Bad Behaviour. Kristin HardyЧитать онлайн книгу.
was tall, tall enough that she found herself tipping her head back to look at him, and close enough that all it would take was leaning forward a fraction to have her mouth on his. His brows were dark and straight, the same color as the hair that flowed thick and unruly to his collar. His jaw was darkened by a rather overgrown Vandyke. His eyes were so black that in the dim bar she couldn’t see the pupils.
As she watched, some spark of humor flickered in them. “Your drinks are here,” he said helpfully.
Oh, and it was a bedroom voice, low and a little rough, perfect for late-night promises and demands. Anticipation sped through her. She paid Rodolfo and turned back. “Were you trying to get to me or the bartender?” she asked lightly.
He looked her up and down, his gaze warming her. “You. Definitely. How am I doing?”
Her mouth curved. “You’ve got my attention.” And that of her hormones.
“That’s a start. Small world, huh?”
Gorgeous, maybe, but not so great in the brains department. And Delaney required brains. “Gee, you’re right. You’re American, I’m American, both of us in Mexico.” She widened her eyes. “What are the chances?”
He studied her a second and laughed out loud, a sound that sent something vibrating deep inside her. “Pretty small. I’d call it fate.”
“You think?”
“Absolutely. What brings you down here, vacation?”
“No, I work down here.”
That seemed to surprise him. “What do you do?”
“Oh,” she cast about, “I’m a, uh, professional agouti wrestler.”
“Agouti?”
“You know, those little brown jungle animals that look like rats on stilts? No tails, just these underprivileged-looking behinds?”
“An agouti wrestler.”
Delaney’s lips twitched. “They’re a lot tougher than you’d think.”
“That must mean you are, too.” Before she realized his intent, he reached out to run his fingertips over the curve of her bare shoulder. “I guess I’d better watch out.”
It shouldn’t have sent heat bolting through her. Some banter, a smile, a quick touch was all it was. It shouldn’t have set her heart to thudding. So why was she standing there without a thought in her head, she who always had a comeback for everything? She moistened her lips.
And if possible, his eyes got even darker. “You know, you have a great mouth. I bet you played flute or something in school.”
“Flute?” she repeated blankly.
“Yeah. You’ve definitely got the lips for it.”
It was a guess, she told herself, a lucky one. “Now there’s a line I haven’t heard before.”
“Not a line.”
“No? So what are you, an orchestra director on the lam?”
He shook his head. “Nope. I don’t see you in an orchestra anyway. Band, I think. And every time you put that flute up to your mouth, I bet you broke some poor kid’s heart.”
“You’re betting a lot tonight.”
His smile widened. “I’m feeling lucky.” He watched her closely, his eyes unsettlingly intent. Amusement glimmered in his irises, something that suggested an inside joke—on her.
And suspicion dawned. “My friends put you up to this, didn’t they?” Delaney demanded, rising on tiptoe to stare at the rest of the gang. They were watching avidly, though, not a grin among them.
“Nope, no help,” he confirmed when she glanced back. “Why, am I right?”
She raised her chin. “Who’s asking?”
“You really don’t know?” He grinned. “Come on, don’t tell me your memory’s already going at thirty.”
“If you wanted to flatter me you’d have said twenty-five.”
“If I hadn’t known better, I would have guessed twenty-four.”
And like a seismic vibration, the beginnings of recognition quivered through her. “I don’t believe it,” she said slowly. A younger face, rounder, peach smooth with adolescence. Not him, but someone shorter, blonder. Someone who was… “Oh, my God!”
“What?”
“It can’t be.” She stared. “I know you. It’s Jake, right? Jake from South Junior High School. Jake—”
“Gordon,” he finished. “Hello, Delaney.”
HE’D RECOGNIZED HER THE minute he’d seen her, with the same hard punch of reaction he’d felt for her all those years ago. Back then, it had been a half-formed yearning that he hadn’t quite understood. Now, he recognized it, oh, yeah, he recognized it—plain, old-fashioned lust, as sharp and immediate as he’d ever known. Of course, generally when he felt this kind of need, it wasn’t coupled with the shock of seeing a face, a person resurrected from his past.
And from his dreams.
Approaching her hadn’t been a matter of debate. He couldn’t have stayed away if he’d tried. The fact that she hadn’t recognized him had only added a bit of spice to the game.
“But you’re…” She waved her hands feebly at him. “Different.”
He threw his head back and laughed. “That’s reassuring, considering it’s been, what, fifteen years?”
“Sixteen,” she corrected faintly.
Her scent was different now. When they were kids it had been light, playful. Now, it conjured up images of smoky jazz clubs and throaty laughter, of velvet-clad chanteuses singing over the husky tones of a saxophone.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Came down to take a break, do some diving.”
“Fifteen years go by—”
“Sixteen,” he corrected.
“Sixteen. And you live where?”
“Long Beach, more or less.”
“Once a surfer, always a surfer. I live in West L.A.”
“I thought you were an agouti wrestler.”
“I moonlight,” she said in exasperation. “Sixteen years. I never once see you after you go off to private school, not in Anaheim, not in L.A. I go to an obscure bar in an obscure town in Mexico and presto, you’re here?”
He looked hugely amused. “Like I said, small world.”
“I guess.” She folded her arms, looked him up and down. “You turned out well.”
“So did you.” It was Delaney and yet not Delaney, her face more angular, her hair shorter than he’d ever seen it, and silky looking enough to have his fingers itching to touch. He’d approached her because of the girl he’d once known, but she was a woman now, and that changed everything. “I think we should find somewhere quiet and do some catching up.”
She laughed as though she knew exactly what he was thinking. “Oh, you do, do you? I’ll tell you what I think, I think we should—”
“Are you holding our drinks hostage?” a voice demanded from behind them. Dom glanced back to see one of the women Delaney had come in with. Here to track down the cocktails, maybe, or to check him out. You never knew with the sisterhood. Always looking out for one another—and always curious.
“Aren’t your feet hurting?” Delaney muttered to her.
“They’ve recovered.