by Debby Conrad
Mortified, she slowly turned around to find him watching her from the doorway, looking dangerously sexy. He was dressed in tight, faded, blue jeans, a black T-shirt, and boots. His stance emphasized the strength of his thighs and the slimness of his hips. He looked tough, sinewy and lean, giving the impression that no one in their right mind would want to mess with him.
The shadow of his beard gave him an even more manly aura, and his face, neck and arms were a golden brown, obviously bronzed by the sun, since he didn’t look like the type to use a tanning bed.
His too-long, black hair gleamed under the ceiling light, and the corner of his mouth turned up in an almost smile as he stood perfectly still, his gaze still on her face, waiting for her to speak.
Janie forced herself to smile and tried to pretend she hadn’t said something so humiliating. If only her face wasn’t heating up. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Obviously,” he said, raising a dark eyebrow.
Ignoring his teasing, she asked, “So, how’s everything in the Big Apple?”
“Fine.” He opened the refrigerator and helped himself to a beer. “And how’s everything with you? Other than your . . . little problem, I mean.” He popped the tab and brought the can to his mouth.
Had his gaze just drifted to her breasts? she wondered, feeling her nipples tighten in response. “Problem? What problem? I don’t have any problems,” she said, crossing her arms in front of her. She was about to leave the room when the cavalry arrived. Sara, Alex and the kids. Thank God.
“I hope everyone is hungry,” Sara said as Gabe stepped aside so she could enter the room. She grabbed the oven mitt from the counter and pulled open the oven door.
“It smells great,” Gabe told her. “Whatever it is.”
“Lasagna,” she announced proudly. “Janie, why don’t you get the kids seated? And, Alex, you can pour the wine.”
“What can I do?” Gabe asked.
“Nothing,” Sara said, pulling the lasagna tray out of the oven. “You’re a guest. Go sit down and relax.”
A guest! Hah! Family members weren’t supposed to be treated like guests, Janie thought, making her way toward the dining room. But when she went to move past Gabe, he gave her a devilish smile and winked at her, as if they shared some deep dark secret.
Actually, they did share a secret now, although she’d do anything if she could make him forget what he’d overheard. Rolling her eyes, she swept past him and left the room, wondering how she was ever going to live this night down.
* * * * * * * * *
Gabe had sat directly across the dining room table from Janie, and she swore he’d done it deliberately. All through dinner he’d watched her, his lips twitching with amusement, causing her face to flush with embarrassment. Or was her face flushing because of all the wine she’d drank? How many glasses had she guzzled down anyway?
Janie had no idea why she was letting him get to her. Normally, she wasn’t the type to get embarrassed. That was her sister’s style. The always-prim-and-proper Sara.
Besides, it wasn’t as if the man would actually repeat what he’d overheard, especially not at the dinner table, and not in front of the kids. She hoped not, anyway.
And even if he were ill-mannered enough to mention it--which she wouldn’t put past him--she’d simply deny it. She’d say he must have misunderstood her. Then he would be the one who was embarrassed.
It was a pleasant thought, but it only lasted a few seconds. Because, somehow, Janie couldn’t see Gabe Montero getting embarrassed over anything.
He was staring at her again. Those dark, penetrating, bedroom eyes were all over her, making her sexual fantasies flash before her eyes. Ignoring him, she reached for her wineglass and drained it. All of a sudden, she started feeling a little woozy, and it took her three tries to set the empty glass on the table without tipping it over. Maybe she should slow down.
“Janie, are you okay?” Sara asked, a concerned expression on her face.
“Of course.” Janie smiled and waved a hand for effect, managing to knock over the salt shaker in the process. “Whoops!” she said, giggling as she stood the glass shaker upright. Thank God it wasn’t the expensive wineglass. It would have broken for sure.
“Alex,” Sara said softly while she leaned over and touched her husband’s arm. “Don’t let Janie have any more wine.”
For some reason, Sara was always in her big-sister mode. And it bugged the heck out of Janie. When is she going to realize that I can take care of myself?
Janie glared at her sister, then met Alex’s gaze. Her brother-in-law offered an apologetic smile and said, “Maybe Sara’s right.” Then, he stood and whisked the two wine bottles from the table and took them to the kitchen.
Jeez. Don’t they trust me?
Glancing at Sara, and keeping one eye on Janie, Gabe said, “Maybe Jane just needs to let off a little steam. Everyone gets a little . . . frustrated now and then.”
He’d called her Jane, the way he always did when he bothered to speak to her. Somehow, he probably knew she hated that name. Feeling her face heat up, she tossed a nasty smile in his direction.
Amusement flickered in his eyes, and a smirk teased his sensual lips.
What a jerk he was! she thought She was not frustrated!
She reached for her wineglass, only to remember it was empty and she wasn’t allowed to have anymore. Okay, so maybe she was frustrated. But what business was it of his?
Suddenly, she was reminded of her problem again and she began wondering about Gabe Montero. Was he the type of man who could satisfy a woman completely? Could he turn a woman to a puddle of liquid, just by touching her with those skillful fingers?
Skillful fingers? Listen to me, she admonished. They were just fingers, that’s all. And there was nothing special, or skillful, about them. Just because his hands were large and masculine and his fingers were long. And just because some women liked to joke about how you could tell the size of a man’s penis by looking at his hands--his fingers, to be exact . . . Oh my God, she thought, forcing herself to tear her gaze from his hands.
She hadn’t meant to stare at his mouth, but that’s what she concentrated on now. Those lips were so . . . they were the kind of lips that would excite fantasies in a nun. And his teeth were white and even. The man didn’t smile much, but she was willing to bet, when he did, he had a killer smile.
Not that it mattered much to her. Still, she found herself continuing to size him up.
Janie looked up from his mouth and noticed him watching her intently. She suddenly wondered what his lips would feel like against hers. Would they be a perfect fit? And what would his kisses be like? Would they be soft and sensuous, or hard and demanding?
Slowly and seductively, his gaze slid from her face, downward to her breasts, as Janie fought the dizzying current racing through her. She knew it was crazy, but she wanted those hands and that mouth all over her body.
Oh, God, she must be totally crazy. Or maybe it was just the wine. Yes, that had to be it, she decided, vowing at the same time never to touch the stuff again. It was making her hallucinate.
Someone tapped her on the arm. “Aunt Janie?” Janie quickly turned her head toward her niece, feeling as if she’d just been caught watching a dirty movie. Livvy stared up at her, a curious expression on her face.
Oh, God. She was really dizzy now, she thought, grabbing onto the table with both hands so she didn’t teeter over. She didn’t want Livvy and Travis to think she was drunk. Because she wasn’t. Feeling totally paranoid, she smiled and said, “Yes, sweetie?” There, that was easy. And she hadn’t even slurred her words, had she?
“Unca Gabe is gonna tell Twavis a bedtime story. But I want you to tell me one. The one about the pwincess.” A look of eager anticipation crossed her tiny face.
Janie’s heart melted as she stared at her sweet little niece. Then she shot Gabe a sideways glance. “She loves my bedtime stories.”
“Speaking of bedtime,” Sara said
, pushing her chair back and standing. “It’s getting to be that time. Travis, why don’t you take your sister upstairs and get your pajamas on.”
“Aw, Mom,” Travis whined. “Tonight’s a special night. Uncle Gabe is here.”
This time Gabe was the one to shoot Janie a look, but she pretended not to notice.
“I know, but it’s late. Uncle Gabe will be up to tell you a story in a few minutes,” Sara went on.
Scowling, Travis slid his chair back and stood. “C’mon, Livvy.”
“I’ll go up with them,” Janie announced and went to stand. But, for some reason, she didn’t quite make it. Her legs turned to rubber, and her butt fell back into the chair with a soft whoosh. Then the hiccups came. Uh, oh.
It was kind of funny, really. She couldn’t stop the giggles erupting from her throat, so she threw a hand over her mouth to stifle the sound.
Sara stared at her open-mouthed. “Kids, go upstairs. Now!”
The kids left the room, looking curiously at Janie over their shoulders. Janie smiled guiltily and waved to them. Mustn’t let the kiddies see their drunken aunt. Even if it wasn’t her fault she’d gotten drunk.
“This is all his fault,” she said, pointing to Gabe. “Hiccup.” If he hadn’t been eavesdropping from the kitchen doorway . . . Not to mention all those looks he’d given her during dinner. No wonder her thoughts about him had turned sexual.
Gabe raised a brow. “Was it something I said, Jane?”
“Don’t call me that. Call me Janie, or Jasmine, or anything but Jane.” She’d always liked the name Jasmine. No one called her Jane anymore, except her mother.
“Janie,” Sara said, coming to her side. “Honey, let me help you.”
Janie hiccupped and pushed her hand away. “I don’t need any help. I’m not hurt. I’m just . . . drunk.” She giggled again, but didn’t bother to cover her mouth this time. Tugging her skirt down, she noticed she’d half slid under the table. “I’ve never been drunk before. I guess there’s a first time for everything.”
She caught sight of Gabe’s mouth as it quirked.
Sara looked helplessly at her husband. “Alex, do something. Before she embarrasses herself.”
Alex came forward, just as Gabe stood up and came around the other side of the table. “I’ll give you a hand,” Gabe said.
Janie looked at Gabe’s hands, then up at her sister. “Did you see how long his fingers are? You know what they say about a man’s fingers.” Then, she grinned sheepishly. Had she actually said that?
Sara glanced at Gabe’s hands, then back at Janie. Her eyes grew huge and her cheeks turned a bright shade of pink. “Janie Callahan!”
Alex and Gabe each placed a hand under Janie’s arms and lifted her to her feet.
“She should just stay here tonight,” Sara said. “I’ll go get the guest room ready.” With that, she quickly headed for the stairs.
“No,” Janie protested, shaking her head and flapping her curls against her cheeks as she stumbled. “I want to sleep in my own bed.” But it was too late; Sara was already gone.
If the guys hadn’t been holding onto her, Janie would be lying face down on the Oriental rug by now. And she’d probably be sporting a pug nose for the rest of her life. “I can drive her home,” Gabe offered. “The last thing she’ll want is to wake up in a strange bed with a hangover.”
“That would be great,” Alex said. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”
“I’m sure.”
“Let me tell Sara.” Alex pushed Janie toward Gabe and disappeared around the corner in search of his wife.
Janie looked up at Gabe. “Why are you being nice? I know! You think you’re going to get me to talk about my . . . little problem, don’t you?” she asked, waggling a finger at his nose.
“I wouldn’t dream of pressuring you to talk about anything you don’t want to talk about. Of course, if you do want to talk about it, I’m certainly willing to listen.”
“Uh, uh. Nothing doing, buster,” she said, trying to pull away from him. She almost fell backward, and would have, too, if Gabe hadn’t caught her and hauled her back into his arms. Then, before she realized what he was doing, he lifted her over his shoulder, like a sack of potatoes, so that her butt rested against his neck and cheek.
“Put me down,” she said, pummeling her fists against his back.
“Why? So you can knock yourself unconscious?”
He had a point. But still, being held in this position--upside down--she was afraid she’d be sick. Plus, there was the issue of her butt in the air. She reached around behind her and tugged at her skirt, making sure her panties weren’t on display.
Sara followed Alex into the dining room, carrying Janie’s purse. “Gabe, what are you doing?”
“It’s okay,” Alex answered. “I told you Gabe’s going to drive Janie home.”
“But--”
“If you don’t trust me, Sara . . .” Gabe’s voice trailed off.
“It’s not that, it’s . . . Of course, I trust you.” Sara tipped her head to look at Janie. “Honey, are you okay?”
“Just peachy.”
Alex took the small, tan purse from his wife and opened it. “Here are her apartment keys,” he said, handing the key ring to his brother. Then he gave Gabe directions to her apartment, as if she couldn’t possibly have done that herself. Then again . . .
“Call me tomorrow, Janie,” Sara yelled as Gabe made his way to the front door and out into the cool night air.
He headed down the walk and toward the black Camaro convertible as Janie bounced along, draped over his shoulder. He’d parked his car out front right behind her yellow VW bug. After settling her in the passenger seat and securing her with a seatbelt, he came around to the driver’s side and hopped in.
“Can you please hurry?” If she were going to be sick, she wanted to do it in the privacy of her own bathroom, not along the road somewhere.
“You bet,” he said with a smirk as he fired up the engine and put the car into gear. “I can’t wait to hear all about this problem of yours.” With that, he jerked the car away from the curb, sending her hair flying in all directions.
Lord have mercy, was all she could think.
CHAPTER TWO
Gabe saw the address on the red brick four-unit and pulled into the parking lot. This is it, he thought, scanning the doors for Apartment C. When he spotted it, he coasted into a nearby parking space and cut the engine.
Jane Callahan’s head popped up, and she pushed her auburn curls from her face. Having the top down had done a number on her hair. It was a mass of riotous spirals, aiming every which way.
“Hey, this is where I live!” Her expression was one of surprise and confusion. She hadn’t said a word during the ten-minute drive, and he’d wondered if she might have passed out. Her head had slumped against the car door almost as soon as they’d taken off and hadn’t moved, until now.
Gabe played along. “Really?” He figured she couldn’t be too wasted if she recognized her townhouse. He got out of the car and made his way around to the passenger side. After opening the door, he released her seatbelt and went to reach for her.
“Please,” she said, staying him with a hand. “I’ll admit I might need a little help getting inside, but I don’t want to be hung upside down again with my butt in your face.”
It was all Gabe could do not to laugh at her. Instead, he shrugged, lifted her into his arms and headed for the front door. “I didn’t mind.”
“I’ll just bet you didn’t.” She gripped his neck with both hands. “Don’t drop me.”
No chance of that, he thought. She didn’t weigh much more than a box of tissues. Maneuvering her in his arms, he managed to unlock her door, then patted the wall, feeling for a light switch. “Here we are,” he said, flipping on the light. “Home, sweet, home.”
But to Gabe’s surprise, the living room was anything but sweet. It was an extremely messy contrast of styles. Totally opposite of her sister’s home.
Books, of all genres, lined the shelves of the oak bookcase and spilled over onto the hardwood floor. And the walls were decorated with posters of blown-up book covers from the six novels she’d had published. Mostly pictures of men and women in various stages of dress--or undress, rather--embracing one another.
Being curious, he’d read some of her books, and although the romance genre wasn’t one he normally enjoyed, he’d found her style rather entertaining. She had a wicked sense of humor. Not that he’d ever told her so.
They’d never talked much in the ten years he’d known her, let alone gotten friendly with one another. She was Sara’s little sister, and therefore out of his league.
“Where are you taking me?” she asked when he reached the bottom of the steps. Her wide mouth curved temptingly, and her mysterious green eyes beckoned to her irresistibility and free spirit. The freckles on her nose and chest--which he knew most women detested--only added to her appeal.
Taking a deep breath, he noticed her perfume was subtle, but sweet-smelling. It reminded him of cotton candy. “I assume your bedroom is upstairs.” He nodded toward the second floor.
“Well, yes, but I can probably walk now.”
He didn’t believe that for a minute. “Sure you can,” he said, dodging the items--a pink fuzzy slipper, a pair of brown loafers, one white sneaker, a red sweater, a blow-dryer, and more books, of course--that littered the stairway.
At the top of the stairs, she pointed to an open doorway and he flicked on the overhead light. Her bedroom was even messier than the living room. Not only was the bed unmade and cluttered with her personal belongings, just as he suspected, but clothing--including some very interesting lingerie--shoes, purses, belts and costume jewelry decorated the beige carpeting, creating a maze to the bed.