Hart and Soul

by Lori Foster

  She continued to frown at him for a few seconds, and then seemed to accept his explanation. “Ah, I guess that makes sense.” She went back to her hair. “It’s like that fake wrestling stuff the youths enjoy?”

  Annoyance crept up his neck. “No, not like that at all.” Her brown, usually straight hair now fluffed out in sexy waves. His fingers twitched with the urge to touch it, to stroke it.

  He remembered tangling his fingers in her hair while he drove into her, and then, later, feeling it drifting over his shoulders, his chest.

  He cleared his throat and shoved his hands into his pockets. “There’s nothing fake about it, believe me. It’s a serious sport, and it’s growing fast in popularity.”

  “If you say so.”

  Why it was so important for her to understand, Hart didn’t know, but he forged on. “I’d been training for a while in mixed martial arts, and I decided to go professional. You called while I was away at a camp.”

  “Oh, just like Boy Scouts.”

  She was out for blood tonight, and even knowing that, Hart took it on the chin. “No, smart-ass.” He jerked his T-shirt up to his chin. “Do these look like the abs of a Boy Scout?”

  Lisa stared. She reached for her glasses on the side of the sink, slipped them on, and stared some more. Her look was so intense, Hart could practically feel her gaze on his stomach, up to his pecs, then back down again . . . way low, lower than he had exposed, damn it.

  Her lips parted a little. She took two quick breaths.

  Stoked by that intimate gaze, he suggested, “Your turn.”

  She laughed. Then she cleared her throat and slanted her gaze at his face. “You missed your turn on that one, Skippy.”

  “What the hell is with this Skippy business?” Such a stupid nickname. But damn it . . . didn’t most nicknames start in some basis of fact?

  “You know,” Lisa said, interrupting his musing, “I find it very odd that you’d flaunt your body now, but felt so shy and insecure when we had sex that you had to hide from me.”

  Heat flooded his face. “I did not hide.”

  “You turned out the light.”

  “Damn it, woman!” She slandered his masculinity to suggest such a thing. “Accuse me of insecurity again, and I’ll strip right here, right now.”

  Blinking, she turned to face him—and appeared to consider taking him up on that challenge. Then she picked up her watch and put it on. “Tempting, but sorry, no time. I’m going to be late as it is.”

  She’d been tempted? Hart followed her into the bedroom.

  She stopped and turned to face him.

  He held his ground.

  Lisa pointed toward the door. “Leave.”

  “Not until you tell me why you called.”

  Fury brought a becoming blush to her cheeks. She looked at her watch again, crossed her arms, and said, “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

  Damn, that possibility really bothered him. Time to get it out in the open. Maybe if he said it first, she’d discuss it with him.

  Trying for gentle understanding, Hart cupped her shoulders in his hands. “Lisa . . . are you pregnant?”

  Her jaw loosened. “What?”

  Undeterred, Hart squeezed her shoulders. “Are we having a baby? Because if we are—”

  “Are you insane?” Lisa jerked free, went to the other side of the bed—far away from him—and laughed. Hard. “Do I look like an idiot to you?”

  That had to be a trick question. “No.” Confusion swamped him. “Look, I know we used condoms, but they aren’t foolproof, so—”

  “No, they aren’t, which is why I’m on the pill.” Aghast, her back ramrod straight, she glared at him. “For your information, I would never, ever, take a chance on unplanned pregnancy, but most especially not with you.”

  He was relieved, he really was, but still . . . Hart propped his hands on his hips. “Why not with me?”

  “Oh, my God, Hart!” Her made-up eyes looked enormous behind her glasses. “Are you serious?”

  Was he? Yes, damn it. Hart gave a firm nod, but said, “I think so.”

  “You’re not father material.”

  Now that hurt. “Who says?”

  “Every woman you’ve ditched after a quick lay?”

  Ha! He had her on that one. “It wasn’t quick, now was it, Lisa? We spent hours in that bed.” He pointed to the bed between them, and stressed again, “Hours.”

  More color flooded her face, and her teeth gnashed. “In terms of minutes, no, it wasn’t all that fast. In terms of life, it was no more than an afterthought for you.”

  Hart struggled to assimilate all that she said with the way that she said it. He believed her that he wasn’t going to be a dad. Yay. What a relief!

  Right?

  To hell with that. He didn’t like thinking about it, so he went back to more familiar ground. “You enjoyed yourself, so stop acting like you didn’t.”

  “I won’t deny it.” Her shoulders lifted, her robe slipped, and he again saw that tempting pink lace. “You were fantastic. Spectacular, even.”

  That was more like it. Hart nodded with satisfaction—and glanced again at that comfy bed right there between them.

  “But I am not,” Lisa said, regaining his attention, “and have never been, pregnant.”

  Shit. Back to square one. “Fine. Not preggers. Got it. So if there’s not a little Winston bun in the oven, what was so hellfire important that you had to hunt me down, call a dozen times, and pester my relatives?”

  Fury narrowed her eyes. “You don’t have to worry that it’ll ever happen again. You have my word.”

  Holding up his hands, Hart apologized. “I’m sorry. That came out wrong. I just meant that you made it, whatever it is, sound so important that I sort of resigned myself to big news from you, and no w—”

  Her snort of irony stopped his apology.

  He sighed. “Look, Lisa, you have something to tell me that’s important enough for you to attempt to track me down, despite my lack of availability at the time. I’m here now, so if you would please just tell me, I’d appreciate it.”

  Judging his sincerity, she chewed it over, and finally said, “If I tell you, then you’ll go away?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you won’t argue about it?”

  Probably not. He worked his jaw, and nodded.

  “And I’ll never have to see you again?”

  Damn it, why did she have to keep pushing him? “Maybe.” But he doubted it. By the minute he found her more fascinating than ever, and all the reasons why he’d wanted her in the first place were suddenly pounding through him again.

  Accepting his lackluster response, Lisa moved to the foot of the bed and sat down. She drew a deep breath, looked at Hart, and said, “Someone wants to hurt you. Bad.”

  “What?”

  “I overheard two men talking in a bar. There can’t be too many Hart Winstons walking around, so it had to be you, right? I didn’t completely understand at first, but now that you say you’re fighting, it makes more sense. It was something about ensuring you wouldn’t win. They have a conspiracy against you, and somehow a woman is involved, I think as a distraction or to get you to the right place where these other men can jump you, and effectively take you out of the running.”

  Hart stared at her. Okay, he hadn’t seen that one coming. “Are you serious?”

  She nodded. “There. I’ve done my duty and warned you, so you can leave.” She stood again and edged around him to leave the room. Without looking at him, she added, “And Hart? Don’t let the doorknob catch you in the butt on the way out.”

  Two

  Of course she didn’t get far before Hart caught her arm and whirled her right back around. He took her off guard, and she fell into him.

  He didn’t set her away.

  And blast the man,
he felt delicious. Rock-hard and solid and so hot . . . Regaining her wits, Lisa shoved away from him.

  “Keep your mitts to yourself, buster.”

  “Don’t you mean Skippy?”

  Oh, she wanted to sock his smug, all-too-handsome face. But she didn’t want him to see that much emotion from her. If she couldn’t convince herself not to care, she could at least convince him that she didn’t. “Leave. Now.”

  “You have to be kidding.”

  He took the seat she’d vacated at the foot of her bed—and damn him, he looked good there. “I’m serious as a heart attack.”

  Lounging back on his elbows, he studied her. “At least give me details.”

  Impossible to do with her heart in her throat and her pulse racing. Even breathing seemed difficult, when she really wanted to pant. And fan herself.

  Why did he have to be so scrumptious? Not just his body, but his carefree, fun attitude, his openness, his sense of humor, and confidence? He was smart and talented, funny and sexy. All wrapped together, Hart Winston made one incredibly appealing package.

  But she couldn’t forget that he saw her as only a one-night stand.

  Jerk. She had to get him off her bed and out of her apartment. ASAP. “I’ll make you a deal. Leave now, and I’ll tell you all about it—later.”

  “What if this evil plot goes down before you tell me? Hell, woman, I could be killed.”

  “I don’t think they wanted to kill you. They said something about a ball bat and doing stuff just dire enough to take you out of commission.”

  When she finished, Hart looked half sick.

  He dropped flat to the bed and put an arm over his eyes. “Christ, I can handle myself, Lisa; I hope you know that. In a straight-up fight, no problem. But if some prick is planning to jump me from behind or something . . .” He moved the arm from his face and caught her staring at his lap. He grinned. “Come on, Lisa. Do you really want that on your conscience?”

  She sniffed, a believable sound of indifference. “You’re nothing to me, Hart. A quickie fling, no more. I did my duty and warned you, and now it’s up to you.”

  “But you do have more details, right? Information that’ll make it easier for me to defend myself?”

  “You’re insufferable.”

  Gently, he said, “I know.”

  “And obnoxious.”

  He nodded as he slowly got off the bed and came toward her.

  Knowing her voice went too high, she said, “You certainly don’t deserve any special consideration from me.”

  “Of course not.” He stopped in front of her, let his knuckles brush her cheek, the side of her neck, as he smoothed her hair over her shoulder. “But you’re a really kind, caring woman with an enormous heart.”

  It was a curse. “I really am,” she agreed without modesty.

  He took her hands in his, then bent his knees so he could look into her eyes with masculine appeal. His rough thumbs coasted over the backs of her fingers again and again in a seducing caress. “I don’t deserve anything from you, Lisa; I know that. But this is important, and I’m asking as nice as I can—”

  Reality kicked in and, again, Lisa jerked free. “Ohhhh . . .” She moved away from him to stand behind her rocking chair. “Just stow the sex appeal, Skippy. I’m not buying into it, not ever again.”

  He studied her, came to some conclusion, and propped his hands on his hips. “All right. But as pissed off as you might be with me—”

  “I’m not,” she denied with disdain. “I don’t care at all either way, period.”

  “—we both know that you don’t want to see me pulverized through some sneak attack.” He leveled a look on her. “Right?”

  Her heart thumped. How could he understand her so well when he’d spent little enough time trying to know her? She glanced at her watch, and gave in. “Fine. We can talk. Later. But for now, use extra care. Don’t take any chances, and if you can keep it zipped for once in your life, try to avoid any women you don’t know particularly well.”

  His blue-eyed gaze heated as he looked her over with suggestive intent. “I think I can manage that, all things considered.”

  What did that mean? No, she didn’t want to know. She fashioned a stern expression and said, “Good-bye, Hart.”

  He smiled. “All right, I’ll go. But Lisa? Don’t do anything that I would do, okay?”

  It took her a second to realize what he’d said, and then she heard the front door open and close. To be certain, Lisa went to the door and locked it, then dropped back against it with a heart-felt sigh.

  Hart Winston. Man, oh man, but he packed a wallop to her emotions and her libido.

  Calling him “Skippy” was her way of keeping his penchant for running off at the forefront of her mind. Hart was a man who took his pleasure, then took off before emotions could get involved. If she poked fun at him, then he couldn’t know how foolish she’d felt after sleeping with him. Foolish because . . . well, it had felt like something very special to her. Different. More powerful than casual sex.

  She was a twenty-seven-year-old independent woman with experience, a career, and plenty of intelligence. She should have known better than to build expectations around a casual night of spectacular, mind-blowing sex, or to think, even for a second, that the infamous Hart Winston had felt the same magnitude of sensation that she had.

  But still, she’d been surprised that he skipped out the next morning without a word.

  Fool, fool, fool!

  Turning to look in the foyer mirror, Lisa made a face at herself. After that tumultuous, surprise visit, the last thing she felt like doing was suffering the company of another man, a man she was seeing only to try to get out of her funk.

  A long, hot bath and a good book seemed more appealing, but she’d promised herself, so she stuck to her guns, put on her nice dress and heels, and went out to her car.

  Starting the night was no fun at all, not when she already knew exactly how it would end—thanks to Hart Winston.

  Having moved his car to the other side of the lot, Hart watched from his inconspicuous vantage point as Lisa hustled out in sky-high heels and a body-hugging dress.

  He felt like a stalker. Like a pathetic kid with a bad crush.

  But Lord have mercy, Lisa looked good. Better than good.

  He’d felt that body, every inch of her, and as sweet as that had been, touch didn’t quite do justice to the visual. The woman had done a fine job of hiding a killer body. Course, she’d done a good job of hiding that smart mouth, too, and all that stinging sarcasm.

  He couldn’t help but grin. Truth be told, he’d enjoyed sparring with her. He’d even enjoyed her insults.

  He’d known Lisa Vogle for damn near a year, had talked with her numerous times, and had always enjoyed her company. Not once had she ever unleashed her displeasure on him. In fact, she’d always been beyond proper.

  When he thought of Lisa, it was intelligence, kindness, and manners that came to mind. Well, and amazing sex too. He would never forget the sex.

  But even before they’d slept together, there’d been something about her, something that taunted and teased him to the point that, before he’d realized his own intent, he’d asked her out on a spontaneous date.

  Even more surprising, she’d accepted. In too many ways to count, he didn’t seem like her type, and vice versa. But he’d felt the sexual chemistry between them as they rode in his car to a restaurant. Hell, they’d even run into his cousin Joe and his wife, Luna. Lisa had not been dressed then as she was now.

  No, that night Lisa had worn a black suit and a simple white blouse with comfortable pumps. Her hair was still in that twisted, stately bun on the back of her head, and not a single speck of makeup had shown on her face.

  And somehow, when he’d gotten to her door, all that prim and proper staging had blown his mind. Her naked mouth drew him; he
’d meant only to kiss her good night, but she’d kissed him back, and his hands had somehow tumbled her hair, and the next thing he knew, they were in her apartment going at it hot and heavy and . . .

  He felt edgy again, just thinking about it.

  It was pretty freaking incredible.

  Too incredible. Hart hated to admit it, because it made him sound like a wuss, but Lisa Vogle had intimidated him.

  Never before had he been on a date with a smart woman who conversed easily, laughed honestly, greeted his cousin with impeccable manners, and then scorched him in bed.

  That kind of perfection was enough to spook any die-hard bachelor. Right?

  And now, adding her sharp wit and ease at banter, well . . . could the woman be more flawless?

  He watched as Lisa drove out of the parking lot without ever once noticing him. So Romeo wasn’t picking her up? What a chump.

  Knowing what she had planned, Hart stewed. His thoughts were in turmoil. Was Lisa really that sexual by nature, or had she exaggerated to irk him—not that she could have guessed he’d be irked, considering how he’d cut out on her.

  Damn it. He felt mired in guilt. She’d been trying to warn him, and he’d put off contacting her to finish his training camp. The camp was important, but he could have eked out some time to call her.

  He’d make it up to her, Hart decided. At the same time he denied that his motives were anything but altruistic, never mind the jealousy gnawing on him.

  He’d never been jealous, so he gave himself some leeway in dealing with the unfamiliar sting.

  Let her have her fun tonight, sick as it made him feel. Tomorrow he’d give her the sincere apology she deserved, and they could start over from scratch.

  This time, he’d do things right, and Lisa Vogle wouldn’t know what hit her.

  At barely eleven P.M., Lisa dragged in her front door with relief. What a bust, as far as dates went. And it was all her fault.

  She kicked off the arch-murdering heels and carried them into her bedroom. Pausing at the entrance to the room, she remembered Hart sitting on her bed, at his leisure, teasing and flirting.