Seven-Year Seduction (9 page)

“No, that's all right,” he said. “I think I'll stick around a while. Have a drink, catch up with old friends. I'll let you know when I'm ready to leave, and you can either come with me or make other arrangements.”

She nodded, watching him cross the room toward the bar and feeling oddly bereft at the loss of his hand at her waist. Shaking off the bizarre emotion, she pasted a smile on her face and slipped onto the padded bench seat next to her friend.

She'd been looking forward to this evening all week, and would be darned if she'd let her mixed-up, indecisive feelings about Connor ruin it for her.

 

After laughing and joking and catching up on any number of things that had happened since the last time they saw each other, Jackie and Gail both said they had to get home.

Beth was immediately disappointed. She didn't want to leave; she was having too good a time. Even given the nachos and beer instead of the cosmopolitans and finger sandwiches she was used to, hanging out at the Longneck was just plain
fun.

She hugged her friends and walked them to the door to say goodbye. It was raining out, she noticed as Jackie and Gail darted across the parking lot, holding their jackets over their heads to keep from getting drenched. Then she turned back around and scanned the still-crowded room for Connor.

He said he'd let her know before he took off, and
since she hadn't seen him since then, she assumed he was still here. Maybe at the bar, or on the dance floor, or in one of the back rooms playing pool.

If the Longneck even still had pool tables. Good Lord, she hadn't been home or to her old haunts in so long, she couldn't be sure what changes had been made. For all she knew, the pool tables that had been so popular when she was in college had been replaced by video or pinball games.

Returning to the table she'd shared with the girls, she grabbed up her half-full bottle of light beer, making her way toward the back rooms. She scanned the crowd as she walked, looking for Connor's short, dirty-blond hair and blue chambray shirt as she passed.

He wasn't at the bar or any of the tables, and she didn't see him on the dance floor. Good thing. She wasn't sure she could handle the sight of him with his arms around another woman.

What a silly notion, she thought, pausing long enough to scan the sea of people and take another sip of beer. She had no claim on him. Didn't want to lay claim to him. If anything, it would be best for them to each go their separate ways.

But even though she'd been telling herself for years that she was over him, she still didn't like the idea of seeing some other woman curled around him like a weed.

It had been that way back in high school, too. Connor hadn't seemed to notice she was alive, but it ate her up inside any time he'd come around with a new girlfriend. Some tall, skinny, blond cheerleader who gig
gled like an idiot and never sat down unless she could be draped across his lap.

Beth stopped at the wide-open entryway to the dance area, which also led off to back rooms on either side. A slow country ballad was playing, and couples swayed together to the languid beat.

When she didn't spot Connor among the dancers, she headed left, toward the pool room. And it was still a pool room, she noticed with nostalgic pleasure. Six or eight men stood around watching four others play through at two different tables. Biker leather and silver studs mixed with cowboy boots and hats.

Connor was leaning over the edge of one of the tables, lining up his shot. He struck out and the ball he'd been aiming for sailed straight into a corner pocket. Half the audience in the room groaned while the other half high-fived.

Connor grinned, retrieving his beer from the side of the table and taking a celebratory swig. He turned to lean against the wall while his opponent took his shot, and spotted her.

“Hey,” he said, pushing away and crossing the space of the room to her side. “You and your friends ready to head home?”

She nodded. “Gail and Jackie already left.”

He glanced over his shoulder. It was his turn at the table again, but he looked back at her first. “Do you want to leave? I can get someone else to cover the rest of the game for me.”

For a moment, she considered his offer. “How much do you have riding on it?”

A slight flush reddened his cheekbones, and then his mouth lifted up in a grin. “Fifty bucks.”

“Go ahead and finish,” she told him with a smile of her own, tipping the brown bottle she was holding in his direction. “Win some money and maybe you can buy me another drink.”

“How many have you had so far?” he wanted to know.

“Only two or three.”

“You coming or not?” the bearded man he had the bet going with called out.

“Yeah,” Connor retorted. “Just a minute.” Turning his attention back to Beth, he said, “All right. As soon as I finish this game, I'll buy you another drink…on one condition.”

“What's that?”

“You dance with me first.”

She glanced over her shoulder at the dance floor, taking in all the couples moving in tandem to a style of music that was quickly growing on her. It was probably a mistake to agree, considering her recent train of thought, but she couldn't seem to help herself. She'd never gotten to dance with him all those years ago, and even though it was too late for everything, in every sense of the word, she still wanted what those girls in high school had experienced.

Just one dance. What could it hurt?

Meeting his soft brown gaze, she inclined her head. “Deal.”

He flashed her a wide, pearly-white smile. “Back in a minute. This shouldn't take long.”

True to his word, the game ended in another ten minutes, with Connor winning and collecting fifty dollars from his defeated but good-natured opponent. He passed his stick off to the next guy in line for a round at the tables and made his way over to Beth.

“Congratulations,” she said, watching him add the bills to his wallet.

“Told you it wouldn't take long. Ready for that dance?”

Her chest tightened at his intense expression and a skittering of anxiousness skated along her nerve endings. The current song on the jukebox was coming to an end, putting her even more on the spot. Not that she was actually considering backing out.

Bending her knees, she crouched down just far enough to set her empty beer bottle on the floor beside the open archway to the pool room. Hopefully a waitress would be by to gather them, but if not, they should be out of the way enough not to trip anyone up before closing.

Connor did the same before taking her hand and starting toward the jukebox. There was one song left before new selections would begin to play.

“The next song is a fast one, but I had something slow in mind for our dance,” he said, feeding quarters into the machine and punching the button for his choice. “What do you say? Would you be willing to dance with me twice in a row?”

What the heck. Maybe dancing to a fast song, away from him and without touching, would prepare her for the moment when his arms would go around her and their bodies would press together.

“Sure,” she answered with more conviction than she felt.

The upward tilt of his lips in response made her stomach flutter, and she drew a deep breath to keep her lungs functioning properly. He wrapped his fingers around her elbow and led her to the center of the dance floor.

He slid his hand from her elbow, down the length of her arm, and over her wrist, raising shivers and gooseflesh everywhere he touched. Linking his fingers with hers, he gave a small tug, causing her to stumble into the solid wall of his chest.

So much for keeping her distance through the first song. Instead of standing by themselves, dancing independently as she'd expected, he kept her hand grasped in his own and curled the other over the curve of her hip as they bounced and jiggled.

If this was how he danced with a woman to a quick, upbeat tune, she could only imagine where his hands would be during a more subdued ballad. And since she'd promised him a slow song, she supposed she'd soon find out.

“So did you have a good time with your friends?” he spoke against her ear.

It wasn't easy to carry on a conversation this close to the source of the loud music, but she nodded. “It was good to catch up with them.”

A minute later, the song came to an end and there was a brief pause while the next set up. Connor didn't loosen his hold, and when the slow song began, he pulled her even closer.

“Ah, here we go. This is what I've been waiting for.”

He slid the hand at her hip around to her back until his arm completely encircled her waist. The position brought them together like playing cards, her breasts pressed flat, their lower bodies brushing in a sensual, intimate way.

She tried at first to pull away, to put just a modicum of distance between them, but he wouldn't let her go. And then, as the music filled the room and began to seep into her soul, she gave up. Surrendered.

It was only a dance. One she'd agreed to and been looking forward to, at that.

It was also Connor…her brother's best friend, one of
her
best friends through most of her childhood, and one of the people she used to trust most in the world. If she wasn't safe in his arms, she wasn't safe in anyone's.

H
e knew the exact moment the tension drained from Beth's body and she began to relax. Her spine—which she'd been holding almost ramrod straight—bent slightly beneath his palm. The muscles in her arms became less rigid, and she settled against him instead of trying so hard to hold herself away.

He wanted to whoop with triumph, sigh with relief. But to avoid spooking her back into skittish-colt mode, he merely continued to dance, enjoying her closeness.

She smelled of that same spicy floral scent he was coming to associate with her, even after hours of hanging out in a smoky bar. Her hair fell around her face and over her shoulders in wavy mahogany curls, per
fectly framing her robin's-egg eyes and flawless, heart-shaped face.

They swayed together to the music, letting the slow beat and soulful voice of the singer direct their movements. The thumb of his left hand stroked slowly up and down, caressing her back.

He wished she weren't wearing the jacket that went with her suit so he could feel her skin more easily through the tissue-paper thinness of her blouse. Better yet, she should be nude…they should both be nude so he could feel her petal-soft skin beneath his hands, her pert breasts pressing into his bare chest.

She lifted her head and their gazes met. If he hadn't already been painfully aroused from his fantasies about having her naked in his arms while they danced, then the look in her eyes would have done it. They were warm and tender and vulnerable.

Maybe it was the beer she'd been drinking with her friends, or maybe she was starting to remember what it was like to live in a small town, to be around people you knew and who cared about you. She might even be remembering what things had been like between the two of them before it went so wrong.

The chords of the song strummed to an end and everyone stopped dancing, returning to their tables or waiting for the next song to begin. Beth and Connor had already slowed and now stood still, staring at each other.

Clearing his throat, he said, “Song's over. Wanna dance again?”

She shook her head.

“Want a drink?”

She shook her head again.

“Want to go home?”

She nodded and the gesture sent a jolt of excitement rocking through his system.

He didn't want to assume anything…didn't want to take for granted that just because she was asking him to take her home, she also meant to go to bed with him. Though it
was
numbers one through ten on his wish list at the moment, for all he knew, she wanted to go back to the house to sleep off whatever alcohol she'd consumed this evening.

But he also wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. She might not be suggesting they make love, but it had been a hell of a night already, in his estimation, and he would rather leave now than stick around and risk something happening to tarnish the memory of it.

“Okay,” he murmured, still standing in the middle of the dance floor, still gazing down at her face, still holding her tight. “Let's get out of here.”

Keeping a grip on her hand, he turned and headed through the crowd, toward the main entrance at the other end of the bar. Beth stayed close on his heels, bumping into him when he stepped back to open the door. A gust of cold air blew in, along with a good amount of the rain that was pouring down in buckets outside.

“Whoa.”

“Oh, I forgot. It's raining,” she said, as though he couldn't see that for himself. He was getting damp just standing inside the open door.

“No kidding.” He glanced at her over his shoulder. “Did you bring a coat?”

“No. I didn't think I'd need one.”

Neither had he. It had been cool when they'd left the house, but he hadn't expected to be out this late. He also hadn't expected this much of a deluge.

“Stay here,” he told her. “I'll get the truck and bring it around.” At least that way she would stay mostly dry.

But she shook her head, sending the long locks of her hair bouncing. “I'm not a sugar cube, I won't melt.”

It was a saying he'd heard her father utter a million times…but to his recollection, Beth had always balked at getting too wet and wouldn't go out without a hat or umbrella.

“You sure?” he asked her.

“Yep. Let's get out of here before we flood the place.”

He smiled, squeezed her hand and took off at a run across the parking lot. They both held their free hands over their heads to ward off as much of the downpour as possible, but it was a wasted effort. The rain soaked through their clothes and wet their skin long before they reached the truck.

Unlocking the passenger-side door, he helped her into the cab, then ran around the front of the vehicle and jumped behind the wheel.

“Whoo!” He shook himself like a dog after a bath, sending droplets of water spraying everywhere. “Guess this is the storm those meteorologists have been talking about all week.”

She chuckled, wiping her face and wringing mois
ture out of her own hair. When he noticed her rubbing her arms to ward off a chill, he started the engine and turned the heat on high.

They drove home in near silence, wipers working furiously to keep the windshield clear. When they reached the house, he pulled into the driveway and parked as close to the front door as possible.

The neighborhood was dark, but he didn't know if that was due to the late hour, or a possible storm-induced power outage. He also couldn't remember if he'd turned on the porch light before leaving. It was off now, though.

“Ready for this?” he asked after shutting off the engine and separating the house key from the rest.

“I can't get any wetter than I already am,” she replied.

And then they were out of the truck and jogging for the porch. He got the front door open, stepping aside for her to precede him.

The warmth of the house enveloped them, a welcome change from the cold of the driving rain. They stood in the entryway for a moment, laughing and dripping.

Connor reached over to flip the switch for the kitchen lights, but nothing happened. He flipped it again for good measure, then tried the others on the same panel.

“Looks like the electricity is out.”

“I'm not surprised. That wind is enough to knock over entire power stations.”

Shrugging out of her soggy jacket, she tiptoed
across the linoleum kitchen floor, dropping it into the sink. Lifting one leg and then the other, she peeled off her black high heels and left them dangling by the straps from her fingertips.

“I'll run upstairs to change and get some towels,” she said. “Do you want me to bring anything down for you?”

“No, thanks,” he said. “I'll run up and change myself soon, but first I think I'd better get a fire started in the fireplace. With the power out, the furnace won't be running, and even though it's warm enough in here now, if this storm rages all night, it's bound to get chilly.”

“Sounds great.”

“Do you need a flashlight?” he asked. His eyes had acclimated enough to the inky blackness that he could see the quick smile she tossed his way.

“Are you kidding? Nick and I used to sneak around the house in the dark all the time to keep from waking Mom and Dad. I could maneuver around this place blindfolded.”

With that, she rounded the corner and disappeared. He could hear her footsteps as she moved through the house, and for a minute he just stood there, listening.

Bending down, he untied his boots and left them sitting by the door to dry. Next, he peeled off his shirt and let it drop on top of her jacket in the sink, followed by his heavy, rain-soaked jeans.

She probably wouldn't appreciate him walking around in his boxer shorts, but they were about the only stitch of dry clothing on his body at the moment, and
he wanted to get that fire started before going upstairs to find something else to wear. Besides, they were nice boxers. Clean, new, navy blue with tiny white polka dots, and not a hole to be found. Lori had restocked his underwear drawer just last month. He hadn't much appreciated it at the time, but now he supposed he owed her a thank-you.

At the thought of Lori, guilt twisted through his gut. He hadn't even attempted to contact her since the night of Nick's wedding when she'd kicked him out of his own house. Worse yet, he didn't particularly miss her. He'd been perfectly content this week to stay at Nick's house, with Nick's sister.

With Beth.

As hard as he'd fought it all these years, he was attracted to her. Ha! That was the understatement of the century. He wanted her with a burning, seething, all-encompassing passion. And the more he tried to deny it, the more obsessed he became.

Even having her seven years ago hadn't dulled the desire coursing through his veins. Making love to her in the cab of his truck had only sharpened his feelings, turning her into a drug and him into a junkie.

Lori was a great girl, and he'd honestly tried to build a life with her. But now that Beth was back in town, now that this flame he'd held for her was flaring to life again, he realized that he'd only been lying to himself…and using Lori as a Band-Aid to treat a severed limb.

He heard a squeak and turned to see Beth coming down the stairs, a stack of fluffy white towels in her
hands. She was wearing that short, sexy yellow nightie again, the equally short matching robe tied at her waist. Her wet hair was caught up at the back of her head with a silver clip.

Forcing himself to look away, he concentrated once again on getting a fire going in the living room hearth. Feeling more than seeing his way around, he unwrapped one of the pretreated starter bricks and struck a match, chagrined to notice that his hand was shaking.

Damn, she affected him. One whiff of her spicy perfume, one glimpse of her wide blue eyes and he started to sweat.

“Here you go.”

She shook out a towel and draped it over his bare shoulders. His half-naked state didn't seem to bother her nearly as much as he'd expected.

The flames caught, filling the fireplace and beginning to throw flickering light and heat into the room. He stood, rubbing the towel over his close-cut hair and then drying his still-damp arms and chest. Beth had taken the clip out of her hair and was using her own towel to squeeze and separate the strands.

“I see you decided to go straight to the quick-dry method,” she said, tipping her head in the direction of his bare body and boxer shorts.

“I didn't want to drip on your brother's hardwood floor. I can run upstairs and put on something else, if it bothers you.”

He wasn't sure why he threw the offer out there and in that particular wording. It's what he'd intended from
the start, but for some reason, he suddenly found himself wanting to know what her reaction would be to his remaining in this state of undress.

Would she ask him to go throw some clothes on, or be just as comfortable with him walking around half-nude as she was walking around that way herself? Because that slinky little nightgown she'd been wearing lately sure didn't leave much to the imagination.

“It doesn't bother me,” she said breezily, walking to the couch and plopping down on one of the overstuffed cushions. She propped her feet on the coffee table and the seashell pink of her painted toenails winked in the flickering light of the fire.

“I've seen you and Nick both in a lot less.” She grinned, looking at him from beneath lowered lashes. “Remember that time out at the lake when the two of you went skinny-dipping? You teased and badgered until I agreed to strip down and jump in with you, then you sneaked out and stole my clothes.”

He chuckled at the memory, dropping the towel on the stone hearth to dry before taking a seat beside her on the sofa. He did remember that day, though he hadn't thought of it in years. “You cried so hard, we were afraid you'd drown.”

“Which had no impact whatsoever on you two hooligans.”

“No, but your screaming and threatening to walk home naked to tell your parents what we'd done certainly did.”

“Yeah. So what did you do in response? You threw
my clothes on the bank, then went running home without me.”

“We had to get there before you did to make sure you wouldn't rat on us.”

“Don't worry, I didn't. I still don't think Mom and Dad know about that incident.”

“That's probably for the best. They'd think Nick and I were complete pervs.”

She slanted a wicked glance in his direction. “What do you mean
were?
”

It took a second for the gibe to sink in, another for him to realize she was falling back on their old, teasing banter. Something she hadn't done in seven long years.

Before he could question why or tamp down his instinctive response, he narrowed his eyes, lowered his tone and said, “Low blow. Now you'll have to be punished.”

Her brows lifted as understanding dawned, and she gave a shriek loud enough to rattle the pictures on the wall before trying to dart away. He grabbed her, snaking an arm around her waist before she got two inches off the couch, pulling her back against him. With his free hand, he dug into the tender flesh of her side and started to tickle.

“No! Aaack, stop! Connor, stop!”

She continued to scream and thrash, laughing uncontrollably. It was like old times. He used to tickle her like this when they were kids, and sometimes he and Nick would gang up on her.

Of course, she always got her revenge. By going to her folks and getting them grounded, but more often
by putting garter snakes in their beds or itching powder in their shorts. She was nothing if not cruel and ingenious in her acts of vengeance.

Somehow, with all her wiggling, she got twisted around so they were facing each other. Her breasts were pressed flat between them and he could feel her pebbled nipples digging into his bare chest through the thin fabric of her robe and nightie.

Though her knees nearly emasculated him more than once, the sensation of her smooth, silky legs gliding between his own sent signals to both his brain and nether regions, reminding him that he was definitely a man. And she was definitely a woman.