Mad, Bad and Blonde (23 page)

“What’s wrong?” he demanded.

“She’s had a few too many Mounds martinis. I called the first number listed for her ICE contact but got her mom’s voice mail, so I called you. I’d just put her in a cab myself, but I don’t know her address, and she’s not real clear on that info at this point. I could get her address from her driver’s license, but I’d feel better if someone she knew well took care of her. Can you come get her? I don’t even know your name.”

He had no intention of telling her his name. “Where are you?”

She told him.

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” Caine said.

“A problem?” Buddy asked.

“Nothing I can’t handle. Sorry to cut this short.”

“No problem. Go do whatever you have to do.”

Caine had no trouble finding Faith in the trendy martini bar. She was dancing by herself to Dean Martin’s “Ain’t That a Kick in the Head.” He used the term
dancing
loosely, as it actually looked like she was just bouncing around not quite in time to the music.

He could tell by her loopy smile that she was totally out of it. “Caine!” She threw her arms around him, nearly knocking him over. “Tell Abs that I can be a real bad girl. Tell her I’m touch. Er tough.”

“She’s tough,” Caine said, keeping an arm around Faith as he grabbed her purse and led her toward the door.

“Bye, Abs.” Faith wiggled her fingers over her shoulder.

“Wait,” Abs called out. “Aren’t you Caine Hunter? I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to take her—”

“It’s fine,” Caine told Abs in his that’s-a-direct-order voice. “She’s safe with me.”

The place was crowded, but at his dangerous scowl, the upscale clientele parted to give Caine a path to the nearest exit.

“They have fancy sliders here,” Faith said.

“That’s nice.”

“No, it’s not. And I’m not nice either.”

“No, you’re drunk. Get in.” He held the Mustang’s passenger door open for her and guided her inside, lifting her legs and swinging them into the car. His fingers lingered beneath her silky thighs as the skirt she wore hitched up.

Reminding himself that he was not the kind of guy to take advantage of a drunken woman, he tugged her skirt back down to a respectable level and closed the door.

She opened it again. “Don’t you love that Dean Martin song?”

“Not really.” He shut the door.

She opened it again. “How come?”

“I’m more a Guns N’ Roses guy.” He closed the door, and this time he locked it remotely. He’d already activated the kid’s protection option that allowed the driver to control the locks and windows.

She was leaning halfway across his seat when he got in. “If you don’t like Dean Martin, why did you come here?”

“To get you.” He drove off before the valet parking attendant could demand a bigger bribe to allow him to temporarily park in front of the trendy place.

Faith seemed incapable of sitting upright or staying on her own side of the car. He couldn’t get to her condo fast enough. Yuri would be there . . . but he wasn’t.

“Where’s Yuri?” Caine demanded.

“He’s off tonight,” the beefcake young guy in the doorman uniform said. “And you can’t park there. The underground parking garage entrance is around the corner.”

Caine might have trusted Yuri to get Faith upstairs to her condo, but no way was he trusting this cocky dude.

The garage entrance required a security code. “What’s your password?” he asked Faith.

“Austen. Jane Austen,” she said in her best 007 voice.

Once he parked his Mustang, Caine had a hard time getting Faith out of the car. Finally he had to practically lift her out and scoop her into his arms. She rested her head on his shoulder, her silky hair brushing his chin. “Nice,” she murmured.

It was way beyond nice and entering downright dangerous territory. Caine kept his eyes fixed on the elevator ahead of them and not on her cleavage, which was generously displayed the way her wraparound dress had parted.

He hit the elevator button with his elbow. Thankfully, the doors opened immediately, and he stepped inside. A short ride took them to the lobby, where he had to transfer to another elevator.

He knew her address from the research he’d done on her back in Italy. She lived on the twelfth floor, unit 1209.

He slid her to her feet in front of her door. “Where are your keys?”

“In here.” She jiggled her purse . . . and giggled. He realized then that he hadn’t heard her giggle since before they’d slept together in Italy. He also realized he really missed her giggle. She may have laughed at him after she’d swiped that client by using her Sox fan status, but it didn’t have the charm of her giggle. What had he been talking about before? Oh right, her keys.

“Get them out,” he said.

“Okeydokey.” Her bumbled search proved unsuccessful.

Sighing, Caine took the purse from her, or attempted to, but she refused to relinquish possession.

“Just wait,” she told him. “Hold your hand out.”

He reluctantly did so while holding her upright with his other hand on her shoulder.

“Here.” She leaned against him and started piling things in his hand. Her lipstick, her wallet, pepper spray, her iPod, a paperback romance novel. “I found them!” She dangled them in front of his nose.

“Great.” He dumped her stuff back in her purse and took the keys to open her door.

“Why are the walls moving?” she said.

“Because you drank too many Mounds martinis. What the hell is a Mounds martini anyway?”

“Chocolate and coconut just like the Mounds candy bars. Yummy.”

Why was she looking at him when she said “Yummy”? Was she talking about the drink or him? “Where’s your bedroom?”

She tsked and shook her finger at him. “In your dreams, Mr. Marine.”

Actually her bedroom
had
been in his dreams . . . or her bed, to be more exact. With her in it . . . naked on black satin sheets.

Caine had no trouble finding her bedroom, which was straight down the hall from the living room. He had significantly more trouble getting Faith to go to bed. That’s when he made his first mistake.

Chapter Fourteen

The
last time Faith had had too much to drink, she’d had too many mojitos with Megan and ended up on a plane to Italy . . . where she’d slept with Caine.

Now here she was again. Sleeping with Caine.

She sat up in bed, groaning and clutching her head. They hadn’t had sex, had they? No. She was sure they hadn’t. Pretty sure. Sort of sure.

Okay, don’t panic. Breathe.

She wasn’t nude. That was a good thing, right? She was wearing underwear and a baggy White Sox nightshirt that she didn’t remember putting on herself.

She closed her eyes and tried to imagine herself in some happy place like the Comfort Café eating blueberry pancakes. Yummy.

Except she was still a little queasy. Yucky.

Wait . . . had Caine helped her when she’d thrown up last night? Had he held her hair back from her face when she’d barfed? Had he gently wiped her face with a cool washcloth?

Yes. She was sort of sure he had. Pretty sure. Damn sure.

The memories came rushing back. He’d been nice to her. Kind. Caring.

Why? What was his master plan? And how had he ended up here at her condo anyway?

She didn’t realize she’d spoken that last question aloud until he answered.

“Your friend Abs called me.” His voice was husky with sleep, making it sexier than ever.

“Why?”

He sat up next to her. The sheet slid down to his waist, revealing his bare chest. “Because she thought you needed help.”

“But why call
you
?”

“I may have been listed as one of your ICE contacts.”

“No way. I’d never list you.”

“I entered my name on your list when we were in Italy. In case something happened.”

She was offended. “You touched my BlackBerry?”

“Yes.”

“But we didn’t have sex last night, right?”

“What? No.”

“Good. That’s good.” She took a deep breath. “Tell me I took my own clothes off and put this nightshirt on.”

“You took off your own clothes and put your nightshirt on.”

“By myself?”

“By yourself.”

“Are you lying?”

“Yes.”

“Do I want to know what happened?”

“Probably not.”

She groaned.

He rubbed her back. “Want some aspirin?”

“I want a hot shower.” She climbed out of bed.

So did he. He was wearing jeans that hung low on his hips. “Need some help?”

She shook her head then wished she hadn’t. “I had no idea chocolate martinis packed such a punch.”

“How many did you have?”

“I’m not sure. I wasn’t paying attention. Three, maybe four, I guess. Too many.”

Faith felt much better after she had a shower and washed her hair. Her purple silk robe slid against her bare skin with soft insistence. Her senses felt as if they were on high alert, and it was all due to the half-naked man on the other side of the bathroom door.

She supposed she should count her blessings that he hadn’t gone to bed commando. She still vividly remembered his towel falling from his hips at the hotel in Positano, leaving him standing nude before her.

She still didn’t know why he was sleeping in her bed. That would be her next question. First she needed to brush her teeth for about five minutes. There. Now she was ready to face him. Not that her robe provided much protection.

To her relief, Caine was no longer in her bedroom. She smelled coffee being brewed. Closing and locking her bedroom door, she quickly got dressed. Today was a workday, and she was running late.

A pair of black knit pants and a bright turquoise top restored her sense of control, strengthened by the skillful application of makeup. Her hair obediently fell into place, although one section did stubbornly refuse to behave. Exasperated, she tossed down the brush and headed for the kitchen. She needed caffeine.

Caine handed her a mug with cream and lots of sugar just the way she liked it. His remembering how she liked her coffee shouldn’t have been a big deal, but it was. It would be rude to ask him why he’d stayed the night right now. In the end, she didn’t have to, because he told her.

“You didn’t want me to leave last night, in case you were wondering. You’d only stay in bed if I would stay there with you. Then you got sick, and I couldn’t leave you alone that way,” he said.

“You were nice to me.”

“You don’t have to sound so surprised.” He propped one hip against her granite counter while he sipped his own mug of coffee. He’d given her the What Would Jane Austen Do mug and kept the Hello Kitty mug for himself. “I can be nice when the situation warrants it.”

“Yes, but you were nice to
me
.”

“I’ve been nice to you before. I helped you with your wings. And helped you take flight at the Geek Meet.”

“Don’t remind me,” she mumbled into her coffee. “I can’t believe you did that. I can’t believe I let you.”

He just smiled at her. That’s all he did, yet it was as if he touched her intimately all over again.

She tore her gaze away from the magnetic visual hold he had on her. “I’ve got to go, or I’ll be late for work.”

“Same here,” he said before rinsing his mug in the sink and setting it in the dishwasher. Alan never did that. He always left his dirty dishes on the counter for her to clean up.

Faith had reached the point where she believed Alan had done her a favor by leaving her at the altar. Well, maybe not a favor per se. But she was definitely better off without him. She knew that now.

She didn’t know how to describe her feelings for Caine. She watched the muscles across his back ripple as he tugged on his T-shirt. She’d barely recovered from that when he placed his hand on the small of her back to guide her into the elevator a few minutes later. The bottom line here was that Caine’s effect on Faith was ten times stronger than any Mounds martini could ever be, and she had no idea how to deal with that fact.

Faith was still trying to recover her equilibrium when she sat down in her cubicle. She had yet to decorate it. The space certainly had none of the tchotchkes of her previous one. There were no posters here. No Jane Austen mugs. No tiaras or magic wands or wings.

Instead, she had a
Wild Words from Wild Women
daily calendar, and that was about it as far as personal touches went. Faith dutifully turned the page to today’s quote by Dr. Laura Schlessinger, syndicated radio shrink. “If you stick your head in the sand, your butt is in the air.”

Faith was pondering the ways that applied to her life when Abs joined her in the cubicle. Being Abs, she got right to the point. “If you promise not to tell your father that I got you drunk, then I won’t tell him about Caine.”

“You didn’t get me drunk. I got myself drunk. Those martinis tasted so good, but I had no idea they were so potent.”

“Well, sure, if you drink four or five of them on an empty stomach.”

“I didn’t have five.”

“That’s irrelevant. The big question here is why was Caine listed as one of your ICE contacts?”