Murphy's Law (2 page)

Did she deliberately insult him?

He scowled, but she shook her head and said, “I mean because we have nothing in common.”

He touched her mouth with one fingertip. “Oh, I think we have a few things in common.” He looked into her eyes and his lust ratcheted up to the max again. He wanted to devour her.

“Yeah, okay.” She drew a quick breath. “It's a first for me, but I'll admit we've got the whole sexual chemistry thing going.”

“Thank you,” he said with dry humor.

“But,” she continued, once again on the move, “I've got too much on my plate to be messing around with you right now.”

Messing around with him? She made him sound like an inconvenience. Easily keeping pace with her on her path through the building to the locker room, Quinton asked, “So what's on your plate? Anything I can help with?”

“Nope.” She kept her head down and her gait long.

She said that too fast, and with too much conviction. The take-charge part of his personality didn't like it. “I'm not without means, you know.”

She stopped long enough to roll her eyes at him. “Yeah, I know. You have ‘means' coming out the ying-yang. Thanks but no thanks.”

On their first meeting, which also accounted for his first rejected invitation to her, he'd learned that Ashley had a spirited way of putting things. He liked it. As he said, he liked her.

He already knew that she attended college classes in addition to working the third-shift job. Busy, but not so busy that she couldn't fit in a date with him.

Unless something, or someone else, was keeping her away.

From two feet behind her, he asked, “Do you find me unattractive?”

“Oh please.” She laughed without looking back at him. “As if.”

Well…That was nice. At least he knew his appearance didn't repel. “So is it that you dislike men with ‘means coming out the ying-yang'?”

“Your means don't matter to me one way or the other.” Now she sounded irritated. “I'm sure you work hard for what you have.”

“I do.” But he'd also been born into money, not that he intended to say so with her being so prickly about it. “And now you have me working hard to figure you out.”

“Might as well stop before you strain something.” Finally they reached the locker she used to stow away her purse.

Again, Quinton tipped up her chin. “Tell me what's troubling you.” Then he'd resolve it and get her focused on him instead of other things.

She crossed her arms over her chest, cocked out one hip, and eyed him up and down. “All right, fine. First and foremost on my mind is the wedding.”

The
wedding?
Denial lumped in his guts. But a quick glance at her finger showed no engagement ring. He scowled at her for nearly stopping his heart.

“Yeah, my sentiments exactly.” She wrinkled her nose. “But you should try it wearing pink taffeta.” She turned, opened the padlock with deft movements, swung open the squeaky metal door, and shoved her purse onto the top shelf inside the locker. “Let me tell you, humiliation takes on new meaning.” She slammed the locker shut with a little more force than necessary.

“Hold up.” Quinton put a hand to her shoulder and turned her to face him. “You're not getting married?”

“No way.” And with annoyance, “Where'd you get a dumb idea like that?”

Relief sank into him. “So who's the lucky bride?”

“My best friend.”

“And she's getting married when?”

Her head dropped back against the locker with a clatter. “In a couple of days. And I've got all this crap to remember—”

“Crap?”

“Yeah, you know. Like how to do that idiotic walk on the rice paper, and to move her train out from behind her when she turns to go back down the aisle.” She closed her eyes and huffed. “And to not say
crap
in front of the minister.”

“Such a predicament,” he teased.

“Yeah, well, for
me
it is.” She screwed up her face. “I have a tendency to speak first and think later.”

Without really considering all the repercussions, Quinton said, “This is where I can come in handy.” Then he felt like cursing. He detested weddings almost as much as funerals. Still, he had the entire weekend free and if it'd get him that much closer to her…“As your escort, I'll assist you in minding your manners.”

Ashley's eyes snapped open again. “Ho, no.” She shook her head. “I'll pass, thank-you-very-much.”

“Why?” He sidled closer, getting used to the idea. “Come on, Ashley. You know you don't want to do this alone. I'll make excellent backup.”

“What makes you think I don't already have a date?”

Something cold, mean, and dark settled into his stomach. His humor fled in the face of jealousy. “Do you?”

She scoffed at his stern expression. “Don't go all caveman on me. My personal business is no concern of yours.”

True—but at that moment it didn't seem to matter. “If you're dating someone else, why did you kiss me?”

“
You
kissed
me
.”

“And you kissed me back.”

“Let's don't split hairs.” She grinned. “Besides, it doesn't matter because I'm not dating anyone else.”

“You're sure?” He didn't entirely trust her attitude or her quick tongue.

“Well, I know I'm busy, but I think I'd notice a guy accompanying me around town.”

After several seconds of contemplation he decided to believe her. The last thing he wanted was another contender in the picture, muddying things up. “So you planned to go to the wedding alone?”

“Unheard of, I know, but that's the way I roll. I'm the solo queen.”

“I'm glad I don't have competition.”

“Yeah, well, I could have a date if I wanted one.”

The blustering of her pride had him smiling again. “That I don't doubt for a single second. After all, I just offered, right?” Ashley might be deliberately abrasive, but that didn't conceal her innate sensuality. It was a little earthy. Maybe even gritty. But it was there. Any man with eyes would see it. “So why don't you?”

She threw up her hands. “You really should pay attention. Like I said, I'm busy. Why should I waste my time on a guy who'd probably only get under my skin, then walk away?”

Interesting revelation. He pointed out the obvious. “I'm not walking away.”

“Not yet.” And though she tried to hide it, he glimpsed her vulnerability again. “But that's because you haven't gotten what you want, yet.”

“Sex?”

“Bingo.” And then, “Don't try to deny it.”

The way she challenged him, her chin raised, her eyes narrowed, was both amusing and endearing. “We've already established that I want to make love to you. I'm a man. You're a very attractive woman.”

“You're shoveling it on a little thick, aren't you?”

“You don't think you're attractive?” This had to qualify as one of the strangest conversations he'd ever had.

Again she rolled her eyes. “Why are we even talking about this?” She caught him by the collar. “My looks have nothing to do with it. It's because I'm not falling at your feet that you
think
you're interested.”

“Ah, so that's what it is.”

“Yeah. I figure a guy with your face, bod, and money probably has women chasing him all the time.”

Deadpan, he said, “It can be so bothersome.”

“You're used to having your pick of the babes. But here I am, a small-town Podunk, giving you the old heave-ho.”

“I'm confident I can change your mind on that.” Most of what she said now sounded like bluster, as if she felt she had to give lip service to her refusal before giving in.

“If I slept with you,” she insisted, “you'd be over me like that.” A snap of her fingers punctuated her statement.

As seriously as he could, Quinton suggested, “Let's test this theory.” Her cheek was soft beneath the brush of his fingertips. “Make love with me today, right now, and I'll prove to you that I won't lose interest. I'll still escort you to the wedding.”

Her lips twitched. “You want me to do the horizontal mambo here in the basement? Up against the lockers?”

“You have no idea how much.” Gently he cupped her chin—and tried to win her over. “But Ashley, if you want to wait, I'll wait. I'm happy to spend time getting to know you better. You can trust me.”

Her palms flattened on his chest, holding him at bay. “It's not about trust. It's about me having a limited amount of time right now.”

“You can't tell me you never date.”

“Wanna bet?”

“But…” She looked to be in her midtwenties. Maybe five or six years younger than he was, which made her far too young to sit home alone knitting or watching old black-and-white movies.

Ashley was the type of woman who exuded energy and determination. She would never be content with idle time alone.

Giving up, Quinton asked, “Why?”

“Men aren't on my list of priorities right now.” With a shrug, she added, “Maybe after I get my degree and net a good job and can save up and get my own house—”

“So in, say, ten years, I should ask again?”

“Yeah.” Her grin left a dimple in her cheek. “Maybe by then I can spare you a few hours. But right now I don't want any distractions from the big goal. And you, Quinton Murphy”—she patted the center of his chest—“would be a
big
distraction.”

Quinton shook his head. The woman possessed a special knack for pushing him away while at the same time enflaming him. She spelled out her interest but claimed it didn't matter.

Her refreshing honesty frustrated the hell out of him. “So let's don't date.” Who needed dinners out or movies or dancing? He'd gladly bypass it all. “We'll attend the wedding together and then see how it goes.”

That suggestion made her laugh. “After that kiss, we both know exactly how it'd go.” Her smile slipped. “Even though I come across as a sex-starved nympho, I'm not really that easy.”

“Trust me, easy is not a word I'd use to describe you.”

“It's just that you make me…”

“Hot?”

“More like scorching.”

Somehow Quinton managed not to groan. “The feeling is mutual. So where's the problem?”

“You're
the problem.” She tweaked his chin. “I suspect you'd be addictive, and all my well-laid plans would go down the toilet.” And with that she turned her back on him and walked away.

Again.

Incredible.

He'd need some careful maneuvering to win her over to his way of thinking. For whatever reason, Ashley had sworn off men, as if they had no place at all in her life. He'd have to give her good reason to accept him. “I'd like to offer a compromise.”

Still walking, she clipped a CD player to the waistband of her jeans and connected a pair of soft headphones to it. “This ought to be good.”

He caught up to her. “I'll protect you from yourself.”

That stopped her in her tracks. “Come again?”

Pretending a nonchalance he didn't feel, Quinton said, “If you say you don't want intimacy with me, I'll ensure it.”

“Uh-huh.” She pursed her lips, considered him, then raised a brow. “And how will you do that?”

“My willpower is stronger than yours. I'll save you from yourself.” He took a tiny step closer—and her attention moved to his mouth. Voice lowering, he whispered, “I'll still kiss you, and I'll still touch you.”

Her eyes darkened. “Your plan is doomed to fail.”

“But I won't let it go any further than that.” He leaned a little closer to whisper, “Even if you beg.”

Warm color shot into her cheeks. “Right. Dream on, big boy.”

“Oh, I do. Dream. About you. But regardless, I won't let things go too far. You have my word that I'll accompany you to the wedding and return you safely home. Nothing more.” He held out his hand. “Deal?”

She took a long time considering his proposition. A dozen emotions flashed over her face, but skepticism seemed most prevalent. And suspicion. She didn't yet trust in his integrity, but she would. He'd see to it.

And maybe, just maybe, she'd end up in the same desperate state of arousal that he was in.

Finally she nodded. “All right. Just to watch you squirm…” She took his hand and gave it a firm shake. “Deal.”

When she started to retreat, Quinton held on, pulled her up to her tiptoes, and wrapped an arm around her waist. “Until then, Ashley…” He sealed their bargain with a kiss hot enough to leave her clinging to him. He used his lips, his tongue, his teeth…And she reciprocated every inch of the way.