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“What do you say, Eric?” Mike—the rat—called from the far end of the table. “There’s plenty of room, and pizza. Wanna join us?”
Apparently the moment of embarrassed silence was over.... Of course, Tina knew too well that her friends were never silenced for very long. They were too exuberant, bursting with youth and the joy of life. Staring into Eric’s alert, watchful eyes, she narrowed her own in a bid to convey her reluctance to have him invade their clannish circle. Her empty stomach lurched at the smile that began in the depths of his eyes an instant before it was reflected in his lazy smile.
“Sure. Why not?” Eric shrugged, setting the muscles in his shoulders and chest into an impressive rippling motion beneath his sweater. “Thanks.”
Ted moved forward to hold a chair for Tina.
Eric moved faster. With a casual-looking, smooth turn of his body, he blocked Ted’s movement. Pulling one chair aside, he kept a firm hold on it while sliding another one out for Tina. The moment she was seated, he dropped into the one he was holding and drew it into the table next to hers. Ted was relegated to the only remaining chair...between Mike and Helen, at the far end of the other table.
“Hope you like your pizza loaded, Eric,” Bill said, grinning. “We ordered the works on both.”
“I like it any way I can get it,” Eric drawled, slanting a hooded, sultry look at Tina that implied something other and much more intimate than pizza. “But I like it best spicy and sizzling hot.”
Denying the flare of response that leapt to life deep inside her, Tina glared a warning at him before turning away.
“So what are we waiting for?” Helen wailed from the end of the table. “Serve it up!”
In between bursts of conversation and laughter, the pies were parceled out and demolished. When it became clear that appetites were still unsatisfied, more pizza and fresh drinks were ordered. It was a normal Friday night.
Not quite normal, Tina mused, squirming in the allotted space afforded her between Eric on one side and Vincent on the other. On a normal Friday night, she could relax away the tensions of the workday, not have the tension increased by the sensations instilled by a hard thigh pressing against her leg, a muscled shoulder nudging her arm, a pair of crystalline blue eyes probing into her thoughts.
Tina’s appetite for pizza deserted her, replaced by a different, sharper hunger below her stomach. Forcing herself to chew and swallow the food she no longer desired, and refusing to acknowledge the sensual craving, Tina managed to consume two slices of the pie without choking.
Next to her, Wolfe wolfed down half a dozen slices between pulls on another beer. Nothing wrong with his appetite, she thought, sliding a wry look at him.
Correctly interpreting her expression, Eric grinned, and once again set his shoulder and chest muscles into action with a careless shrug.
Tina shot an arched look back at him.
“I was hungry,” he said, pressing his hard thigh more firmly against hers. “Still am,” he went on, in a lower, breathy murmur. “But not for pizza.”
Shock—or something—zigzagged through Tina. She went cold, stiff as a board, outside—and hot, soft as warmed satin, inside. The sensation of craving deep within her contracted into a tight mass of need, expanding the sense of shock to the farthest reaches of her body and mind.
What was happening to her? she marveled in confused silence. What kind of sensual power did Eric Wolfe possess to so effortlessly affect her in this manner? She hadn’t experienced such a compelling carnal compulsion since—
Tina’s mental process stalled, then raced forward, blurting the truth into her disbelieving consciousness. Never before in her life had she experienced such a depth of carnal compulsion. Not even with her husband. Not on his most potent night, or day, had Glen ever managed to arouse her in body or mind to the degree that Eric Wolfe had accomplished with smoldering glances, murmured innuendos and the relatively minor pressure of his thigh and shoulder against her own.
It was weird. It was scary. It was not to be tolerated, Tina decided, edging closer to Vincent. She didn’t appreciate this hot-and-cold, hard-and-soft reaction to what, in fact, were the blandest of advances.
“Another drink?”
Tina’s thoughts fractured. Blinking, she turned to face Eric, certain her expression was every bit as blank as her mind. “Ah...what?”
“Would you like another seltzer?” He inclined his head, indicating the tall glass in front of her, empty except for a wedge of lime and three half-melted ice cubes.
Feeling dull witted, Tina stared at the glass in bemusement, wondering when she had drunk the fizzy water...and why her throat still felt so dry.
“The waiter’s waiting.” Eric’s droll drawl snagged her attention. “Would you like another?”
“No. Thank you.” Tina shook her head. She felt suddenly tired, drained by the interior havoc created by this too-attractive, too-sexy, too-close man. “It’s been a long day.” Beginning with a short, wild ride, she added to herself. “I’d like to go home.”
“I’ll take you.”
On that silver-and-black monster? Tina stifled the question, and shook her head again. “No, you won’t,” she said with tight asperity. “I came with Ted, I’ll go home with him.”
“Yes, but when?” Eric sent a pointed glance at Ted, then back to her.
Leaning forward, she gazed down the length of the tables to where Ted was engaged in a heated political discussion with Helen, Mike and Louise. At that moment, the waiter set a full mug of beer in front of him. Obviously Ted hadn’t given a thought to leaving yet; it was still early, after all.
“Whenever.” Tina lifted her shoulders in what she hoped conveyed an attitude of indifference she was far from feeling. “I think I will have another seltzer, after all.”
* * *
Cool. Christina Kranas was one cool cookie.
Interesting, Eric mused, how the so-very-cool cookie called Tina could activate his personal heat button. Concealing a sardonic smile, he turned away and raised a hand to attract the waiter’s attention.
After placing her drink order—seltzer? Eric grimaced—he shifted around to her again, only to find that Tina had turned her back to him to join in on a conversation in progress between Vincent and Bill.
Lazing in the chair, Eric monitored the discussion on the pros and cons of the current professional football season, and various teams, primarily the Philadelphia Eagles, while at the same time doing some professional work of his own, that of evaluating the members of Tina’s close-knit group.
They appeared ordinary enough—all-American, clean-cut, ages running from the mid-to late twenties, upper-middle to middle class, well educated, motivated, career minded. Everyday, normal, innocent.
Maybe.
Then again, maybe not. Eric hadn’t remained alive by relying on guesswork. He wasn’t about to begin now. Although he regretted having to do so, he would have to go back to the well of information at the fingertips of one special agent for the FBI, his brother, Cameron Wolfe—referred to by his fellow agents as the Lone Wolfe.
Eric was prepared to endure the ribbing Cameron would most assuredly give him about a member of the force having to once again come begging for assistance from a federal agent. His brother’s teasing was nothing new, and it was a price Eric was more than willing to pay.
Raising his arm, Eric took a small swig from the long-necked bottle, swishing the beer around inside his mouth before letting the brew trickle down his throat. The bottle was his second for the night...his second and his last.
Eric knew better than to overindulge at any time. A soused undercover cop had even less value than a soused anyone else, and was potentially a lot more dangerous...to himself, to the force and to bystanders, innocent or otherwise.
“Aren’t you about ready for another beer, Eric?” Bill asked, almost as if he had tapped into the other man’s thought process. “You’ve been nursing that one since right after you sat down. Hell, the rest of us are on our fourth.”
No kidding? Eric mentally responded, lips curling into a rueful smile. “Two’s my limit,” he said truthfully. “I can’t tolerate more than that, it goes to my head,” he explained, lying without compunction.
“Bummer.” The unsolicited opinion came from Vincent. “I can knock ‘em back all night without getting woozy.”
“Yeah, you just can’t drive,” Bill retorted.
Vincent shrugged. “I don’t have to.” He favored Tina with a sweet smile. “We have a nondrinker in the group.”
Eric had known from the investigative report his brother had provided for him that Tina rarely indulged in any kind of alcoholic drinks, the exception being the occasional celebratory half glass of champagne at holidays, weddings and such. He hadn’t known that she was the designated driver for the less prudent members of her circle of friends. He again arched a brow at her.
“You’re the official D.C., huh?”
Tina frowned. “D.C.?”
“Drunk chauffeur,” he explained, grinning to ease the sting from the expression.
“Hey, I resent that,” Vincent protested, loud enough to be heard over Bill’s eruption of laughter.
“Sorry, no offense meant.” Though Eric offered the apology to Vincent, he kept his gaze steady on Tina.
“I don’t mind.” She was quick to the defense. “It doesn’t happen too often...and they are my friends. And I prefer having them alive.”
“Thatta girl, Tina,” Vincent crowed, raising his frothy mug in salute to her, while leveling a smug look at Eric. “She doesn’t want to see this handsome face and body all torn and mangled in a wreck of metal.”
“Oh, brother.” Bill rolled his eyes.
“No, it’s true,” Tina said, her smile soft, maternal. “I don’t want to ever see any of my friends or anybody else for that matter torn and mangled.”
Eric felt an odd little catch at the base of his throat at the softness of her smile, the caring sound of her voice. It was not the sound or look one would expect from a woman involved, even peripherally, with the pushing of narcotics.
Chill out, Wolfe, he advised himself, taking a sip of the now-warm beer to dislodge the catch. More than most, he knew how deceptive appearances could be.
Take this group, for example, he mused, shifting his eyes from Tina’s tender expression to sweep the occupants of the two tables with a swift but encompassing glance.
They all appeared to be perfectly normal, average, law-abiding citizens. But were they? Ah, there’s the question, Eric thought, appearing quite normal and average himself as he laughed at a quip from Bill. He was in a particularly good position to know that appearances quite often did not reflect reality.
From the bits and pieces he had picked up from the conversations around the table during the demolition of the pizza—which had actually exceeded its reputation—Eric had gleaned the information that the careers of the individuals were diverse, ranging from carpenter to corporate middle manager and several different job descriptions in between, including Tina’s ownership of the florist shop. All quite normal, with such a varied assortment of individuals.
Perhaps. Keeping his expression free of his speculative thoughts, Eric skimmed the faces around him. But on the other hand, he reasoned, for all he and the world knew, this varied assortment of individuals with diverse career pursuits might well be in the business of supplementing their incomes with the profits garnered by dealing in illegal substances.
Of course, the world would continue to revolve in its ignorance. Eric fully intended to glean the necessary information, first thing in the morning, or as soon as Cameron could gather it for him.
The search might prove fruitless. Eric hoped it would; he was enjoying their company. Nevertheless, the investigation and follow-up would be done, whether the results were good, bad or merely indifferent.
Meanwhile, there was a question about Tina. A very big, very unsavory question.
Was she mixed up in a narcotics mess?
Her attractive peal of laughter drew Eric’s attention—and his hooded eyes—to her profile. She was looking at Nancy at the end of the second table, laughing appreciatively at whatever the other woman had said. Once again he felt that odd catch in his throat.
Why did she have to be so damned appealing? Eric asked himself, studying her with an appearance of lazy disinterest. The problem was, there wasn’t a thing lazy or disinterested about his perusal of her.
Merely looking at Tina reactivated the memory of her slender thighs banding his hips and posterior, driving a wedge of heat to the apex of his thighs.
Damn. He was hard. Eric drew a long, slow breath and shifted unobtrusively in the chair, easing his leg to the side, away from the too-enticing touch of hers.
What was it about this particular woman? he wondered, sketching his gaze over Tina, from the top of her shimmering blond hair to the slender ankles beneath the hem of her wool slacks, lingering on the gentle curves in between.
She was attractive.... Okay, she was more than attractive, he conceded. Her petite frame held infinite allure. Her face, though not classically beautiful, was delicately featured, lovely, with that mass of honey blond hair contrasted with dark brown eyes and brows and an abundance of long lashes above a small, straight nose and a delectable pair of lips made for crushing by a man’s passion-hardened mouth.
Eric swallowed a groan and shifted again. What in hell was he doing to himself? Now he was not only hard, he was hot and uncomfortable, and he had completely lost the thread of the ongoing conversation.
Maybe it was time to cut out of here, he thought. Get some fresh air. Get some rest. Get a grip.
Lifting a hand to his mouth, Eric covered a manufactured yawn. “Well, I don’t know about the rest of you folks,” he announced, pushing his chair back away from the table, distancing himself from Tina. “But I’m ready for bed.”
“Yeah, me too,” Bill said, stifling a genuine yawn. “I’ve got to work tomorrow.”
Three of the others agreed that it was time to leave, since they also had to work. The remaining members of the group protested. Tina stayed silent, but stared at Ted in mute supplication.
“But it’s not that late,” Helen pointed out.
“Only a little after twelve,” Mike said, glancing at his watch.
“We can stay for a while,” Ted insisted, seemingly unconscious of the appeal in Tina’s eyes. “You’re not ready, are you, Tina?”
“If you wouldn’t mind, Ted.” Though she smiled, she also sighed. “I’m tired, and I have a lot of orders to get out early tomorrow morning.”
Ted frowned.
Figuring it was worth one more shot, Eric spoke up. “I can take Tina along with me, Ted, if you want to stay. I live right up the street from her.”
“You do?”
Though Ted asked the question, all the others looked at Eric in surprise.
“Yes.” Eric smiled. “I moved into the neighborhood a couple of days ago.”
“Well...” Ted began uncertainly.
“No.” Tina’s smile was pleasant, but her tone was adamant. “We can stay for a little while, Ted.”
Good-nights were exchanged, and Eric turned to leave. As he did, he caught the glow of triumph gleaming in the brown depths of Tina’s eyes.
Think you’ve won, do you? A grin twitched Eric’s lips as he strode for the exit. Tina, my sweet, all you’ve won is a minor skirmish, he told her in silent amusement.
We’ll see who wins the war.
Three
The city transit bus ran over a pothole. The resulting bump shuddered through the vehicle and the few remaining passengers still on board near the end of the line.
The jarring sensation rippled up Tina’s spine to the back of her neck, aggravating the throbbing pain in her temples. The pain had been little more than an annoying ache when she awakened that morning. Not enough sleep, she had thought, dragging her tired body from the bed to the bathroom.
A stinging shower had not revived her lethargic body or relieved the ache in her head. Telling herself that she should have insisted Ted bring her home at a reasonable hour didn’t help much, either. Tina hadn’t insisted; Ted and the others who had remained in the tavern had lingered on long after the rest of their friends had called it a night, talking and drinking, until the bartender had shouted his nightly last-call-for-drinks warning. And even then she had not been able to go directly home, as she had assumed the responsibility of driving Ted and the others to their respective homes.
Then, with the prolonged goodbyes at each successive house or apartment, it had been very late when she finally crawled into bed.
When she left her house that morning, Ted’s car was parked in her driveway. Although Ted had urged her to use it to get to work, Tina had flatly refused, unwilling to take on the added responsibility of driving his fairly new car in the morning and evening rush hours.
And so, in consequence, simply getting herself out of bed and together and to the corner bus stop was like pushing a rope uphill...with her nose.
The thought had sprung to mind, more than once, that perhaps she should have accepted the offer of a lift home last night from her new neighbor. Tina had pushed the thought aside every time it insinuated itself into her consciousness—for what she felt were excellent reasons.
