Take Me On

by Cherrie Lynn

  “I’m not pissed. You’d know if I were pissed.”

  Somehow he didn’t doubt that. “So this is…what for you? Vaguely annoyed?”

  She cut him a look. “This is…‘whatever’.”

  Ian raked a hand through his hair and began to wonder if he was starting to see what the guys at Dermamania had been talking about. Even Ghost had been wary of this woman, and not much rattled that guy. Hell, his girlfriend was a little scary in her own right.

  “Look, I didn’t mean to offend you. It would be my pleasure to buy you a drink, but…I work for your brother and—”

  “Please. Do not worry about my little brother.”

  “Your little brother is my boss. You’re my client. And—”

  “You never mix business with pleasure,” she supplied. “Got it.”

  The way she purred that sentence in between sips of her drink, focusing on the “pleasure”… Oh goddamn, he wanted to mix it. He wanted to mix it hard. “It’s not…a hard-and-fast rule or anything.”

  “Not hard and fast?”

  Shit. He felt like a fucking mouse being batted back and forth between the paws of a very svelte, very cunning feline, and given that he’d spent all damn day thinking about her, he wasn’t sure he liked it. There was a certain perverse curiosity in wondering when she was going to stick her claws in, though, and maybe it was best to hurry her plan along. Whatever it was.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  That got her attention, and her musical laughter surfaced again. “I’m not doing anything, Ian. Hey, look, I appreciate what you did for me today. Stepping up the way you did, and then calming me down when…things got weird. Seriously. Thank you. I should buy you a drink.”

  “Nah…I’m good,” he muttered, still off balance from the delicate floral notes of her perfume and her sheer allure. “It’s my job. Nothing more.”

  “Oh?”

  “Well…” It had been more than that. He was a damn liar if he said otherwise. But he didn’t want her to know that. He needed to stay clear of this one. At all costs.

  But this was a woman who knew her own power. She knew it so well that she could call bullshit on any pitiful excuse he tried to make up as to why he didn’t want her. Every man in this building wanted her, and she wore that knowledge. It shrouded her as surely as her dark curtain of lustrous hair. Whatever humiliation had befallen her a few months ago damn sure hadn’t affected her self-esteem.

  “Yeah, it’s my job,” he finished lamely.

  “You’re very good at your job, then. I see why Brian has such faith in you.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  Onscreen, Beltre took that moment to slam one out of the park, giving the Rangers the edge over the Blue Jays, and the room erupted in boisterous approval. Gabriella even joined in. “So you like baseball?” Ian asked once the shouts died down.

  “I love it. Me and Mar—um, yeah, I used to go to Rangers games whenever I had a chance. Not often, but I loved it.”

  “Me too. Kinda wish I were there right now.”

  “Right? So if you wish you were there, why are you here?”

  “Needed a fresh start. I knew Brian from some mutual friends we have in Dallas. Kara and Marco?”

  “Sorry, I don’t know anything about many of Brian’s friends.”

  “Oh. Well, they taught him—and me—everything we know. I worked in their studio, but they were saying he needed help here, so I came.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Like I said, I needed a new start.”

  “Why?”

  He sucked a breath in through his teeth. “I have my reasons.”

  “Ooh, mystery.” She gave him a nudge with her elbow. “I like a mystery.”

  She wouldn’t like this one. He damn sure didn’t. “What about you?” he asked. “You’re here, wishing you were there too.”

  Gabriella sighed, twirling her glass on the polished bar. “Don’t be too sure about that. At the ballgame, sure. Otherwise…not so much.”

  He began to relax a bit, though it occurred to him that maybe it was a huge mistake to go off his guard around her. She was far more disarming like this. “I’ll be honest,” he said. “I knew a little about what happened to you before you came in. Brian didn’t tell me much, so don’t get mad at him. But I started working for him around the time it all went down, so yeah. He was so pissed about it.”

  “It’s okay. The entire town and all of the Dallas medical community know, so why should you have been any different?”

  What the hell did he say to that? How did someone go through something like that and come out on the other side as this fierce creature? He could see now, though, beneath the veneer of the seductress who had slithered up to him tonight, real pain. The same pain he’d glimpsed earlier today. “I can see how it would be hard to go back home and face everyone after something like that.”

  “I’ll be going back. I just figured I’d wait out the summer, let a few more scandals erupt, and by the time I head back in the fall, no one will really care about my stupid wedding.” She chuckled without much humor.

  “Non-wedding,” he reminded her.

  This time, her laugh had humor, and he couldn’t help joining in. “I call it The Wedding That Wasn’t.”

  “Fuck weddings. Be anti-wedding.”

  “Oh my God, right? Be damned before I go through that stupid shit again. My other brother and his wife got married on the beach in Hawaii. I could do that. But the whole big-church, hundreds-of-guests, fairy-tale thing…yeah. Fuck that.” She held up her glass, and he clinked his bottle against it.

  “In fact…we’ll go picket against all weddings now,” he said.

  “It just makes me want to go speak out at every one, and not hold my peace.”

  “Right on. They’re all making a terrible mistake anyway.”

  She seemed to consider a moment and finally shrugged. “I don’t know so much about that. I mean, I can look to my own parents—they made it. Both my little brothers seem to be madly in love. I’m surrounded by so much freaking happiness, while being deprived of my own, and it’s sickening.”

  “Hmm.”

  She killed her drink and turned to face him fully. “So how about you? Was I making a play for a taken man or something?”

  A prickle of warning crept up his spine. He drank his beer, not meeting her eyes. Because then he would be doomed. “Making a play, huh?”

  “Wouldn’t be much use in denying it.”

  Yep, just keep staring at the bar. Don’t look at her. Eyes down. “No, not taken. No wife, no girlfriend.”

  She nodded, then pulled her purse around and dug inside for her wallet. He looked at her only when he was certain he wouldn’t meet the magnetic pull of her eyes.

  “Hey, I’ll get your drink. Really, let me. I want to,” he said.

  Ignoring him even when he reached back for his own wallet, she tossed some money on the bar and stood. What the hell had he said?

  “Are you leaving?”

  From his vantage point, he had to look up at her as she spoke. “Well, Ian, it’s pretty obvious to me that you’ve been ready to jump out of your skin ever since I approached you. I began to take it as I was intruding on someone else’s property, something I would never dream of doing. But now you tell me that’s not the case at all, so I can only speculate that you’re that fucking scared of my brother, or you just don’t like me. In either case…I’ll see you at our next appointment.”

  “I’m not scared of your brother,” he said, standing from his stool and towering over her. Her gaze didn’t leave his during his entire ascent.

  “So you don’t like me?”

  “I’m not finished. I’m not scared of your brother, but I respect your brother. And…goddamn, are you always this direct?” How did a woman like this not realize her fiancé wasn’t keen on meeting her at the altar, like, months ahead of time? Seemed she would’ve grilled it out of him.

  “Listen, man, you go throug
h what I’ve been through, you don’t have time for anything less.”

  “Well, then, allow me to reciprocate.” He moved his mouth to her ear and spoke directly into it, allowing his lips to brush against the soft shell. Close enough to smell her hair, close enough to feel its softness against his nose. “I’d love to take you home and fuck you senseless, if that’s what you’re after.”

  A full-body shudder went through her. He stepped back, seeing the desire clearly in her heavy-lidded eyes. She definitely wanted him to. “But I’m not going to,” he finished, watching it crash and burn. “For reasons I’ve already explained. So you can go on telling yourself I don’t like you if you want. Whatever makes you feel better about this.”

  Collecting his beer from the bar, he cast her one last look over his shoulder as he moved off toward the pool tables.

  He’d had the earlier thought that Satan had slid up on the barstool next to him. Oh no. Now she was Satan, and if looks could kill…he’d have her pitchfork buried in his chest. Or elsewhere on his anatomy where she could do maximum damage.

  He couldn’t claim total victory, though, because those particular parts of his anatomy throbbed in time with the beat of his heart. Uttering those words to her and her visceral reaction to them had flooded his dick with heat, and the last thing he needed was to be sporting wood right under her nose.

  Leaving was his best option, but a few guys he vaguely knew motioned him over to start up a game of pool, so he headed in their direction.

  Aware all the while of Gabriella’s eyes on him. They were like fucking laser beams. Aimed right at his crotch. Jesus.

  He tried to concentrate on the game, but damn if she didn’t move over to one of the neighboring tables and start up a game of her own. While he pretended to be aiming his cue stick, he was really scoping out her black-skirt-clad ass as she bent over to do the same.

  He shot. And missed. She made it, as evidenced by her whoop and her male partner’s high-five.

  “Fuck!” Ian bellowed, straightening and getting too much attention from the crowd over there—namely Gabriella’s.

  “Dude, it’s all right.” His partner laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. Ian rubbed the back of his neck, eyeballing the way that one drunk asshole kept trying to put his hands on her. And the way she was allowing it, until she was ready for her next shot. Then she shoved him away and took up a position that had her facing Ian, bending over so her cleavage was shown off to its best advantage.

  Ian felt a sudden sharp nudge in his side. “It’s your turn, man.”

  Already? He snapped out of his funk, looking down at his own table. Naturally, the best shot he could take had him still facing her. He set up, trying not to glance up at her—don’t fucking look at her, you ignorant asshole—but yet again he found his gaze tangled up in hers. She moved that fucking cue stick back and forth through her fingers in an almost obscene rhythm. Just as he was about to moan aloud and embarrass himself, she smiled. Her eyes flickered down at her shot, and she took it.

  A chorus of good-natured groans went up from her flock of admirers, and she gave an adorable pout as she straightened.

  “What the hell are you waiting for, man?” one of Ian’s spectators asked.

  “I think he’s too busy watching the show over there,” another said.

  “Hell, for that matter, so am I.”

  He wanted to jump up and break his stick over someone’s head. Instead, he channeled all his agitation into nailing the cue ball and easily pocketing his target. Thank Christ. He moved around to take his next shot, and his next, always with her in the corner of his eye. That group over there was getting rowdier by the minute, or maybe it was his imagination. She handled herself just fine without his intervention, but he was on high alert to give it at any moment.

  He and his partner won their game. She and hers lost, judging by all the condolences she got from her new friends. Could they be any more obvious about wanting to get under her skirt? He wanted to get under her skirt too, but he wasn’t about to make a fucking idiot of himself over it.

  Yeah, who was he kidding.

  Someone offered a new game; he turned them down. For some reason, he wasn’t in the mood—could have something to do with that earlier thought about cracking a few skulls with the cue stick. But Gabriella Ross was certainly enjoying the hell out of herself and her admirers, having shaken off Ian’s rejection as if it had never happened.

  Then again, maybe it hadn’t, which was what this was all about.

  The conversation around him turned back to the ball game, where the Rangers were in danger of losing their lead as the Blue Jays had managed to load the bases. Tension in the bar reached a peak as the 0-3 pitch was delivered.

  Strike. A collective sigh of relief went up.

  Ian felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned to see Gabby standing behind him, a cocky grin on her face. “Play me?”

  Feeling all eyes on him, he shook his head. “Nah. I’m all played out.”

  “I’ll make it interesting.”

  “Oh yeah? How?”

  She leaned close to his ear, mirroring the move he’d made on her earlier. Her whisper sent waves of chills up his spine. “If I win, you have to fuck me senseless.”

  Chapter Five

  Cool rain pelted against Gabby’s skin as she and Ian left the noise of the bar behind them. Feeling Ian’s fingers slide between hers, she tilted her face up and let the rainwater wash over it just before he unexpectedly crushed his mouth to hers. She wound her arms around his neck, welcoming the plunder of his tongue and the quick flare of desire it brought.

  He’d played. She’d won.

  And God, he felt good against her. Hard and strong and, well, wetter by the minute. She could sympathize—so was she, and it had nothing to do with the rain.

  His skin was hot beneath the cool slick of rainwater, and she explored it with greedy hands, needing the foreign feel of a complete stranger—or almost a stranger. His hands pressed against the small of her back, drawing her closer, and excitement tingled along her every nerve.

  He was minding her tattoo, not touching her there. She smiled against his sweet lips, and he drew back to catch his breath.

  “I didn’t expect you to play,” she said, their gently panting breaths mingling in the minute space between their lips.

  “I didn’t expect you to win.”

  “Maybe you let me.”

  “I’m pretty sure I didn’t.”

  “Maybe you…subconsciously let me.”

  He chuckled, gazed at her a moment, then pushed her drenched hair back from her forehead with both hands. She cupped his strong jaw with her palms and studied his face.

  Slightly aquiline nose, full mouth framed with five o’clock shadow. She’d been right about those eyes. They burned right down to her core. Her heart gave a little shudder as she thought again about how she didn’t know anything about him. A thin scar split his right eyebrow, and she wondered how he’d gotten it. Bar brawl, maybe? No way would this guy ever back down from a physical challenge. He stood nearly a full head taller than she, and Gabby didn’t consider herself short by any means. Built but not bulky, he exuded a raw power that could be attributed to the hard muscles she’d discovered beneath her wandering hands, but more likely to his take-no-shit attitude. Since he seemed like such a nice guy, she found the dichotomy fascinating.

  It didn’t matter what she knew about him. He could give her what she needed, and Brian knew and trusted him. Several years ago, that wouldn’t have been a comfort whatsoever, considering the people Brian knew, but things were different now. And the mystique… Damn, it was such a turn-on.

  “Come on,” he said, tugging her along not toward the parking lot, but the end of the sidewalk, where nothing sat but a lone motorcycle in the pouring rain.

  “I take it we’re going to your place, because remember, I’m staying with my parents.”

  “Right. I have to ask, though, do you want to take mine or yours?” He stopped
at the bike and lifted a brow at her.

  Gabby felt her own eyebrows creep into her hairline. “This is your ride?”

  “At the moment. I wasn’t expecting rain.”

  “Holy shit.” She laughed, wrapping her arms around herself as she imagined the wind cooling the chilly rain on her skin even further. It was so muggy, though, it would probably feel magnificent. Not to mention the power between her legs, where she was already achy and needy… “Well, I’m in a skirt. But I’m already drenched. Wonderful. Why the hell not?”

  He made a damn fine sight as he got on and brought the Harley to roaring life, revving the engine as she came tentatively closer. Damn. His sitting on the bike only accentuated his long legs and the way his fantastic thighs strained the denim of his distressed jeans. She couldn’t wait to get those thighs between her own. And those big black boots… She hoped the feet/genitalia-size link held true in this case. He reached out to hold her arm steady while she climbed on behind him, and as she settled, a laugh bubbled out of her. She’d never been on a motorcycle. Never thought she would be.

  “Can’t believe I’m doing this,” she said, and he glanced back to grin at her over his shoulder.

  The muscles of his abdomen tensed when she slid her hands over them. He was hard there, but she had expected no less. She only wanted to see if he was as hard elsewhere.

  The rain slacked off as he eased the bike out to the street. At this hour, there was little traffic. The motorcycle roared in her ears; the wind whipped at her cheeks as they zoomed up Main. She laid her head against Ian’s back and watched the damp downtown lights slip by, tightening her grip on him and feeling strangely peaceful for the first time in…well, a very long time.

  Funny, that. Because she could remember Brian mentioning before that the bar down the street from the parlor was a popular after-work hangout for his employees, she’d taken a chance that Ian might be there tonight. She hadn’t expected much, but here she was now. Feeling calm and content on the back of a motorcycle, of all things, with him. Almost every inch of both her legs completely bare. Not that it mattered—in fact it was the sexiest she’d felt in a long time. It was nice, it was needed, and so she went with it.