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“Thank you.”
A moment later, that door opened and Mike stepped into the room. Denise’s stomach jumped. She ignored it and walked toward him.
“Nice wheels,” the bearded man said.
She stopped and looked at him. “What?”
“Your legs, Denise,” Mike spoke up and shot a telling look at the other man. “He said you have nice legs.”
“Oh.” Flustered a bit, she nodded and said, “Thank you very much.”
Hell, Mike thought, what did he care if Tom Jenkins looked at her legs or not? He ignored the skitter in his gut, slapped both hands down on the countertop and leaned forward as Denise came closer.
Dammit, he’d been hoping that he had imagined most of the instant attraction he had felt for her the night before. His gaze raked over her quickly, thoroughly, as she marched determinedly across his shop.
Just his luck, he thought. Even in a boxy, green suit jacket and too long skirt, she did things to him he would have thought impossible at this time yesterday. From the sound system overhead came the muted strains of the Eagles. But over that familiar music, came the sharp click of her high heels against the floorboards. They seemed to be tapping out a rhythm that screamed silently in his head, “Take her, she’s yours. Take her, she’s yours.”
His body tightened and he gritted his teeth in an effort to ignore the voices and concentrate on the woman. Even though he’d been expecting to see her again, he hadn’t expected to feel such a rush of pleasure.
It’s nothing, he told himself. At least nothing more than a very healthy response to a pretty woman. It had been a long time since he’d confused hormones with something deeper.
“Morning,” he said as she came to a stop opposite him.
“Good morning ”
He watched her nervous fingers playing with the strap of her bag. Good. That gave him the upper hand in whatever was going to be between them. And he knew already that there would definitely be something.
“What can I do for you, Denise?” he asked, despite the fact that he knew damned well why she was there.
She inhaled sharply, glanced to either side of her to make sure no one was near, then said, “When I left Patrick’s office last night, I forgot to take the spare key with me.”
“And the files you needed,” he added.
“Yes...”
“Oh, and all that junk from your purse.”
She frowned. “That, too.”
“I know.” He smiled at her and saw temper flare in her eyes before she battled it down again.
“You’re not going to make this easy,” she said quietly. “Are you?”
“Nope.”
Her lips thinned a bit, the only sign of her agitation. “Why not?”
“What would be the fun in that?” he asked.
“Does everything have to be fun?”
He gave her a long, slow smile. “If we’re lucky.”
She sucked in a gulp of air and laid her palms flat on the counter, just an inch or so from his. He thought about touching her, but decided to wait.
“Look, Mike. I just want to retrieve that key, get back into Patrick’s office and pick up my things.” She looked him dead in the eye, hoping, no doubt, to convince him with her calm appeal to his better nature.
Too bad he didn’t have one.
He should do what she wanted, be told himself. Just give her back her stuff and let her disappear from his life. He didn’t want any entanglements. He wasn’t interested in love or long-term relationships. Mike had learned the hard way that love was an invitation to pain and he wanted no part of it. Besides, Lord knew, he had no business getting any closer to a woman who practically had conventional stamped on her forehead.
Still, something inside him just couldn’t seem to let go. To let it...whatever it was between them... end just yet.
“I’ll make you a deal,” he said instead.
“What kind of deal?” Her head cocked to one side and she looked at him through the corners of very cautious eyes.
“Here’s the key for Patrick’s office and the files, but to get the rest of your stuff you have to go to dinner with me tonight.” Even as he said it though, he knew dinner wouldn’t be enough. He wanted to be alone with her again Somewhere quiet and dark, where he could kiss her, touch her. And discover if the sensations that had tormented him long after she had stormed away from him the night before were real...or just a product of the unusual situation they had found themselves in.
“Dinner?”
“Yeah.”
“Where?”
“My choice.”
Her toe tapped against the floor. He watched her as she mentally went over the possibilities. She threw him a worried glance and he knew she was thinking the same thing he was. That here was their chance to prove that absolutely nothing had happened between them the night before.
Then she surprised him.
“You know,” she said thoughtfully, “Patrick never mentioned this ruthless streak of yours.”
He widened his stance and folded both arms across his chest. “I’m not ruthless, honey. I just live my life on my terms.”
“Which are?”
She wouldn’t understand his terms, he told himself. To understand, she would have had to have been sitting in the desert sun, listening to gunfire. She would have had to watch friends die. She would have had to experience the one inescapable fact that life is short. Too damned short.
Since it was pointless to try to explain all of that, he said only, “The terms vary from day to day.”
“Now, why doesn’t that surprise me?”
He gave her points. Irritated and frustrated, she still gave as good as she got.
“So,” Mike said. “What about dinner?”
“Can’t you just give me my stuff?”
“I could...but I won’t.”
Her lips thinned and that toe of hers started tapping even faster. Finally, after she checked her narrow-banded gold watch, she spoke.
“All right, dinner. Here’s my address.” She dug into that saddle bag she called a purse and came up with a business card. She set it down and took a step back from the counter. “Of course, it’s not like I have a choice, is it?” she asked. “To get my things back, I have to go.”
“True,” he agreed and ignored the small stab of conscience.
“Do you always use extortion to get a woman to have dinner with you?”
“Only when I have to. Like I said, the terms vary. Seven-thirly.”
“Seven-thirty.”
“You don’t have to go, Denise,” he heard himself say. “You could call Patrick and whine until he agrees to rescue you from me.”
One pale blond brow lifted. “First, I don’t whine. Second, I don’t need anyone to rescue me from you, Mike Ryan. I can take care of myself.”
She really was something else. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully and grinned at her. “I remember.”
“Good,” she said as she turned for the door. “It’ll be better for both of us, if you keep on remembering.”
What do you wear to have dinner with a man who dresses like a B movie from the fifties and has far more self-confidence than any three people deserve?
Denise stood in the foyer of her condo and checked her appearance in the full-length mirror one more time. Her navy blue dress looked perfect, she thought and swayed to watch the full skirt swirl around her legs.
Nodding to herself, she said aloud, “You wear something that gives you confidence, naturally.”
She smoothed her fingertips along the modestly cut neckline. Revealing just a glimpse of her collarbone, the long-sleeved dress looked demure, almost prudish, until one saw the back. Smiling to herself, Denise half turned and looked into the mirror over her shoulder. The deeply scooped back dipped sensuously low, coming to a stop just below her waist. The smooth expanse of flesh it displayed was evenly tanned a warm, golden brown.
Denise fluffed her hair one last time, checked the hooks of her sapphire drop earrings, then reached into her tiny evening bag for her lipstick. Though the small, black leather envelope on a slim gold shoulder chain looked lovely, she did miss having her day purse.
Leaning toward the mirror, she carefully lined her lips in a dark rose color, then dropped the tube back into the bag.
“Well, I’m ready,” she told herself. “Where is he?”
A quick glance at the clock behind her and she smiled ruefully. Only 7:20. Whatever was wrong with her? She hadn’t wanted to go on this... She refused to call it a date, even to herself. “So why am I ready and waiting ten minutes early?”
She caught her own eye in the mirror and looked away again quickly. Denise wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer to that question.
A rumble of thunder sounded outside and she winced. Looking heavenward, she muttered, “Give me a break, okay? No ram tonight?”
But the thunder continued grumbling until it rolled up in front of her house and stopped.
Frowning, she opened the door.
“Good God.”
Three
Denise stepped onto the porch, pulling the front door closed behind her. She twisted the knob, making sure the lock had set, then started down the pansy-lined walk to the street.
In the hazy, yellowish glow of a streetlight, Mike sat, straddling the biggest motorcycle she had ever seen. Painted bloodred and black, it would have looked intimidating had it been parked and silent. As it was, its engine rumbled like a growl coming from the chest of some jungle beast waiting to pounce.
The word intimidating didn’t even come close to describing it.
Mike pulled his shining black helmet off and set it on the seat in front of him and Denise took a moment to study him. Dressed entirely in black, he looked even more like a pirate than he had the night before. And was, if possible, even more dangerously attractive.
His hair was pulled back into a ponytail at the base of his neck and, she noted nervously, he had shaved for the occasion. When he turned to look at her, his pale green eyes widened in appreciation, then narrowed thoughtfully.
“It looks great,” he admitted. “But it’s not what you usually wear on a bike.”
“I didn’t expect to be riding a bike,” she said, although why she hadn’t considered it, she didn’t know. “We could take my car,” she suggested.
“No, thanks. I don’t do cars.” He reached behind him to the tall bar rising up at the end of the narrow seat. Quickly, he undid the elastic ropes, freeing a silver-and-black helmet, then turned around to hand it to her. “Here. You have to wear this.”
“Mike, I...” Sighing, she pushed the helmet back at him. So much for her spectacular dress. “I’ll go change.”
“No time,” he said. “We’re going to be late as it is.”
“I can’t ride that...” she waved one hand at the motorcycle, then at her dress “...in this.”
His lips twitched in what might have been a smile if given half a chance. But it was gone in the blink of an eye.
“It’ll be all right,” he said. “Just stuff the skirt between your legs and mine. Keep it out of the spokes.”
This was a first. She had never had a man tell her to stuff her skirt between her legs before. Lovely.
“Can’t you just give me three minutes to change?” she asked.
He snorted a muffled laugh. “There isn’t a female alive who can change clothes in three minutes, honey. And like I said, we’re already late.”
His expression told her there was no sense debating the issue a minute longer.
“For heaven’s sake,” she muttered and threw one last, longing glance at her condo, behind her.
“Come on, honey,” he told her and pulled his own helmet on. “Just swing one of those gorgeous legs over the saddle and plop down.”
Gorgeous?
He released the kickstand and stood up, balancing the bike between his thighs. His hands twisted the grips on the handlebars and the powerful engine grumbled in response.
She couldn’t help wondering what her neighbors were thinking at that moment. She could almost feel their interested gazes peering at her from behind the draperies. Well, what did she expect, going to dinner with a man who looked like he’d be back later that night to burgle houses?
He revved the engine again to get her attention.
Then something else occurred to her.
“Hey,” Denise shouted over the rumbling engine, “wait a minute.”
