No Strings Attached

by Susan Andersen - No Strings Attached

  Several of those muscles Tasha didn’t have to move contracted beneath her skin. “Oh, ambush! Is that what bringing me dinner’s all about? Softening me up for the kill?”

  “Well, yeah.” Jenny’s tone said duh. “I know you saw him today because he was with Jake and me when I got your message. We all walked down to the beach to watch you go by, and I said, as I do every time I know you’re swimming alone, that it bothers me that you do it a lot.”

  “Yeah, he mentioned that.”

  Her friend’s lips quirked up. “I must say I’ve never seen a guy so anxious to lend a hand. He seemed pretty damn intent on playing lifeguard with you.”

  Tasha made a disparaging noise deep in her throat. “Oh, yes, he’s a regular Samaritan.”

  “And quick with the mouth-to-mouth, I bet.”

  “What the hell?” She jumped. “What, you have X-ray vision now? How do you know these things? And how come I never got that girlie gene?”

  “Oh, please. It’s hardly master sleuthing. Girlie gene, my butt.” Shaking her head, Jenny wiggled the tip of her index finger at Tasha’s face. “You’ve got a little patch of whisker burn beneath your bottom lip.”

  Her fingertips flew to the spot indicated, and she felt the small abrasion. “Well, that’s just stinkin’ wonderful.” She blew out a disgusted breath. “Practically every high schooler—not to mention the good-sized more parental-controlled dinner crowd—was in and out of Bella’s today. And all the while I sashayed around the joint with a damn kiss rash on my face!”

  She turned to face her friend. “He keeps doing this shit, Jenny,” she complained. “He knows that I have a tough time resisting him, so he just keeps laying ’em on me.”

  She sighed. “It doesn’t help that everywhere I turn these days, he’s there. I can’t escape him. And it really doesn’t help that the chemistry between us seems even hotter and fiercer than it was in the Bahamas.” Oh, please, Riordan. Bitch, whine, complain. She sat up a little taller. “Still, it is only chemistry, and I can hold strong.”

  “Damn straight you can.”

  “Which is why I accepted a dinner date with Axel Nordrum.”

  “You’re going out to dinner with Axel?”

  The question didn’t even register. “Orrr...”

  “What? No or,” Jenny protested. “Or’s not a good idea.”

  Tasha stared straight ahead but didn’t truly notice the scenery that usually filled her with delight because she was too busy thinking about the idea that had popped to mind. “Actually, it is. Because the attraction goes both ways. And two can play this game.”

  Alarm flashed across Jenny’s face. “Um, I’m not sure that’s a—”

  She looked at her friend. “Why does Luc get to dictate all the terms, Jen? If he wants to play games—well, I’m a competitive woman, and I can sure as hell play every bit as well as he can.” She’d turn his strategy right back at him. Get a little of her own back.

  It would be nice to be proactive for a change.

  She turned determined eyes on her BFF. “Why get mad when I can get even? It’ll be a cold day in the tropics before I’ll ever let Luc hit another home run with me, but why not let him get to first base, second base, hell, maybe even third if I’m in the mood? God knows it’s been a long dry spell for me.”

  “And you don’t worry that cock-teasing might be a bit Joanie-junior-high?”

  She shot her friend an evil smile. “Oh, I’m sure it is, and if that makes me cheap and tawdry...well, I can live with it.”

  “I don’t know about this plan, Tash—”

  “That’s okay, sweetie, because I do.” She reached over and patted Jenny’s hand. The dratted man had haunted her dreams for years, had ruined her for other men. It was only fair that she do her best to return the favor.

  Let his damn dreams be haunted for a change.

  * * *

  THE FOLLOWING THURSDAY EVENING, in the relatively-quiet-for-once Anchor, Luc sipped his beer and waited for Max to throw his dart. He’d learned that the big guy liked to study every angle.

  “Jesus, would you take your shot already,” Jake finally demanded. “It’s like playing with my grandpa.”

  “Eat me,” Max said mildly without removing his serious gaze from the board. “And like you’d know anything more about having grandparents than I do.” He glanced over at Luc. “Do you have grandmas and grandpas?”

  “My abuelo Cesar on my mom’s side is still alive. My abuela died when I was in middle school. There was no one from my—our—dad’s side.”

  “That gives you a leg up on Jake and me.” Max let the dart fly, and it hit just to the left of the bull’s-eye.

  You would have thought the thing had bounced off the board and fallen to the floor instead of sticking this close to center, if Jake’s long-suffering sigh was anything to go by. “Okay, you gotta be some embarrassed over that pitiful throw,” he said, muscling Max aside. “Move over and let a pro show you how it’s done.”

  But Luc saw the fond smile he bent on his brother and had to tamp down an unworthy covetousness.

  Dammit, he enjoyed these get-togethers with his half brothers. Yet for someone who never broke a sweat traversing the drug world, where his real identity could be discovered at any time and get him killed, he was learning that they were kind of stressful, as well.

  He’d never been a man given to envy, yet he was discovering that the more time he spent around Jake and Max, the more he felt a little jealous of the relationship they shared.

  He hadn’t spent his entire life in the same town as his half brothers, and he lacked the easy relationship they shared. Instead he felt as if he had to prove himself to them.

  Christ. He was thirty-five years old. He would have said he’d outgrown the need for approval a long time ago. But apparently not, at least not when it came to his family.

  Maybe that was the thing, though. His job tended to preclude close relationships of any kind, and he’d long since lost touch with his friends from high school and college.

  But—family, for God’s sake. With Max and Jake that wasn’t all gone. He just sort of longed for the deeper connection they had.

  He still had a hard time coming to grips with the fact that his father—their father—who had been the best of dads to him, had just walked away from these two decent guys as if they didn’t matter. Worse, as if they didn’t even exist. And he couldn’t wrap his head around Charlie never having said a word to him about the two half brothers he had living in another state.

  Maybe if the old man had, if he’d manned up to his responsibilities, Luc, too, might have had a relationship with them that had a history of its own.

  They wrapped up the game a little while later, and he knocked back the remainder of his beer and set the empty on the table that they’d been using as their home base. “Well, I gotta get going.” He was still getting accustomed to this family shit and felt a sudden itch to get a little distance from it.

  “Put Saturday on your calendar,” Max said. “Harper and I want to have a barbecue at our place. We thought we’d make it earlyish so Tash can come between her rush hours. You can bring the chips.”

  “Sounds good.” He swept his wallet off the table and shoved it in his back pocket. “See ya, what? One? Two?”

  Max’s massive shoulder hitched. “Beats the hell outta me. I’ll check with the boss and let you know.”

  Jake gave him a pitying look and quirked a brow at Luc. “He’s so whipped.”

  “Yeah,” Luc agreed dryly. “Good thing you aren’t.”

  His half bro merely shot him a hey-I’m-the-luckiest-guy-in-the-universe grin. With a shrug and a wry smile of his own, he bid them goodbye and headed back to Harbor Street.

  When he got home, he stood awhile at the slider of his studio apartment, staring out at the water. The protected bay was flat as a mirror, but the canal beyond it was choppy and laced with whitecaps. A roil of clouds moved across a partially blue sky. He watched them for a bit and wond
ered what his big hurry had been to leave the Anchor, since he didn’t have a clue what he was going to do with the rest of the evening. Jesus, he’d been back in his room only ten minutes and already he was itch-under-the-skin restless.

  He heard music coming from next door and the occasional clatter of Tasha moving around her place. He tried to figure out what she was doing by the sounds she made, but they were too indistinct to pinpoint. Finally, tired of straining his ears like a high school geek trying to get a bead on the cheerleader, he pulled open the slider and stepped out on the veranda. Her sliding door was closed against the brisk breeze, which further muffled the noises coming from her apartment.

  He strode over to the balustrade and, bracing his forearms against its solid ledge, watched two boats enter the harbor and jockey for space at the marina.

  The weather had changed yesterday. It was still mostly sunny, but there was an influx of clouds that had begun moving in, blowing away, then building up again. A new briskness gave the air a bite that hinted at the approaching fall. Which he supposed was hardly surprising, considering it was the second of October.

  But he regretted the fact that he likely wouldn’t see Tasha in her bathing suit again anytime soon.

  Or ever, in all probability, since he’d be long gone before next summer rolled around. By then he’d no doubt be ass-deep in some South American cartel.

  He waited for the rush that a new case—or even the thought of one—always gave him. It didn’t come, however, and he wondered why the idea of getting back to work didn’t fill him with quite the same anticipation he usually got.

  He rolled his shoulders. It probably had to do with the fact he still had some unfinished business here in Razor Bay. With Max and Jake. With Tasha, too, whether she wanted to admit it or not. Hell, he—

  A knock on his front door interrupted his thoughts, and happy for an excuse to shelve them for now, he went inside and crossed to the entrance. He opened the door—then froze. And stared.

  Tasha stood on the other side, but this wasn’t everyday Tasha. This version wore a short greeny/bluey dress with a sweetheart neckline and little sleeves. The color no doubt had some froufrou name, but he was more interested in the tall strappy sandals she wore that easily brought her up past the six-foot mark. “Whoa.”

  She had smoky eyes, her crazy-sexy mouth was painted a glossy rose color and her hair was an untamed riot of long curls. She was a fucking vision.

  “Don’t just stand there gawking,” the vision said, pushing her way past him, and then she turned her back on him when he faced her. Scooping the long curls from her neck and back, she pulled them around to tumble down her left breast. “Zip me up.”

  That was when he saw that the dress, with its darted-and-seamed formfitting top and short flowing skirt, had a wide, rounded V in the back as well, the top of which gaped from the highest point that she had managed to zip it. He stepped up behind her and reached for the zipper tab. It felt about the size of a sewing needle in his big fingers.

  Standing this close to her, he detected an elusive musky sandalwood scent with a hint of—caramel?—and bending his head close to the side of her bared neck, he inhaled it as he unhurriedly fastened the dress the rest of the way. The skin on her neck, her exposed nape, was pale and fine-grained, and he wanted to lick it from the curve of her shoulder to her ear.

  She slowly turned her head to look at him over her shoulder. “Are you sniffing me?”

  “Hell, yeah. It’s why you put perfume on, isn’t it?” Okay, not so suave.

  But she merely hitched a shoulder. “I suppose you’re right. I did apply it...for my date.”

  Everything inside him stilled. “You’re going on a date?” No.

  “Yep.” She turned the rest of the way, and it left her close. Very close. “Thanks for the zip job,” she said cheerfully and, placing a long-fingered hand on his chest, rose on her toes. She pressed a quick here-and-gone kiss on his lips, then dropped back onto her tall heels. “I’m sure Axel appreciates it, as well.”

  Then with a small one-sided, knowing smile, she turned on those needle-thin high heels and went out the way she’d come in, closing the door behind her with a quiet click.

  Leaving Luc pent-up and edgy and wondering what the hell had just happened here.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “HELLO AGAIN.”

  Jeremy looked up from his work as frigging perfect Peyton Vanderkamp breezed past him on her way to the pizzeria’s dishwasher. He grunted a begrudging response.

  When she’d first started working here, she hadn’t said word one to him, yet now she thought she had to greet him whenever she came into his domain? She made his mouth go dry every time he saw her, and this was her third damn trip through the kitchen tonight.

  The shift wasn’t even half over yet, and it was shaping up to be a long night.

  Okay, so it was her job, and she was merely doing what she’d been hired to do—bussing dirty dishes from table to tub to the kitchen—where she unloaded her haul into the dishwasher. Nothing he could do to change that. Trouble was, she merely had to breathe to pull his focus, and without Tasha here to act as a buffer, Peyton was even more of a disruption to his peace of mind than usual.

  As if it wasn’t stressful enough being completely on his own tonight—even if he had told Tasha that flying solo wouldn’t be a problem.

  And it wasn’t. He could—and would—do his job. But he wouldn’t mind doing it without the distraction.

  Peyton was sure as hell that. She was so damn pretty, with her baby-fine skin, golden-brown eyes and her short black hair that made her look like some kick-ass Disney animation pixie. But that body was all too real.

  Oh, not that it was all gargantuan tits and traffic-stopping boo-tay. Unfortunately, it didn’t have to be. At the moment her inverted heart-shape of a butt was pointed right at him as she bent to fill the soap dispenser, and it definitely had his attention. He wouldn’t complain if she gave it a little shake.

  Instead she straightened and closed the dishwasher door. She jabbed a button, and the hum of the appliance permeated the kitchen. He blinked to clear away the vision that felt burned into his retinas.

  And got real in a hurry.

  Jesus, the chick was one of the rich girls who ran with that whole money’s-no-object group that came in here and acted like they owned the joint. Well, not all of them, but it was a sure bet that more of that clique did than didn’t. And the worst of the lot was Peyton’s boyfriend, that tool Cokely, who’d tripped him up and thought it so frigging hilarious.

  Okay, to be fair, Peyton had refused to leave with the guy that day. And Jeremy couldn’t honestly say he’d seen them together since then. But he was still way out of his league here.

  That sentiment, however, just pissed him off. He’d worked hard on his self-esteem with the counselors at Cedar Village, and as a rule these days he felt pretty damn good about himself. No girl was gonna make him double-clutch that progress into reverse. No way, no how—he didn’t care how hot she was.

  He glared at her back as she gathered her tub. He had to keep his cool for only five more seconds, and she’d be out of here. Ten, tops. Just ten lousy seconds.

  He could put up with anything for that long.

  Which gave him one serious I-don’t-believe-this moment when he heard himself demand, “Why are you working here, anyway? You sure as hell don’t need the money.”

  She slowly turned to face him, her expression closed. Haughty. “So everyone keeps telling me.” Her tone was cool, and she strolled up to him as if she didn’t have a care in the world.

  But when she tilted her head back to look up at him, she returned his glare with interest, her eyes a bare glint of bourbon-brown behind furiously narrowed black lashes. Holding the tub balanced against her hip, she poked him in the chest with the slender index finger of her free hand. “How the hell do you know what I need?”

  God, she was a peanut. Oh, she might hit close to the mid-mark in the five-foot ran
ge, but she was still a good half-foot-plus shorter and a whole helluva lot slighter than he was.

  Which—Jeezus, Newhall—is hardly the point. Straightening to his full height, he stepped back from that drilling finger. “I know you live up on the bluff with the rest of the fat cats.”

  “So you think I pay the mortgage on the house? Sorry to disillusion you, pal, but that’s all on my da—” She cleared her throat. “My stepfather.”

  “And—what?—he doesn’t give you a big enough allowance?”

  She looked at him as if he were something that needed scraping off the bottom of her fancy red sandal. “I’m not sure what makes you think this is any of your business, but he doesn’t give me an allowance, period. He and Mom are getting a divorce, and as far as he’s concerned, I no longer exist.”

  “Aw, shit.” His ire deflated like yesterday’s helium-filled latex balloon, and he reached out without thinking—then dropped his hand to his side before touching her when he saw her stiffen. “I’m sorry,” he said. “That’s rough. My mom has...issues, so I know what it’s like to have a parent just check out on you.”

  She shook her head. “I can’t believe I even told you that. Not that the news won’t get around and probably sooner rather than later. But until it does, I’d planned to keep it under wraps.” She hitched a shoulder. “Of course, knowing Mom, she probably intends to drag me out of Razor Bay the minute the ink dries on the decree, so I don’t know why I’m working so hard to keep it all a deep, dark secret. I don’t suppose it’ll make a big difference who knows what about it if I’m not here for the fallout. And despite wanting to keep it on the down-low, I’ve already told Tasha and my friend Marni.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “And now you.”

  “Hey, your secret’s safe with me.” He gave her a swift once-over, then cocked an eyebrow. “You, on the other hand, pretty much suck at keeping it.”

  That startled a little laugh out of her. “I do not!”

  “Me.” A finger ticked up. “Marni.” A second finger joined the first. “Tasha.” He wiggled all three at her.

  “Well, okay, I guess I do. In this instance. Ordinarily, though, I’m a sphinx. You can’t pryyyy a secret from my lips.”