Carrie Alexander – Slow Ride (страница 2)

“What the hell are you doing here?” she snapped.

“Nice to see you again, too, Mikki.” Wisely, Nolan slipped the key back into his pocket. He’d always been a man to pick his moments, as opposed to Tucker, who took things as they came.

While the pair struck at each other like flint and steel, Tucker glanced over at the two women at Mikki’s table. Her sisters, according to Nolan. Foster sisters, in fact, which explained their presence to support the cause of Maureen Baxter’s transitional halfway house. Both wore the suitcase locket on a chain around their necks, symbolic of the disrupted lives of the troubled teenage girls Maureen Baxter aimed to help.

“You remember Tuck,” Nolan was saying in a tone that betrayed his need for a temporary buffer from Mikki’s ire.

Mikki’s scowl was replaced with a generous smile. She and Tucker had always been friendly, even when he’d had to stand by his man Nolan during their rancorous split.

She climbed down from her perch on the stool and gave him a heartfelt hug. In the next minute she was introducing him to her sisters.

The first one’s name was lost in the din. His eyes slid past her to the other as Mikki said, “And this is Lauren Massey.” He nodded as she continued. “Tucker Schulz. He and Nolan have been friends for…”

“More years than I care to keep track of,” Tuck said, deciding that seventeen years of brotherly bonding and flirtatious females was just about right, after all. He flashed a devil-may-care grin at the blonde.

Lauren was a slim woman with a froth of honey-colored curls, prettily dressed in sleeveless peach silk. More his type than the other sister, but after a brief hello she made her excuses and departed. He’d missed his shot at trying his key on her.

Tucker shrugged. Easy come, easy go. He eyed the abandoned stool, well in range of the sparks that Mikki and Nolan were still striking off each other. Mikki was trying to leave, and if the fierce light in Nolan’s eyes was any indication, he wasn’t about to let her go without a fight.

Good for him. Tuck slid into place, snagged a server to request a beer, then remembered the brunette sister remaining at the table, a glass of white wine in front of her. She was the eldest, he recalled. A hippie like her mother, according to Nolan. If so, she’d forgotten to sign up for the retro-issue love beads and headbands.

Tucker gave her a quick once-over. Curved wings of nut-brown hair framed her calm face. She had a strong nose and jaw, paired with a wide mouth painted a shiny plum color. Even sitting, he could see that she was tall and comfortably built—statuesque, he guessed. There was a casual but well-taken-care-of air about her that spoke of salons and designer labels.

Generally he preferred women who romped on the beach without a care in the world. But there was something about Mikki’s sister. The longer he looked, the more he liked. He found himself drawn to her bare arms and hands, struck by the elegance of her long fingers, the graceful turn of a wrist beneath a heavy silver bangle. Instinct told him she’d be good with her hands, talented with her fingers. He could easily imagine her sliding them across his body….

She lifted the glass of wine. One eyebrow arched.

He nodded. “I’m sorry. I missed your name.”

She tilted a haughty chin at him. “Aurora Constable. But you can call me Rory.”

He leaned closer to hear. Her voice was low and smooth, soothing among the high-pitched shrieks of the other women. “What kind of a name is Aurora?” he asked, raising his voice above the live band playing an eclectic mix of jazz, swing and pop.

“From the Aurora Borealis. Northern Lights. My mother claimed she saw them over Woodstock on the night I was conceived, but I have my doubts. Woodstock, colored lights dancing in the sky, sex that was an out-of-body experience…” Rory shrugged, then caught her shawl from slipping down her arms. “You do the math.”

He grinned. “At least you got an interesting story out of it. A genuine Woodstock baby. Don’t think I’ve ever met one.”

“Oh, many make the claim, but few are the genuine article. My mother’s been known to tell a few wild tales. This one I believe. My birthdate proves it, although I was born on a commune in Oregon. We didn’t come to California until I was six.” She stopped and bit her lip. “I’m talking too much. Sorry.”

“No problem.” He scanned the crowd. Couples were quickly pairing off as keys found their way to the matching locks. The flirtatious procedure was producing much laughter and raunchy banter. He could have been off among them, searching for his soul mate for the night, but he’d been raised with manners. For now, he’d stick with Rory.

“What about you?” She pushed a plate of pastries toward him. “Try one.”

He picked up a cream puff drizzled with chocolate. “I’m a native Californian. Lived here all my life.”

“That’s rare, too.”

“My parents have been in the same big Victorian for as long as I can remember. They raised five of us there. Now the bedrooms are mostly empty, but they fill them up with grandchildren as often as possible.”

She glanced at his hand. “You’re not married.”

He shook his head and took another bite of the pastry. A dollop of filling squirted into his mouth. Rich and smooth—like Rory.

He swallowed. “None of the kids are mine. I’m the only holdout.”

“At least you’re an uncle.” Rory’s face softened with longing. She had that tender look in her eyes, the mushy one his sister Jenny got when she was cradling her pregnant belly and thinking about soon being able to hold her newborn.

A look like that, even from a woman he barely knew, would usually have Tucker running for the exit. But Rory was only remotely an option. Attractive, in her own way, but not his type. Despite the expert hands.

“How many nieces and nephews?” she asked.

“Eight and counting.”

“Aw, wonderful. A big family.”

“You must know what that’s like. Mikki used to tell me stories about life at Emma Constable’s. There was a constant stream of foster kids coming and going, she said. Wasn’t Maureen Baxter even one of them?”

“She wasn’t with us for long, but we’ve stayed in touch.” Rory glanced at the commingling singles, the set of her mouth betraying a trace of discomfort. “That’s why I’m here, to help get Baxter House up and running. Not to—” she waved a hand “—unlock the possibilities.”

“I figured as much.” Tucker’s gaze lingered on a Britney clone baring her bikini wax in a pair of low-slung jeans. “You don’t seem like the type.”

Rory blinked. “What type would that be?”

“You know. On the make.”

The brow inched upward again. She was going all high and mighty on him. “But you are, I take it?”

He smiled. “I’m young, male and single.”

“Of course.” She toyed with the locket around her neck, wrapping the delicate chain around the tip of one finger and swinging the suitcase charm back and forth. Her shawl had shifted, revealing the loose neckline of her dress and a hint of the shadowed hollow between her breasts.

Full ones, he realized. Round and weighty, the kind of breasts a guy could roll and grip and squeeze and suck—Damn. Although it wasn’t unusual for him to have sexual thoughts about most any eligible woman he met, these lustful reveries were making him uneasy. Nolan was like a brother, which made Rory a…well, not a sister, but maybe a cousin. Not by blood, of course. Only by association. Still, it’d be less complicated if he didn’t have impure thoughts about her.

Blame the swinging locket. No degree in psychology was necessary to deduce that she was offering him an invite, if only subconsciously.

Insert your key, her amber eyes seemed to say. I’ll take you on an a wild ride you won’t forget.

Tucker put his hand into his pocket, intending to withdraw the key. How could it hurt?

Before he could follow through, a man came up and leaned over Rory’s chair, sliding his hands along her arms. He was big, muscled, bald, sporting a white button-down shirt with a loosened tie and an ostentatious platinum watch that must have weighed a couple of pounds. “Hello, lovely lady. Waiting for me?”

Rory’s face tilted up. After a beat, she smiled provocatively. Tuck couldn’t tell if she knew the guy or not, but he was surprised at her willingness to flirt so openly.

Maybe he should have acted faster.

With an airy laugh, Rory offered the man her locket. “All packed and ready to go, as soon as I find the matching key.”

The man tapped the suitcase charm. “Let’s see what you’ve got in there.”

Rory swiveled on the stool and allowed Big Baldy to try his key on her necklace. It didn’t turn.

“Just my luck,” the guy said.

She dropped the necklace back into her cleavage and rearranged her shawl, crisscrossing it over one of the most magnificent pair of real breasts Tuck had ever hoped to see. “Maybe next time.”

Big Baldy shot an assessing glance at Tucker before he addressed Rory again. “Want to come with me, anyway? I promise…” He lowered his face nearer to hers and whispered into her ear.

She laughed, but with less playfulness. Her eyes went to Tucker. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

Tuck cocked two fingers at the man, flicking them in a shooing gesture. “Okay, fella. You took your shot. Now you’re out of here.”