Crazy Love (6 page)

“I think you do.”

“I think it’s time you left.”

By the determined glint in his eyes she thought he might push the issue but thankfully he relented. Once again he’d capitulated when she’d expected him to forge ahead and despite enjoying their sparring she liked it. For all his confident bluster, it showed he might have a heart.

“Thanks for the coffee. My suite at the Love Inn awaits.”

“Thanks for dinner.”

Fabulous, now they were down to exchanging pleasantries? This was the time she should play GOLF. Go for par. Grab a nine iron. Lower her handicap. She’d gone through agony with that damn wax and for what? She was going to stand here and watch six-four of prime GOLFer walk out her door and probably regret it in the morning.

“Marc—”

“Sierra—”

“You first,” she said, feeling like the gauche girl she’d been on Prom night about to receive a goodnight kiss from Murray Le Carre, her frog prince. He’d looked like a prince, made out like a frog: cold, wet and sloppy.

“Does the motel have Internet access?”

Not quite the question she’d anticipated. It sounded nothing like “can I stay the night?” or “will you still respect me in the morning?”

“No. Why?”

“Thought I might tie up a few loose ends while I’m here.”

“Apart from the one involving your mom, you mean?”

A frown grooved his brow as he ignored her jibe. “The acquisition business never rests.”

“You snooze, you lose?”

“Something like that.”

Feeling sorry for a guy who couldn’t tune out his business on a Friday night, even away from the city, and a twinge of remorse for her last dig, she waved towards the den.

“You can log on here if you like.”

“Sure?”

She nodded, wondering if she could jump him while he bought and sold a few companies.

“I’ll bring the laptop in here and you can let yourself out when you’re done.”

His slow-burning smile made her toes tingle again, damn it, though this time they curled into the Aubusson rug beneath her feet, desperate to anchor before she keeled over.

“When A-Corp makes its next million I’ll think of you.”

She clutched her heart. “Sweet talker. Take a seat, I’ll get the laptop.”

As his glance flicked to the jade box again, she added, “And no more prying.”

“Kill-joy.”

“Male.”

“Hey, I’m not the one with enough rubber to retread every car in the Western world.”

She couldn’t top that and retreated before he tempted her to do more than trade quips with him, like trade clothes; or leave them lying on the floor in the process.

“You didn’t talk much about your business over dinner, other than the basics,” she said from the den.

Probably because he’d been too busy trying to weasel information about Hank out of her. “Makes me wonder why.”

“Now who’s prying?”

“There’s a difference between talking shop and opening boxes you shouldn’t. Look what happened to Pandora.”

When she re-entered the living room, he’d sat. Her relief was short-lived as she realized she’d have to sit next to him on her far-too-cozy couch in order to explain the finer points of her temperamental laptop.

“If Pandora had unleashed your little stash, she would’ve been a happier girl.”

His grin reminded her of a wolf about to toy with an innocent pup.
Pup…Ripley
…she owed Belle big time. Not only had she reneged on their dinner, she’d foisted Ripley onto her friend for the night.

Another sign you were hoping to get some
.

Telling her inner voice to shut the hell up, she perched on the edge of the couch next to him, ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble; like her making a lunge for him.

“This is a back-up I use at home and it needs a little TLC. If it flickers, hit the function and F4 buttons to snap out of it and you should be right.”

She continued to prattle as he stared at her rather than the screen. Not only were her toes tingling, her skin had joined the party, prickling with awareness that a GOLF pro was in the vicinity.

“Save everything to USB as you go because it occasionally shuts down for no reason and—”

“Is something wrong?”

Forced to look at him now he’d spoken, she focused on the Warhol print over his left shoulder rather than stare into those dark eyes.

Melted chocolate. His eyes were the color of her favorite late night snack and could easily become as addictive.

“No. Why?”

“Because you’re talking faster than a rock star on Speed.”

“Just tired, I guess.”

And wanting to tear that snazzy suit off his body, against her better judgment. “Time for bed.”

She wondered if he’d pick up on her innuendo as she all but swayed towards him, willing him to change her mind about the
going to bed
part or at least have the decency to join her there.

“You sure this is okay? You don’t really know me.”

Worse luck. She could’ve really enjoyed getting to know him a lot better.

“Yeah, but Flo does and if you get out of line I’ll have her on this doorstep so fast your head will spin. Before she knocks it off your shoulders, that is.”

He glanced toward the door as if expecting Flo to barge in any minute, his expression wary.

“Don’t tell me she’s your neighbor.”

“Okay, I won’t tell you.”

He groaned and rolled his shoulders as if remembering the friendly back slap he’d received at the diner. “What time does her shift end?”

“Midnight, so as long as you’re out of here by then, you’re safe.”

He glanced at his watch. “Count on it.”

They stared at each other for an interminable moment in awkward silence.

“How long are you in town for?” She finally blurted, wishing it didn’t sound so desperate.

Not that she cared. Her interest stemmed purely from a business point of view; she had a lot to do before Hank and Olivia’s big day and didn’t need his interference, no matter how much she’d enjoyed his company tonight.

“Just the weekend.”

She managed a smile despite the disappointment. What had she expected, for him to stick around because of the weird attraction thing she’d concocted in her own head?

“That should be long enough to convince my mom she’s making a huge mistake in marrying this Hank character and take her home.”

Just like that he set a match to the love-hate thing she had going for him. One minute she wanted to jump his bones, the next she wanted to scratch his eyes out.

Hank was the sweetest guy to walk the planet and he’d finally rediscovered romance after twenty years as a widower. Marc had some nerve rushing headlong into a situation he knew nothing about and trying to spoil the happiness of the one man in this world she could actually count on, the one man who’d never let her down, the one man she’d do anything for. Including kick City Boy’s ass to the curb, attraction or not.

Taking a deep breath and counting to five, a technique Belle had taught her the first week at school when every kid wanted to pick on the “scarecrow with freckles and red hair”, she decided to keep her close relationship to Hank a secret.

The less Marc Fairley knew about Hank and his mom the better and she had a feeling discovering Hank’s importance in her life would fire him up further.

“Do they know you’re here?”

“Not yet.” He frowned. “But they will first thing in the morning.”

“Thought you’d do better with some insider info after sweetening me up over dinner?”

“You’re onto me.” He actually looked uncomfortable for all of two seconds before pinning her with an astute stare. “I didn’t get much out of you.”

“Why’s that?”

“I got distracted.”

Sheesh. Any more of that hypnotic eye contact stuff and she’d forget her desire to strangle him.

“Is that right?”

She battled the urge to run, whether into his arms or away she didn’t know, as he reached towards her.

“You don’t exactly fade into the background, Sierra Kent.”

He wound a strand of her hair around his finger and tugged playfully.

There was nothing remotely playful about her response. She closed the distance between them in a second, plastering her mouth to his in a hungry lip lock designed for quick satisfaction.

If she assuaged her curiosity with this one, meaningless gesture she could go to bed and sleep rather than lay awake wondering ‘what if’.

The part where he responded like a man who hadn’t had a woman in a while was unexpected as he wound his hands through her hair, angled her head for better access and groaned into her mouth, his tongue taunting her better than his words had all evening.

He didn’t stop there. Once she stopped devouring him like a woman starved he moved his lips over hers with slow, drugging mastery, changing the pressure, increasing the heat between them with nothing but the expert touch of his mouth on hers.

Desperate for more contact she clutched at his shirt, her fingers bunching the expensive cotton, itching to tear it off and reveal the hard chest beneath.

She yanked him closer, heat sizzling her veins, zapping her body in places long-neglected.

As if sensing her sensual reawakening he deepened the kiss, his hands everywhere, eager and sure, exploring her body with precision, honing in on erogenous zones that made her gasp.

He didn’t ease up and as his lips alternated between firm and commanding to soft and tempting, tension built low in her belly and spread outwards, a needy ache she had to assuage. Now.

A soul-defying, soul-destroying kiss couldn’t go on forever and when their lips finally eased, lingered, their breathing ragged in the silence, the doubts crept in, insidious and annoying.

The kiss had been mind-blowing.

The kiss had been one of a kind.

The kiss had the potential to undo her completely.

Exactly why that kiss terrified her; and she responded in predictable fashion. When something scared her, she hid behind wit. It hadn’t let her down in the past and it better not now.

She released his shirt, smoothed it and eased away, dabbing at the corners of her mouth with her fingertips as if she’d had a tasty morsel.

“Nice technique, Slick. Maybe they do teach you something in la-la land after all. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll say good night.”

“That’s one hell of a good night kiss.”

For a man who probably had women smooching him every day of the week, he rubbed a hand along his jaw, confusion, passion, and amazement waging a war in his expressive eyes. Good to know he seemed as dazed and rattled as she felt.

He thought she was some backwater country chick if his attitude earlier today was anything to go by but she’d showed him. She could pucker up with the best of them.

“Welcome to Love, Slick.”

She sauntered out of the room when in reality she wanted to bolt. She waited until she reached the top of the stairs to lean against the banister and touch her lips in awe, wondering if she’d be lucky enough to get a kiss like that again in this lifetime.

CHAPTER FOUR

Cupid’s Dating Tips for the Enlightened Male

If she says you’re monogamously challenged, you’re afraid of commitment. Repent now
.

Marc struggled to consciousness, wishing the bizarre dream where Sierra was smacking him in the face with a sodden towel would vanish.

As his eyes peeled open he found it wasn’t a dream and the large, wet object slapping his cheek wasn’t a towel.

Instead, he eyeballed a monster, a huge hairy monster, part-dog, part-horse, that persisted in licking his face like he was every doggy ice-cream flavor on the planet rolled into one.

“Rise and shine, Gorgeous. It’s the start of a
beeeauuutiful
day.”

First the monster dog, now this.

He rubbed a hand over his eyes as a stunning blonde clad in figure-hugging black lycra bike shorts and crop top stood over him, hands on very curvy hips.

“Where the hell am I?” he muttered, sitting bolt upright as the dog started nibbling on his toes.

The blonde, sporting breasts designed to make a man grovel, took a seat opposite. “Don’t play coy with me. Looks like you and Sierra had quite a night.”

Sierra. Evoking her name had memories of last night slamming into consciousness: dinner at the diner, coffee at her place, hundreds of condoms, that mind-blowing kiss, catching up on work and…his mind blanked after that.

Which could only mean one thing. He’d fallen asleep and absolutely nothing had happened, for if he’d had sex with the hot redhead he damn well would’ve remembered.

He tried not to flinch as the dog lost interest in his toes and started sniffing at his shin, sizing up prime bone to gnaw.

“And you are?”

“
Very
pleased to meet you.”

Marc laughed as he glanced from the blonde to the massive dog that thankfully had lost interest in him as a snack and was now sitting by her side. If he was prone to imagining things he could swear the woman’s tongue was hanging out as much as the mutt’s.

“Who’s your friend?”

“Ripley.”

The dog barked twice for confirmation.

“Do you and Ripley make a habit of wandering into Sierra’s house this early on a Saturday morning?”

He indicated the funky silver clock on the mantel, which read seven-thirty.

“Early? Around these parts most people have been up for two hours already. You’re a city boy, right?”

“What gave it away?”

She scanned him from head to toe and this time he knew he wasn’t imagining the gleam of interest in her eyes.

“The Armani, the Rolex, the attitude.”

“You know your fashion but you don’t know me, so what’s with the attitude comment?”

“Sierra told me about you.”

Before he could respond to that interesting fact, she said, “What I want to know is why you’re sleeping on the couch. Did her snoring get to you?”

At that moment, Ripley went ballistic and bounded toward the stairs, barking like a thorn had stuck in his Yeti-sized paws.

“’Mornin’, darling.” Sierra bent and wrestled the dog, tugging its ears and wrapping her arms around its neck in some weird ritualistic greeting that signaled mutual affection.