Players

by Rachel Cross

  “You’re late.” Playing her part, she straightened on her stool and reached back to twine her fingers with his. Soft, thick fingers that filled her overheated mind with visions of them sliding over her skin.

  The clod’s hand finally released her thigh, and Cat swallowed a sigh of relief then spun to face her savior. “You were supposed to be here . . . ”

  Her train of thought derailed as she came face to face with the center of a broad chest. A thickly muscled chest barely contained by the black T-shirt covering it. Her heart skipped several beats as she followed the muscles upward, past even wider shoulders, until her gaze collided with a pair of dark brown eyes that made her breath catch.

  Oh boy. She clamped her mouth shut and swallowed hard. A five o’clock shadow covered a strong, square jaw, giving him a rough and rugged edge. His thick, almost black, hair licked at the collar of his worn leather jacket, just long enough to be rebellious, and tousled by the wind. Her fingers itched to reach up and slide through his hair to see if it felt as soft as it seemed.

  “Forgive me.” As he bent down to her eye level, his eyes burned into hers, a hidden meaning in the dark depths she couldn’t quite grasp. She couldn’t concentrate much past the fact his face was now a scant inch from hers. His soft, warm breath fanned her lips, and her gaze zeroed in on the mouth that had sent delicious sensations thrumming through her body barely a minute ago.

  Before she could ponder what on earth he meant or come up with a proper response, he took their charade a step further.

  He kissed her.

  One hand slid into her hair, cupping the back of her head, as that wicked mouth settled over hers. Caught completely off guard, Cat wrestled with how to respond. He’d gotten her out of trouble and kept her from having to make a scene. She hated making a scene, if only because her mother had done so one too many times. So Cat had struggled her whole life with trying to blend in with the crowd, not giving anyone a reason to look her way. Some part of her said she ought to be grateful to him. Another part screamed to slap him. He was taking a liberty she shouldn’t allow.

  Her body, however, had other ideas. His head tipped to the side, his mouth slanting over hers, and Cat forgot her name.

  The way his warm, velvet lips covered hers made her head swim, plying and tugging in a gentle yet demanding exchange. Like a familiar lover who knew how to make her melt to his whim. No bitter beer taste that made her want to gag. Only hot, heady wetness that drew her in, had her dropping her head back and opening for him. A tiny whimper of surrender left her mouth and, before she could think to stop herself, Cat leaned into him.

  As abruptly as he’d kissed her, he pulled away. Lightheaded and breathless, Cat opened her eyes and grabbed the edge of the counter to steady herself, then tried to concentrate on calming the fierce pounding of her heart.

  Staring straight at her, amusement dancing in his dark eyes, her savior murmured, “Sorry, buddy, this one’s taken.”

  Her cheeks flamed as the realization hit her. Oh, she did not just do that. She didn’t kiss a total stranger in the middle of a noisy bar.

  Good God. She’d done exactly that. Not only had she liked it, but she’d kissed him back.

  Excitement fluttered inside of her, a sense of giddiness that bubbled up like too much champagne, warm and tingly. The sensation mixed with an uneasiness and left her trembling.

  Before they’d left the apartment, Lisa had told her, “Just for tonight, Cat, stop being you and let go. Give yourself permission to have a little fun.” Was this what her fearless best friend meant by letting go? The simple luxury of allowing herself to enjoy kissing a complete stranger?

  Well, okay, maybe it wasn’t. Lisa’s idea of letting go usually involved copious amounts of alcohol, loud music, and men with big muscles. Ones she usually brought home with her. Lisa’s motto was “you only live once.”

  Cat had to admit, however, that the man was a phenomenal kisser. Only to herself would she ever admit that she had, indeed, enjoyed it.

  The drunk stumbled away. When her savior sank onto the stool beside Cat, everything inside of her tightened. Her hands trembled and uproarious butterflies took flight in her stomach. Oh God, what should she say? She hadn’t done this in months. Hadn’t dated anyone but Nick in more than a year and a half. Heck, who was she kidding? She hadn’t dated much, period.

  “Sorry,” her savior said beside her. “It was all I could think of.”

  She turned to face him.

  One shoulder hitched in a halfhearted shrug, but that mischievous glimmer hadn’t disappeared from his eyes.

  She offered a grateful smile. “I appreciate the effort. Thanks.”

  “You could say I got my thanks already.” He winked, his mouth curling into a lopsided grin that had a dimple popping up in his cheek.

  Cat couldn’t help staring at his dazzling grin. She wondered how many women he’d captivated with that dimple. Wondered, too, what look would cross the dark eyes currently dancing at her if she leaned in and kissed him. Her stomach fluttered in response, her heartbeat kicking up a notch. God help her, the man was walking sex appeal. A bad boy who belonged on the back of a Harley, all tall, dark, and mysterious. Looking at him tied her tongue in knots. Tied her everything in knots.

  He smiled again, this one softer, more relaxed, and extended his hand. “I’m Michael.”

  Something about that smile, however, shifted something within her. So natural and relaxed, it eased the nervous knots in her belly. Drawn into the warmth that radiated from him, she slid her hand into his. “Cat.”

  He cocked a brow, amused, teasing. “Anybody ever call you Kitty?”

  Cat wanted to roll her eyes. Over the years, people taunted her with that nickname so many times she couldn’t count them all using both hands and all ten toes. Usually the cat calls came with rounds of “here, kitty, kitty, kitty” and snickers from the boys. Michael’s eyes danced with a potent mixture of amusement and devilment that made her heart skip a beat. She was hard-pressed not to smile in return.

  She playfully narrowed her eyes. “Nobody who values their life.” Then she lifted a brow, tossing the ball back in his court. Two could play at that game. “People call you Mike?”

  The corner of his mouth twitched. “Nobody who wants me to actually answer.”

  The bartender—a blond slightly older than the twenties crowd packing the place—appeared in front of them, leaned his hands on the bar as he turned to Michael. “Beer?”

  Michael nodded. “Whatever’s on tap.”

  “You want a refill, honey?” The bartender nodded in the direction of her half-empty wineglass.

  “No, thanks.” Having watched her mother drink herself under the table one too many times, she knew better. Two was definitely her limit. It allowed her to enjoy a couple of nice glasses of wine with friends without becoming fuzzy headed.

  Michael leaned his elbow on the bar, casually resting his head on his fist. “A woman like you doesn’t stand a chance in a place like this, you know.”

  Was that his version of a pick-up line? If it was, it worked. She was intrigued. She arched a brow. “A woman like me?”

  “Mm.” The corners of his mouth eased up, his expression soft, amused. His gaze flitted over her, sliding down her body and back up. As he met her gaze again, a flare of heat filled his eyes. An almost murmur of appreciation that had every inch of her suddenly coming alive with awareness. “You don’t quite seem like you belong here.”

  Ignoring the goose bumps now chasing each other across the surface of her skin, she forced herself to focus on his words. “Neither do you. You look more like you ought to be in a biker bar somewhere, surrounded by bearded men dressed in leather who all ride Harleys.”

  A chuckle rumbled out of him. “True, but you stick out. You’re a bit soft for this place. You look more like you belong in a library.” The corners of his mouth curled into a soft smile. “You also seem uncomfortable. It’s why I stopped to help.”

  She wanted to
laugh. He had her pegged.

  “Actually, you’re right.” She let out a sigh. “I don’t normally see the need to come to bars. If I want a glass of wine, I buy a bottle and sip it while I read. A friend talked me into coming and then deserted me.” She lifted her glass and took a sip of her wine, darting a sideways glance at him. “I could’ve handled him, you know. My mother taught me self-defense.”

  He cocked a single, dark brow and studied her for a moment. “I’d have paid good money to see you put him in his place, but I’d hate to see you break your knuckles punching him. His jaw looked awfully solid.” He picked up her hand where it lay on her thigh, swiping his thumb over her knuckles, sending more goose bumps shivering up her arm.

  He had the most fantastic hands. Very masculine, wide-palmed and long-fingered, with a thick pad at the base of the thumb, yet his skin was uncalloused and silky smooth. It didn’t fit the untamed image he put out. In her experience, hands like these belonged on men who sat behind desks all day, who wore creased slacks and silk ties. The thought made Cat wonder what he did for a living. Then made her wonder how his hands would feel sliding over her skin . . .

  She shook off the thought and held her hands up in defeat. “Okay, you win. I was in over my head, and you bailed me out. I owe you one.”

  The corners of his mouth curled, satisfaction and gratification lighting his eyes.

  “So did you come for the band?”

  The bartender returned with his drink, and Michael nodded his thanks before turning back to her and looping his hand around the glass. “Nope. Just wanted a beer.” One shoulder hitched in a halfhearted fashion.

  She couldn’t help smiling. “Lucky for me you came in when you did.”

  “Lucky you.” He caught and held her gaze, his eyes heavy-lidded and soft, captivating her in the time it took to draw a shaky breath. Liquid and deep as pools, she had a feeling she could get lost in those eyes. The man had bedroom eyes, yet she found them oddly open and honest, as if he didn’t feel the need to hide behind pretenses. Yup, he’d definitely captivated dozens of women with those eyes and that smile. He was currently dazzling the panties clean off her.

  She gripped the stem of her glass with shaking fingers and twirled it over the countertop. Instinct said to get up and go find Lisa. Thoughts like those would get her into a world of trouble. They already had. She’d let them cloud her judgment, let her believe in Nick, in happily ever after. Now she knew the truth, didn’t she?

  Her heart twisted with the familiar pain, and the anger rose all over again. She heard Lisa’s voice again. “You can’t just sit here and wallow in self-pity, Cat. Get out, get back on that horse and prove to Nick you don’t need him.”

  She glanced over at Michael. He still watched her, but the heat from before had melted to something more somber. It wouldn’t hurt to sit and talk over drinks . . . would it?

  She raised her brows as she lifted her glass to her mouth and took a sip. “Are you staying for a while or just passing through? I can’t say I know everybody in town, but I’m pretty sure I’d remember you.”

  “Staying for a while. Came to visit family.” Something flashed in his eyes, a hint of something there and gone before she’d caught what it had been. “Just haven’t been back for a while.”

  His reaction nagged at the back of her mind. He seemed, for that moment, to close himself off. His body stiffened beside her, the mischievous spark that made him so dangerous and so sexy at the same time faded from his entire demeanor. Like the barest hint of a wound he couldn’t hide. Sitting there watching the heaviness suddenly hang over him made her wonder what coming to this town meant for him. It also gave her a sense of camaraderie with him. Coming back to town three years ago hadn’t been easy for her, either.

  She’d come to live with her father when she was sixteen and had quickly learned Crest Point was the kind of small town where everybody knew everybody else. Which meant everybody was in your business and people had certain expectations. It could be very quaint and charming. There were people here who would give their lives for each other. People also talked because they had nothing better to do. Living here always made her feel as if she lived in a fish bowl. She couldn’t hide. That was disconcerting.

  Had he come to the bar for the same reason she had—to escape from something? The conservative librarian in her insisted she ought to be getting up, but an overwhelming desire to engage him in conversation gripped her, if only to see that mischievous sparkle reach his eyes again.

  “So,” she lifted her glass and took a sip of her wine. “I’m assuming you just arrived in town then?”

  He turned his head, seemed to study her a moment, then nodded. “Came straight from the highway.”

  “Where from?”

  “Los Angeles.”

  Surprised, she raised her brows. “That’s a long drive. You must be tired.”

  He shrugged, relaxed and unapologetic. “Took my time, drove up the coast.”

  The simple statement told her a lot about him. Namely that he wasn’t in too much of a hurry to appreciate the beauty of nature. On the surface they seemed so different, yet here they actually had something in common. “There are some beautiful beaches along that route. Some of the most beautiful sunsets I’ve ever seen, too.”

  Surprise lit in his eyes, his brows rising. “You’ve driven it?”

  She nodded. “When I was thirteen. My mother and I moved from L.A. to Seattle.”

  One of the more pleasant memories she had of her childhood and the woman who raised her.

  “Something in common.” He murmured the words, awe and amusement in his voice. His posture relaxed, a warmth filling his eyes that had triumph surging in her chest. He took a sip of his beer. “So where’s your friend?”

  “Oh, Lisa deserted me for a guy with big biceps.” She leaned over, managed to actually find Lisa in the crowd packed on the dance floor, and pointed her out. “See the girl in the tight red number? That would be my date for this evening. See the guy with her? The guy you chased off would’ve been just her style. Frankly, I’d leave, but I promised her I’d at least try to have a good time. That’s what I’m supposed to be doing here.”

  She sighed and leaned her face into her hand.

  Did she sound as pathetic as she felt? “You’re right. I normally spend my Saturday nights curled up with a good book. The whole bar scene really isn’t my thing. It’s a tad overwhelming, actually. The music is a little too loud, the beat makes my head pound, and the sheer number of bodies makes me slightly claustrophobic.”

  She’d sat at the bar, because here the crowd thinned out, and she didn’t have to shout in order to be heard. It was pathetic, really. She was twenty-five going on forty. This type of scene ought to be exactly what someone her age should be into. She’d always felt older than her age.

  “So, if you’re supposed to be having fun, why aren’t you out there dancing?” He raised a brow in a playful challenge.

  She shot him a wry smile. “Oh that’s easy—I chickened out. I feel like a fish out of water here. Lisa got up to dance, but I haven’t been able to be quite so bold.” She shook her head. “Dancing alone just feels pathetic.”

  His eyes narrowed. He sat studying her so long and intensely, she fidgeted under the heat of his gaze, clasped her trembling hands, and toyed with her napkin. It made her wonder what he saw, made her feel like that fish in the bowl again, and the wallflower within her wanted to suddenly become one with the floor.

  When he slid off his stool and rose to his feet beside her, her heart sank. Great. The only interesting man she’d met all night, and she’d managed to scare him off by being her boring, geeky self.

  “Dance with me.”

  At the sound of his voice, she jerked her head in his direction, unable to stop the surprise that bounced around inside her chest. He’d taken off his jacket, left it sitting on the stool and held a hand out in silent invitation. The softness in his eyes all but invited her to accept.

  Lisa
’s voice echoed in her head. “Get out and live a little, Cat. Be somebody you’re not.” Lisa was right. What could one dance hurt?

  When she slipped her hand into his, he smiled then took her other and gently pulled her to her feet. For a moment, they stood regarding each other, those dark eyes hooded, full of a mysterious something that made her shiver again with that overwhelming sense of awareness. Had her mind bringing his kiss screaming to the surface again, and had her suddenly dying for another taste. She didn’t appear to be alone in that feeling, either, for his gaze dropped, hunger flaring in his eyes—subdued, but there all the same.

  A heartbeat later, he released her hand and turned, leading her silently through the throng of people toward the middle of the dance floor. The song the band played shifted, and the strains of a softer, sultrier rhythm filled the room. People around them paired off. Her nerves jumped. In about two seconds he was going to pull her into his arms. She’d get to feel that long, hard body against hers, and every delicious sensation seemed to head south, pooling between her thighs.

  Michael didn’t wrap his arms around her waist the way she expected, however. Instead, one hand came to rest at the small of her back as he tugged her against him. His other hand clasped hers and held them tucked against his chest.

  The formal dance position threw her off balance again and contradicted the untamed image he portrayed. It hinted at more surprises beneath the surface and, heaven help her, she yearned to uncover each and every one of them, to find the man beneath the mask.

  Some part of her mind screamed a warning. Was she insane? She’d only just met this man. She didn’t do these sorts of things. This was Lisa’s style, not hers. Never mind her engagement with Nick had only barely ended. The last thing she needed was to get involved again so soon.