All the Right Moves

by Jo Leigh

  “But you don’t owe me anything. It was my pleasure to help out. And it also would be my pleasure to take you to dinner.”

  “Wow, that’s nice, but...”

  He glanced again at the textbooks and pads of paper scribbled with notes on the dividing counter. “I suppose me telling you we could go somewhere casual wouldn’t convince you?”

  “I know it’s cluttered and there are lots of plants, but the kitchen’s clean.” She pushed aside her study material and a potted flowering cactus. “I thought maybe you could quiz me while I cook, but that’s okay. Forget it. Dumb idea. In fact, don’t feel like you have to stay.”

  “I didn’t mean to imply...”

  “I didn’t infer anything.”

  Her arms crossed her chest, and how had this conversation gone so off the rails? He moved around to her side of the counter. “I just wanted you to be waited on for a change,” he said. “But I’m happy to help in any way I can. Hell, I’d offer to cook, but that wouldn’t be in anyone’s best interest.”

  There was her smile. Wide and bright and making her a whole different kind of pretty. Her hair had something to do with that, and he couldn’t deny that outfit of hers was making this nondate thing difficult. He stepped closer to her. Really close, although he didn’t touch. “I should lay my cards on the table, though,” he said. “Staying here might complicate things.”

  “How so?” she whispered as her grin disappeared behind a quick swipe of her pink tongue.

  Half a step nearer and he watched as her hazel eyes darkened. The temperature of the kitchen had gone up in a flash. “I’m having a lot of difficulty thinking about anything but that kiss of ours.”

  “That wasn’t really about us.”

  “It may have started out as a game, but it sure didn’t end that way. At least for me...” With a gentle nudge of his finger under her chin, he tipped her head back. She stayed perfectly still as he bent to kiss her. As soon as their lips met, her hand came up to rest on his chest.

  His body’s instant reaction to the kiss shocked him. Last night had obviously been a teaser, because the first taste of her went straight to his cock. Maybe what got to him was the relaxed palm over his heart when she just as easily could have shoved him away. And maybe he’d better back off before things got out of hand.

  They broke contact at the same time. He knew why he’d cut the party short, and looked into her face, hoping to learn her reason. He found her staring at her hand, frowning as if it somehow had betrayed her.

  “I should start dinner. I’ve got a test tomorrow, and I’m not ready for it.” She met his gaze for a second, then stepped back. “Hope you like pancakes and omelets.”

  He smiled. He wasn’t here for the food. “I think pancakes and omelets sound great.”

  * * *

  CASSIE TURNED TO THE FRIDGE. He was damn smooth, and she wasn’t used to that. Not when it seemed so earnest. She thought about how he’d offered to leave the bar yesterday, how he’d made sure she came out of the Karma situation on top. It was entirely possible he was for real.

  “What did you say you wanted to drink?”

  “A beer would be good.”

  “One beer coming up, Mr.—what is your last name?”

  “Devlin.”

  “Devlin,” she repeated softly.

  “John Harrington Devlin, to be precise.”

  After she passed him his drink, she reached up to her high cabinet to fetch the pancake mix. She felt his gaze on her as her tank top rode up, sure he’d seen the tattoo on her hip. She wondered if he would comment on it, but he stayed quiet, leaning against the edge of the counter, just far enough not to get in her way. “John Harrington Devlin,” she said, turning to the task at hand. “That sounds—”

  “Formal?”

  “A bit.”

  “Imagine if I’d tacked on the third.”

  “Are you?” She’d been hoping to find out a little more about him, and even though she would have to hit the books soon, she wasn’t about to let this opportunity pass. “There are two more like you?”

  “I’m third in line,” he said, then thought a moment. “But we’re really different.”

  “Where are you from?”

  “I was born in Maryland, but I lived all over the place. We moved about every two or three years.”

  “An East Coaster, huh?”

  “Not so much. We left Maryland when I was three.”

  “What about your parents? It counts if they’re from the East.”

  “My mom’s from Boston. The colonel—” John twisted the cap off his beer and took a drink. “My father grew up like I did, living on the West Coast, the Midwest, Europe.”

  “You call him Colonel?”

  “Sometimes.”

  She stayed quiet, rearranging everything to give herself work space. She turned on the electric griddle and put a container of real maple syrup in the microwave. Pancakes were an important food group, and they deserved nothing but the best.

  “What about you?” he asked. “Where are you from?”

  “Tempe, Arizona, but I grew up like you. We lived everywhere. Not Europe. Just in the States. I’ve lived here in Vegas the longest. It’s been four years.”

  “Your folks live here, too?”

  “Part-time. They’re in Oregon right now. But no fair, I wasn’t finished with you yet.”

  “Ask away.”

  “What about the first John? He would be your grandfather, right?” She measured out the powdered mix, her unsteady hand not exactly precise. “Was he a colonel, too?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “What branch?”

  “Air force.” She bent to get the big blue mixing bowl. Her butt bumped his fly.

  “Oh.” She stiffened. “I didn’t know you were there.” Her heel came down on his shoe. “Sorry, did I—?”

  “No.” He put a hand on her bare waist to steady her. Or something. All she felt was the heat of him, his closeness. He was a stealth mover, closing the distance between them without a sound. The contact between them had only lasted a few seconds, and she doubted that the bump behind his fly was anything but a trick of his trousers.

  There was one way of finding out. She turned in a tight circle, his hand staying in contact until it rested on the other side of her waist.

  “You know what?” she asked.

  He looked hungry, and she didn’t think it was for pancakes. “Nope.”

  Grabbing the front of his shirt, she tugged him down, and he willingly submitted. “You’re pretty darn sneaky.”

  “Yeah, well, you have your moments, too. I imagined this evening going a whole different way.”

  He was close enough that his warm, slightly beer-tinged breath caressed her lips. “Oh, yeah? And what did you picture happening?”

  “A dinner with waiters and candles. Getting to know you. Bringing you back here reasonably close to the agreed-upon time.”

  “That’s it?”

  He nodded, and his nose brushed hers.

  “That’s not so different.”

  “I never anticipated seeing your tattoo.”

  “Oh, that one’s nothing.”

  “There are more?” he asked, his mouth curving into a smile.

  Returning his grin, she let go of his shirt, cupped the back of his neck and pulled him the rest of the way down. Her breasts pressed to his chest as she leaned into him. He moved his hands to her back, stroking his palms under her top, trailing his fingers along her spine as if he’d be able to find her ink by touch.

  She kept the kiss light, pulling back when she still had her wits about her.

  He chased after her, but gave it up as his focus seemed to clear. “Damn. You aren’t making this easier, you know.”

  “What easier?”

  His hands slipped out from under her top and he distanced himself from her. “I’m starving. How about those pancakes?”

  “Right. Dinner. Have a seat, and I’ll make you a couple. How does a cheese omelet soun
d?”

  He made his way to the opposite side of the counter. “Great. Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “You can continue telling me about yourself.”

  “All right, as long as I get to ask you questions, too.”

  “Absolutely. Now, what about your mom?” Cassie found it a lot easier to pay attention when she concentrated on the cooking. None of it took very long. After being a bartender so long, she was great at multitasking.

  When she did take the occasional peeks at John, his gaze was squarely on her. Mostly her face, but sometimes lower. She was used to being looked at, but his attention was different from that of the guys at the bar.

  Somehow, she managed not to spill anything or start a fire.

  His story was interesting, although she kept waiting for his admission that he was a fighter pilot. What she got instead were the outside pieces of the jigsaw puzzle, which were interesting, but didn’t show the full picture.

  “You’re what, in your early thirties?” she asked.

  “Thirty-three.”

  “How come you’re not married? Or maybe you were?”

  John shook his head. “Nope. Travel, circumstances. I’m not against the institution, but it hasn’t been in the cards. Not yet, at least. What about you?”

  “I’m not married. I haven’t even had a serious boyfriend since I was a sophomore undergrad.”

  “What happened?”

  She turned back to the stove to flip his omelet. It would be done in a minute, so she turned on the microwave to heat the syrup. The pancakes were keeping warm in the oven. “We wanted different things,” she said.

  “Such as?”

  “He was a musician. A very good one. Not a superstar soloist or anything, but he was heading for a seat in a major orchestra.”

  “What does he play?”

  “Cello. And guitar, but he was a cellist. Anyway, in his senior year, he joined a band. Playing guitar. And that was the beginning of the end.”

  “He gave up the orchestra?”

  “He did. Which wouldn’t have been a huge issue, or at least one we might have worked out, but the band ended up having some success, and they went on tour. He...found a lot to like in that lifestyle.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah. It wasn’t fun.” The microwave dinged, she plated the omelet and a few minutes later they were eating. He’d traded in his beer for O.J. and she finally allowed herself to watch him. He ate well. She liked that. Also, he smiled readily, and laughed at her jokes. At his own, too.

  Near the end of the meal, his gaze went to her textbook. “So, grad student?”

  She nodded. “Psychology at UNLV.”

  “Know what you’re going to do with the degree yet?”

  “I want to be a therapist, so I need a master’s degree.”

  “Is that a lifelong dream?”

  She had to think about that. “Kind of. I’ve always been a nurturer. Trying to make things work between people. But I’m not a pushover, either.” Except where her brother was concerned, but John didn’t need to know that.

  They finished off the last of the meal in an easy silence. Altogether, and despite the fact that she’d probably have to kick him out of her house if she wanted to get any studying done, she wouldn’t have missed this. Not for anything.

  When he got up to collect the plates, they nearly crashed into each other, because she’d gotten up at the same time.

  As close as they could be without touching, she looked up into his face. The mood had gone from easy to sizzling in two-point-three seconds.

  7

  JOHN WANTED HER as badly as he’d wanted a woman in his life. He thought of that fool of a guitar player, then dismissed the idiot when her lips parted.

  He wanted to sweep away all the plates on the counter and take her right there. He wanted her sitting at the edge, legs parted, naked from the waist down. He liked the idea of looking up at that pink top of hers, watching her hard nipples rise and fall as he made her insane with his mouth. Damn, he could practically feel her hands in his hair as he brought her to the brink.

  His gaze shot to the counter, but his eye caught on her textbook, and he stepped back so quickly he nearly toppled the stool.

  “What?”

  His hand went to the back of his neck, where he rubbed the tight muscles. “You need to study. Why don’t you get your books and I’ll take care of the dishes.”

  Cassie laughed, but it was more surprise than humor. “Wow, you are seriously a man of your word.”

  “I try to be. Sometimes it’s more difficult than others.”

  “To tell you the truth,” she said, her voice gone soft, not quite a whisper, “I wasn’t thinking about grades right then.”

  He adjusted his stance, he hoped not too obviously. “I wasn’t, either.”

  “I’m glad it wasn’t only me. But thank you. I appreciate the effort.”

  “I should get these dishes in the sink.”

  She looked at her book, then back at him. “Since we’re both being very mature about this whole thing, I’m thinking we could handle taking the edge off a little.”

  “Define a little.”

  “A few kisses?” She moved close enough to slide her palms up his chest. Kissed his chin.

  Instead of turning away, filling his hands with plates and forks, he took hold of that slender waist of hers. It took all his willpower to keep on breathing, to not push his hardening erection into her hip, show her what she was doing to him.

  “I’m not trying to start anything,” she said. “Just a kiss or two to hold me over.” Her slow smile brought out interesting colors in her hazel eyes. Her lashes were dark and thick in contrast to the pale skin that almost looked as soft as it felt.

  “I won’t be responsible for you being unprepared tomorrow.” He punctuated the warning with a gentle press of his lips to hers. “That said...we can be sensible....” He came back with purpose, nudging her mouth open, slipping his tongue inside, more deeply than he’d intended.

  She swayed backward. The counter helped steady her, which would have been fine if it weren’t for her leaning into his fly, rubbing with just enough friction to push him beyond his limit. He started to move his hips, already feeling the tight coil at the base of his spine that preceded the point of no return.

  He froze. His breath came out in ragged puffs against her cheek. “You’re making this extremely difficult,” he said through gritted teeth. “You want help with the dishes, or do I quiz you?”

  “I don’t know whether to be impressed by your self-control, or pissed.”

  “Be both.” He turned around. If he could have walked, he’d have gone to hide in the bathroom until the crisis passed. “I sure as hell am.”

  She didn’t make a sound behind him. Which didn’t help.

  “What’s it going to be?” He picked up his orange juice and polished it off in one gulp. He wished it had been something stronger, but scotch didn’t exactly go with omelets.

  She sighed. “I’ll wash,” she said, and walked around him to get her book. After a sad shake of her head, she opened the book to the back pages. “Here are a list of questions and answers.”

  He watched the sink fill with soapy water, ruthlessly shutting down all the reasons he was being an idiot. But he’d been in situations where studying had to take precedence. Even when it was so difficult the only way to settle was to dig his fingers into his thigh muscle until his cock cried uncle. “You know for sure this material will be covered in your exam?”

  “Nope, but some of it should.” Before she collected the dishes, she got herself a glass of iced tea and drank that sucker fast.

  Evidently, her body temperature had shot up, too. Speaking of which, he’d probably cool off a lot faster if he started reading over the list of questions.

  * * *

  CASSIE FINISHED putting the dishes in the water. She faced forward, although the image of him sitting at her counter, head bent over her book, was so clear i
n her mind’s eye, she wondered how she’d get through the next ten minutes, let alone a few hours.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  “Shoot.”

  “These questions all pertain to where emotions originate in the brain. First one—”

  God, she was nervous already. “I warned you I don’t test well, right?”

  “You shouldn’t be worried now. This is only prep.”

  She’d just bet he was one of those guys who never had to study. “Okay, go.”

  “Resilience.”

  She knew this one. “Prefrontal cortex.”

  “Outlook, as in whether you see the glass half-empty or half-full.”

  “Ventral striatum.”

  “Two gold stars so far,” he said, and she shook her head, annoyed with herself for caring that she got the answers right for him. “Now, let’s see...sensitivity to social cues.”

  She drew a blank.

  “Cassie?”

  “I’m thinking.”

  “This refers to facial expressions, tone of voice—”

  “I know what social cues are.” She hadn’t meant to snap. “Fusiform-amygdala.”

  “Right again.” He paused. “Okay to interject my own question?”

  Sighing, she turned. “I’m sorry for being grumpy. Please, ask away.”

  “No apology necessary. I’d be cussing if I had to memorize this stuff. You really need to know this for a psychology degree?” He looked genuinely horrified, and so damn adorable she wanted to hug him. Thank God she was elbow deep in suds.

  “No. I was stupid to sign up for the class. It sounded interesting and I couldn’t resist, although I should have audited it instead. I don’t need the credits, but I can’t have a fail on my records.”

  “Ah, an overachiever.”

  “Um, no, definitely not, just impulsive. Why are you looking at me like that?” She tried to stare him down but he wouldn’t lose the small mystery smile, as if he knew something about her she didn’t. It was ridiculous. He was only privy to what she wanted him to know. “Stop it.”

  “Next question—sensitivity to internal bodily cues.”

  Oh, perfect...she was experiencing a bunch of those right now. His shoulders were exceptionally broad, and why hadn’t she noticed before? She liked watching him tap his finger on the current question while he scanned the bottom of the page. His nails were trimmed and clean and his fingers were exceptionally long without being too slender. Huh.