by Lori Foster
~ 1 ~
TUGGING AT THE HEM of her miniskirt, Josie Jackson came the rest of the way into the noisy room. Seeing to the end of the bar was almost impossible in the near darkness with blue-gray smoke clouding everything. But she finally spied a man, his back to her, sitting on the end bar stool, just where he was supposed to be.
Brazen, she told herself, trying to get into the part she needed to play. Daring, sexy, confident. She'd scare the poor man to death and he wouldn't be able to leave quick enough.
Josie had chosen the busy, singles meeting place, hoping that would end it right there. But he'd surprised her by agreeing with her choice. At least, her sister claimed he'd agreed. But her sister had also said he was "perfect" for her, which almost guaranteed Josie wouldn't like him. Susan had described him as responsible. Mature. Settled.
Josie was so tired of her sister setting up blind dates, and she was even more fed up with the type of man her sister assumed she needed: stuffy, too proper and too concerned with appearances. Men who didn't want anything to do with romance or excitement. All they wanted was to find someone like them so they could marry and get on with their boring lives.
She was twenty-five now and had spent most of her life working toward her goals, pleasing her sister with her dedication. Well, she'd reached those goals, so it was time for other things. Past time. She deserved to have some fun. Bob Morrison may be interested in a nice little house in a nice little neighborhood with a nice little family, but Josie Jackson had other plans, and if the location for this meeting hadn't put him off, one look at her would.
She sauntered toward him. There was a low whistle behind her, and she felt heat pulse in her cheeks. The next thing she felt – a bold hand patting her bottom – almost caused her to run back out again. Instead she managed to glare at the offender and stay upright on her three-inch heels. No small feat, given that she normally wore sturdy, rubber-soled shoes. She could do this, she told herself, she could...
All thought became suspended as the man turned to face her.
Good heavens. Her breath caught somewhere in the region of her throat and refused to budge any farther. She stared. Well. He certainly doesn't look stuffy, Josie girl, not in those nice snug jeans and that black polo shirt. This can't be the right man. For once, he seemed too...right, too masculine and attractive and sexy. Definitely sexy. Fate wouldn't be so cruel as to actually send her a gorgeous, stuffy man. Would it?
She forced herself to take another halting step forward, hampered by the tight miniskirt, the ridiculously high heels and her own reservations. "Bob? Bob Morrison?"
His dark eyes were almost black, as was the shiny, straight hair that hung over his brow, unkempt, but still very appealing. His gaze went from a slow, enthralled perusal of her mostly bared legs to her midriff where he paused, looking her over from chest to belly, his look almost tactile in its intensity, then he reached her face. He drew in a long breath, apparently feeling as stunned as she did. She waited for him to speak, to do or say something that would prove her assumptions had been correct, that he wasn't what she wanted in a man, that he was another typical offering from Susan who was supposed to further domesticate her life.
But then he stood, towering over her, six feet of gorgeous, throbbing male, and he smiled. That smile could be lethal, she thought as it sent shivers deep into her belly. The man exuded charm and warmth, and there was absolutely nothing stuffy or uptight about him. In fact, she felt like Jell-O on the inside. Nothing stuffy about that.
He held out his hand – a large hand that engulfed her own and seemed to brand her with his strength and heat. With the type of voice that inspired fantasies, he said, "I'm...Bob. It's very nice to meet you, Josie."
HE WASN'T USUALLY a liar.
Nick Harris took in the exquisite female before him and forgave himself. Lying was necessary, even imperative, given the fact he was faced with the most gorgeous, sexy woman imaginable – so close, and yet, not for him. He'd tell a hundred lies if it would keep her from walking out. Bob wouldn't appreciate being impersonated, of course, but then, Bob hadn't wanted anything to do with her. He'd been more taken with her sister, that rigid woman who had conspired the entire meeting. What Bob saw in Susan Jackson was beyond Nick, but now he could only be glad. Bob's preferences in women had Nick sitting here on a Saturday night, prepared to make excuses for his friend and partner.
Thank God he'd agreed to do it. If he hadn't, he might have missed her, and she was well worth the football tickets he'd wasted. She was well worth giving up all sports.
She looked surprised, as surprised as he felt, her green eyes wide, her soft mouth slightly open. Her full lips were painted a shiny red, and he could see her pink tongue just behind her teeth. Damn, the things he'd like to do with that tongue...
Belatedly his manners kicked in. "Would you like to sit down?" Normally he was known as a gentleman, as a reasonable man, sane and intelligent and given to bouts of outstanding charm. But he felt as though he'd just been poleaxed. And it only got worse as she flipped her long silky red hair over her shoulder, shrugged, then lifted her shapely bottom onto the bar stool next to his. That bottom held his spellbound attention for a few moments, before he could finally pull his gaze away. Her very short black skirt, hiked up as it was, revealed slender thighs. She crossed her legs, swinging one high-heel clad foot. He swallowed, heard himself do it and told himself to get a grip. He couldn't let her see how she'd affected him.
"Can I get you something to drink?"
She hesitated, and he could almost see her considering, but then she shook her head. Those sexy green eyes of hers slanted his way, teasing, flirting, causing his muscles to twitch. "There's a lot of things I do, but drinking isn't one of them."
It took him a second to recover from that look and the outrageous words she'd spoken. He hoped to hell he'd interpreted them right. "Oh? Religious reasons? Diet?"
Her lips curved and her long lashes lowered. "I just like to have control at all times. I want to know exactly what I'm doing, how I'm doing it and who I'm doing it with. Alcohol tends to muddle things."
As she spoke, a pink flush spread from her cheeks to her throat to the top of her chest, where the scooped neckline of her blouse showed just a hint of cleavage. Light freckles were sprinkled there, like tiny decorations, making him wonder where other freckles might be. He'd heard things about redheads, but he'd always discounted them as fantasy, nothing more. Now he had to reassess. This redhead seemed to exude sensuality with her every breath. And he was getting hotter than a chili pepper just looking at her.
He'd have to wrestle control from her, despite her just-stated preferences, if he wanted to survive. Never had he let a woman get the upper hand in any situation, not since he'd been a teenager and his stepmother had taken over his life. He didn't intend to let this little woman, no matter how appealing she was, call the shots. Not even if those shots might be to his liking.
She'd temporarily thrown him, but now he was getting used to looking at her, to breathing her musky scent and hearing her throaty, quiet voice. And she kept peeking looks at him, as if she were shy, which couldn't be, not looking the way she looked. Or maybe she was feeling just as attracted as he was. That should work to his advantage. At least he'd know he wasn't drowning alone.
He ordered two colas, then slowly, giving her time to withdraw, he slid his palm under hers where it rested on the bar. Her eyes widened again, but she didn't pull away. Her hand was slender, frail. Her fingers felt cold, and he wondered if it was from being outside, or from nervousness. But there didn't seem to be a nervous bone in her luscious little body.
"You're not exactly what I expected." With Bob's usual tastes in women, he'd thought to find a conservative, righteous prude, someone who resembled the sister, Sus
an. That woman could freeze a man with a look – and she'd tried doing just that to him when she'd first come to him and Bob for an advertising campaign. The woman had taken an instant dislike to him, something about spotting a womanizer right off, so he'd left her to Bob. And when the date had been engineered, he'd expected to find a woman just as cold, just as plain and judgmental. He'd expected mousy brown hair and flat hazel eyes. A quiet, circumspect demeanor.
But Josie Jackson was nothing at all like her sister. It was a damn good thing Bob hadn't come. He might have had a heart attack while running away.
The thought inspired a grin.
"It makes you smile to get the unexpected?"
She sounded almost baffled, and he chuckled. "This time, yes. But then, you're a very pleasant surprise."
Small white teeth closed over her bottom lip. He wanted them to close over his lip. He wanted them to close over his—
"You're not what I expected, either. Usually my sister lines me up with these overly serious, stuffy, three-piece-suit types. They're always concerned about responsibilities, their businesses, appearances." Her eyes met his, daring him, teasing him. "You wouldn't be like that, now would you?"
He stifled a laugh. She thought she was taunting him, he could tell. But at the moment, responsibilities and business were the farthest thing from his mind, and he hoped like hell she wouldn't expect him to worry about appearances. He never had.
Bob would, but he wasn't Bob.
"No one has ever accused me of being stuffy." That was true enough, since Bob usually lamented his lack of gravity. Come to think of it, maybe it was his casual attitude that had made the sister dislike him so much. Not that he cared. Formality had been his stepmother's strong suit, so he naturally abhorred it. He believed in keeping the business sound, but he didn't think it had to rule his life. Evidently Josie agreed, though she looked shocked by his answer. Interesting.
Not willing to wait another minute to hold her, he stood and pulled her to her feet. "Let's dance."
She balked, her legs stiffening, her expression almost comical. She tried to free her hand, but he held tight, determined.
"What's the matter? You don't dance, either?"
"Either?"
"Like the drinking." He rubbed his thumb over her palm, trying to soothe her. He didn't want her bolting now, but if he didn't get her in his arms soon, he was going to explode. He'd never been hit this hard before, but damned if he didn't like it.
"I dance," she said, then looked down at her feet. "But not usually in heels like these."
He, too, looked at her feet. Sexy little feet, arched in three-inch heels. Tugging her closer he said, "I won't let you stumble." His voice dropped. "Promise."
As he led them onto the dance floor her throat worked, but she didn't deny him. It was crowded with gyrating dancers, bumping into each other. He used that as an excuse to mesh their bodies together, feeling her from thigh to chest, holding her securely with one arm wrapped around her slender waist, his hand splayed wide on her back. She felt like heaven, warm and soft, and incredibly he felt the beginnings of an erection. His thighs tightened, his pulse slowed.
Even in her heels, she was only a little bit of a thing. His chin rested easily on the top of her head, and he felt the silkiness of all that hair floating around her shoulders, curling around her breasts. Wondering what it might feel like on his naked chest, his belly, made him clench his teeth against rising need. It was almost laughable the reaction she caused in him. But it was like his own private fantasy had come to life before his eyes. From her long lashes to her freckles to her shapely legs, he couldn't imagine a woman more finely put together than her. Or with a sexier voice, or a more appealing blush.
The blush was what really did it, with its hint of innocence mixed with hot carnal sexuality. Damn.
His hand pressed at the small of her back and he urged her just a bit closer. Her small, plump breasts pressed into his ribs, her slender thighs rubbed his. She sighed, the sound barely reaching him through the loud music. But the softening of her body couldn't be missed.
His lips touched her ear and he inhaled her scent. "That's it. Just relax. I've got you."
And he intended to keep her. At least for now.
He wondered how he could get around Bob and her sister. There was no doubt Susan Jackson wouldn't appreciate him being with Josie. She'd been very open about her immediate dislike and distrust. They'd spoken for a mere fifteen minutes, him using all his charm to soften her, before Susan had made her opinion of him known. Of course, maybe he had poured the charm on just a bit thick, but then prickly, overopinionated, pushy women like Susan Jackson irritated him. They reminded him of his stepmother, who had been the bossiest woman of all.
At what point should he tell Josie who he really was? Bob had claimed she would be crushed by his inability to meet her, that she was a wallflower of sorts who counted on her sister to set up her social calendar due to a shy nature and a demanding career. But the woman moving so gently against him, neither of them paying any attention to the beat of the music, in no way resembled a wallflower or a driven, career-minded lady.
There was the possibility Bob might want to reset the date once he realized what he was missing, despite his ridiculous requirements for a woman and his initial interest in Susan. But of course, Nick wouldn't allow that now. Circumstances had decreed that he meet Josie first. And finders keepers, as the saying went. Bob could damn well concentrate on the contrary Susan for his future wife. Why Bob was so determined to court a wearisome little housewife-type anyway didn't make sense to Nick. Especially not when there were women like this one still available.
Putting one foot between hers, he managed to insinuate his thigh close to her body. She jerked, startled, then made a soft sound of acceptance. He felt her incredible heat, the teasing friction on his leg as they both moved, and he shuddered with the sensations. With a little dip and a slow turn, he had her practically straddling his thigh. She gasped, her breasts rose and fell and her hands tightened on his chest, knotting his shirt. Such a volatile reaction, he thought, feeling his own heartbeat quicken.
"I'm glad I came tonight." The words were deep and husky with his arousal, but he wanted her to know, to understand how grateful he felt to Bob for bailing out. Things were going to get complicated, of that he was certain, but he didn't want her to misunderstand his motives.
The smile she offered up to him made his gut tighten. "Do you know, I thought you'd be horrified by this place."
He looked around, not really enjoying the busy singles' bar, but not exactly horrified, either. Located on the riverbank, with a restaurant downstairs and the dance floor and bar upstairs, it was a popular meeting place. "Why?"
They had to shout to be heard, so he began moving them toward the corner, away from the other dancers and out of the chaos. He wanted to talk to her, to know everything about her, to understand the contrast of her incredible looks and her shy smiles. He wanted to taste her, deep and long.
"From what my sister told me about you, I gathered you were a bit...sedate."
Bob was sedate. Hell, Bob was almost dead, he was so sedate. He was Bob. Cautiously he asked, "What else did your sister say about...me?"
"That you were dependable."
They reached the edge of the floor, and he snorted. "Dependable? Makes me sound like a hound."
Her soft laugh made him change his mind about the corner and lead her to a balcony door instead. It was chilly enough in early September, with the damp breeze off the river, to deter other dancers from taking in the night air. As they stepped out, he released her and she wrapped her arms around herself for warmth.
Below the balcony, car lights flashed as traffic filled the parking lot and navigated the narrow roads around the bar. Boat horns echoed in the distance, and a few people loitered by the entrance door, waiting either to come in or go out. Their voices were muted, drowned out by the music. He turned to face Josie, seeing her eyes shine in the darkness, that red h
air of hers being lightly teased by the wind. He reached out and caught a long curl, rubbing it between his fingers.
"Are you disappointed that I'm not dependable?"
"You're not?"
"No." He owed her some honesty, and his outlook on life was something he never kept from a woman, any woman. Not even one that he wanted as badly as he did this one. "I'm safe. Trustworthy. You don't have to be afraid of me." She grinned and he tugged on her hair until she stepped closer, then he released her and looked over her head at the night sky. "I'm a nice guy. I'm secure. But I'm not the type of man you want to depend on, Josie."
She lifted a hand to brush her hair from her cheek and studied him. "Are you fun?"
The epitome of temptation, she stood there looking up at him, her eyes huge in the darkness, her body so close only an inch separated them. He touched her cheek and felt her softness, the subtle warmth of her skin. "Do you want me to be fun?"
She stepped away, moving across the balcony and bracing her hands on the railing. Eyes closed, she leaned out, arching her back and letting the wind toss her hair. Turning her face up to the moon, she said, "Yes. I think I deserve to have fun. I want to do things I haven't done and see things I haven't seen. I want to put work aside and enjoy life for a change."
Looking at her, at the way her stance had tautened her bottom in the snug skirt, her legs braced with the high heels putting her nearly on tiptoe, her hair reaching down her back... He couldn't resist. He stepped up to her until his legs bracketed hers, his groin pressing into her smooth buttocks. She would feel his erection, but he didn't care.
With a soft push, he acknowledged her shock, her surprise and her interest.
Leaning down, he kissed the side of her neck, her ear. He spoke in a soft, intimate whisper. "I can show you lots of ways to enjoy yourself, Josie."
There was a split second when he thought she'd draw away, and already his body grieved. But then she leaned her head back to his chest and tipped it to the side to give his mouth better advantage. He tasted the sweet heat of her skin, his tongue touching her, leaving damp kisses behind that made her shiver. He flattened one hand on her abdomen and his fingers caressed her. His heartbeat drummed, the pleasure twisting, escalating.