Burn on the Western Slope (Crimson Romance) (8 page)

The appetizer table held all kinds of treats. Cookies, cakes, and breads shaped into footballs. Sauces and dips. Reagan fixed a plate, returned to the bar, and asked for another cocktail. Chayton was busy with other customers so a woman bartender helped her. She sat at the crowded bar eating the snacks, mulling, thinking, and pouting. Naomi, the social butterfly, continued to schmooze.

Her heart flipped when she saw Garret threading his way through the crowd. God, he was sexy. An unbuttoned white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up hung open over a tight gray tee, revealing ropy forearms and an athletic chest. As he walked, men thumped him on the back or high-fived him. Women hugged him. He stopped to say hello to several people, shaking hands. Smiling, nodding. Heat curled through her belly, to her toes.

“Good to have you back, man,” someone said.

“Garret, good to see you,” a woman said, who gave him a hug. Reagan wondered where he’d been and how long he’d been gone. None of her business.

He was already smiling before he caught Reagan’s gaze, but once he saw her, that magnificent smile became more magnificent, radiating pleasure. Like maybe he was happy to see her. At least that’s what she’d like to believe. As he strolled across the floor, he continued to watch her and her heart continued to pound, making her thighs shake, her throat ache, and her head spin.

She returned his smile, gritting her teeth, fearing if she let her lips relax, she’d blurt out everything she felt. As he stopped at the bar beside her, she glanced at the TV for something to watch besides him.

His thick golden hair wore the messy bedhead look, and stubble drew faint lines on his face. That alone was an aphrodisiac without the earth-shaking cologne.

“Glad you came.” He nodded at Chayton for a drink. “Heineken tonight,” he said before landing his gaze on Reagan. “I worried you wouldn’t.”

“Oh?” she asked. He was glad she came? Worried she wouldn’t? Did that mean he wanted to see her?

Propping his hand on the bar, he leaned into her. “It gets pretty rowdy here.”

She simpered as she turned to him, bringing the straw to her lips. “You don’t think I can handle it?”

“Oh, I know you can handle it.”

Chills sprouted on her arms as his baritone voice burned through her. She shifted on the stool, but the heat only intensified, spreading to her toes. His eyes — were they blue or green? She noticed they changed from deep green to turquoise, to the coastline after a storm or akin to the sandblasted jeans he wore.

“You bet on the game?” he asked. Reagan couldn’t even name the teams playing, much less who had the better chance of winning.

“No,” she replied, finding it hard to focus with his head so close to hers.

“Good. Because it’s already a given that I’ll win.”

“You’re that sure of yourself?”

“No. I’m that sure of the team I’m betting on. You want to play a game of pool?”

“Pool?” That wasn’t a game she played well. Actually, she wasn’t good at many games, except maybe Monopoly, but only because most people got bored before she did. “That won’t prove how good you are. Even my grandma can beat me.”

His shoulders shook when he laughed. He closed his eyes as he tilted his beer to his mouth. Her eyes trailed the length of his Adam’s apple, to his jawbone, and to his hand that held the beer. His hands were rough in the way a man’s hands should be rough but smooth in a delectably masculine way. She vaguely noticed him bring the bottle down and quickly averted her gaze to his.

“We better grab a table before they’re gone,” he said.

“No, really. I’m not very good.”

Garret grasped her elbow. “That’s okay. Neither am I.”

“Don’t you want to watch the game?” She didn’t want to watch the game, but she preferred to keep her butt planted right here on this stool.

“Nah. I’m recording it at home and it’s usually too loud to hear anything. I’ll watch it later. Besides, there’s a TV near the tables.”

Reagan drained her drink and asked for another before following Garret. The cocktail helped her to relax. “Why do people come here to watch the game if they don’t watch it?”

“For the party.”

They pushed through the crowd to the tables. Garret parked his bottle of Heineken beside him and racked the balls on the table.

She gulped her drink as she admired his shoulders contract and expand under the shirt he wore. Downing the cocktail like that was a stupid thing to do and put stupid thoughts in her head, but it helped to quell the loneliness she knew would greet her as soon as she opened her condo door.

Her breath caught in her throat when he looked at her. This time his eyes were bottle green, matching the Heineken that rested next to him on the edge of the table. His golden hair, messy but relaxed in a sexy jaunt across his forehead, coasted the length of his neck, curling at the top of his shirt collar. Desire coiled in her stomach.

She turned and fiddled with the cue sticks, pulling out a few as if sizing them up to choose the perfect one. He stopped beside her and took one as if he knew exactly the one he wanted.

She knew exactly what she wanted. Him.

“You need help?”

“No,” she said, grabbing a cue stick and almost dropping it.

He patted his hands with talc. She followed suit.

“You wanna break?”

“No way,” she said, turning to him.

He had a beautiful smile. His eyes crinkled, the smoothness across his cheeks dimpled. He was tall enough that the top of her head barely came to his chin. He carried grace and poise without being arrogant and seemed streetwise but was all country. That lent to his appeal.

“I’ll make it easier on you,” he said. “We won’t call the shots.” He blasted in a solid ball on the break and two more before her turn.

Taking a deep breath, she leveled the cue stick on the table and eyed a ball that looked like an easy enough target. Her hands shook. Her body jittered. She prayed Garret didn’t notice. She’d never felt so juvenile but loved the screaming adrenaline.

She managed to pocket the nine. “Whoop!” Straightening, she threw her fist up.

“You’re fooling me,” Garret said. “You said you couldn’t play.”

“Lucky shot.” She skated across the floor, eyeing the table for her next move. Her dad taught her to play years ago, but skill had nothing to do with her game.

She missed the next and Garret took his turn. He pocketed another and grinned at her, taking another swig of Heineken before taking his next shot.

Reagan fought the urge to touch him, to see if his biceps felt as tight as they looked. Instead, she leaned in a wee bit closer and used flirting to her full advantage. “You’re really good at this,” she whispered against his ear, the flirty bite of sexual chemistry erupting in her loins. Her face felt splotchy, her body shaking with a fervor that left her vulnerable to insecurities she wouldn’t reveal.

He straightened. The look he gave her sent a burning trail of fire through her limbs. She moved away, stopping on the other side of the table, across from him. Leaning her elbows against the table, she rested her chin in her hands.

He struck the ball, and it skipped across the table to the floor.

A man fetched the ball and handed it to Garret. “Where are your panties, boy?” he asked as he glanced at Reagan.

Garret slapped the man on his back. “Yeah, yeah,” he said as he accepted the cue ball and planted it on the table. “Your turn,” he told her.

Completely out of sorts after his friend’s comment, she stared at the cue ball and willed it to go anywhere but on the ground. Uptight and edgy, she hoped she wouldn’t make a pocket. That only meant she’d have to do it again and with Garret watching her, she wasn’t sure her nerves could handle it.

If she was like Naomi, she would have wriggled her hips as she leaned over the table, but self-consciousness triumphed in a room filled with testosterone.

“You don’t have her beat yet?” Naomi asked as she stopped beside Reagan and handed her a drink. Reagan gratefully took it and gulped the drink, praying it would help relax her.

“She lied and said she couldn’t play.”

Naomi’s voice fluttered around a soft, flirty laugh. Reagan wanted to slug her, but had no right to be jealous. She must be stressed. It was perfectly logical that stress could make her muscles tense and her palms sweat. Stress was the only reason she wanted to rake her claws down Naomi’s face when she smiled at Garret. She hadn’t had enough rest since her arrival. She’d met a hot guy on her second night here, went sledding with said hot guy, and hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep from thinking and wondering about the hot guy.

Leaning over the pool table, she wiggled her hips. The room spun in a pleasant, orderly way and her inhibitions slipped. She felt possessive over a man she barely knew and wasn’t going to let Naomi have the floor tonight.

Or Garret’s bed.

• • •

He was a dead man.

No, dead men didn’t have hard-ons burning a hole through their jeans as he did. His heart raced so fast it could win Olympic gold.

For a girl he’d known barely a day. A girl he wanted to dislike in order for his job to be easier. A girl who blushed when he looked at her but could pose nude for Playboy and make millions. Only, she didn’t know it.

He’d faced deadly opponents in his job, yet this woman was killing him.

If she’d been what he expected her to be — a flirt and a tease, like Naomi — he would have found it easier to dislike her. But the smile that lit her face when she “accidentally” struck a ball into the pocket was natural.

He wished she’d strike his ball in.

A woman with her body, with her curves, had every right to sidle up to any man, whisper sweet nothings in his ear, and gain exactly what she craved.

Reagan didn’t even try.

Okay, so she flirted a little, leaning low so her gorgeous red sweater would hint of what hid underneath. Whispering words full of heat in his ear, her cool breath raking coals down his spine.

He had to remind himself she was an assignment. He also had to remind himself her coyness was just as dangerous. Possibly an act. She was, after all, involved with a dirty cop slash cop killer slash jewel thief slash whatever the hell else her boyfriend could be named.

She wore simple diamond earrings. No rings embellished those long, slender fingers. No necklace enhanced that slim, graceful neck. Didn’t matter. Didn’t mean she didn’t enjoy the luxuries the Mass family could provide.

“Your turn,” Chayton said as he punched him in the arm. Garret had been standing near their table, using his pool stick as a crutch to hold him up as he watched her. Damn, but he was already turning a fool. He had to get his head in the game.

He missed the ball. His hard-on softened somewhat but the fire still raged within him.

He wondered if she’d go to bed with him and thought against it. No way. She barely knew him and she didn’t strike him as the kind of woman who would give herself away that easily. And if she did, well, he would be going against his core work principles.

So he didn’t make an effort. Which made it a lot harder on his body. Next time he had the chance, he sat. It was easier on his lower extremities.

“Gar, can I get you anything?” Chayton asked.

Garret swiped his hand across his face, fighting to gain his composure. Chayton was going on another drink run. Garret rarely drank hard liquor, especially on an assignment. But, dammit, he was on vacation and he didn’t want this assignment.

“Whiskey, on the rocks.”

Chayton let out a low whistle. Garret would catch hell for the order later.

But he was going to need all the help he could get tonight.

Chapter Six

Reagan avoided Air Dog for the next few days. She’d acted like a fool Sunday night. Coming on to Garret, ready to go to bed with him at any hint of invitation. His attitude had completely shifted not long after their game ended. She’d flirted with him, even going so far as to rest her arm on his shoulder, lean into him so her sweater dipped lower than it should, and congratulate his win.

They danced. As Reagan snuggled up to him, she thought she detected the same excitement she felt, but he kissed her on the cheek when the song ended and danced with more women, his hands on the crook of their backs as they had been on hers.

When she’d asked him for another dance, he blew her off to play pool with his friend. She’d lingered awhile, laughed at their antics and joined in on their jokes, but he wouldn’t look at her.

Chayton had walked them home. She didn’t think Garret even noticed.

She understood completely. She’d read the signs wrong and didn’t need him to tell her he wasn’t interested. And she wasn’t the kind of girl who would go out of her way for a guy’s attention.

His loss. She’d find someone else to help establish her new recklessness.

Reagan spent the days roaming the condo and exploring the town while Naomi spent them skiing with Chayton. She and Naomi had barely seen each other since the party Sunday night. She wanted Naomi to have fun while she was here, but she also wanted to spend time with her cousin. Naomi had invited her on the slopes, but she wasn’t about to kill herself. Besides, how could she contemplate her life while falling thousands of feet down a slippery slope of ice and terror?

She wasn’t ready for that much adventure.

She didn’t fit in here. Not really. She wasn’t a snow sport person and didn’t know anything about mountain living, but she was determined to stay.

After emailing pictures to her dad, she walked to the grocery store to find something for dinner. Reagan thought it’d be fun if they cooked dinner and settled in with a movie, and she hoped Naomi would agree. If not, Reagan would have Johnny Depp to herself.

The thought didn’t appeal to her much. Loneliness dumped her into a familiar boredom and restlessness. The thought of going back to the condo alone depressed her.

“How are you doing?” Randy, the produce manager asked as she fumbled with the same apple for the third time. She’d met him the other day when she and Naomi had come shopping. He’d practically told her his life story. Married for thirty something years, three kids, one grandchild ready to start school. “Can I help you find anything?”