She held his gaze for a beat too long. “I won’t. I won’t even tell mine.”
“Thank you.”
Pressing her cheek to the smooth leather of the headrest, she basked in the charm of that hard-won smile. “So, when you’re not a fake detective you’re the primary suspect in a canasta-based prostitution ring?”
“Victim,” he corrected. “Not a suspect. I’m the victim.” His smile unfolded and he unleashed the full force of his silver gaze on her. “Don’t you feel sorry for me now?”
“Not half as sorry as I’m feeling for myself.”
He snickered. “Well, I guess I’ll just have to work harder to catch up.”
Chapter Four
Jessica remained in his car, snuggled into the heated leather of the passenger seat, captivated by the unconscious grace that marked Lang’s every move. As he rounded the raised hood of her car, she pictured his long, lithe legs eating up the length of a basketball court. His dark hair would be damp, and his arms and chest gleaming with sweat. He slid behind the wheel of her car, and she imagined him sliding into home plate. She closed her eyes and envisioned a pair of snug white baseball pants clinging to his muscular thighs and tight rear end.
Oh. Tight end.
She was still choosing the colors for his fantasy football uniform when the hood dropped with a jolting thunk and her eyes popped open. He dove into the driver’s seat, bringing a gust of ice crystals with him. Sucking warm air through clenched teeth, he rubbed his palms together and leaned into the heater. “I guess I should be happy I’m not a patrolman anymore.”
“This weather is awful.”
He nodded. “It’s a nightmare. The weather, the holiday, icy road conditions, people without sense enough to stay home on a night like tonight.”
“Like us?”
“Exactly.”
His mouth thinned into a grim line. “The car is dead.” He thrust the brown paper bag she’d left on her passenger seat at her as though it were some kind of consolation prize.
She took the bag and hugged it to her chest, nearly rupturing the bag of taco chips peeking out the top. “Oh, God.”
“I called a buddy of mine who owns a garage. He’s going to come and get it.”
“It’s not just the battery?”
“I’m not an expert, but I’d say it’s more the starter than the battery.”
Panic welled in her throat but she swallowed. Hard. She was getting used to choking it down. Starters had to be expensive. She thought they might be expensive. Biting the inside of her cheek, she resisted the urge to ask Lang for a guesstimate on the cost. Even if he had a clue, his best guess wouldn’t lessen the blow to her dwindling bank account. Instead, she carefully placed her groceries on the floor between her feet and nodded, trying to act like a mature adult. When she got home she could bury her face in her pillow and scream.
He smoothed his hands over his wet hair, slicking the soft waves away from his face. The movement snagged her undivided attention. The chiseled lines of his profile were enough to make a woman want to weep, but she was determined to hold it together. Still, it seemed rude not to thank him for improving the view. Sinking deep into the buttery leather seat, she focused on him. Doing so was a damn sight better than thinking about the shambles her life had become. “Thank you.”
“Hmm?” Lang turned the full force of his stormy eyes in her direction.
“Thank you for helping me.”
He held her gaze. She wished he wouldn’t. He looked at her as if she were the last piece of cheesecake left on the buffet and he were the only guy holding a fresh fork. The fact that her car scoffed at the charge his jumper cables provided proved that even in its disabled state, her vehicle had more sense than she did. Every time he hit her with that look, her insides revved.
Her stomach growled, ripping through the taut silence like a buzz saw. His lips twitched, but he gripped the steering wheel. “I can give you a lift home.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off with barely a glance.
“Yes, you could call a cab, but it’s New Year’s Eve. It could be hours before one shows, and I would have to wait here with you….”
He trailed off as if his conclusion was more a case of inevitability than stubbornness on his part, and Jessica couldn’t help but chuckle. “I bet that smooth gallantry works wonders for you.” His head swiveled and those silver eyes locked on her. She nodded sagely. “You should try the move where you stretch and sneeze and end up putting your arm around the girl.”
“I might.” A wry smirk tugged at his gorgeous mouth. “Lately, nothing seems to be working for me.”
She met his sober gaze. “Maybe if you stopped arresting your dates….”
“Thanks for the tip. I’ll keep that in mind.”
“My pleasure.”
Her voice came out high and squeaky, and it was no wonder. The moment her lips formed the p, his gaze dropped to her mouth and lingered there. The smoldering heat in his eyes ate up every molecule of oxygen in the air. Jessica wanted to fling herself across the console and beg for a little mouth-to-mouth. Lang, on the other hand, had no trouble with the breathing thing. As a matter of fact, he gulped in a big, deep breath then let it go, soft and slow. As if he was recovering from a narrow escape.
“Well, you were the only woman I had even a slim chance of jumping tonight, and that was a big, fat fail.” He shifted into reverse and hooked his arm over her seat. “Just tell me where we’re going.”
She wanted to tell him he hadn’t failed. That if he really wanted to jump her, she was ready, willing and able. She wanted to give him directions straight to her bed, but she didn’t. Thank God. But giving voice to those kinds of crazy thoughts was just the thing that led to heartbreak, loneliness, and—based on a peek into her mother’s closet—a wardrobe fit for Britney Spears on a not-so-with-it day.
Not allowing herself a moment to dwell, she rattled off her mother’s address and plunged one hand into the bag braced between her feet.
* * *
The slosh of liquid in a bottle captured his attention. Lang turned to find his passenger swigging a neon-green substance from a bottle bearing a rainbow-colored parrot on the label.
“What are you doing?”
Jessica lowered the bottle and offered it to him. “Margarita?”
He blinked in disbelief. “Does that have alcohol in it?”
She squinted at the label. “Better damn well. I paid enough for it.”
Shaking his head, he yanked the bottle from her hand. Sticky juice splashed his knuckles and ran down his hand. The mild burn of his chapped skin told him she’d gotten her money’s worth. He instinctively raised his hand to his mouth and lapped at the cloyingly sweet concoction. When he looked up, he found Jessica staring at him, her lips parted and damp and her eyes wide. She drank in his every movement, but it was his head that started to spin.
Lowering his hand slowly, he held her gaze. “Did you need a drink that badly?”
“Don’t you?”
“Not bad enough to crack open a bottle while sitting in a cop’s car.”
She snorted. “I’m not an alcoholic, Detective. I’m just a woman trying to ride out a spectacular string of crappy luck.” She grabbed the bottle from his hand and took another defiant slug before twisting the cap back into place. “And yes, I needed a drink that badly.”
He leveled a fierce glower on her. “There are laws about open containers.”
“Arrest me. I wouldn’t be the first girl you collared tonight.” She pulled out a bag of tortilla chips. “I’m not sure if this is a state or federal offense, but I also need chips. My mother served tofu for dinner.”
“Tofu?”
She shot him a look of exaggerated patience. “Compressed bean curds.”
“I know what tofu is. I just don’t know why anyone would eat it.”
“She eats it because her husband of twenty-two years walked out on her and never looked back. She eats it because, and
I’m paraphrasing from the source, if she doesn’t watch her girlish figure, no one else will.” She sucked in a sharp breath then plunged ahead. “She eats tofu and does Pilates and talks about how her new boyfriend is into yoga and tantra which makes their sex life incredible.”
“Oh.” The single syllable was all he could manage. The look of disgust on Jessica’s face spoke volumes about the horrors she’d witnessed.
“After my fifty-three-year-old mother left for her hot date with Mr. GoesAllNight, I hightailed it to the nearest store for sustenance. Arrest me.”
“You still live with your mother?”
Another derisive laugh. She shot him a sidelong glance. “No, I’m staying with my mother. Temporarily.”
His heart plummeted to the soles of his feet. He wanted her. Wanted her bad. “You don’t live here?”
“I have a place in the city,” she answered.
The city. Only forty miles away. Not ideal, but doable.
His exhale of relief nearly drowned out the muttered “Well, I did” she tacked onto the end of her statement. “Do. I’m subletting my apartment.”
The old ticker bounced right back up into his chest cavity and pounded away. “Are you thinking of moving back home?”
She turned to look at him. “This was never my home. I grew up in Prospect Park. My mom moved here after my parents split.”
“I see.”
An awkward silence hung heavy in the air. Jessica raised her eyebrows and tilted the open bag toward him. “Chip?”
He shook his head. “How long are you staying with her?”
“Just a few days. A week. Two, tops.” She plucked another triangle from the bag and inspected the dusting of orange fake cheese before shoving it into her mouth. “No more than a month.”
She chewed thoughtfully and he drew an easy breath for the first time since she cracked open the margaritas.
“Thank you for not leaving me stranded out here. I’m sorry you’re stuck with me now.”
That dry, self-deprecating tone she used did something crazy to his hormones. He shifted slightly in the seat, hoping to ease a little of the discomfort. “Am I? Stuck with you?”
“At least for few more minutes.”
Slowing at a red light, he turned to look at her. “I don’t mind.”
His bald admission seemed to shock her. She blinked but the surprise didn’t disappear. Apparently, she expected more dissembling from a man with his face plastered on a cereal box. “You don’t?”
His gaze roamed over her, taking in the god-awful coat and makeup-less face before lingering on her hair. She clamped a hand to the top of her head and grimaced. He smiled and she froze. Caught red-cheeked and hair-handed, she shot him an impatient glare and did her best to smooth the mass of tangled waves that framed her face.
“I like your pants,” he said, startling her from her impromptu grooming session.
Her jaw tightened. She carefully laced her fingers and placed them in her lap. When she spoke, her voice echoed with stiff resolve. “I appreciate your help, but it’s been a really crappy week and I’m…” She watched the passing traffic. “I know I look awful, but you don’t have to be a jerk about it. I didn’t realize I’d get pulled over by the fashion police when I left the house tonight.”
He chuckled. “I’m serious. I like your pants.”
She gave him an incredulous look then lowered her gaze to the track pants. “You like my pants?” A note of caution made her voice deeper than usual. “Why?”
His smile turned rueful. “I watched you come out of the store. You looked so…comfortable.” She snorted and he gave up a soft, sheepish laugh. “I have a pair of sweats with a stripe just like that. I was jealous that you got to wear yours when I was stuck in a suit.”
“You were heading out to some swanky party. I was going home with a bag of nacho chips.”
He shook his head. “I knew the minute I picked Kirsten up this night wasn’t going to work out the way I wanted.” He lifted one shoulder and let it fall. “I just counted on a few hours I’d never get back spent in an overcrowded ballroom listening to some DJ play the hottest hits of the eighties, not a trip back to the precinct. Regardless of your low opinion of my dating skills, it never occurred to me to take a date to booking instead of dinner.”
Her eyebrows slammed together, but she looked away. A huff of disbelief fogged the passenger window. “And how did you want the evening to work out?”
“Not like what you’re thinking.” She didn’t answer and Lang gaped at her, wondering what the hell he’d have to say or do to get his feet out of quicksand. He narrowed his eyes and scanned her face. Indignation burst inside him and burned as hot as a dried-out Christmas tree. “You seriously think I let my grandmother set me up on a blind date on New Year’s Eve in hopes of getting laid?”
It was her turn to shrug. “Maybe?”
Reluctant laughter expelled a little of the heat inside him, but he still simmered when she met his gaze. The stark vulnerability he saw in her eyes leached the fight from his bones. “Trust me, if I was after sex I’d keep my grandmother as far from the mix as humanly possible.”
Jessica looked up at him from under her lashes. “If not sex, then why? I can’t imagine you have a hard time finding a date, and you don’t strike me as the kind of guy who can’t get enough of doing the Electric Slide.”
“God, no.” His prompt response lit a fire under her smile. He could feel the heat of it as he turned his attention back to the road. “Do you think all men are only after sex?”
“I read a lot of those magazines they sell at the checkout stand,” she deadpanned.
Hooking a right onto her street, he crept along, waiting for her to direct him. “Do you also believe that I’m capable of having Elvis’s love child and that Michael Jackson possesses my body every time his spirit gets the urge to moonwalk?”
“Yes.”
“Remind me to tell you about the picture of Jesus I saw in my milkshake last week.”
She grinned. “What flavor?”
“I can’t say. Before she became my pimp, my grandmother taught me not to discuss race, religion, politics or money in polite conversation.”
“My mom’s house is the brick ranch at the end of the block.”
A gust of wind dusted the windshield with a mix of newly formed snowflakes. He scanned the street. It was a cookie-cutter subdivision with three styles of houses built in the seventies alternating on postage-stamp front yards. She pointed to a house that looked too much like the others, and he coasted to a stop at the curb.
Turning to face her, Lang picked up the thread of conversation right where he’d dropped it. “This may come as a shock to you, but I don’t have any trouble getting laid. It’s finding a woman who hasn’t earned a spot on the cover of one of those supermarket magazines that stumps me. Not that I have anything against single mothers trying to raise babies fathered by a man who has been dead for over thirty years….” A long moment of silence passed. A strand of hair clung to her damp lips. He snagged it with his index finger and pulled it free. “You don’t happen to know any available women who aren’t compulsive shoplifters, do you?”
Jessica exhaled the barest sigh when he leaned in. “Sadly, no.”
Her lips parted when he tipped her chin up, issuing an invitation he wasn’t strong enough to resist. He kissed her slow and sweetly, tamping down the white-hot need that streaked through him the moment his mouth touched hers and drawing it out just long enough for hope to pulse through his veins. Her fingertips grazed his cheek, then fell away. The fleeting caress left a trail of fire in its wake. She ducked her head, breaking the kiss far too soon. Hunger clawed at his gut when her wide hazel eyes met his. Something deep inside him knew it wouldn’t be his last chance to kiss her.
Still, he couldn’t wait.
Plunging his hand into the wild mass of her hair, he pulled her to him again, this time kissing her with all the heat he could no longer hold back. Jessica clutched
the lapel of his coat, fisting the fabric as their tongues tangled. Her soft, pliant mouth was irresistibly seductive. He wanted to sink into her, let her drink him in and swallow him whole. Warning bells clanged in his head. Knotting his fingers in her hair, he wrenched his mouth from hers before he lost control entirely. He pressed his forehead to hers, desperately trying to rein in his more carnal impulses, but it was difficult to do with her hot, fast puffs of breath peppering his skin.
Anticipation thickened his voice. “How about just a nice, normal girl without a plane-load of baggage?”
She stiffened and pulled back. “No, I don’t.”
Before he could get blood flowing to his brain again, she snatched the grocery bag from the floorboard. She hugged the crumpled brown paper tight as she fumbled for the door handle.
Lang froze in place, completely flummoxed. There was no way he’d read her signals wrong. “What? What’s wrong?”
A blast of wind whisked the breath from his lungs when she flung open the door. She braced one foot in the gutter and darted a look at him. “Nothing. Just…thank you. Thanks for everything, but it’s been kind of a long night. I’m just going to take my baggage…uh, I mean, bag, and go.”
Pink nylon zipped across black leather. She lunged from the low-slung seat, grasping the top of the window frame until she found her balance. His last opportunity slapped him in the face.
“Jessica, wait.” Lang yanked the handle and kicked his door open with his foot. His dress shoes weren’t doing him a damn bit of good as he scrambled from the car, but he’d be damned if he let that stop him. “At least let me walk you to the door.”
Her head swiveled as he skated around the rear of the car, breaking into a spectacular slide. He caught himself against the fender and reassessed. Skating seemed safer than stepping, so he went with it, employing all the skills he’d honed in a single ice hockey season. He skidded to a stop beside her, trying not to doubt his gut-level certainty when she frowned at the arm he offered.
At last, she slipped a tentative hand into the crook of his elbow. “I’m not sure this is going to be any improvement.”
Harlequin E Contemporary Romance Box Set Volume 2: Maid to CraveAll I HaveThe Last First DateLight My Fire Page 21