Savor the Danger
Page 80
“I’m going,” she muttered, seeming confused by him, and then the rest of what he’d said sank in. “But wait! If you want Dare’s vet to look at the cat…does that mean you’re going to keep him?”
“Sure, why not? It needs a good home. I have a home.” He opened her door. “And maybe you can help me out with him when I have to be away?”
Surprise stole her voice.
“You don’t like that idea?”
“Actually…I’d love to.” But she sounded subdued about it.
What was she thinking? Deciphering Alani’s moods could keep him busy for a lifetime. That idea appealed to him in a big way, but would he get the chance? Knowing his time was up, Jackson walked around, folded himself behind the wheel and started the car.
Left mired in his own deceptions, he squeezed the steering wheel. “And now we talk.”
Proving she hadn’t forgotten, Alani said, “About the girl on the bridge?”
“Yeah.” Cold dread raced through his veins every time he thought of her being hurt again. She hadn’t called, so he had to trust that she was okay. Still, he wanted to check on her and soon.
But he also needed to know that Alani was away from harm.
Whenever Alani thought he needed comfort, she touched him, his arm, his shoulder.
She did so again, reaching over and curling her fingers around his biceps. “You said this all happened in Arizona?”
“No.” With his thoughts jumping ahead to what had to be done, how Alani might react when she heard the whole truth, Jackson drove out of the lot. “Arizona is her name. And she could be in more trouble than we are.”
LOUNGED BACK IN HER SEAT, her legs out in front of her, she halfheartedly watched the fight unfolding in the middle of the barroom floor between two barmaids. The scrap amused her, mostly because the women didn’t have a clue how to actually brawl. They just screeched and pulled hair.
Absurd.
In the casual sprawl, she could study each patron in the sleazy establishment without anyone noticing. So far, she hadn’t found the one she wanted—but she would. Sooner or later, she would.
Attuned to everyone and everything around her, she felt it the second a man approached.
She pretended she didn’t.
She pretended not to care. About anything.
If only that were true.
He sat down at the table beside her. “So what’s happening here?”
Without looking at him, keeping her attention on the catfight, Arizona leaned to the side and said, “Blondie started pissing on Red’s good mood. Red didn’t like it and shoved her onto her ass. Blondie didn’t like that, so she slapped her and called her a bitch.” Arizona shrugged. “Now they’re girl fighting—which somehow equates with losing clothes, boobs showing and lots of hair pulling.”
The guy was quiet a second. “You’ve got a mouth on you, little girl.”
“Yeah.” She’d been told that before, many times, by many men. “Brain, too. Basically all the same shit you have—without the gonads or pipe.”
He snorted. “Nasty, too.”
Slowly she turned to face him—and got flattened by incredible good looks. He was big. Really big. Like six feet, five inches big. Broad shoulders, bulging biceps, no fat and a to-die-for face.
His silky brown hair was almost as dark as his heavily lashed bedroom eyes. Without thought, she breathed, “Yeah, when I need to be.”
Doing his own fair share of staring, the guy said, “What’s that?”
“Nasty.”
“Oh, right.” The intensity of his sinner’s eyes scrutinized her. “So you can be, huh?”
Arizona shrugged. Her definition of nasty probably differed from his.
She’d never seen a guy so gorgeous, which only meant he’d gotten used to getting his way with women. When he didn’t, what would he do? Resort to force? To brutality?
Would he, like so many, try to use his size and strength against her?
She sorta hoped so. Then she’d annihilate him.
And then she’d forget about him.
But for now, she continued to stare, going over his high cheekbones and once-broken nose, down to solid shoulders shown off by the dark fitted T-shirt, flat abs and longer-than-long jeans-covered legs.
He wore the T-shirt outside his jeans. To cover a weapon?
His right eyebrow lifted high. “Like what you see?”
Conceited dick. She curled her lip. “You don’t look like you belong here.”
“No? What look would that be?”
“Dirty. Poor.” She leaned out of the way of an elbow when a drunk staggered by. “Coarse.”
“Then you wouldn’t fit here, either, right?”
A squeal sounded, and they both looked back to the brawling women. Arizona leaned back in the seat and crossed her arms. “My money’s on Blondie.”
“An actual bet or a figure of speech?”
She considered it, then thought, what the hell. “Fifty bucks?”
Slowly, he shook his head. “I don’t think so.” His gaze went to her mouth. “How about a drink instead?”
“I don’t drink.”
He eyed her near-empty glass of cola. “I’ll replace that. But what I meant was company with the drink anyway.”
“Forget it. Not interested.”
“Liar.”
Never did she let anyone goad her, but damn it, she swiveled to face him. Annoyance didn’t lessen his impact on her senses.
“Sure, why not? It needs a good home. I have a home.” He opened her door. “And maybe you can help me out with him when I have to be away?”
Surprise stole her voice.
“You don’t like that idea?”
“Actually…I’d love to.” But she sounded subdued about it.
What was she thinking? Deciphering Alani’s moods could keep him busy for a lifetime. That idea appealed to him in a big way, but would he get the chance? Knowing his time was up, Jackson walked around, folded himself behind the wheel and started the car.
Left mired in his own deceptions, he squeezed the steering wheel. “And now we talk.”
Proving she hadn’t forgotten, Alani said, “About the girl on the bridge?”
“Yeah.” Cold dread raced through his veins every time he thought of her being hurt again. She hadn’t called, so he had to trust that she was okay. Still, he wanted to check on her and soon.
But he also needed to know that Alani was away from harm.
Whenever Alani thought he needed comfort, she touched him, his arm, his shoulder.
She did so again, reaching over and curling her fingers around his biceps. “You said this all happened in Arizona?”
“No.” With his thoughts jumping ahead to what had to be done, how Alani might react when she heard the whole truth, Jackson drove out of the lot. “Arizona is her name. And she could be in more trouble than we are.”
LOUNGED BACK IN HER SEAT, her legs out in front of her, she halfheartedly watched the fight unfolding in the middle of the barroom floor between two barmaids. The scrap amused her, mostly because the women didn’t have a clue how to actually brawl. They just screeched and pulled hair.
Absurd.
In the casual sprawl, she could study each patron in the sleazy establishment without anyone noticing. So far, she hadn’t found the one she wanted—but she would. Sooner or later, she would.
Attuned to everyone and everything around her, she felt it the second a man approached.
She pretended she didn’t.
She pretended not to care. About anything.
If only that were true.
He sat down at the table beside her. “So what’s happening here?”
Without looking at him, keeping her attention on the catfight, Arizona leaned to the side and said, “Blondie started pissing on Red’s good mood. Red didn’t like it and shoved her onto her ass. Blondie didn’t like that, so she slapped her and called her a bitch.” Arizona shrugged. “Now they’re girl fighting—which somehow equates with losing clothes, boobs showing and lots of hair pulling.”
The guy was quiet a second. “You’ve got a mouth on you, little girl.”
“Yeah.” She’d been told that before, many times, by many men. “Brain, too. Basically all the same shit you have—without the gonads or pipe.”
He snorted. “Nasty, too.”
Slowly she turned to face him—and got flattened by incredible good looks. He was big. Really big. Like six feet, five inches big. Broad shoulders, bulging biceps, no fat and a to-die-for face.
His silky brown hair was almost as dark as his heavily lashed bedroom eyes. Without thought, she breathed, “Yeah, when I need to be.”
Doing his own fair share of staring, the guy said, “What’s that?”
“Nasty.”
“Oh, right.” The intensity of his sinner’s eyes scrutinized her. “So you can be, huh?”
Arizona shrugged. Her definition of nasty probably differed from his.
She’d never seen a guy so gorgeous, which only meant he’d gotten used to getting his way with women. When he didn’t, what would he do? Resort to force? To brutality?
Would he, like so many, try to use his size and strength against her?
She sorta hoped so. Then she’d annihilate him.
And then she’d forget about him.
But for now, she continued to stare, going over his high cheekbones and once-broken nose, down to solid shoulders shown off by the dark fitted T-shirt, flat abs and longer-than-long jeans-covered legs.
He wore the T-shirt outside his jeans. To cover a weapon?
His right eyebrow lifted high. “Like what you see?”
Conceited dick. She curled her lip. “You don’t look like you belong here.”
“No? What look would that be?”
“Dirty. Poor.” She leaned out of the way of an elbow when a drunk staggered by. “Coarse.”
“Then you wouldn’t fit here, either, right?”
A squeal sounded, and they both looked back to the brawling women. Arizona leaned back in the seat and crossed her arms. “My money’s on Blondie.”
“An actual bet or a figure of speech?”
She considered it, then thought, what the hell. “Fifty bucks?”
Slowly, he shook his head. “I don’t think so.” His gaze went to her mouth. “How about a drink instead?”
“I don’t drink.”
He eyed her near-empty glass of cola. “I’ll replace that. But what I meant was company with the drink anyway.”
“Forget it. Not interested.”
“Liar.”
Never did she let anyone goad her, but damn it, she swiveled to face him. Annoyance didn’t lessen his impact on her senses.
