Major Attraction (6 page)

She would have to approach Ethan McCormick differently than she'd played Juan and the other men in the bar. That had been an anecdotal study on the superficialities of pickup lines, a casual observation of how little it took to generate a military man's interest in a woman and how far he would go to pursue a potential conquest. J.C. wanted in-depth responses from the major. Long-term evaluations. Hidden truths.

He was interested in her, judging by the way he'd made love to her with his eyes across the bar earlier. He was interested enough to follow her outside and rescue her from a couple of pesky drunks. He was interested enough to kiss her.

J.C. squeezed her eyes shut as her hormones reawak
ened with an involuntary flutter. An adjunct research project would be to see if she could get him to kiss her again—to find out if he was really that good with his lips or if he'd just gotten lucky.
Liar.
She was the one who wanted to get lucky again.

“Josephine what?”

J.C. opened her eyes and found her focus aimed directly at the lingering bulge in his jeans. He was definitely interested in her. If she played this right, Major Ethan McCormick would make a very engaging case study. And she could maybe get a few jollies of her own—all in the pursuit of science and healthy recommendations for her readers, of course.

Adjusting her smile from amused to apologetic, she lifted her gaze to those ever-changing gray eyes. “I'm sorry. My brain jumped ahead of the conversation. I'm Josephine Gardner.” Better keep the
Dr. Cyn
part of Cynthia a secret if she wanted to get honest, unfiltered responses from her test subject. “But my friends all call me J.C.”

“J.C.,” he repeated, as if testing whether or not the nickname met with his approval. “Sounds like a tomboy.”

“I can be. Mostly, I'm a modern woman who—as much as I loved my grandmother—doesn't especially care to share the old-fashioned name. And it's
Dr.
J. C. Gardner, if that helps. I'm a clinical psychologist.”

His silver eyes suddenly sparkled—if she could believe a rock-solid, nuts-'n-bolts kind of guy like Ethan McCormick ever could sparkle. “Do you prefer
Dr.?
”

“Do you prefer
Major?
”

Her challenge earned a reluctant smile which revealed straight, white teeth. The effect softened the rugged lines
of his face and rendered him almost handsome. “My friends call me Ethan.”

“Could I buy you a cup of coffee, Ethan? To thank you?” She pulled her wallet from her bag and held it up to appeal to his practical side, in case charm alone couldn't intrigue him. “My treat. There's a coffee shop just around the corner that's still open.”

Silhouetted against the green glare of the bar's neon sign, his broad shoulders shrugged with a heavy sigh, then settled back to near attention. She dropped the wallet back into her bag, feeling instantly on guard.

“Dr. Gardner.” Had he missed the
friends
part? Or was distance and formality typical of what a woman could expect from him? She'd be sure to write that one down. Later. Right now she cocked an eyebrow and waited for him to continue. “I don't know how to ask this any other way but to come out and say it.”

“What is it?”

“Are you married?”

J.C. scrutinized the fine web of lines that appeared beside Ethan's narrowed eyes. Any flash of silver in the irises had disappeared into gunmetal depths. He propped his hands at his waist and leaned ever so slightly forward to observe her equally intently. My God, he was serious!

Would she be in a bar, letting men hit on her if she was married? Would she be asking him to join her for coffee? She wasn't like her father. J.C. stiffened defensively, her fists clenched around the strap of her bag. “No.” Her gaze instinctively dropped to his left hand. Naked. But that was no guarantee. She looked up and demanded the same truth from him. “Are
you
married?”

“Never have been.” She retreated half a step when he moved toward her and she realized just how far she had to tilt her head to maintain eye contact. Jeez, Louise, this
was important to him. “Are you engaged? Living with someone? Seeing anybody?”

J.C. automatically put up her hand to block his advance and silence the inquisition. Her palm flattened against a wall of chest.
Mistake!
Her defensive anger got twisted up with a flare of instant desire. And both were tempered by a curious need to understand his concern with her personal status.

Ethan halted as if she'd cast some spell to keep him at bay. She wasn't pushing, neither was he. Yet a magnetic force kept them bound, hand to chest. He stood close enough for her to detect the faint, cool scent of the soap or aftershave he used.

His nostrils flared as he breathed in deeply. But he came no closer. He was waiting. Holding back. Brimming with energy as if it required a great deal of willpower to stand so still, to maintain such control. Her palm buzzed with the intensity of the strength and emotion he was keeping in check. The tension shimmered through her, tingling in the tips of her breasts and fingers, making her breath catch in soundless, shallow gasps.

What would it take to break that control?

Is that what had made his kiss so soul shattering? Had he temporarily lost his grip on that considerable restraint?

J.C.'s hips butted against the cool metal frame of the car, but she was consumed with Ethan's encompassing heat. Telling him to
lighten up
didn't feel like an option right now. She wasn't even sure this guy could do that. And she was pretty sure that was half of the crazy reason she was so insanely attracted to him. She liked his intensity. Focused on her and her safety, it had been devastating.

Her voice came out hushed and husky with her emo
tions. “I thought I was sending out plenty of I'm
single
signals.”

“Please. I'd appreciate a simple yes or no.”

The pale cotton of his shirt was soft to the touch, but everything was solid, warm and pulsing with unleashed energy beneath it. J.C. was tempted to break the spell of sensual overload by clutching a handful of that material and dragging him down for another kiss. But she sensed her research and any further contact with Major McCormick hinged on giving him the answer he needed to hear right now. Intellectually and physically, she didn't want this to be her last encounter with Ethan, either.

“The answer is no. I'm completely unattached. No husband, no fiancé, no boyfriend, no lover.”
Unless you'd like to change that last one?

His deep sigh mingled with her own and he smiled—a wide, tooth-flashing grin that made her think he'd just won some kind of prize.

J.C. didn't know whether to be alarmed or flattered by his obvious relief. It took everything she had not to snatch at his shirt when he straightened and pulled away, breaking the connection between them.

“Then I'd love to have coffee with you.”

He didn't leave her standing weak-kneed against the car for long. He turned and held out his arm like a formal escort. When she stared at it a moment without moving, he reached for her right hand and pulled it into the crook of his elbow. Muscle and skin and springy, golden hair created a sizzle of awareness at even that impersonal contact. If he was feeling any of the same sexual attraction she was feeling, he wasn't acting on it.

Still, frustration aside, there was something earnest and sincere in the old-fashioned gesture that left her smiling
and looking forward to whatever time she would get to spend with this man. J.C. smiled and strolled beside him onto the sidewalk.

Interesting research, indeed.

E
THAN'S EYES WERE TRANSFIXED
by the dollop of creamy froth that clung to the bow of J.C.'s top lip. He wiggled his finger against his own mug of black coffee, combatting the urge to reach across the narrow booth and wipe it off, just for the excuse to touch her again.

And his taste buds were suddenly developing a craving for mocha latte. He could sweep it aside with a kiss and reward himself with the flavor of something sweeter and more potent than chocolate or coffee. But, forcibly reminding himself of his shrinking time frame, he put his depraved desires on hold and simply pointed to his own mouth. “You've got something there.”

“What? Oh.”

Oh, no. No, no.
Ethan's grip tightened around his ceramic mug as he watched in helpless fascination.
Don't do it!

She did it. The tip of her pink tongue darted out to lick the rim of her lips. Ethan's crotch lurched in response beneath the laminate tabletop. His imagination skipped flirtatious innuendo and jumped straight to the idea of what else that sweet, flexible tongue might be willing to lick.
Jerk!

She smiled. “Thanks.”

No, thank you
were the words he wanted to say as he eased his legs farther apart on the vinyl bench seat, giving his randy instincts room to maneuver. He lifted his mug
and sipped at the tepid brew, wishing it was hot enough to burn some sense into him.

Had he been dead for the past year and a half? Had Bethany's betrayal tainted the allure of every other woman until now? Maybe Dr. J. C. Gardner was transmitting some secret pheromone weapon that had completely brainwashed him. This was crazy! This instant, intense, graphic desire to take this woman he barely knew and touch, taste—mate with—made him question his sanity. His cool, calm and collected persona seemed a distant memory. He was crawling inside his skin with the need to run a personal reconnaissance mission to acquaint himself with each one of her hidden feminine attributes.

Her left breast. The right one. What color were the tips? How did they taste? Her belly button. Was it an innie or an outie? Her butt. He'd already grabbed a handful of that, but his palms and fingertips itched to feel skin, not denim. And, oh, he most definitely wanted to acquaint himself with her—

“So you said you had a proposition for me?”

Ethan gulped as her words and his thoughts got tangled up in one vivid, erotic image. The dregs of his coffee ate a bitter path down his throat and he coughed in his hurry to choke down the acidic aftertaste and explain himself. He set down the mug before he did further damage to himself and held up both hands in apologetic surrender. “I didn't mean it that way.”

“What way is that?”

“You know, like…” Damn. Did he really have to spell this out for her? Though the booth's high-backed seats sequestered them from the chatty line of patrons waiting to order their last drinks before closing, Ethan still glanced over his shoulder to ensure their privacy. He braced his
forearms on the table and leaned in, dropping his voice to a whisper. “Like I was asking to have sex with you.”

There. He'd said it. Out loud.

“Do you want to have sex with me?”

Oh, yeah.

Practicality answered before lust could.

“No. Of course, not.” Her eyebrow arched at the unintended insult in his quick response.

Ethan flattened his palms against the cool tabletop in a placating gesture. He would give a month's pay for one smooth line to get himself out of this mess right now. “I mean, I'm not against the idea. I would love to have sex with you.”

Damn. That flush of heat flaring up his neck and into his cheeks better have something to do with faulty wiring in the coffee shop's air-conditioning system. Ethan fisted his hands as he took a deep, calming breath. “Forget I just said that. That's not what I'm asking.”

She was actually smiling at his fish-out-of-water lack of charm. “I wouldn't be offended if you did.”

Now how the hell was he supposed to respond to that?
Okay, then get over here and do a lap dance for me?
He was trying to do the right thing here. He was failing miserably.

Where was Travis when he needed him? A little advice on how to steer this conversation back to a safer, saner topic would be appreciated right about now. Of course, Travis would probably tell him to go for it. If the woman was willing…

“This isn't about sex,” Ethan stated firmly, needing to hear the words out loud as much as she did.

Her amusement was tempered by the downward focus of her eyes. Under studious scrutiny, she circled her index finger around the rim of her cup with such methodical
precision that Ethan was soon mesmerized by the slow, repetitive motion himself.

It didn't take much imagination to picture that finger tracing the same circles across the back of his hand or around the shell of his ear or along the length of something else that seemed to have a mind of its own tonight. Right on cue, the little major popped to attention, completely oblivious to the more important agenda of finding a fiancée and nabbing that promotion.

Too late, Ethan realized the hypnotic display had been a stalling tactic. With her face still downcast, she lifted her gaze, giving her an expression of drowsy innocence that was pure seduction. But he was quickly learning there was little coy or innocent about this woman, an observation which put him on guard even while it intrigued him. “Are you embarrassed to talk about sex, Ethan?”

“No.” But he was so far out of practice, apparently he'd forgotten how. With a rueful smile, he shook his head. “I just don't believe it's something a gentleman discusses with a lady, especially on a first date. And this isn't even really a date.”

She tipped her chin and looked him straight in the eye. Bang. She had him. So much for guarding himself. “But you're thinking about it, aren't you?” He'd been thinking about it from the moment he'd spotted her across the bar at Groucho's—and she didn't need a Ph.D. to figure that out. “What if I told you I was, too?”

Ethan leaned back in his seat, letting that nugget of information sink in—giving himself room to breathe without inhaling her warm, inviting scent and scattering his concentration. “I'd say I'm flattered. I'm interested. But that doesn't mean we're gonna do it. I'm a workaholic.
Thinking
about sex is all I have time for these days.”

“That's a shame.” Was that disbelief or disappoint
ment in her voice? J.C. pushed back from the table, too, matching his stiff-backed posture. “Well, it can't be that important because you've talked all around it. And every time I force the issue, you politely change the subject. As if it's something civilized ladies and gentlemen wouldn't normally talk about.”

Civilized people didn't hunt down women in bars to ask complete strangers to save their professional butts. “This
is
important. To me. To my future. And if I hesitate, it's just that…I need to ask you a huge favor. But I'm afraid you'll say no and I'll be S-O-L.”

J.C. paused to consider his words. She took a sip of her latte and dabbed the froth from her lip before he got any more stupid ideas. That tiny frown line reappeared on her forehead as she turned her attention from the mug cradled between her hands up to him. “Do you want me to bear your love child?”

“No.”

“Do you want me to kill someone for you?”

“Of course not.”

“Betray a national secret?”

“No, nothing like that.”

“Then try me.” She set down the mug and reached across the table to lay her hand over his tightly bunched fist. The warmth of her drink was instantly transmitted to his skin and Ethan nearly flinched at the gentle familiarity of her touch. But he held himself still and tuned in to that hushed voice and those searching eyes. “And don't worry about sweet-talking your way around it. The direct approach seems to work best for you. I'm a big girl, I can take it. What do you need from me?”

Ethan decided to state it just as plainly as she'd requested. “I need you to be my fiancée for the next two weeks.”

Her laughter was loud enough to turn a few heads in the dwindling line of customers. “I thought this was all some elaborate pickup line. You aren't trying to get me into bed, are you? I thought you were just too shy to come out and say it.”

“Shy?” He commanded men. Gave orders. Saved lives. He snatched his hand free and sat at attention.

She wisely shut her mouth and contained her laughter. “Old-fashioned, then. A fiancée for two weeks, huh?” She sat back, tucking both hands well out of reach beneath the table. Humor still shook through her shoulders. “You don't believe in long-term relationships?”

“I don't have time to find one.”

“You're not dying, are you?”

“This isn't some damn game. I'm trying to get promoted to lieutenant colonel!” The natural authority in his voice bounced off the hardwood walls.

Her grin flatlined. At last she saw that this was no joke to him. “I'm sorry. I wasn't making fun of you. Your request surprised me, that's all. It certainly wasn't what I expected.”

The apology soothed his wounded pride and made him regret the outburst. He'd probably been broadcasting his attraction to her with all the subtlety of a rutting elephant. And after those two bozos in the parking lot had made an aggressive play for her… No wonder she'd misread his intentions.

Ethan dropped his voice to a more sociable level. “I'm the one who should apologize. Obviously I'm not much good at communication. If I had other options, I'd use them. But I don't. This promotion means a lot to me. I already have a strike against me because I'm the youngest candidate. My chances of getting that promotion improve tenfold if my superiors think I'm a guy intent on settling
down. The Corps prefers their base officers to be leaders both professionally and socially.”

“I see.” J.C. shrugged. “Is there some reason why you're not intent on settling down?”

“I just haven't gotten around to it. Like I said, I'm a workaholic.” And a blind-assed loser who would never trust his heart to a deceiving woman again. “I'm not asking you to marry me. We just need to pretend we're engaged for a couple of weeks.”

She gestured down at her sweater and jeans. “You think I could pull off something like that? The corporate wife-to-be or whatever the military equivalent is?”

“I think you're perfect for it.”

“Me? But you don't know…” Gray eyes locked on blue, and for a few seconds Ethan thought he saw something raw and vulnerable in her sarcastic expression. But the notion was quickly dispelled by a blink and a crooked smile. “You know, I've never pulled off a dinner party for more than two or three close friends. And I'd rather run barefoot than wear panty hose any day of the week.”

“You don't have to throw any parties,” he reassured her. “You just have to attend a few functions with me. A ball, a dinner, some luncheons, a family weekend. We'd need to make up a story of how we met, hold hands, do enough familiar looks and touches so that our relationship would be believable.”

She huffed a derisive sigh. “Is that all?”

Ethan checked his watch. It was nearly 0-200 hours. Only half a day away from the Cherry Blossom Ball. He pleaded his case. “I know I'm asking for a lot of your time, but it won't cost you a penny. I'll pay for any expenses you incur. A ball gown, transportation, missed time at work, whatever.”

The arch of her right brow reflected curiosity
and
skepticism. “You'd buy me a ball gown?”

“You pick it out. I'll just pay the bill. Choose whatever suits your tastes. I'm not asking you to become a different person, I just need you to take on an extra job. Socialize with the other officers and candidates and their spouses or significant others.”

“And say good things about you? Act like my world revolves around you? Make them believe I'm as much of an asset to the Corps as you are?”

“Exactly.”

For a moment he hoped. But then she raked her fingers through the fringe of hair at her temple and shook her head. “I don't know, Ethan. I tend to be pretty opinionated, and high heels absolutely wreck my feet. I might be more of a hindrance than an asset to your promotion.”

“Nonsense.” He crossed his arms and braced his elbows on the table, leaning closer. “You're mature. Attractive. Intelligent. You can carry on an interesting conversation. You think on your feet and you're not afraid to take risks.”

A hint of pink colored her cheeks and her mouth curved into a teasing smile. “Careful. That sounded dangerously close to sweet talk if you ask me.”

“It's not false flattery. Believe me, I looked at a lot of women tonight.” He gestured as he spoke. “Some of them had bigger boobs or longer hair. Some were dressed more seductively—”

J.C. reached out and captured his flailing hand. “Quit while you're ahead, Major.”

Ethan turned his hand to hold on to hers. Palm touching palm, he savored that fiery energy that seemed to burn inside her and pulse between them. “Sorry. Honesty has always been a curse of mine.”

“A curse?”

“I'm not good at sugarcoating things.” He lacked the words to express what he felt. But his body seemed to have no problem expressing what it wanted. The world around them shrank down to the frictive heat of skin against skin as he massaged his thumb across the back of her hand, teasing her the same way she'd teased the rim of her cup earlier. Her pupils dilated with subtle arousal, turning her bright eyes into hazy pools of deep, midnight blue. “What I'm trying to say is, you're the only woman tonight who…clicked.”

“Clicked?”

Her fingers splayed, inviting the stroke of his thumb along their delicate lengths and the soft places in between. Ethan obliged.