Put it all together, though, and the effect was amazing.
And add those heartstoppingly gorgeous eyes...
Colleen's eyes were sometimes blue, sometimes green, and always dancing with light and life. When she smiled— which was most of the time—her eyes actually twinkled. It was corny but true. Being around Colleen Skelly was like being in the middle of a continuous, joyful, always-in-full-swing party.
And as for her body...
Ouch.
The woman was beyond hot. She wasn't one of those anemic little bony anorexic girls who were plastered all over TV and magazines, looking more like malnourished -year-old boys. No, Colleen Skelly was a woman—with a capital W. She was the kind of woman that a real man could wrap his arms around and really get a grip on. She actually had hips and breasts—and not only was that the understatement of the century, but it was the thought that would send him to hell, directly to hell. 'Do not pass Go, do not collect two hundred dollars,' do not live another minute longer.
If Wes ever found out that Bobby spent any amount of time at all thinking about Colleen's breasts, well, that would be it. The end. Game over.
But right now Wes—being more than three thousand miles away—wasn't Bobby's problem.
No, Bobby's problem was that somehow Colleen had realized that he was spending far too much time thinking about her breasts.
She'd figured out that he was completely and mindlessly in lust with her.
And Wesley wasn't around to save him. Or beat him senseless.
Of course, it was possible that she was just toying with him, just messing with his mind. Look at what you can't have, you big loser.
After all, she was dating some lawyer. Wasn't that what Wes had said? And these days, wasn't dating just a euphemism for in a relationship with? And that was really just
a polite way of saying that they were sleeping together, lucky son of a bitch.
Colleen glanced up from her conversation with the station-wagon mom and caught him looking at her butt.
Help.
He'd known that this was going to be a mistake back in California—the second the plea for help had left Wes's lips. Bobby should have admitted it, right there and then. Don't send me to Boston, man. I've got a crippling jones for your sister. The temptation may be too much for me to handle, and then you'll kill me.
"I've gotta go," Bobby heard Colleen say as she straightened up. "I've got a million things to do before I leave." She waved to the kids in the back. "Thanks again, guys. You did a terrific job today. I probably won't see you until I get back, so..."
There was an outcry from the back seat, something Bobby couldn't make out, but Colleen laughed.
"Absolutely," she said. "I'll deliver your letters to An-alena and the other kids. And I'll bring my camera and take pictures. I promise."
She waved as the station wagon drove away, and then she was walking toward him. As she approached, as she gazed at him, there was a funny little smile on her face.
Bobby was familiar with the full arsenal of devious Skelly smiles, and it was all he could do not to back away from this one.
"I have an errand to run, but after, we could get dinner. Are you hungry?" she asked.
No, he was terrified. He sidled back a bit, but she came right up to him, close enough for him to put his arms around. Close enough to pull her in for a kiss.
He couldn't kiss her. Don't you dare, he ordered himself.
He'd wanted to kiss her for years.
"I know this great Chinese place," she continued, twin kling her eyes at him. "Great food, great atmosphere, too. Very dark and cool and mysterious."
Oh, no. No, no. Atmosphere was the dead-last thing he wanted or needed. Standing here on the blazing-hot asphalt in broad daylight was bad enough. He had to clench his fists to keep from reaching for her. No way was he trusting himself around Colleen Skelly someplace dark and cool and mysterious.
She touched him, reaching up to brush something off his sleeve, and he jumped about a mile straight up.
Colleen laughed. "Whoa. What's with you?"
I want to sink back with you on your brightly colored bedspread, undress you with my teeth and lose myself in your laughter, your eyes and the sweet heat of your body.
Not necessarily in that order.
Bobby shrugged, forced a smile. "Sorry."
"So how 'bout it? You want to get Chinese?"
"Oh," he said, stepping back a bit and shifting around to pick up his seabag and swing it over his shoulder, glad he had something with which to occupy his hands. "I don't know. I should probably go try to find my hotel. It's the Sheraton, just outside of Harvard Square?"
"You're sure I can't talk you into spending the night with me?"
It was possible that she had no idea how suggestive it was when she asked a question like that, combined with a smile like that.
On the other hand, she probably knew damn well what she was doing to him. She was, after all, a Skelly.
He laughed. It was either that or cry. Evasive maneuvers, Mr. Sulu. "Why don't we just plan to have lunch tomorrow?"
Lunch was good. Lunch was safe. It was businesslike and well lit.
"Hmm. I'm working straight through lunch tomorrow,"
she told him. "I'm going to be driving the truck all day, picking up donations to take to Tulgeria. But I'd love to have breakfast with you."
This time it wasn't so much the words but the way she said it, lowering her voice and smiling slightly.
Bobby could picture her at breakfast—still in bed, her hair sexily mussed, her gorgeous eyes heavy-lidded. Her mouth curving up into a sleepy smile, her breasts soft and full against the almost-transparent cotton of that innocent little nightgown he'd once seen hanging in her bathroom....
Everything about her body language was screaming for him to kiss her. Unless he was seriously mistaken, everything she was saying and doing was one great big, giant green light.
God help him, why did she have to be Wes Skelly's little sister?
Traffic was heavy through the Back Bay and out toward Cambridge.
For once, Colleen didn't mind. This was probably the last time for a while that she'd make this drive up Comm. Ave. and over the BU bridge. It was certainly the last time she'd do it in this car.
She refused to feel remorse, refused even to acknowledge the twinge of regret that tightened her throat every time she thought about signing over the title. She'd done too much pro bono work this past year. It was her fault entirely, and the only way to make ends meet now was to sell her car. It was a shame, but she had to do it.
At least this final ride was a memorable one.
She glanced at Bobby Taylor, sitting there beside her, looking like the perfect accessory for a lipstick-red Ford Mustang, with his long hair and exotic cheekbones and those melted-chocolate eyes.
Yeah, he was another very solid reason why she didn't mind at all about the traffic.
For the first time she could remember, she had Bobby Taylor alone in her car, and the longer it took to reach Harvard Square, the better. She needed all the time she could to figure out a way to keep him from getting out when they arrived at his hotel.
She'd been pretty obvious so far, and she wondered just how blatant she was going to have to be. She laughed aloud as she imagined herself laying it all on the table, bringing it down to the barest bottom line, asking him if he wanted to get with her, using the rudest, least-elegant language she knew.
“So...what are you going to do tonight?" she asked him instead.
He glanced at her warily, as if he were somehow able to read her mind and knew what she really wanted to ask him.
"Your hair's getting really long," she interrupted him before he could even start to answer. "Do you ever wear it down?"
"Not too often," he told her.
Say it. Just say it. "Not even in bed?"
He hesitated only briefly. "No, I usually sleep with it braided or at least pulled back. Otherwise it takes foreve
r to untangle in the morning."
She hadn't meant while he slept. She knew from the way he wasn't looking at her that he was well aware of what she had meant.
"I guess from your hair that you're still doing the covert stuff, huh?" she asked. "Oops, sorry. Don't answer that." She rolled her eyes. "Not that you would."
Bobby laughed. He had a great laugh, a low-pitched rumble that was always accompanied by the most gorgeous smile and extremely attractive laughter lines around his eyes. "I think it's fine if I say yes," he told her. "And
you're right—the long hair makes it kind of obvious, anyway."
"So is Wes out on a training op or is it the real thing this time?" she asked.
"I don't know that myself," he admitted. "Really," he added as she shot him a skeptical glance.
The traffic light was red, and she chewed her lip as she braked to a stop and stared at the taillights of the cars in front of them. "It worries me that he's out there without you."
When she looked at him again, he was watching her. And he actually held her gaze for the first time since they'd gotten into her car. "He's good at what he does, Colleen," he told her gently. She loved the way he said her name.
"I know. It's just... Well, I don't worry so much when he's with you." She forced a smile. "And I don't worry so much about you when you're with him."
Bobby didn't smile. He didn't do much of anything but look into her eyes. No, when he looked at her like that, he wasn't just looking into her eyes. He was looking into her mind, into her soul. Colleen found herself holding her breath, hypnotized, praying that he would like what he saw. Wishing that he would kiss her.
How could he look at her like that—and the way he'd looked at her in the church parking lot, too—and then not kiss her?
The car behind her honked, and she realized that the light had changed. The line of traffic had already moved. She fumbled with the stick shift, suddenly afraid she was making a huge fool of herself.
One of Wes's recent e-mails had mentioned that Bobby had finally ended his on-again, off-again relationship with a woman he'd met in Arizona or New Mexico or someplace else equally unlikely, considering the man spent most of his waking hours in the ocean.
Of course, that so-called recent e-mail from her brother had arrived nearly two months ago. A lot might've happened in the past two months. Bobby could well have hooked up with someone new. Or gotten back together with what's-her-name. Kyra Something.
"Wes told me you and Kyra called it quits." There was absolutely no point in sitting here wondering. So what if she came across as obvious? She was tired of guessing. Did she have a chance here, or didn't she? Inquiring minds wanted to know.
"Um," Bobby said. "Yeah, well... She, uh, found someone who wasn't gone all the time. She's actually getting married in October."
"Oh, yikes." Colleen made a face at him. "The M word." Wes always sounded as if he were on the verge of a panic attack when that word came up.
But Bobby just smiled. "Yeah, I think she called to tell me about it because she was looking for a counteroffer, but I just couldn't do it. We had a lot of fun, but..." He shook his head. "I wasn't about to leave the teams for her, you know, and that's what she wanted." He was quiet for a moment. "She deserved way more than I could give her, anyway."
"And you deserve more than someone who'll ask you to change your whole life for them," Colleen countered.
He looked startled at that, as if he'd never considered such a thing, as if he'd viewed himself as the bad guy in the relationship—the primary reason for its failure.
Kyra Whomever was an idiot.
"How about you?" he asked. "Wes said you were dating some lawyer."
Oh, my God. Was it possible that Bobby was doing a little fishing of his own?
"No," she said, trying to sound casual. "Nope. That's funny, but... Oh, I know what he was thinking. I told him
I went to Connecticut with Charlie Johannsen. Wes must've thought..." She had to laugh. "Charlie's longtime companion is an actor. He just got cast in a new musical at Goodspeed-at-Chester."
"Ah," Bobby said. "Wes will be relieved."
"Wes never wants me to have any fun," she countered. "How about you?" She used Bobby's own words. "Are you seeing someone new?"
"Nope. And Wes isn't, either."
Okay. She would talk about Wes. She'd gotten the info she'd wanted.
"Is he still carrying the torch for—" What was her name? "Laura?"
Bobby shook his head. "You'll have to ask him about that."
Yeah, like Wes would talk to her about this. "Lana," she remembered. "He once wrote me this really long e-mail all about her. I think he was drunk when he wrote it."
"I'm sure he was." Bobby shook his head. "When you talk to him, Colleen, it's probably better not to mention her."
"Oh, my God, is she dead?"
"No. Do you mind if we talk about something else?"
He was the one who'd brought up Wes in the first place. "Not at all."
Silence.
Colleen waited for him to start a new topic of conversation—anything that wasn't about Wes—but he just sat there, distracted by the sight of the river out the window.
"Do you want to go see a movie later?" she finally asked. "Or we could rent a video. I've got an appointment at six-thirty with a guy who wants to buy my car. If everything goes right, I'll be done by seven-thirty, easy."
That got his attention, just the way she knew it would. "You're selling your car? This car?"
When she was fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, this Mustang was all she could talk about. But people's priorities changed. It wasn't going to be easy to sell it, but she refused to let it be the end of her world—a world that was so much wider now, extending all the way to Tulgeria and beyond.
She made herself smile at him. "I am. Law school's expensive."
"Colleen, if you need a loan—"
"I've got a loan. Believe me I've got many loans. I've got loans to pay off loans. I've got—"
"It took you five years to rebuild this car. To find authentic parts and—"
"And now someone's going to pay top dollar for a very shiny, very well-maintained vintage Mustang that handles remarkably badly in the snow. I live in Cambridge, Massachusetts. I don't need a car—especially not one that skids if you so much as whisper the word ice. My apartment's two minutes from the T, and frankly, I have better things to spend my money on than parking tickets and gasoline."
"Okay," he said. "Okay. I have an idea. I've got some money saved. I'll lend you what you need—interest free— and we can take the next week and drive this car back to your parents' house in Oklahoma, garage it there. Then in a few years when you graduate—"
"Nice try," Colleen told him. "But my travel itinerary has me going to Tulgeria next Thursday. Oklahoma's not exactly in the flight path."
"Think about it this way—if you don't go to Tulgeria, you get to keep your car and have an interest-free loan."
She took advantage of another red light to turn and look at him. "Are you attempting to bribe me?"
He didn't hesitate. "Absolutely."
She had to laugh. "You really want me to stay home? It's gonna cost you. A million dollars, babe. I'll accept nothing less."
He rolled his eyes. "Colleen—"
"Put up or shut up."
"Seriously, Colleen, I've been to Tulgeria and—"
"I'm dead serious, Robert. And if you want to lecture me about the dangers of Tulgeria, you've got to buy me dinner. But first you've got to come with me while I sell my car—make sure the buyer's really a buyer and not some psycho killer who answers vintage car ads in the Boston Globe."
He didn't hesitate. "Of course I'll come with you."
Jackpot. "Great," Colleen said. "We'll go take care of business, then drop your stuff at your hotel before we grab some dinner. Is that a plan?"
He looked at her. "I never really stood a chance here, did I?"
She smiled at him h
appily. "Nope."
Bobby nodded, then turned to look out the window. He murmured something that Colleen wasn't quite sure she caught, but it sounded an awful lot like, "I'm a dead man."
3
Dark, cool and mysterious.
Somehow, despite his best intentions, Bobby had ended up sitting across from Colleen in a restaurant that was decidedly dark, cool and mysterious.
The food was great. Colleen had been right about that, too.
Although she didn't seem to be eating too much.
The meeting with the buyer had gone well. The man had accepted her price for the car—no haggling.
It turned out that that meeting had been held in the well-lit office of a reputable escrow agent, complete with security guard. Colleen had known damn well there was absolutely no danger from psycho killers or anyone else.
Still, Bobby had been glad that he was there while the buyer handed over a certified check and she handed over the title and keys to the Mustang.
She'd smiled and even laughed, but it was brittle, and he'd wanted to touch her. But he hadn't. He knew that he couldn't. Even just a hand on her shoulder would have been too intimate. And if she'd leaned back into him, he would have put his arms around her. And if he'd done that there in the office, he would have done it again, later, when they were alone, and there was no telling where that might lead.
No, strike that. Bobby knew damn well it would lead to him kissing her. And that could and would lead to a full meltdown, a complete and utter dissolving of his defenses and resolve.
It made him feel like a total skeeve. What kind of friend could he be to Colleen if he couldn't even offer her the most basic form of comfort as a hand on her shoulder? Was he really so weak that he couldn't control himself around her?
Yes.
The answer was a resounding, unchallenged yes.
No doubt about it—he was scum.
After leaving the escrow office, they'd taken the T into Harvard Square. Colleen had kept up a fairly steady stream of conversation. About law school. About her roommate— a woman named Ashley who'd gone back to Scarsdale for the summer to work in her father's law office, but who still sent monthly checks for her share of the rent, who didn't have the nerve to tell her father that, like Colleen, she'd far rather be a public defender and a pro bono civil litigant than a highly paid corporate tax attorney.
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