Love On The Ropes (Ringside Romance) (11 page)

“What are you talking about?”

“This is my private life. I never
mix it up with my job. You shouldn’t be here.”

“Why not? I’m hungry,” he said.

She crossed her arms over her chest.
“I’ll bet.” Damn him for looking so edible in all black: tight jeans, a
buttoned-down shirt and that worn, black leather jacket that hung to his knees.
He looked devilishly handsome and dangerous. The very sight of him turned her
on.

“You need to leave,” she said.

He shot her a sly smile. “Why?”

“Because I’m nervous enough being
on a blind date and I don’t need you stalking me.”

“A blind date?” he said, his smile
broadening.

“Stop teasing me. I’m trying to
forget my day job. Don’t you ever want to do that?”

A strange expression colored his
eyes but quickly disappeared. “I’m sorry,” he said, taking her hand. “But I
need your help.”

“Now?”

“I’ve been having dizzy spells
and—”

She snatched her hand back.
“There’s an emergency room down the street.”

“I don’t want a doctor. I want
you.”

“You need a doctor.”

“I need you.”

The words vibrated deep in her
chest.

“Don’t.” She took a step toward
the bathroom. “Go to the hospital and get a CT scan. We should have done that
the other night, but I was afraid—”

“What? That I would lose my job,
right? See, you care about me, you look out for me. You’re the only one I can
trust.”

Trust? What a joke. “Go home.”

She pushed open the bathroom door
and went inside, anxious for some space, desperate for peace. Instead, she got
a shadow in the form of Jack the Stripper. He stood next to her, smiling.

She squared off with him. “You
can’t come in here!”

“Sure I can.”

“Stripper—”

“Jason,” he corrected.

“I’ve done all I can. Find a
neurosurgeon.”

“I don’t trust doctors.”

“I don’t care.”

“Yes, you do.”

“ARGH!” She shoved at his chest
but he caught her wrists.

Then his lips were suddenly on
hers, warm and wet and ever so soft. Her legs turned to oatmeal and started to
give way, but he held her up. With a firm yet gentle grip around her waist, he
held her against him, his tongue teasing her lips, warming her insides.

“Oh! Excuse me,” a woman said.

The stranger broke the spell and
The Stripper broke the kiss. He smiled down at Sandy, and that’s when she
realized her legs were nearly wrapped around his waist. Good grief! She slid to
her feet and turned to face the mirror.

“Could you give us a second?” he
said to the woman who’d come in to use the bathroom. She sheepishly walked
away.

Sandy stared at her reflection in
the mirror: rosy cheeks, wide eyes, swollen lips.

“I’m...” Jason ran his hand
through unruly hair. A few strands fell across his forehead. “That was ... a
mistake.”

She studied his eyes through the
mirror’s reflection and read regret. He regretted kissing her? Sure, probably because
he feared ruining their working relationship, or maybe because the kiss was a
complete letdown, or worse. 

“Okay, you’ve had your fun. Now
leave.” She washed her hands.

“Fun? What are you talking about?”

“The boys put you up to this,
right? They sensed my attraction to you and sent you over to mess with me, see
if someone other than Cody Monroe could get in my pants. What’s the bet? Fifty
bucks? A hundred?”

“No one sent me.”

“Uh-huh. I can tell when you’re
lying Stripper, and I have no patience for it. Please leave, so I can get back
to my date.”

The Stripper shoved his hands into
his coat pockets and stepped out of the bathroom. Only then could she breathe;
only then did her pulse return to normal. That man was going to test her
resolve in every way possible. She’d already lost her ability to think
professionally around him. She’d practically melted at his feet like a
schoolgirl.

Somehow, some way, she had to
regain her professional distance. She’d tell Cosmo she couldn’t do his undercover
assignment; she’d ask Johnny to handle all medical concerns regarding The
Stripper. And she would never, under any circumstances, call him by his real
name:
Jason
.

“Okay, now we know what you’re not
going to do,” she said to her reflection in the mirror. “Now focus on what
you’re gonna do tonight.”

She shook out her hair, ran a
brush through it and practiced a pout. Not bad. Forget about The Stripper,
forget about the kiss, and forget about the throbbing between her legs. With
her virgin lifestyle since Cody left BAM, any man could have had that effect on
her.

Tonight she hoped it would be
Decker Smitts.

* *
*

Jason shifted in the small rental
car, feeling damned uncomfortable. “Hell,” he muttered, eyeing Sandy’s condo.

It was going to be a long night,
he thought, glancing into the rear view. Where the hell were they? It was
nearly midnight. They’d been ordering dessert when he left them an hour ago.
They should be home by now.

Being a high-energy kind of guy,
surveillance ranked last on his list of favorite things to do. He got antsy
waiting for something to happen.

Like he didn’t already know what
was going to happen? Sandy would bring her dopey date home, screw his brains
out and send him on his way. Who was that guy, anyway? She’d said it was a
blind date, but J found it hard to believe she needed to be fixed up, not with
those curves, mesmerizing eyes and her sharp wit.

J took a sip of coffee. Cold and
bitter: a good thing. It kept his senses in check. He still hadn’t recovered
from that damned kiss. What the hell was he thinking?

He’d been running on instinct.
He’d read desperation in her eyes and need on her lips. J got the feeling she
was desperate to prove something, even if that meant screwing a stranger.

The thought made him sick. Yet,
wouldn’t he do the same if the job required it: seduce her, sleep with her,
make love to her all night long in order to find the source of the drugs?

He leaned back against the
headrest, wondering how she’d be in bed. Probably crazed and demanding. That
fit her personality. No doubt she’d be into blindfolds and handcuffs, slow sex
and amazing foreplay.

He could picture her in nothing but
a sports bra and panties. The panties would be lace, cut high along the hip, in
stark contrast to the full bra that bound her breasts. He’d unsnap the thing
and free those breasts, running his palms across the tips, watching them
harden, listening to her moan at his touch.

His ringing cell phone jerked him
out of his fantasy. Good thing. He was getting hard.

“McBain,” he answered, not
bothering to check the caller ID. He only shared this number with work.

“It’s Meek. I need an update.”

What was the hurry? J figured they
wanted him to slog his way through this case to keep him away from the office
as long as possible.

“Following up on a suspect, sir.”

“Who?”

“Someone on the medical staff at
the wrestling promotion.”

“Someone?”

“A woman.”

“Good, you’ve always done your
best work with female perpetrators.”

Disgust arced through Jason’s
chest. It was no secret that in the past he’d used his physical attributes to
lure suspects into confiding their secrets. Somewhere between drinks and the
morning after, his female marks would open up to him and he’d get what he
needed. Yet he never felt right about it—the sex, the intimate conversation, or
the manipulation used to achieve his goal.

Where did that come from? It was
his job to put assholes behind bars and do whatever was necessary to get them
there.

“Are you with her now?” Meek
asked.

Sandy happened to pull up in front
of her building.

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ll make this short. A high
school boy who’s been using this new hybrid form of steroid has been arrested
for assaulting a teacher. This is dangerous stuff. We need to close this case
as soon as possible.”

“Yes, sir.”

“How long will it take to nail
this woman?”

J ignored the double entendre. “A
week.”

“Get to it, then.”

J hung up. He didn’t say good-bye
or thanks or shove this job where the sun don’t shine. He simply tossed the
phone onto the seat and stared out his car window. Sandy still sat behind the
wheel of her car. Maybe she was too drunk to walk? Damn, then she shouldn’t
have driven home. J reached for the door handle and froze as another car pulled
up. The dork from the restaurant got out, walked up to Sandy’s car and opened her
door. Aw, what a gentleman.

J suddenly wondered if Sandy had
been lying about this being a blind date. Maybe this was her supplier? Nah, it
was never that easy. Still, her date drove an awfully nice car—a Cadillac—and
wore an expensive jacket.

Never judge a man by his clothes,
his mother used to say. She should know. She’d thought she married a strong man
with integrity thanks to Raymond’s neat appearance and calm nature. Boy, had
she been wrong.

Jason redirected his focus to his
assignment. Mr. Blind Date led Sandy up the stairs to the complex door.

“Kiss her and go home,” he said.
He needed to get inside her condo, snoop around, and find out who she really
was and what laws she’d been breaking.

Mr. Blind Date leaned forward and
kissed her. J watched, waited, and hoped she’d push him away. Instead Sandy
wrapped her arms around the guy’s neck and planted a kiss on his lips.
Apparently Jason’s kiss earlier had meant nothing. Any port in the storm.

She broke the kiss, laughed and
led her dopey date inside her building.

Friggin’ great. J would have to
sit out here all night and try not to imagine what the guy was doing to her ...

What J wanted to be doing to her.

Jason groaned and downed the last
of his coffee. Flipping on the radio, he decided to find a late-night talk show
to keep his brain focused on something other than what was going on in her apartment.
Hot, frantic lovemaking? More like desperate, quick sex. Only desperation would
drive a person like Sandy to have sex on a first date.

“And when did you become the
expert on Sandy Ryan?” he muttered to himself.

He tuned in to a talk show.
“Tonight we have sex therapist Felicia Fallus as our guest. The subject: Sex
and the Single Woman.”

“This should be interesting,” J muttered,
glancing at the second floor window of Sandy’s building.

“What do you think the modern
young woman wants out of a relationship?” the talk show host asked.

“Sex, number one. Safe sex,” Dr.
Fallus answered. “The modern girl is tired of being shoved into the ‘good girl’
role. She wants to let loose, have a few affairs and do something dangerous
before she settles down. These days a woman doesn’t really need a man to be complete.
She needs physical fulfillment.”

“Terrific.” So all men were good
for was exciting sex and a six-figure income? He disagreed. He could have used
his dad growing up, could have used someone to play ball, have burping contests
and impress with stupid jokes.

“Women have evolved. They’re more
independent,” the doctor continued. “They know what their physical needs are
and how to meet them.”

“What about long-term relationships?”
the interviewer asked.

“Only if the woman wants to mate
and have children with the man. If she’s not interested in marriage and
children, then her focus is on sexual and ego fulfillment.”

“You mean women want meaningless
sex?”

“Oh, it has meaning, just not
‘let’s have a future’ meaning. A woman wants sex to achieve a goal.”

It sounded cold and calculating.
Yet wasn’t that how Jason performed his job? Wasn’t he planning to act
similarly with Sandy: seduce her, make love to her all night long in order to find
the evidence to bust her?

He clicked off the radio. He really
was a son of a bitch like his old man, he thought, fingering the St. Michael
medal around his neck. He’d put his dad’s medal on as a kid to feel empowered.
He wore it as an adult to remind him that a coward’s blood ran through his
veins.

He eyed Sandy’s condo. He should
go back to his hotel, get a good night’s sleep and think up a new plan. He
wasn’t getting anywhere by sitting here. She’d be tied up all night with her
mystery date.

The thought of that jerk tying her
wrists to the headboard made him grit his teeth. He twisted the key in the
ignition.

Suddenly the front door to her
building flung open and Mr. Blind Date bolted outside. His shirt was open in
front, as if ripped off of him, and the guy’s hair looked like he’d been
hanging upside down from the ceiling. What did she do to him?

Jason leaned forward with
anticipation. A few seconds later a half-naked Sandy raced out of the building.
God, she was even hotter than he imagined. She wore pink lace panties and a
matching bra, topped off with ankle socks, also trimmed in lace. His brain
completely shut down for a second.

She grabbed her date by the arm
and attempted to pull him back into her building. He resisted and shoved her
away. She stumbled backwards and Jason gripped his car’s door handle, ready to
punch the guy’s lights out. But Mr. Blind Date put out his hands, as if keeping
Sandy at bay. Jason opened his window to eavesdrop.

“It was an accident,” Sandy said,
her hands out as if pleading for him to return.

“That thing’s dangerous!” her date
replied.

“I’m so sorry. Come back inside.”

“Not unless you lock it up.”

Jason blinked. Hell, what sexual
toy did she whip out that scared the crap out of the guy?

“Let’s try again,” she said.

“Not unless you get rid of it,
completely, out of your condo!”