Wolfe Watching. Joan HohlЧитать онлайн книгу.
for her. Feet once more firmly on the ground, she removed the helmet and handed it to him.
Eric accepted the headgear with a shrug. “Anytime.” He paused, then quickly qualified, “That is, anytime I’m off from work, like today.”
Tina raised her brows. “Friday is your day off?”
“No.” He shook his head. “Ah, I’m on vacation leave.” He arched a toast-colored eyebrow. “You work nearby?”
“Yes. I own a flower shop on Chestnut Street.” Tina gave him a smile of pure envy. “I wish I could take a vacation but with the holidays coming up, I can’t afford the time.” She sighed. Then, reminded of work, she glanced at her watch. “I have to go. Thanks again.”
“Sure.” Eric sketched a wave, the bike growled, and then he roared away from the curb, leaving her standing there, inhaling exhaust fumes and staring after him.
Shaking her head, Tina took a tentative step, testing the steadiness of her legs. She was still feeling a little quivery and mildly shocked from the mad dash into town. And yet, at the same time, she felt wildly exhilarated, and more vibrantly alive than she had in ages.
All of which had absolutely nothing to do with the residue of warmth simmering in her thighs from being pressed tightly against Eric Wolfe’s narrow buttocks, Tina bracingly assured herself as she joined the forward thrust of the pedestrian traffic hurrying along the sidewalk.
* * *
He could still feel the pressure of her legs clamped to his butt.
Weaving in and out of the crowded city traffic, Eric shifted in the saddle and grinned behind the visor. Felt good, too, he decided, savoring the physical sensation.
Due to the increasing demands of his work, very real and considerable current health concerns and a lack of time for much of a social life, it had been a while, a good long while, since Eric had enjoyed the pleasure derived from a woman’s legs wrapped around him—for any reason.
So, in light of his self-imposed celibacy, Eric told himself, the reactions he was now experiencing were perfectly normal, if a bit intense. And they certainly were intense, with fiery strands of sensation coiling around the sides of his hips and converging in a most vulnerable section of his body.
Eric attempted to moisten his parched lips with a quick glide of his tongue; it didn’t help much. His tongue was every bit as dry as his lips.
Wild.
Eric utilized an enforced wait for a traffic light to ponder these not-at-all-normal physical responses. All this heat from the feel of Tina’s wool-covered legs clasped to his jeans-clad hips? he marveled, revving the motor impatiently. What in hell would it do to him, how would it feel, to be cradled by her silky thighs, naked flesh pressed to naked flesh?
It would feel good...maybe too damn good.
Keep your mind on the business at hand, Wolfe, Eric advised himself, shifting once more in the bike’s saddle to ease a gathering tightness in his body, and zooming through the intersection when the light blinked to green.
Business.
Hell.
Gripping the handlebars, Eric swooped around the slow-moving car of ancient vintage putt-putting in front of him. The business at hand concerned the illegal possession and sale of narcotics. A nasty business, and very likely conducted to the tune of millions of dollars.
And he was fairly certain that business was being conducted in that ordinary-looking middle-income house across the street and down a few properties from the garage apartment he had so recently moved into.
What Eric wasn’t at all certain of was the possible involvement—or lack thereof—of one Christina Marianna Kranas in that nasty business.
The question mark stabbed at Eric’s mind as persistently as the memory of her encasing legs stabbed at his body.
* * *
“Ouch!”
“You okay, Tina?” Susan Grant poked her head around the doorway into the workroom.
“Yeah.” Tina’s self-disgust was evident, even with the tip of her finger stuck in her mouth. “I pricked my finger on a corsage pin,” she explained to her frowning assistant.
“You’ve been kind of not quite with it all morning,” Susan said, stepping through the doorway separating the workroom from the showroom. “Something bothering you?”
Not something, someone.
Keeping the thought where it belonged, inside her rattled mind, Tina shook her head. “No, I guess I’m just a little distracted today.”
Susan’s frown dissolved into a teasing smile. “Thinking about tonight...and Ted Saunders?”
“Well...perhaps.” Tina forced a light-sounding laugh and turned back to the worktable. Her answer had verged on an outright lie. No “perhaps” about it...she hadn’t given a single thought to the coming evening or her date with Ted. In fact, until Susan mentioned it, Tina had completely forgotten she had made a date for that evening. Why had she made a date with Ted for this evening?
Tina frowned. Oh, yeah, her car was in the shop. For that matter, she didn’t really consider it a real date...even though Ted had been after her to go out with him for some weeks now. She had consistently put him off.
She would have put him off again when he called late yesterday afternoon, but Ted hadn’t actually asked her for a date. Ted had asked her if she planned to join their group of mutual friends at their usual Friday-evening get-together at the tavern. Tina had told him she was. Knowing her car was in the shop for repairs, Ted had then offered to stop by her place and give her a lift to the tavern. Fully aware that he had his own agenda, that of convincing her to regard him in the role of prospective suitor, Tina had nevertheless accepted his offer with gratitude.
End of date business; she still had no intention of expanding their friendship into a more intimate relationship. She wasn’t interested in any kind of male-female relationship other than friendship. She’d been that route; it had a lot of potholes and detours.
No, thoughts of the coming evening were not the cause of her state of mind, Tina acknowledged, jabbing the long, pearl-tipped pin through a stem on the elegant corsage—this time correctly. The root cause of her distraction stood six foot four, and possessed a lean, mean sexiness that wouldn’t quit.
Wolfe.
Tina sighed.
What else?
* * *
Eric was bored. Bored and itchy. There wasn’t a damn thing happening in the house across the street.
Deserting his position behind the lacy curtain at the solitary window in the minuscule living room of the bachelor flat, Eric prowled to the even tinier kitchen and pulled open the door of the compact apartment-size refrigerator.
“And when he got there, the fridge was bare,” he paraphrased in a disgusted mutter.
Heaving a sigh, Eric inventoried the contents of the small unit. A quarter of a loaf of bread, a week past the sell-by date on the wrapper; one slice of lunch meat, curl dried around the edges because he hadn’t rewrapped it properly; a small jar containing two olives, sans pimentos; a carton of milk; and a package of butterscotch Tastykakes.
Hardly the ingredients of a well-balanced dinner, he allowed, sighing once more as he shut the door. He really should have stopped at the supermarket on his way back from the city this morning...but then, Eric conceded, he really hadn’t been concerned with his stomach this morning. His concern had centered on a lower portion of his anatomy.
Tooling a powerful bike through a city the size of Philly required concentration...plus the ability to sit comfortably in the saddle. And, with Tina’s thighs pressed to his rump, Eric had lacked both requirements.
Would