See Jane Score (22 page)

“Okay.” He reached beside her and locked the door.

She looked at the doorknob and then at him. “Luc!” He couldn't just drag her off anytime he felt like it. Could he? No! “I think I gave you the wrong impression last night. I don't usually . . . I mean, I've never slept with someone I've just interviewed.”

He placed a finger on her lips. “Your sex life is none of my business. I don't care who or how or what different positions you've been in.”

That he didn't care hurt more than it should have. “But I want—”

“Shh,” he interrupted her. “Someone might hear you, and you don't want to be seen with me. Remember?” He placed his hands on the door beside her head and leaned into her, forcing her backward. Her briefcase was all that kept their bodies apart. “I've been thinking about you since I woke up this morning.”

She was too afraid to ask what he'd been thinking about. “I have to go,” she said, fully aware that if she reached down and unlocked the door, he would let her leave. Yet she couldn't make herself do it. “I have a column to write.”

“What's a few minutes?”

The scent of his cologne mingled with the cleaning solution, and she couldn't think of one reason why she shouldn't stay for a few minutes. He wrapped one arm around her waist and lowered his face to hers. His voice was a harsh rasp against her mouth when he said, “Whatever you do, you keep that briefcase in front of your breasts.” Then he kissed her. His lips were warm, his mouth hot and, like everything about him, sexy and provocative. His kiss was aggressive one moment, then he backed off to leave her to chase his tongue. In an instant, awareness rushed across her skin and pooled deep in the pit of her stomach.
Just a few more minutes
.
He slid his mouth across her cheek to the side of her throat. He pushed aside the collar of her blouse and gently sucked her skin. “You're so soft,” he whispered as he worked his way to her ear. “Inside and out.”

On the other side of the door, male laughter and the Stromster's heavy accent brought Luc's gaze back to hers. His voice was as rough as his breathing when he said, “You still have a tight grip on that briefcase, sweetheart?”

She nodded and her grasp tightened.

“Good. Don't let go, and don't let me talk you out of handing it over,” he warned. “Or you're likely to end up on the floor with me on top of you.”

She knew she should be appalled by their behavior. Kissing Luc Martineau in a janitor's closet in the Key was extremely stupid, but a happy little bubble lifted her heart and made her want to laugh. Luc wanted her. It was there in the way he looked at her, the deep hungry timbre of his voice. He might not love her, but he wanted to be with her.

He took a few steps back. “This wasn't one of my better ideas.”

More noise from the tunnel, and he said, “I think we might be stuck in here for a while yet.” He grabbed an empty five-gallon bucket and turned it over for her to sit on. “Sorry.”

She knew she should be sorry too. She had a deadline. She was stuck in a closet with Luc, and if discovered, it could be bad for both of them. She wasn't that sorry, though.

She sat on the bucket and looked up at Luc towering over her. He stared back from beneath heavy lids, and she slid her gaze down his maroon tie, past his black belt, to the zipper of his pants. He was fully erect. She could recall with perfect clarity what he looked like naked. Hard body, harder penis, and hard-to-resist Lucky tattoo. Suddenly she wasn't certain that a repeat of last night was such a bad plan. Not, however, she thought as she placed the briefcase by her side, in a janitor's closet. “How's your sister?” she asked, changing the subject along with the train of her unruly thoughts. “I know she liked her hair yesterday, but it's always a shock the next day.”

“What?” Luc looked down into Jane's green eyes and couldn't believe the abrupt shift of her thoughts. Just a second ago, she'd been staring at his dick, and he hadn't mistaken her interest. Now she wanted to talk about his sister. “She was fine when I saw her at lunch.”

“We talked a bit about her mother the other day.”

Luc took a few steps back and leaned his shoulder into the door. “What did she say?”

“Not all that much, but she didn't have to. I know how she feels. My mother died when I was six.”

He hadn't realized Jane had been that young when she'd lost her mother, but he wasn't surprised that he hadn't known. All he really knew about her was that she worked for the
Seattle Times,
lived in Bellevue, and had a quick wit and nerves of steel. He liked her laugh and he liked talking to her. Her skin was as soft as it looked. All over. She tasted good to him. Everywhere. He knew she was good between the sheets, better than good. She'd worn him out, and all he'd been able to think about since he'd woken that morning was how to get her to do it again. Now that he thought about it, he guessed he knew more about Jane than he knew about a lot of women. “I'm sorry about your mother.”

A sad smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Thank you.”

Luc slid down the door until he sat on the floor at Jane's feet. His knees almost touched her. “Marie's having a hard time, and I don't know what to do about it,” he said, purposely turning his thoughts to his sister and her problems. “She won't talk to a counselor.”

“You've tried?”

“Of course, but she quit going after two sessions. She's moody and unpredictable. She needs a mother, but obviously I can't give her that. I thought she might be better off at boarding school with other girls her age, but she thinks I'm trying to get rid of her.”

“Are you?”

He unbuttoned his blazer, then hung his wrists over his knees. He never talked about his personal life, not with anyone outside of his family, and he wondered what it was about Jane that made him talk to her—a reporter. Maybe because, for some reason he didn't begin to understand, he trusted her. “I don't think I'm trying to get rid of her. Maybe I am, though. Either way, I'm a bastard.”

“I'm not judging you, Luc.”

He looked into her clear eyes and he believed her. “I want her to be happy, but she isn't.”

“No, she isn't, and she won't be for some time. I'm sure she's scared.” She tilted her head to one side and her curls fell away from her face. “Where's Marie's father?”

“Our father died about ten years ago. I was living in Edmonton with my mother at the time. Her mother and my father were living in LA.”

“So you know about losing a parent.”

“Not really.” His hand slid from his knee, and he brushed his fingers along the crease of her pants leg. “I saw my father once a year.”

“Yes, but you still must wonder how your life would have turned out if he'd lived.”

“No. My hockey coaches were more like fathers to me than my father. Marie's mother was his fourth wife.”

“Other siblings?”

“I'm it.” He glanced up. “I'm all she has and I'm afraid I'm not enough.”

The light overhead caught in her curls, and a sad smile pulled at the corners of her lips. Luc hated to see it there and gave serious thought to grabbing the lapels of her suit and pulling her mouth to his, kissing it all better. But kissing would lead to other things, and those other things weren't going to happen in a janitor's closet with his teammates on the other side of the door.

“At least I still had my dad,” she said. “He dressed me like a boy until I was about thirteen, and he doesn't have a sense of humor. But he loves me and he was always there.”

Dressed her like a boy? That explained a bit about the clothes and boots.

She chewed on her bottom lip. “Well, nothing will ever replace her mother. That's for sure. I still miss my mother every day, and I wonder how my life would have been different if she'd lived. But it does get better with time, in that you don't think about it every minute of every day. And you're wrong that you're not enough. If you want to be enough, you will be, Luc.”

The way she looked at him. As if it were that simple. As if she had more faith in him to make the right choices than he had in himself. As if he weren't the selfish bastard that he knew he was. He slid his hand beneath her pants leg and encountered a sock. He slid it to her calf and touched her soft skin. The night before, he'd kissed the backs of her knees as he'd worked his way to her thighs. Her legs had been wet from his Jacuzzi, and even now the memory stirred his groin.

“I'm gone a lot,” he said and brushed her shin with his thumb. “And if you ask Marie, she'll probably tell you that I'm not a very good brother.”

She pushed her short hair behind one ear and gazed at him a moment before she said, “When I see you and Marie together, you make me wish I had a brother.”

His thumb stilled. Through the space that separated them, he looked into her green eyes, all thoughts of kissing her came to an abrupt halt, and he felt as if she'd just puck-shot his chest. A hard smack to the sternum that left him stunned. From the tunnel came male voices, but inside the janitor's closet, silence hung between them. Suspended and drawn out until he forced a strained laugh past the knot in his chest. “Don't tell me you want a brother just like me.”

“No, not just like you.” The corners of her mouth tilted and his world tilted with it. “If I had a brother just like you, I would be arrested for indecent thoughts.”

He felt as if he were sliding toward her smile, and his grasp on her leg tightened as if she were the anchor instead of the cause. She didn't seem to notice and he forced himself to let go. He pushed with his feet and slid back up the door. “You better go. You have that column to write.”

A frown appeared between her brows and she blinked. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, I just remembered I have to talk to Marie before she goes to bed.”

“Do you think the tunnel is clear?” she asked as she picked up her briefcase and jacket and rose.

“I don't know.” He unlocked the door and opened it a crack. Hammer walked past talking to the equipment manager. Luc held up one finger until the two men walked out the exit doors, then he stuck out his head and discovered the tunnel was blessedly empty. He and Jane stepped from the closet, and she shoved her arms into her jacket. Normally he would have helped her.

“I have to talk to Nystrom,” he lied and began to walk backward. With each step, he seemed to breathe a little easier.

“I thought you had to talk to Marie.”

Had he said that? “Later. I have to talk to the coach first.”

“Oh.” She looked at him a moment longer. “Good-bye.” She held up her hand and turned to go. Luc stared at the back of Jane's retreating head and brushed the edges of his jacket aside. He stuck his hands in the pockets of his trousers and stopped to watch her disappear.

What in the hell just happened?
he asked himself as the exit door shut. He wondered if he was coming down with something or maybe inhaled too much ammonia in that closet. One minute he'd been thinking about kissing the backs of her knees, and in the next he couldn't breathe. She thought he was a good brother. So? He didn't think he was, but even if he was the best brother ever, why should Jane's opinion of him matter diddly squat? For some unfathomable reason it obviously did, but he didn't want to think about what that meant. He had too much going on in his life to fall for a short woman reporter with a cute butt and tight pink nipples.

Last night, Jane had blown—among other things—every assumption he'd had of her. She wasn't uptight, and she certainly wasn't a prude. The longer he'd been with her, the longer he'd wanted to be with her. Even when he'd been deep inside her tight body, feeling every ripple of pleasure, he'd wanted her again. When he'd awoken that morning, he'd been seriously bummed that she wasn't there.

But Jane was one complication he didn't need. When she'd told him that last night was a mistake and it couldn't happen again, he should have listened to her instead of pulling her into the closet just to prove her wrong.

“Lucky.” Jack Lynch slapped him on the back as he came to stand beside him. “Some of us are grabbing a bite and a beer. Come along.”

Luc looked across his shoulder at the defender. “Where?”

“Hooters.”

Maybe that was what he needed. To go someplace where women wore tiny shorts and tight little tank tops. Where they had big breasts and leaned into him when they served him dinner. Where they flirted and slipped him their phone number. Where the women didn't expect anything from him. Where if he chose to be with them, it didn't mean anything. When it was over, he didn't dwell on it, replay it over and over in his head, like he did with Jane.

He looked at his watch. He had a little time yet. “Save me a chair.”

“I will,” Jack said, then continued on his way.

Yeah, he should go to Hooters. Be a guy. Do guys things. He didn't have a girlfriend who'd get all bent out of shape if he went.