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Yes! Robin, the Love Goddess, rules!
“Oooo!” Robin squealed, feeling warm, wet lips suck her fingers. Shocked, she reared back and watched as the stranger damn near consumed her hand. His mouth was wet and hot and about the best sensation she ever experienced in her whole life. Heat skittered down her fingers, flowed down her arm, building in intensity until it flooded to the pit of her stomach where it flamed like liquid fire. And when he raised his head and cocked her a “you like it, don’t you” look, she thought she would combust right there.
She leaned forward and removed her fingers, slowly. She opened her mouth to say something, maybe “Thanks for playing along”—after all, she’d given enough of a hottie show for Jill to fuel rumors for at least a year, maybe a decade—but when Robin parted her lips to talk, words escaped her. In fact, all she was able to do was hunker over him, panting…
“Oh, baby,” he murmured in a rugged, husky voice that turned up her inner temperature about a thousand degrees.
Something exploded between them. Later Robin tried to remember exactly what happened…either he tugged her head closer and she went for it, or she went for it all on her own. Whatever happened, next thing she knew, she was damn near on top of the man, sucking face like a woman who’d just landed from a faraway planet inhabited only by females and had just discovered her first, live, hot male.
Robin pawed at his jacket, making small, needy mewing sounds, while in the background she heard small, squeaky sounds—which, in her heat-drenched moment, she vaguely realized were from her feet trying to get traction on the floor. In the failure to do so, she was nearly moon-walking in place, causing the rubber soles of her sneakers to squeak mercilessly against the linoleum floor.
Must…stop…squeaking. Pulling away for a gulp of air, she shifted her body and hitched one hip onto the table. At this higher position, her breasts were at his eye level, and he clearly enjoyed the view. He raised his hand in a half motion, and in that moment she saw his fingers twitch as though he’d virtually fondled her. Fiery sensations rocketed through Robin’s body and she lowered her head, wanting more…
He angled his lips toward hers, and when his tongue again teased the perimeter of her lips, she opened her mouth a bit wider, inviting him inside. Suddenly she didn’t care if she mewed or squeaked…didn’t care if they were in public…didn’t care if two or two zillion people were nearby. All that mattered was this man, his lips,her needs…
His hand slid up her waist to a spot just below her breasts, causing her to ache for his touch. With a moan that bordered on a growl, she gripped the soft, buttery leather of his jacket with both hands and pressed herself against him, showing him she wanted his fingers to roam, to feel, to tease her as she’d never been before. Hell, maybe she hadn’t spoken up for her car or for her university education, but by damn, Robin Lee, without a single word, was using her body to speak up now!
Her lips found his again and she plunged her tongue into that hot, wet cavern. He tasted delicious. Like sin and heat. Like all those forbidden, lusty bad things a good girl was never supposed to want. Oh, God, she wanted all those things…wanted to experience more, more, more…
“Hold still, honey,” whispered the man. “You’re about to fall off the table.”
“Huh?” Robin fluttered open her eyes and stared into those dangerously blue eyes…had she noticed those thick, black lashes before?
“The table,” he whispered again. “You’re about to fall off.”
She looked down, barely registering that the lower half of her body was nearly lying across one end of the table, her feet dangling. Her rayon dress had scooted up to an indecent place somewhere beneath her thigh. She released her death grip on his jacket with one hand and weakly tugged on the hem of her dress.
Strong arms lifted her and set her onto her feet. She felt woozy, weak. When his arms pulled away, she teetered, then fumbled for the edge of the table. Gripping the hard edge, her only concrete link to reality, she looked at the object of her kiss. In their torrid connection, she hadn’t really seen the entire man she’d been so focused on his parts—his lips, his eyes, his wonderfully errant hand…. He was one sizzling sight to behold. Rumpled hair—had she done that? Thick lashes that fringed lethal blue eyes—hadn’t he been wearing glasses a minute ago? Funny, without them, he almost looked like Johnny again….
She cut a glance to her right—Jill and her boyfriend were gone. Good. Mission accomplished. Releasing her breath in a forced stream, Robin feebly smoothed her dress. Then, she looked back at the handsome stranger with whom she’d become wordlessly intimate.
She licked her lips, wishing she wasn’t shaking so badly. “Coff-coffee?” She aimlessly pointed in the general direction of the steaming pot sitting on the other table.
The man’s smile kicked up a notch. “Is it as hot as you?” He winked.
Hooo boy. Robin gulped, pushed a strand of hair out of her eyes, and shook her head no.
His grin kicked up a notch. “I’ve died and gone to heaven,” he murmured.
And I’ve gone with you. Nothing,nothing had ever affected her like the last few moments—which could have been hours, days, a small eternity for all she knew. She’d fallen, body and soul, into a time warp of liquid passion where she felt delicious heat, tasted forbidden pleasures…And if she didn’t leave at this very moment she’d hurl this damn coffeepot across the room, throw any remaining shreds of decorum out the window, and jump this guy’s bones with the fervor of a pent-up, been-without-sex-for-five-years-and-counting woman.
Panting, she stared at him, wondering if he’d read her mind because those sparkling blue eyes of his looked very, very intrigued.
Part of her wanted to suggest they meet again, make a saucy suggestion about getting together for more than a tabletop tryst, be sassy like Dottie or Jill or other hot babes who teased their men with words. But no doubt Robin would start to speak and his look of heated interest would cool before she’d stammered out the first word.
That sobering thought also cooled her overactive libido. Best to leave this situation, now. Leave this guy with the memory of the “mystery waitress” who almost laid more than silverware on his table because he’d never see her again. Even if he came back, she’d be in the back, prepping the kitchen.
With a swivel, she turned, snatched the handle of the pot, and walked stiff-kneed back to the kitchen, the soles of her shoes squeaking relentlessly against the linoleum floor.
As she passed Al, he said with a snort, “I told you to serve coffee, not yourself!” With a shake of his head, mumbling something about having thought he’d seen it all, Al continued getting the grill and utensils ready for tomorrow’s new day of work.
Robin became super busy doing her own nightly routine, which consisted of turning off the coffeemaker, cleaning the pots, stocking tomorrow’s glasses and silverware. Flustered, and still sizzling herself, she fussed and cleaned things she normally left alone—she wiped the outside of the toaster, refolded several kitchen towels, straightened the kitchen rubber mat at least four times. After ten frenetic minutes of hyperactivity, she sneaked a look at the dining room. The stranger’s booth was empty….
She tried not to feel disappointed. After all, it was just a crazy kiss, not a date.
But in her heart, she knew it was more than just a crazy kiss. She’d had crazy kisses in high school. Pecks on the lips. Awkward, fumbling kisses. Prolonged make-out kisses that, at best, fired a spark….
This had been different.
This crazy kiss had been a mind-melding, body-bonding, life-altering kiss. Before Robin had walked out onto that floor, she’d known adolescent passion.
Now, she was a woman aching for all the experiences she’d never had. And if she were back home, she’d confess all this to her mother, then refute her mom’s suggestions that Robin was once again being overly dramatic. Because, for the first time in her life, Robin had tasted sinful heat—so hot, the rest of her experiences seemed lukewarm if not plain cold.
She glanced at the clock. Twelve-thirty. Going-home time. Robin donned her sweater, the one with colorful kitties crocheted into the threads, for the walk to her nearby apartment. Al was in the back, calling somebody on the pay phone. He glanced up when she waved bye, and although he said good-night in the same gruff voice he always did, he gave her a funny look. Probably a “Try to behave tomorrow night” look. She smiled. She’d have the reputation as a hottie at DU and Davey’s Diner. Not a bad way to end the worst day of her life.
Walking out the door, the night air had a hint of fall—a teasing cool breeze that traced the late-summer darkness. Above, a full moon hung suspended, like a promise.
“Robin.”
A man’s voice. She looked down. Not just any man, that man. The stranger she’d kissed. Her heart leaped in her throat. How’d he know her name?
“You don’t remember me.”
She looked at him under the streetlight, observed how the light spilled over him in a silver haze. It filtered through his dark, tousled hair, poured over his black leather jacket. Under the light, his face was cast in light and shadows. He looked at her intently, his hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans, his shoulders slouched as he leaned against the lamppost.
Heat shot through her. “Johnny,” she whispered.
2
JOHNNY WATCHED Robin stand there, gaping at him. She looked as cute as she had back in grade school. Straight, flyaway blond hair and those big gray-green eyes that took in everything. Those eyes he’d almost recognized back in the diner before he’d been hit with that blast of passion that had melted his logical, rational thoughts…the kind of thoughts that normally filled his mind as Jonathan Dayton, CEO of OpticPower. Which is who he’d been back at that diner, a CEO—well, a CEO in disguise—intently reviewing legal papers for the upcoming board meeting.
Then, like a bolt of lightning, this young, fiery woman damn near burned his logical brain to smoldering ashes.
He looked into her face, trying to read the look in her eyes. If they were inside, under the bright fluorescent lights, he bet he could read what she was thinking right now. He’d been able to do that years ago, back home, anyway. Back then, he guessed her thoughts by the sparkle in her eye—and most of the time, he’d been right. And he’d been able to sense her emotions, too. Hurt darkened her eyes, clouding them over like a distant storm. Joy lightened them to a sparkling green, like sunlight on the sea. A hundred thoughts, emotions would be racing through her, and she’d think keeping her mouth shut meant no one knew.
He knew.
But back then, it was easier to stay focused on her eyes. Now it was damn hard.
The gangly legs had turned shapely. Like the rest of her. She had one of those curvaceous figures that reminded him of early twentieth-century illustrations by Charles Gibson where women were round and pink and womanly. Back in the diner, he’d liked how she felt, how her body pressed against his. Liked even better how she kissed.
He still wasn’t certain at what moment he’d been fully aware this hot encounter was with the Robin Lee he’d known. Maybe when he’d caught a determined glint in her eyes, and he’d flashed on a similar look in a girl’s eyes back home….
But those thoughts had melted when the kissing heated up. And what a kiss. Hot, intense, full of surprises. One moment she was nibbling and suckling his lip, the next she was doing that squeaking thing with her feet as though one part of her body had decided to dance while the rest of her made love to him. And he’d gone along, at first a bit stunned, then warming up until he was gorging on the sensations, like a starved man sitting down to a feast. An indulgence he never experienced in his logical, business-centered life.
Then afterward, when they’d disentangled themselves, and she stumbled over the word “coffee,” the pieces of her personality fell together. Had to be Robin Lee, the kid sister of his childhood pal. But just now, when she’d whispered his name—a soft, awe-filled “Johnny”—that’s when he knew for certain. He’d heard that same awe-inspired tone from her as a girl. He’d thought it was endearing back then. Now it was downright intoxicating.
Curious as to what lay behind her unique assertiveness-training techniques, he’d hung outside, waiting for her to leave. But now, he realized he’d waited outside for another reason. Knowing it was Robin was like reacquainting himself with his past, a time when life was purer. Not necessarily easier, but purer. Less complicated, more understandable. The life he often wished he could step back into again, even while knowing it was too late.
“I—I’m sorry,” Robin whispered.
He paused. “Because you kissed me?” He’d leave out the pie-dipped fingers and the writhing on the table.
She nodded.
He waited. Although it appeared she was bursting to speak, she remained silent. He knew she could be chatty as all get-out—he’d seen it many times with her family. But outside her home she clammed up. If only there was more light, he could read the thoughts and emotions in her expressive eyes.
“I don’t regret you kissing me,” he said gently. He could have said more. Confessed that no woman had kissed him the way Robin had tonight—a kiss tendered with the years of a heart-struck kid turned woman. A kiss that tasted like something sweet turned mouthwatering delectable. And he thought he’d experienced every possible kiss available. Especially after Denver’s slick 5280 magazine had nominated him one of the top ten “Most Eligible Bachelors of the Year” two years running, Johnny had had his share of lip-locks. He could almost categorize them. There were the “Good night, will I see you again?” kisses, the “I promise you a good time” kisses, even the “I want to get married” kisses.
But none compared to being blindsided by Robin’s sizzlingly sweet, hitched-up-on-the-table, I’m-gonna-take-you kiss. Hell, she was a category unto herself.
But it didn’t take an idiot to see that this thunder-struck woman was obviously chastising herself for her spontaneous whatever-it-was moment back there in the diner. She’d surprised him, but he was a master at playing people and situations—and this one he’d play with a sense of humor. Get her to lighten up a little.
“You always serve customers like that?” he teased.
She shook her head rapidly back and forth. A wisp of her blond hair fell across her eye, which she shakily brushed back.
Okay, cool it with the lightening-up approach. Robin Lee had been a stutterer, and from what little she’d said to him tonight, she still struggled with talking.
But damn talented with words. The written ones, anyway. It was as though all that creativity flowed from her soul down to her fingertips as she wrote her essays and short stories. And for one of those she’d won a prize at school. He remembered the day well—she’d been twelve, he eighteen. Johnny had cut classes to hunt for his kid brother Frankie who was fast believing that the solution to poverty was to shoplift and hot-wire cars.
Only instead of finding Frankie, Johnny had found Robin dawdling in a park. It had taken some coaxing, but she’d finally admitted she was playing hooky so she wouldn’t have to accept a writing award. After Johnny bought her a chocolate shake at a local pharmacy, she admitted she desperately wanted the award, but she didn’t want to accept it in front of an auditorium filled with people because she’d have to say something—and what if she stuttered?
So Johnny had made a pact with her. He’d be there, front row, and all she had to do was look at him and say “thank you” into the microphone. And that afternoon, he’d shown up as promised, and watched as a proud and happy Robin stepped up to the podium, accepted the plaque and while leaning into the microphone and looking directly into his eyes, whispered, “Thank you.”
All these years later, he felt as though she were looking at him again with that mix of shyness and steely determination. Only this time instead of the child, he was returning the gaze of a woman.
Shifting his stance, more to hide his body’s obvious reaction to her, he checked out the parking lot. It was empty except for a dilapidated green pickup with a broken driver’s-side mirror. “I’ll see you to your truck.”
She shook her head. “I—I’m walking.”
He looked up and down the street. Except for a bar a block away, this diner was the sole business with its lights still on. The other buildings were apartment complexes, duplexes, an occasional one-story home. And all had bars on their windows and doors. “Walking in this area of town, at this hour? Are you crazy?”
They stared at each other for a long moment, broken by an apologetic, pixielike smile that finally broke on Robin’s face. She shrugged and nodded in the affirmative. “M-my car’s…” She blinked slowly, not wanting to start a conversation. She never knew when she’d stutter, and considering she was stumbling through words already, she’d just stop here.
He gave her such a look of understanding, she smiled in relief.No words are necessary.
“Then I’m walking with you. I took the light-rail, so I don’t have my car.” Whenever he felt burdened or troubled, he liked to try and recapture how it used to be, years ago, when life was simpler.
Plus, tonight he hadn’t wanted to stay home because Penny would call and call, just as she did every time she dumped him. Only this time he’d told her she was right, no use in their staying together because he didn’t want to tie the knot. But as usual, she hadn’t liked his response. Even when he’d explained,again, that he wasn’t the marrying kind because marriage meant trouble. Like the kind he’d grown up with—an alcoholic father, a delinquent brother and a home filled with the kind of furniture most people threw out.
So rather than answer the phone, and rehash the marriage thing all over again, he’d done what he always did when life crowded him—he returned to his past. Or tried to. He’d left the Jaguar at home and jumped on public transportation, hopping off at some coffee shop or diner where he could blend into the crowd as Johnny Dayton, a person he used to be.
And it’d been years since anyone or anything had reinforced that person…until tonight. Until Robin had whispered “Johnny.” Hearing his old name had felt sweet, but painful. Like a knife plunging into him. Slicing deep, but not finding the man she thought he was.
And yet,she believed him to be that man….
He clamped tight his jaw, refusing to admit to Robin he was no longer that man. He’d never tell her how he’d changed, who he’d become.
He raised his eyebrows, realizing she hadn’t responded to his question. “Is it all right that I walk you home?” Maybe she had someone waiting for her there, like a boyfriend or husband. An irrational jolt of jealousy shot through him.
“It’s all right,” she said softly. And in the stray light from the diner’s windows, he caught her blushing. A reaction so innocent, it nearly knocked him off his feet. Penny never blushed. For that matter, none of the women he’d dated these past number of years had blushed. They’d seen too much, knew too much….
Which made Robin all the more rare.
He turned slightly and said, “Okay, let’s go. You lead…” he looked over his shoulder “…which I know you can do.”
The first block they walked in silence. Johnny was aware of the moonlight-glazed world, the congestion of parked cars along the narrow streets, the late-summer scents of roses and lavender…but mostly he was aware of Robin walking next to him, seemingly lost in her thoughts. For a woman who’d damn near attacked him in public, she was certainly acting shy now that they had some privacy. Not such a surprise, though, when he thought back to the girl who was expressive inside her home, but withdrawn outside.
He slowed his pace, almost imperceptibly, positioning himself slightly behind his walking companion to better observe her. Her head bobbed in time to her determined gait. Her rayon dress swished as she walked, and his imagination wandered, wondering what lay beneath that sound. In his mind’s eye, he again envisioned the kind of curves reminiscent of those early-twentieth-century paintings where a woman was soft, rounded…where flesh was alabaster and pink. He’d always had a keen interest in that era—maybe it was the businessman in him, intrigued with the revolutionary changes brought by electricity and the automobile. And as a man, he’d been just as intrigued with what he viewed as the last romantic woman—the Gibson Girl with her long hair curled in a luscious heap on her head, the long lacy feminine clothes, the petal-pink lips curved in secretive smiles….
He stared at the long wisps of Robin’s hair and wondered how those glossy locks would look curled on top of her head. He imagined one escaped ringlet falling seductively down her pale neck. She was the type of woman who’d be a lady on the outside, but not such a lady in the bedroom….
He nearly ran into Robin when she stopped abruptly. In the moonlight, he could barely make out her facial features, much less decipher the look on her face, but she was definitely staring at him. Intensely.
“Something wrong?” he finally asked, wondering in some kind of insane way if she’d been reading his thoughts. He, who always felt he had the upper hand with people, suddenly felt awkward, as though his mind had been caught in the hot cookie jar.
Silence. More staring. Nearby, a dog barked.
A light breeze lifted a lock of her hair, the moonlight playing wicked tricks as it glinted silver off the blond strands. Impossible to see her eyes, which were in shadow, so he couldn’t translate the dead-on stare she was giving him. Years ago, a younger Robin Lee hadn’t had such difficulty speaking to him. Maybe she just needed time to feel comfortable with him again.
Or maybe there was something she wanted to tell him. He’d heard from a buddy that there’d been a car accident several years ago in Buena Vista, one involving Robin and her mother, but Johnny hadn’t heard much more. Besides, Robin seemed fine….
So why had she stopped? He looked over his shoulder at a square building with layers of windows. “Is…that your building?”
She shook her head no, then turned and kept walking down the sidewalk. He kept up with her, wondering how long they’d continue on this silent journey.
Robin bit her bottom lip, mentally beating herself up for being the most boring walking companion in Denver, if not the entire world. How many times as a kid had she fantasized about being with Johnny, being able to be the one and only girl in his world, and finally she gets that chance and how does she act? Like some kind of robot.Silent robot. Okay, maybe she couldn’t compete with women who teased with words, but surely she could do more than march along beside him! She had wanted to confess as much a moment ago when she’d stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and stared at him…but words had failed her.
Even when he’d asked her a question. But rather than try to explain what was going on inside of her, she’d just continued walking.
The only redeeming factor to this embarrassing stroll was that her shoes weren’t squeaking on the cement.
Finally, they reached her building. She turned, quickly walked up a narrow cement path, and headed up the stairs to her second-story apartment. Behind her she heard his steps following. And with each step, her heart thundered, her breath heaved. Maybe verbally she wasn’t speaking to him, but if only he could hear her body! It pulsed and throbbed and vibrated like some kind of human Geiger counter.
On the second-level landing, she turned right and headed down the dimly lit hallway toward a wooden door with the tarnished silver letters 2B. She’d been in Denver a year, but this was the first time she’d brought anybody to her place, and here she was bringing Johnny Dayton home.
A crazy quote flitted through her mind. “To be or not to be.” Now was the moment to be or not to be. Stopping, she fumbled in her sweater pocket for the keys.
Johnny stopped, but not too near. He looked so darned confused, she felt a twinge of remorse. She didn’t mean to run hot and cold—it’s just when it came to words, she didn’t always trust herself. But he had to know that about her. How many times had the teenaged Johnny Dayton hung out at their house, swigging pops with her older brother, talking about school, cars, girls…and Robin had dawdled nearby, occasionally chiming in when the mood struck. Within the comfort of her home, she had always felt more comfortable opening up, talking….
But then Johnny knew that, too. That day he’d found her hiding out in the park, afraid to go to school because she didn’t want to make a speech, she’d told him why. And he’d encouraged her, told her he’d be there, and because of him she had one of the greatest memories of her life—the day she won the middle-school first-place prize for her short story.
Looking at Johnny all these years later, she wanted to pour out everything in her heart. Tell him how he was her first and only crush, how no man compared to the incomparable Johnny…how he stood for everything she admired in the world—truth, integrity, guts. Everyone in Buena Vista knew he’d had it tough—a father who spent more time at the local bar than at home, a kid brother who seemed determined to end up in jail.
But despite his home life, Johnny kept his cool. Never let circumstances drag him down—or never let it show, anyway. She quickly glanced up and down, sizing up how far he had come. The worn leather jacket and rumpled good looks were like the old Johnny. But he was different, too. The gold watch on his wrist looked expensive. And the wary look in his eyes was new, too. How she’d like to ask what had happened over the past fourteen years…
…and how she’d like to tell him today had been the worst day of her life. And explain that crazy, hot moment at the diner. She’d tell him how desperately she’d wanted to one-up Jill, end the day as a success instead of as a loser, so Robin had seized the moment, so to speak.
