Isabel Sharpe – Hot to the Touch (страница 4)

Like mental stability.

A deep breath, and she made herself eat salad, fragrant with mint, bold with garlic. The bite of vinegar and the soothing fruit of olive oil grounded her. This was real. This was what she’d come here for. Another bite of pizza, and she managed to finish the slice, finish the salad, finish her drink, feeling the man’s pull throughout, fighting her desire to look again, to see if he was watching her. To see if he’d felt even half of what she had.

She pulled out her wallet, resisting the urge to order another drink, to linger and taunt herself with what could be possible. It was late. Another long day tomorrow.

“Leaving?”

Darcy’s hand stilled in the act of pulling out her credit card. She turned, braced this time for the impact of those eyes. The preparation didn’t help much. She felt as if her body had gone into overdrive. Shaky overdrive. Shaky, helpless overdrive. “Thought I would.”

“Can I buy you another drink instead?”

She didn’t move. If he bought her a drink, they’d start talking. She’d get a pretty serious buzz from more arak, dangerous around this powerful chemistry. She’d want to spend the night with him. Inevitably, the sex would be hot, satisfying and for one night her problems could be pushed aside, along with her responsibilities. For one night she’d be part of something bigger than just herself.

But then she might wake up with that horrible empty longing again, the grief she never admitted to anyone she’d had, the one she didn’t even like to acknowledge to herself. Last time the morning after had been so hard, she’d promised herself no more one-night stands. Sex was lovely, but she wouldn’t die without it. Though now that she’d met this man, she might.

“No?”

Darcy blinked, aware she was taking an absurdly long time to respond.

“Or … yes?” His very sexy lips curved in a small smile. Oh, that mouth.

One drink. One drink wouldn’t hurt. Nor would another night she didn’t have to spend alone. She put her wallet away, got down from the stool and sauntered toward him, hand held out in anticipation of touching his. Of touching him.

“Yes.”

2

“HOW ABOUT THAT ONE, OVER there? The tall one?” Justin nudged Troy and pointed to a trio of women who’d just walked into Esmee Restaurant, where he and Justin were sitting at the bar. “She’s hot. More than that, she looks nice.”

Troy turned and gave a cursory look. The female in question was taller than her companions, probably five-eight or nine, blonde and attractive, dressed provocatively. He nodded wearily. Yes, Justin, she was hot. Yes, Justin, she looked nice. No, Justin, Troy wasn’t going to offer to take her out, because for all Troy knew, she was newly released from the cozy facilities at Milwaukee County Mental Health. Plus, Troy already had his eye on a woman at the Milwaukee Athletic Club, though he hadn’t mentioned that to Justin in case he and Candy arranged a double wedding before Troy even got up the nerve to ask Missy for a first date.

Justin was a good friend, had been since they were in college together at UCLA—in fact, Justin had moved from California to Milwaukee after Troy invited the talented writer to be his coauthor on an interactive computer manual they’d finished last month. Troy couldn’t blame Justin for his … enthusiasm when it came to matchmaking. For one thing, he was over-the-top in love with his fiancée, Candy, and was therefore in that blissful state where he wanted everyone else to be as happy for the same reason. For another, Justin had made the acquaintance of arak tonight, liquor Troy’s half-Lebanese friend Chad had turned Troy on to. The stuff was delicious, but lethal, about fifty-percent alcohol. Not that Justin was in danger of embarrassing himself, but he was definitely feeling no pain. Good thing Candy had an event nearby and was showing up shortly to drive him home.

“Oh, wait, never mind.” Justin waved away the concept of the blonde with obvious irritation. “She’s too young.”

“What defines too young?”

Justin leaned over confidentially. “Jonas Brothers T-shirt.”

“Ooh, yeah.” Troy hid his amusement. “Way too young.”

“Don’t worry, man.” Justin sipped arak and thumped his glass down on the bar. “We’ll find you someone. Sooner or later.”

“We?”

“We.” Justin pointed to himself. “We’ll find you someone who will light you up the second you lay eyes on her. Who makes every nerve ending in your body come to life in a way you’ve never felt before, ever, not even close. It’s like life-heat, it’s like … the hotness of life. It’s like you’re—”

“Seriously sloshed. Listen to yourself, buddy.”

“I know. But it’s true. It happened to me.” He thumped his chest proudly. “I looked into Candy’s eyes and thought … whoa. This is it. This is her. I just met the rest of my life.”

“That’s what you were thinking? Really?”

Justin frowned. “Okay, maybe not consciously. Consciously I was thinking she had nice eyes and a nice mouth. And legs. Great legs. Even her feet are sexy. And her—”

“Okay, dude.” Troy socked him in the shoulder. “That’s plenty, thanks.”

“I love good feet on a woman, too.” The voice came from the guy on the stool to Troy’s left; he looked as if he’d been in the sun all day, though more likely he’d been here in the bar all day. “Good feet and good lips. Good hands and sturdy hips.”

“Poetry.” Justin beamed at him across Troy. “Lips and hips. I love it.”

“Thanks.” The guy went abruptly back to staring at his drink as if someone had turned his power off.

Troy rubbed his hand over his face. When was Justin’s fiancée coming?

“I may sound over-the-top when I talk about Candy, but I’m telling you, being in love is the greatest. Really in love, not the torture you went through with Drama Queen Debby and that I went through with Attention-Needing Angie—”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know.” Troy was getting impatient with the topic. “And I appreciate your concern.”

Justin shrugged. “I’m just one of many who wants to see you happy.”

“Dude, I am happy.” He raised his hand to cut off Justin’s immediate protest. “Yes, someday I’ll meet someone and have my nerve endings incinerate me with their life-heat or whatever you said, and I’ll be more happy. But right now life is good. Our book is in, the publisher is ecstatic, we have some time before we have to start the next one. I’m finally over Debby, have done some dating. This is all good stuff. I’m not in any hurry to change it.”

“Okay.” Justin nodded solemnly and drained his glass. “I’ll back off. But I warn you, Candy’s been looking out for you, too. And when she gets an idea …”

Troy laughed. “Uh-huh.”

“Speaking of.” He held up his wrist, squinting to bring his watch face into focus. “She’ll be here any second. I should wait outside so she doesn’t have to park. You coming?”

“Nah.” Troy didn’t want to go home yet. Lately his house had been feeling empty, without the crush of working on the book on top of his regular day job. He’d been training for the next triathlon in September with Chad, going out with friends, playing basketball on Sundays, taking his golden chow mix, Dylan, for long walks, all of which helped, but they didn’t fill the house. “I’ll stay and finish my drink.”

“Okay.” Justin slapped him on the back and slid clumsily off the stool. “Just keep your eyes open.”

The man with the red face turned his power switch back on. “And check out her feet.”

Troy considered moving away, but after Justin disappeared, the guy receded again into staring at his glass of Coke, which Troy would guess was healthily dosed with rum. Booze and caffeine, upper and downer taken together. No wonder the guy looked as if he were in suspended animation.

The front door opened; Troy glanced over, half-expecting Justin or Candy, and did a double take, along with half the bar. The male half.

A woman. Older than he was, early thirties. Dark. Beautiful. Stop-traffic beautiful. Reduce-men-to-drooling-idiocy beautiful, even dressed in black shapeless pants and a black shapeless shirt, neither of which could hide that she was all shape underneath.

“Would ya look at that.” The little man beside him voiced what every straight guy in the place must be thinking.

She seemed completely at ease, undoubtedly used to being stared at, headed for the bar and sat at the corner, leaving two seats between her and Troy’s red-faced neighbor. In a rich, musical voice she ordered arak and Arabic food—was she Lebanese? Troy watched her surreptitiously—watched her pour her drink and sip it reverentially, watched her after her food came, lips and teeth taking bites, face registering pleasure—and found himself getting turned on. Maybe it had been too long, maybe Justin was right, and he should try to make a move on Little Miss Jonas Brothers. Not the woman he wanted, but this one was way out of his league, and probably experienced at turning away male attention.

As if to confirm his thoughts, a well-built, good-looking guy tried his luck with the mystery woman and was viciously shot down—weakling flea up against a fiery cannonball.

Still, Troy stayed, long after his drink was gone. She drew him, even in a spectator role. He wanted to be the fly on her wall and hang around, buzzing as long as she was here.