She leaned back against the bar and scanned the place: a group of college-age kids at one big table, a few couples. Her heart jumped as her gaze skittered past, then returned, to a guy by himself who was poured into a wooden chair at a table in the corner. Because his gaze was on her.
She quickly moved her roving eye past him, so not in the mood for flirting. Shit, she was dressed to visit a prison inmate. Black pants, not tight in the least. Clunky pumps, no hint of the FM heel. An indigo shirt that showed not a hint of cleavage because of the red tank top beneath it.
Her gaze slid toward him again, because he looked interesting. He was talking to the waitress now; she took an empty highball glass from his table and replaced it with a filled one. His attention on the server allowed Grace to get a gander. He was leaning against the back wall, wearing a tight knit shirt. The black of it set off longish, blond hair that fell away from his face in soft waves to the base of his neck. He wasn’t classically handsome, but he was so completely the kind of guy Grace used to find tantalizing. Rough but clean, good and bad. She took in broad shoulders and biceps that weren’t artificially grown, as far as she could tell with distance and dim lighting. And that was fine with her.
The waitress departed, and she had worked on her ass sway, no doubt. Sure that the guy would be watching that little show, Grace let herself continue soaking him in. Except his gaze shifted to her quite suddenly.
And her heartbeat did this crazy thump-arump dance. Damn, she did not need this. She slid from the stool, let the bartender know she’d be back, and went to the restroom. Where she chided herself as she unbuttoned her shirt and let it hang over the tank top. Standing at the mirror over the sink, she took in her reflection and sighed. What she saw was the woman who’d worked so hard to cultivate a professional image. To cultivate a profession. She’d just paid off her student loans. All the rest of her income went to office rent, staff salaries, her dad’s defense, and her mortgage. All her spare time went into researching cases, hunting down leads. No vacations, no fun.
Her father, as much as it pained her to think of their conversation, was right. She had lost her fire for defending supposedly innocent people. What if she’d helped guilty people get away with crimes? Like Blake, serial date rapist, though she’d had her arm twisted to take that case. She had become a lawyer for her father, and now that her most important case was over, what was she?
“Who the hell are you?” she asked that defeated face in the mirror, just as a woman pushed the door open. She skirted to the nearest stall, studiously keeping her eyes nowhere near Grace.
Embarrassment was the least of her problems. She was in the throes of an identity crisis. She needed another shot.
She caught the bartender at the end of the bar and ordered that and the nachos, then headed to her stool. He was sitting on the stool next to hers, elbows bracing him as he leaned back against the round edge of the bar.
Damn, a couple of exchanged looks and he figured he could bag her. Forget that. And forget the part of her body that vibrated at the thought. Totally the wrong time. And wrong me.
She had to make herself continue walking as though his presence made absolutely no difference to her. She asserted her professional “don’t screw with me, I’m going to nail your ass to the wall” gait as Axl Rose belted out “Sweet Child o’ Mine.”
She told herself she wasn’t going to even look at him as she came around and took her stool, but that lasted for about, oh, one second. She had to go around him, after all. And he was blatantly looking at her with the hint of a smile.
She wanted to be annoyed, but a tiny part of her sang because a great-looking guy found her interesting enough to approach. Okay, ego, calm down.
She sat sideways facing him, leaning one arm against the bar. “Let’s hear it. Your best line.” When he gave her a Whaaa? kind of look, she said, “Let’s see. ‘You look like you could use a drink.’ Or how about ‘You dropped something…your smile.’ ” She studied him. “Hmm, you might even think you’re so good-looking that you can just wink and say, ‘Hey, let’s get out of here.’ ”
The bartender came up and set a bowl of peanuts on the counter. “Here ya go, buddy.” He retreated.
The man’s eyebrows were still raised as he picked up the bowl and held it out to her. “I came up to get some peanuts. Want some?”
She wanted to shrink. The fact that he was clearly enjoying her embarrassment didn’t help. “I don’t do nuts, thank you.”
“Your shot,” the bartender said, setting the shot and a small plate with the lime beside her.
She tried to tune out the man she could now see was dead-on gorgeous up close, with that easy, confident energy. The way she used to be, before she went to college. Too easy, a voice reminded her. She focused on preparing her shot, aware that he was still watching her. Lick her hand, dash on the salt….She paused, her mouth poised in front of the salty crust on her hand, and gave him the move along, then look.
Instead, he leaned even more comfortably against the bar, as though settling in to watch the show. He had more than a five o’clock shadow on his face, but not a full beard. She could see the smile grooves around his full, soft lips and the dip beneath them that defined a strong chin.
She licked salt, shot the tequila, and took a quick suck on the lime wedge. It gave her a funny feeling in the pit of her stomach to see him rubbing the tips of his fingers across his mouth, contemplating her. “Did you enjoy it?” she asked with a challenging arch of her eyebrow.
“Probably as much as you did.”
She had to jam down the odd sound that wanted to emerge, which came out as a clearing of her throat. “Didn’t you come up here for nuts?” She nodded toward the bowl on the bar.
“I didn’t come up just to get peanuts,” he admitted without the least bit of sheepishness. “You looked compellingly sad and angsty and given that it was, ah, compelling, I had to come over. But I like hearing the terrible pickup lines you’ve put into my mouth. So go on, tell me more.”
He looked inordinately at ease with himself as he waited. She, on the other hand, felt completely thrown off. And intrigued. Okay, she’d play. It would occupy her scrambled mind for a few minutes, until her prickly side finally pushed him away.
“Let me see.” She licked a fleck of salt flake off her hand as she tried to think of more. “Oh, got one.” She tilted her head and sort of got right up into his face without meaning to, blinking dreamily. “Do you have a map? I seem to be getting lost in your eyes.” He groaned in mock disgust while laughing at the same time, and she said, “Your turn.”
He splayed his hand on the contours of his chest. “Me? Hmm, let me see.” He drummed his fingers for a few seconds. “Have you been to the doctor lately? ’Cause I think you’re lacking some Vitamin Me.”
She couldn’t help laughing, even as some distant part of her screamed, Yes! Yes, I am! “Cute.”
“Your turn.”
“How about, ‘Can I take your picture so I can prove that angels do exist?’ ”
“Sweet and sappy, perfect.” He rubbed long fingers down his sort-of beard as he gave it some thought. Then it was his turn to lean in close. “On a scale of one to ten, you’re a nine, and I’m the one you need.”
“Ohmigod, precious. I haven’t heard that one. Does it work?”
He shrugged. “Damned if I know. Never used it. What’s the worst line you ever had laid on you?”
She liked that he had to really think about cheesy lines; they didn’t roll right off his tongue. Still, she knew he had to be a player. Look at the man.
“Heh, I don’t even have to think about that one. It was years ago, at a different bar here. This guy comes up and says, ‘Your shirt is very becoming on you. If I was on you, I’d be coming, too.’ ”
He slapped his hand over his face. “I’m ashamed for my gender. That’s just disgusting.” He peered at her through the cracks between his fingers. “Unless it worked?”
She rolled her eyes.
“Yeah, because some guy talking about gracing me with a sperm bath right out of the gate is such a turn-on.”
“Tell me you threw your drink at him.”
“And waste good alcohol? No way. Though sterilizing him might have been a good idea, come to think of it. I did clamp my hands on his shoulders, digging my fingernails in, turned him around, and pushed him away.”
“Perfect. I wish I’d been there to see that. Or give him the boot myself.”
She liked the thought of him defending her honor…until she figured that he’d probably been a tween back then. He had to be midtwenties now.
He cracked open a peanut with the fingers of one hand. “You had dropped your smile, so your first line would have been apropos for me to use.” He popped a peanut into his mouth. “I like your laugh.”
“Well, that’s a better pickup line.”
“I don’t do pickup lines. It was merely an observation.”
“Other than the ‘you looked angsty and compelling’ one?”
“Damn, woman, you’re a tough cookie. What do you do, anyway? CEO? Lawyer?”
She kept on her lawyer face. “I’m an undercover detective scouting out men with bad pickup lines. They’ve instituted a law against it, didn’t you know?”
“I did not, but I’ll pass it along to all those schmucks out there. If I’d known there was a petition, I’d have signed it.”
She decided then and there that she would not tell him anything about herself. All that came to mind anyway was: I became a lawyer to free my unjustly convicted father, who, as it turns out, was justly convicted after all. I’m an utter failure and completely lost at the moment. “What do you do?”
He flashed her a playful smile as he dramatically checked to make sure no one was in earshot. “The truth? I’m the prince of a small European country who’s playing the average Joe because I’m tired of women wanting me for my title.”
“Touché.”
The cute server came over bearing his highball from his table. “Would you like this over here?”
“Sure, thanks.”
Grace appreciated that he hadn’t been so presumptuous as to bring his drink with him. Or maybe he’d really only come over for peanuts and was playing with her. Either way, she was enjoying the exchange.
“Would you like another lick, toss, and suck?” he asked, then nodded toward the empty shot glass when she gave him a shocked look. “That’s what I call the shot you just had.”
“I’m good, thanks.” One more of those and she’d be licking him.
He swirled the glass, making the ice clink pleasantly against the sides. “My name’s Artemis, by the way. What’s yours? Wait, let me guess: Jane Smith?”
She chuckled. “Grace. Artemis? Seriously?”
“Yeah, I know. My mom obviously had high standards for me. Or low ones. I can’t quite figure it out. Never got a chance to ask her.”
She frowned at the implication of that but didn’t want to pry. “That’s too bad.”
“So, Grace, wanna talk?”
“I thought we were.”
“About whatever had you in such a frown.”
She did, surprisingly. He had the kind of face and inviting voice that made her want to confess all. Not that she would, of course. And the way he’d rolled her name over his tongue made her glad she’d told him her real name. “I just found out that my husband has four other wives and fifteen children. He wants me to move to an old motel where we can all live in one place. I hate him, but I still love him. Should I agree to it?”
“Do you love him as much as you hate him, or is it a percentage or two off either way? I’m thinking, if you love him thirty-five percent and hate him the rest, say no.”
He played along so easily, appeared to be so earnest in his advice, that she wondered if he believed her. It made her curious, with a start, whether he was an attorney. She decided that she didn’t want to know. In fact, she rather liked this little liar’s game of theirs.
She studied the ceiling, made of bronze molded tiles, and pretended to consider her deep feelings for her bigamous husband. “I think I love him twenty-nine percent and hate him the rest. So I’ll say no. And since our marriage is null and void, there’ll be no divorce.” She put her hand over her stomach. “But what will I do about our triplets?”
That, unfortunately, drew his gaze down her body to said stomach. “Let’s get married. I’ll raise them as my own.”
She doubled over in laughter, because he’d said it so damned straight-faced. “They’ll be princes and princesses,” she said when she could speak again. “Will the paparazzi be a problem in your country? I don’t want to have to fight them off whenever we take the children out.”
“Nah, we kill them.”
She actually snorted that time, her hand automatically going to his arm to steady herself. “I hope you mean the paparazzi and not the children.”
“Of course. Goodness, woman, we’re not barbarians.” He gave her a mock shocked look that failed to mask his grin.
His arm was solid, warm, with a light dusting of silky blond hairs. Maybe it was the three tequila shots, but she felt giddy and light for the first time in…well, maybe years. An awareness stole through her, and though she made herself pull back as the nachos arrived, she sensed that a lever had been flipped. She could almost hear the rusty grind as it switched from OFF to ON. That switch released electricity through her blood.
They shared the nachos, and another order, and she dared have another lick, toss, and suck now that she’d consumed food. More people started filtering in. The music and the din grew louder, and they had to lean closer to hear each other. He smelled good, perhaps soap or cologne, but a light, musky scent. Their arms pressed together as he, accurately, guessed at which guys would approach which women. They put words into their subjects’ mouths, hilarious lies tantamount to the ones they’d told each other.
Three hours later, and he hadn’t tried to officially hook up with her. And when she thought that was because he simply wasn’t interested in her that way, she caught his gaze drifting down her body appreciatively.
“I’m not showing yet,” she said with a caught you smile.
“You’ll always be thin and beautiful to me, even when you’re out to here.” He hovered his hand three feet out from her stomach. She wished he’d move it closer. Pretend to feel a kick, maybe.
She tilted her head. “And that’s why I love you.”
She expected him to choke or double over in laughter, as she had, but he merely grinned. “You’re going to make an awesome queen.”
You told him that you loved him. Even if you were kidding, that was crazy. Worse than your old crazy lurve days.
She hadn’t told a guy that since the one who broke her heart back in college. From her worldly-wise position, she now knew that what she’d really felt was a desperate need to be loved. Validated. One hugely painful lesson later, she’d emerged cynical and slightly bitchy about men. She’d mellowed since then, but she would never again put herself in a position to want a man that badly. Or to believe that because a man desired her meant that he cared, that he might, in fact, come to love her. She had decided the only thing she wanted was her degree. Then to free her dad.
And look how that had ended.
“Uh-oh, we’ve lost the smile again,” Tanner said, studying her from a distance so close she could lean forward an inch and touch her lips to his. He started looking around, under the napkin, the coaster, even beneath his black boots. “Holy shit, I stepped on it. I am so sorry—”
Grace let go of those dark thoughts, nearly laughing again. “It’s easy to think about the crap.”
“Not while I’m here. I’m the gatekeeper for crap thoughts. Here, I’ll do a mind suck for you, take them right out.” He pressed his forehead to hers, his fingers resting on her shoulders, and made some ridiculous sound as he supposedly sucked out her crap thoughts. She felt the soft caress of his exhalation on her chin, the gentle brush of his eyebr
ows.
He remained there, his eyes on hers. “I think I might have taken too many. Are you still in there?”
God, she wanted to kiss him. Just for fun, for making her laugh on a truly awful day, for making her forget for chunks of time that she had no idea what she wanted to do with her life now.
He braced his hands on her cheeks now, moving back an inch, a concern so real in his expression that she believed he believed. “My God, I have, haven’t I? Stripped you of all reason. Sucked out your very identity.” He rolled his eyes up. “There it is. Ah, I see that you fibbed about the husband and the twins. Or was it triplets? The Grace part, that was true. I’d better put it all back before I find out all your secrets.”
Even though that was impossible, the thought made her cringe. Luckily, he didn’t see it as he pressed his forehead to hers again, his fingers still holding her face, and made a reverse sound. Her hands came up to his shoulders, an automatic gesture.
“There. Are they all back?” he asked.
“Yes, unfortunately. But thank you.”
“Why are you thanking me? I failed my mission. I guess it’s all or nothing with me.”
“That has been my problem. Or was. Thank you for making me laugh. I needed that.”
He stepped back, his dark blue eyes on hers. “I know.”
Her hands fell back to her lap, tingling at the memory of his hard shoulders beneath them. All or nothing. Yeah, she could see falling into that old pattern with this guy. “So give me some truth: did you come to this bar to hook up?”
“I haven’t gone to a bar for the sole intention of hooking up since I was twenty-two. I’m headed south on a diplomatic mission, and I wanted to chill for a few days. People-watch. That was the truth: I did find your lost, blues-iness compelling.”
“You took pity on me.”
“I didn’t say anything about pity, darlin’. I said you were compelling. Even more compelling when you smile.”
Falling Hard Page 27