by Lori Foster
Next to Ethan, Riley was the most intriguing, appealing man she knew. He could break a person in two without effort. But more often than not, he was as gentle as a lamb—especially where women were concerned.
There wasn’t much call for a SWAT team in the small city of Chester, Ohio, thank God, but Riley had only lived here about five years. Before that, he’d evidently suffered some bad times, not that he ever spoke of it much. He tended to be a very quiet man.
Except for now, when he chose to badger Rosie.
“I think we’ll all survive fishing on an empty stomach.” Riley’s voice was dry, teasing.
“Now you won’t have to.”
Harris leaned forward, sniffing the eggs. “This’ll be better than the pork rinds Buck packed.”
Buck shoved him in the shoulder. “I’ll just eat them all myself then.”
“Hey.” Harris acted wounded by Buck’s selfishness. “You know I was just placating Rosie.”
After wrinkling her nose at the lot of them, Rosie began toasting bread. She had half a loaf out and hoped that’d be enough. Ethan wasn’t much on domesticity and therefore didn’t have an abundance of groceries. His apartment was a pigsty, his kitchen a disaster and his cabinets all but empty.
She glanced at the clock. She’d give the big coward two more minutes tops, then she’d drag him out of the shower whether he wanted to face them all or not. If he was still naked and wet—well, she wouldn’t cavil. In fact, the idea appealed to her.
Dragging him out proved unnecessary when not five seconds later Ethan appeared in the doorway. His mellow brown eyes were bloodshot, his blond hair still wet and only finger-combed, his feet bare. He’d pulled on clean jeans and a gray T-shirt, and to Rosie, he looked better than breakfast.
Her heart felt full to bursting. “You okay?”
He sent her a cautious sneer, hooked a chair, yanked it out from the table and dropped heavily into it. “I’ll live, if that’s what you mean.” His mean, red-eyed look moved around the room to encompass each of his friends. “I’m not going fishing today.”
“Of course not.”
“We understand.”
“You’re an ass, Ethan.”
That last was from Riley, of course. He seemed to love provoking Ethan. Rosie shook her head. They’d all known each other forever—with the exception of Riley who was late to the group, but had quickly become a good friend. They lived to give each other a hard time, so presumably, they were letting Ethan off the hook this time because of her. Since she and Ethan needed to talk, she didn’t object.
Without a word, she set a cup of strong black coffee in front of Ethan. He drank half of it, cursed when he burned his tongue, then glared at her. “You’re not my housekeeper or my cook.”
“With the way you live, you couldn’t pay me enough to be, either.”
Harris snickered. Buck held his breath.
Riley said, “You are a damn slob. When was the last time you cleaned?”
“What’s it to you, Mom?” He drank the rest of the coffee and Rosie silently refilled his cup. He muttered his grudging thanks.
Riley lounged back in his seat. Because his censure was so obvious, his silence was more annoying than chatter would have been.
Rosie served the men. When she started to take her own seat, Riley stood to pull out her chair. Ethan growled at him, and Riley growled back.
Men. They could be so unaccountably strange. “Dig in, fellas.”
The next few minutes were filled with sounds of appreciation as the men practically inhaled the enormous amount of food she’d set on the table.
In all the time she’d known Ethan, she’d seen him drunk twice—this being the second time.
It amazed her that Ethan could eat such a hardy meal after a hangover. Other than his bloodshot eyes and listlessness, you wouldn’t know he’d been so miserable just half an hour before.
Harris finished first. “Damn, that was good, Rosie.” He patted his flat stomach. “If I come back tonight, will you cook dinner, too?”
Ethan pierced her with a direct stare. Rosie smiled. “Sure, Harris. Come on by my house around six. I planned on making stew today.”
His brows shot up. “Really? I mean, I was kidding, but hell, I’m always up for your stew.”
Buck pushed back his empty plate. “If that sorry sack is invited, then naturally I’m coming, too.”
“I’ll make plenty.” Rosie loved to hang out with the guys. Because she’d had a tendency to tail her older brother wherever he went, she’d grown very close to the lot of them. She had very few female friends, thus the guys had become the sum total of her social circle.
Riley shook his head. “You’re both mooches. But what would one more matter? Count me in.”
Ethan’s chair scraped back across the floor. He snatched up his empty plate, caused an awful clatter as he roughly stacked the rest of the empty dishes, then moved to the sink. He kept his back to them all as he scraped the plates before nearly throwing them in the dishwasher.
The men looked at each other, shrugged, then prepared to leave. One by one they gave Rosie a hug and a hardy thank-you, with Riley choosing to go last.
He tipped up her chin. “I’ll be back by three. You want to come by the gym? Maybe work off some tension?” He gave a meaningful nod of his head toward Ethan’s rigid back.
“I suppose that’d be better than killing anyone, huh?”
Riley laughed. “You’re getting good, sugar, but not that good. Not yet.”
Ethan jerked around. “Just what the hell does that mean?”
Harris and Buck hunkered out, muttering to Riley that they’d meet him in the truck.
Riley crossed his arms over his chest and faced Ethan. “She’s taking lessons.”
With an expression of incredulous disbelief, Ethan looked from Rosie to Riley and back again. “What kind of lessons would those be?”
His tone was so suspicious that Rosie laughed. “Self-defense, mixed with some knife fighting.” She took a stance and chopped the air with a fist. “I’m going to be lethal.”
Rather than appeased, Ethan appeared more livid. “What the hell are you doing that for? Has someone been bothering you?”
She resisted the urge to say you and shook her head. “I just like staying in shape and knowing I can take care of myself. I’m single, remember?”
Ethan’s face turned red and he strangled on his reply.
Pulling the tiger’s tail, Riley said, “Don’t worry, Ethan. I’m real gentle with her.”
Rosie thought Ethan’s eyes might cross. Instead he fumed in silence for nearly a full thirty seconds before stalking out of the room.
“Oh, boy,” Riley rumbled under his breath. He gestured for Rosie to precede him as he headed to the front door. Ethan waited for them there, holding it open, his impatience to be alone with Rosie plain.
Riley walked out into the hallway. “Be good, kids.”
“You know I’m always good. But I can’t make any promises for Ethan.”
He winked at her. “You’ll keep him in line.”
Ethan snapped the door shut, then turned both locks with a dreadful sense of finality. When he faced Rosie, she decided a strategic retreat was in order; he did not look like a happy man.
In fact, he looked very unhappy. Or maybe “riled” was the word. Yeah, he looked downright riled. She supposed Riley’s teasing flirtation hadn’t helped matters.
Ethan was used to Harris and Buck razzing her. After all, they’d all grown up in the same neighborhood. The three of them had been best buds with her brother—until her brother had slipped off with Ethan’s fiancée.
Riley was new to the mix, and while they all liked him a lot, Ethan apparently didn’t take Riley’s teasing the same at all.
She’d made it all the way to the bathroom when Ethan caught her arm. “Rosie.”
There was so much warning in the way he said her name, she kept her back to him. “Hmm?”
His sigh parted t
he back of her hair. “Don’t play games.” He caught both arms and turned her around. “What were you doing here this morning in my bed?”
“Sleeping?”
His jaw worked, his eyes narrowed. Reaching inside the neckline of the housecoat, Ethan fingered the collar of his shirt. His gaze settled on her mouth. “Why aren’t you wearing your own clothes?”
Very slowly, realization dawned on Rosie. “Oh, my God. You don’t remember, do you?”
An arrested expression crossed his features. His pupils expanded until only a thin ring of light brown remained. His straight, dark brows pulled together. “Just what am I supposed to remember?”
Indignation reared up, followed by humiliation. “Ethan Winters. You have no idea what happened last night, do you?”
He blustered with his own dose of exasperation. “I know damn good and well we didn’t have sex.”
Rosie gasped, not because he was wrong, but because he was so sure that he hadn’t touched her. What was she? Chopped liver? She felt just contrary enough not to reassure him. “Yeah, and how do you know that if you don’t remember?”
Muscles tensed, Ethan let his smoldering gaze take a leisurely trip over her—but he only got as far as her breasts. “You were wearing a shirt. And panties. When I have sex with a woman—” his gaze rose and locked on hers “—she’s buck naked. Not half-dressed.”
Rosie dropped back against the wall with a thud. Her heart had started bouncing around with his first hot look, and his words had nearly brought her to her knees. Oh, she could only imagine what Ethan did when he had sex, but she believed him: the woman wouldn’t be wearing clothes.
She cleared her throat, then had to clear it again when he flattened both hands to the wall on either side of her head. At five-nine she was a tall woman, but Ethan stood six-two and towered over her. He leaned in the smallest bit, probably trying to intimidate her—and doing a good job of it, but not for the reasons that he might assume. She wasn’t afraid of Ethan and she never would be.
But she was extremely aware of him as a man.
She stared at his sternum and gave an irrefutable reminder. “You were drunk. You couldn’t have gotten your own clothes off, much less mine.”
Ethan considered that, then smiled. “True. And being that drunk, I doubt I could have gotten a boner no matter what you did.”
With another gasp, Rosie shoved him hard—with no visible effect. “I didn’t do anything.”
“You must have taken off your clothes, because as you just said, I was too damn drunk to accomplish it on my own.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Not too drunk to flirt with that redhead.”
He stared past her shoulder. After a second, his eyes lightened and the right side of his mouth kicked up. “Yeah, I remember her now. Where’d she go?”
Oh, that was one nasty little shot too many. Rosie stomped on his toes. Given that she was as barefoot as he was, it wasn’t an overly painful move. But he did jerk back, giving her a chance to duck under his arm. She stormed into the bathroom and slammed the door. Hard. She took a lot of satisfaction in clicking the lock into place.
Ethan didn’t beat on the door. He just said, “You have to come out sooner or later.”
She felt like beating on the door. Or on his head. Instead she took two deep breaths to gather her calm. “My clothes are in your laundry room. Your precious redhead dumped her drink on me, so until you run them through the wash, I can’t wear them again. I’d smell like a lush.”
Silence stretched until Ethan finally said, “Oh.”
“Yes, oh.” Inside the bathroom, Rosie stripped off the housecoat and his shirt. “Why don’t you throw them in the washer while I shower?”
“Sure thing.”
She could hear him whistling as he walked away, secure in the knowledge that nothing of a sexual nature had occurred between them.
But he didn’t know that for sure, and no way would she tell him. Let him stew. Let him wonder.
And maybe, just maybe, he’d think about it enough that he’d start to like the idea.
Rosie grinned as she stepped into the shower. She had a plan, and oh, boy, it was going to be fun.
CHAPTER TWO
SHE WALKED INTO the kitchen with his toothbrush sticking out of her mouth.
In the process of shaking out a large plastic garbage bag, Ethan froze. Rosie’s hair was still wet, pushed straight back from her forehead and hanging in long twisted ropes down her back. Over his housecoat.
Which was now the only thing she wore.
Ethan knew that because she leaned into the laundry room and pitched his shirt onto the pile of dirty clothes, then turned and stuck her folded panties into her purse, which was on the counter. With foamy toothpaste dripping down her chin, she headed back for the bathroom.
It took Ethan a moment to get his eyelids to work so he could blink. When he did, he couldn’t help but notice that her behind, without benefit of underwear, jiggled just a little more beneath the terry-cloth robe. He jerked around, grumbling and too warm and feeling somewhat hunted. “Damn irritant.” He shoved an old pizza box into the garbage bag.
Five minutes later Rosie emerged again. She gave him a big toothy smile and said, “I used your toothbrush.”
“Yeah, I noticed.” He would not keep staring at her.
“You don’t mind, do you?”
He started to say, Of course not; after all, they’d been friends a long time, shared drinks, once even an ice-cream cone. He wasn’t worried about her germs.
But she didn’t give him a chance. “I figured after last night, it wouldn’t be any big deal.”
Ethan went rigid. “Nothing happened last night.”
“Did you put my stuff in the wash?” Apparently unconcerned with his emotional turmoil, Rosie pushed in a kitchen chair, closed a cabinet.
Shaking his head to clear it, Ethan said, “Yeah, they should be ready for the dryer in about ten more minutes.” He continued to stuff empty food containers and soup cans, plastic cups, newspapers and junk mail into the bag. He shouldn’t have felt so awkward with Rosie. He never had before—but then, he’d never slept with her before, either.
He glared when he realized that she intended to help him clean. Not only that, but she’d accomplished more in two minutes than he had in ten. Women, he decided, just had a knack for being efficient with housework.
“Leave that stuff. I’ll get it.” He glanced around at the remaining mess and for some stupid reason, felt compelled to explain. “I’ve been on a night shift all week. Had two nasty calls, one right before the banquet. Had to use the Jaws of Life on a guy who got caught in his car. Damn thing was on fire...” At her look of horror, his voice trailed off. He shook his head. “I got behind on stuff, but I planned to clean today anyway, since I have the next four days off.”
“You’re okay?”
Damn it, she didn’t have to sound so anxious. She was a friend, not his keeper, not his sibling, not his wife. “I’m fine.”
For a long moment she didn’t look convinced, then she shrugged. “I don’t mind helping.” She wrung out a dishrag and wiped off the stove. “I’ve got nothing else to do until my clothes are done, then I have to head into the office. I have a house to show today.”
As a real estate agent, her hours varied.
“I don’t want you to help.”
She blinked up at him with fresh-faced provocation. “Why?”
Damn, she looked cute straight from the shower. Rosie had never, in his opinion, needed much makeup. Her skin was fair, framed by silky brown hair that didn’t contain a single hint of red. Her brows were dark, finely arched, her lashes long. Though her eyes were blue, they weren’t an ordinary blue. They looked softer than ordinary blue, sort of smoky and smoldering, and when she got annoyed or excited, they turned stormy gray.
Would they turn gray when she was sexually aroused?
Ethan’s scowl intensified. “Women always think they have certain rights after cleaning a guy’s p
lace.”
“Wow, no kidding?” Her brows rose higher. “That’s like...really profound. Your grasp on womankind is nothing short of astounding.”
She was baiting him, maybe even poking fun at him. “My grasp is astute enough to know you can’t be trusted, that you wait for a reason to screw a guy over or to confuse him so that he screws himself over or—”
Rosie stuck her fingers in her ears and said, “La, la, la, lalalal—”
“Stop that!”
She struck an arrogant, annoyed pose, her hands on her hips. “Then stop spouting nonsense.”
Ethan shook his head at the gesture, until he realized that her stance made the robe gap just a little above and below the belt. It showed a length of her legs—which he’d seen a gazillion times, for crying out loud—and her cleavage, which he knew she had but he hadn’t seen much before now.
Everything male within him went on alert, and he mumbled, “It is not nonsense.”
“Are you talking to me or my boobs?”
Flabbergasted, Ethan jerked his gaze up to her face, saw her smile and wanted to shout with frustration. Ruthlessly he beat his male instincts into submission. “You.”
“Huh. And here I was certain my ears were on my head, not my chest.”
In a ridiculous show of temper, he threw the garbage bag down on the floor. “Damn it, Rosie, what is wrong with you? What are you up to?”
She shrugged, then groaned dramatically. “I need some aspirin.”
Dismissing him, she turned to the cabinet and began riffling around until Ethan said, “Here, I keep them over the stove.” He shook out two white pills and handed them to her. A new thought occurred to him. “You hungover, too?”
She lifted the aspirin off his palm, tossed them into her mouth and bent her head into the sink to grab a drink of water straight from the tap. When she’d finished, she shook her head. “No, of course not.”
He hadn’t thought so. Rosie was never much of a drinker. Come to that, he wasn’t, either, and he was thoroughly disgusted with himself for overindulging last night. “If you’re not suffering from too much drink, then what’s your problem?”