that was necessary to change your mind.”
She retreated until the door was against her back. He stopped only when mere millimeters separated them, so close she could feel his breath on her skin. She could smell Kelli’s cologne on him and feel the heat radiating through him, could feel when his anger shifted into tension of a different sort. Though he wasn’t touching her, her body responded as if he were. Her breasts grew heavy, her nipples swelling, and heat pooled deep in her belly. Her nerves tingled, and her skin rippled in anticipation of the warm, calloused feel of his hands on her.
He breathed shallowly, unsteadily. She found it difficult to breathe at all. She wanted to open the door at her back, run inside, and lock it between them. More than that, she wanted to grab hold of his shirt, yank him those few millimeters closer, and kiss him like she’d never kissed a man—greedily, hungrily, demanding, claiming. She didn’t do either, because Melina was right. She was a coward.
“You don’t have an answer, do you?” Ben murmured, his breath caressing her cheek. “The incredibly competent, efficient, all-knowing machine doesn’t have a clue, does she?”
She managed to find her voice, though it was husky. “Your girlfriend says he’s harmless.”
“Kelli’s never said no to a man in her life. She doesn’t know what can happen. Neither do you. You’re so used to dealing with puppets you can control that you don’t know what it’s like to be with a real man.”
Then show me. She’d thought she’d spoken aloud, but the words had gotten lost somewhere between her brain and her mouth, which he was now touching, brushing his lips lightly over hers. With a trembling breath, she tried again. “Show me.”
His mouth stilled, and for a moment he stared at her. She could feel his gaze, though she couldn’t meet it. She had no idea how he might respond to her request, whether he would be willing or if she left him as cold as Kelli apparently did. When he remained still and quiet moment after long moment, she felt a sick, embarrassed queasiness building in her stomach. He was just playing with her, teaching her a lesson for her own good, for his own amusement.
She was trying to find a way to pretend she’d been joking when she felt a tug around her middle. Looking down, she saw that he’d unfastened the bottom button on her blouse, and finally the touch she’d been waiting for came. It was slight, just the tip of one finger, sliding underneath her shirt and gliding back and forth along the waistband of her slacks. Gentle pressure, gentle warmth, and it made her eyes flutter shut and her breath catch in her chest.
“I don’t think it would be a very good idea,” he murmured even as he moved a step closer, even as his hands slid around to her hips to press her against his arousal. “Your mother was right about me. I’m not what you need.”
She raised her hands to his shoulders, then slid her arms around his neck. “You’re wrong, Ben. You’re exactly what I need … exactly what I wan—”
He kissed her then—none of that tantalizing rubbing and teasing, but a serious, greedy, blood-stirring kiss that made her knees weak and sent a rush of heat sizzling through her body. He thrust his tongue into her mouth, probing, tasting, stroking, and ground his hips against hers. In some small still-functioning part of her brain, she remembered Melina pointing out that the two of them would be a perfect match in their bare feet, and she was right. Lynda wasn’t too tall. He wasn’t too short.
He smelled of wanton woman and tasted of beer, and his body was warm, hard, his muscles finely honed from years of physical labor. She slid her hands over his back, tugged his shirt free of his jeans, and spread her palms flat on heated silken skin. She wanted to touch him everywhere, wanted to see him, taste him, feel him inside her, but she couldn’t bring herself to end the kiss, to give up the sweet, greedy claiming, not even when her lungs threatened to burst for just one breath of searing air.
A moment later he broke off the kiss, but he didn’t pull away. He rested his forehead against hers, drew a few heavy breaths, then rubbed his mouth side to side over hers. “This is your second chance, sugar, and I don’t give third chances. If you’re gonna change your mind, now’s the time to do it. Tell me to go. If you don’t, I’m gonna take you upstairs to your bedroom”—he kissed her cheek—“and get rid of these clothes”—then her jaw—“and make love to you”—then left a trail of wet, hot kisses down her throat to the vee of her blouse—“at least eight or ten times.” Thrusting his hips against hers, he made her moan. Finding and teasing her nipple through her blouse, he made her whimper, then he brought his mouth close to her ear, making her shudder. “And then I’m gonna do it all over again. It’s your decision. What do you want?”
“You,” she murmured, her mouth seeking his for another kiss. He indulged her for a moment, one brief press of his mouth against hers, one intimate thrust of his tongue, before pulling back.
“Open your eyes and say that again,” he commanded. “Look at me and say it.”
He wanted to be sure she was choosing him—not merely giving in to need and desire, but to need and desire for him. She understood that insecurity, opened her eyes, and cupped her hands to his cheeks. “I want you, Ben E-doesn’t-stand-for-anything-or-maybe-it-stands-for-everything Foster. I want you to kiss me again and again. I want you to go upstairs to my bedroom with me—or, hell, right here on the porch is fine—and get rid of these clothes. I want you inside me.”
He stroked her breast, ending with a little pinch on her nipple, then did it over and over, making her eyes close, her breath catch, and she lost track of what she was saying for one tantalizing moment. When her brain was able to send commands again, when she could put a coherent thought together, she opened her eyes and grinned at him in that wicked way of his that she loved so much. “I want to get nekkid with you, Ben.”
He kissed her once more, a hard, demanding kiss that bordered on punishing, then reached past her and opened the door. Only the light above the sink was burning to show their way, but neither of them was watching where they were goi
ng. They stumbled up the back stairs, bumped the wall on their way down the hall, then finally reached the cool, quiet darkness of her bedroom.
He turned on the bedside lamp, then held her, hands on her waist, at arm’s length. “Last chance, darlin’.”
“You only give second chances, remember? And I told you what I want.” She studied his face, so handsome and serious. Arousal made his eyes a few shades darker and tightened the skin across his cheekbones and the line of his jaw, as if he was relying on great reserves of self-control. She found the idea one hell of a turn-on, but she didn’t move closer, didn’t touch him any more than she already was. “This is your second chance, Ben. If you don’t want this …”
He reached for her hand and pressed it to his chest, where his heart thudded rapidly, then slid it slowly over his ribs, from soft cotton shirt to softer faded denim, not stopping until her fingers were insinuated between his legs, curving and stretching to mold his erection. “Does that feel like I don’t want you?” he asked hoarsely.
You, he said. Not this, as she had. It was a small difference, but it touched her deep inside. This could mean any woman touching him so intimately. You narrowed it down, made it special, made her special. When was the last time a man had made her feel special? She couldn’t recall.
Gently flexing her fingers, she made his breath catch, then rush out on a harsh groan. A feeling of power swept over her that, for the first time in memory, had nothing to do with her career, her authority, or her fortune, and everything with being a woman. For the first time, she felt beautiful, utterly feminine, even delicate. She didn’t feel six feet tall, coldhearted, or an ice maiden.
Curling her fingers around the hem of his T-shirt, she peeled it up and over his head, tousling his blond hair, then brought both hands to his chest. Somewhere there was a hunk-of-the-month calendar waiting for a photograph of him just like this. His skin was golden brown, hot, and stretched taut over well-defined muscles, and it quivered when she caressed it. His small, flat nipples hardened under her touch, and his muscles constricted tighter when she dragged her tongue across them.
Getting Lucky Page 22