The Devil in Denim (22 page)

“Why, Saint Maggie, what else would we be talking about?”

“Football,” she shot back. He laughed and took off as the light turned green.

“Chicken,” he said, when the traffic settled back into a steady stream around them. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

She did. But she still didn’t know if she wanted talk about it. “That’s not what this is for you, is it? The thrill of the unknown?”

“This? The Saints?”

She shook her head. “No. This thing we’re not supposed to be talking about. It isn’t just the chase? Or some weird male thing … you know, screw the old owner’s daughter, stake your claim or something?”

He didn’t say anything.

“Alex?” she prompted.

“Just give me a minute.”

“What?”

“Well, you just kind of indicated that you might sleep with me. It’s distracting.”

Shit. He was right.

“No I didn’t.” She was trying to remember what her point had been. “I was trying to ask what you saw in me.”

“You don’t want me to answer that right now, do you?”

“Yes.”

“Well,” he said. “It might have something to do with the fact that you’re gorgeous.”

“You’ve dated women far prettier than me.”

“Not really. And none of them could hit a baseball like you.”

“Take many of them to the batting cage, did you?”

“Not many of them were that interested.”

“Surely there are some sports fans among the society gals.”

“Maggie,” he said impatiently. “Do you really want to talk about my old girlfriends?”

Her stomach tensed again at the
g
word. “I don’t know.”

“As far as I can tell, you want to know if I’m going to bolt for the door about five minutes after I come,” he said with a sideways glance at her. He flicked on the turn signal and Maggie realized that they’d reached her apartment building.

Of course, Alex being Alex, there was a parking space about twenty yards from the building door. The Jeep slid neatly into place and Alex jerked on the handbrake. “Is that about right?”

“Um, yes. I guess so.”

“Then the answer is no. No, I’m not.” He twisted in the seat, so that he was facing her. The light from the street was barely enough to see his face. “How about you?”

“Me?”

“Yes. Are you intending on kicking me out of bed and pretending like it never happened?”

“Like that’s ever happened to you.”

“You might be surprised. And that didn’t answer my question.”

She twisted a piece of hair around her finger. Did she really want to answer? Once she did, if she told the truth, there was probably only one way tonight was going to end. The tip of her finger started to turn red, then white.

“Maggie?”

“No.” She sighed and let the hair go. “No, I don’t intend on kicking you out of bed.”

“Good.” He smiled then the expression faded. “Not good? What’s wrong?”

“It’s just…” Her gut churned. She didn’t even know how to explain what she was thinking.

“Yes?” he prompted.

“It’s just that I’ve got all the downside here. If this goes wrong.”

“How?”

“You’re my boss. If this gets out, I’ll be the one who’s sleeping with her new boss, desperate to hang on to her job. You’ll still be the rich guy who scores the hot chicks. I’ll be the loser. And if we break up then … I’ll be the loser who was dumb enough to sleep with her boss to try and hold on to her job and lost them both.”

“I’m not going to fire you if we stop sleeping together.”

“No. Maybe not. But it’s not going to be pretty. I don’t take this … lightly.” She made a frustrated gesture between them. “It feels…”

“Important?”

“Maybe.”

“Maggie, you’re not the only one with downside here. If I screw this up, then I’ll lose you.”

“You’re only worried about losing your secret weapon.”

“No. No. I’m not.” He leaned forward. “The way I see it, we have two choices here. We do or we don’t. At least tonight. So tell me. What do you want? If you want me to walk you up to your door, kiss you good night, and then go, then that’s fine. Well, not fine exactly, I’ll probably spend the night in a cold shower, but it’s okay if that’s what you want. Or else I can walk you up to your door, you can let me in, and then we can see what happens.”

Maggie caught her breath at the thought of it. Alex in her apartment again. Alex in her bed. Naked. Waiting for her.

“Personally, I vote for option two. Let’s see what happens. So what say you, Jameson? Want to take me upstairs and show me your etchings?”

“I don’t have any etchings.”

His smile was slow, his eyes not leaving her face. “I’m sure you have something that could hold my attention.”

“I have fifty-year-old Scotch.” It had been a graduation present from one of Tom’s friends. She’d have to write him another thank-you note.

“That’s a start.”

“You want something else?”

“You know what I want. You read the texts. So tell you what. Why don’t you take me upstairs, pour me a glass of Scotch, and you can read some of those again … see if anything catches your interest?”

Her cheeks went hot as she remembered exactly what he’d written in those damned texts. Thought about him actually doing some of them to her. Knew that as much she wanted to be the smart girl in this situation and keep him at arm’s length, she just wasn’t going to be. Because sometimes there was no way to avoid doing the dumb thing.

“If you come upstairs, you know I reserve the right to send you home with nothing more than a drink, right?”

“Maggie, any guy who doesn’t know that is a grade one asshole. I know you don’t always like me that much but I’d like to think I’m not a douche. If Scotch is all I get, then so be it.” He smiled at her. “Though I hope you won’t hold it against me if I hope that it’s not.”

“I still don’t understand this,” she said, waving her hand as though she could describe the space between them and the weird pull of it with the gesture.

“Sometimes there’s nothing to understand. Some things just are. No point fighting them.”

“That doesn’t sound like an Alex Winters philosophy.”

He tilted his head. “You haven’t known me long enough to know everything about me. Maybe you can grill me over the Scotch.” He nodded his head toward the building. “Are you going to ask me up so I can turn off the engine before I run out of gas?”

She hadn’t even noticed he’d left the car running so that they still had heat. How long exactly had they been sitting here, having this strange conversation? She didn’t know. She never really knew when it came to Alex. Talking to him was easy somehow.

Maybe he really was the devil. Luring her in, letting her damn herself. Well, if he was, then so be it. Damnation it was. And at least she had the satisfaction of some fun before she had to deal with the pitchforks and recriminations. She slid free of her seat belt and put her hand on the door handle. “So,” she said, trying for her best sultry voice. “Do you want to come up?”

“Hell, yes,” Alex said.

*   *   *

He didn’t kiss her in the elevator. He stood a gentlemanly foot or so away and watched her. Watched her very intently with very green eyes. It made her toes curl, as though he was slowly peeling off her clothes with his gaze and doing all the things that she’d been thinking about. Somehow it was even hotter—and more unnerving—than if he had actually kissed her.

He didn’t kiss her when they got inside her apartment either. No, he merely shrugged out of his coat, and his jacket, and rolled his cuffs back a few times before he wandered into her living room and sank onto her couch. Her very long, very soft leather couch. Plenty of room for her to sit next to him.

She busied herself finding glasses, messing with the lighting—too much, too little, too, oh god, she was an idiot—and putting on music … selecting something random because she was suddenly too nervous to think about what she even had on her iPod. Luckily it turned out to be something low and rockish. Sexy.

But then there was nothing left to do but get the Scotch from the cupboard where it lived and carry it and the glasses over to where he sat. She put the bottle down on the coffee table and held out the glasses to him. He took one, his fingers brushing hers. She shivered.

Alex patted the sofa next to him. “Come here.”

She obeyed, her knees grateful that she had something else solid to hold her up and that they could give up the ghost. Alex leaned forward and picked up the bottle, tilting it to look at the label.

“Macallan. Nice.” He unscrewed the cap, tilted it toward her glass, sloshed a good couple of fingers in, then did the same with his own.

She sat up straighter. “Did you want ice? I have ice.” She was babbling but she couldn’t stop herself.

“Neat is fine.” He sipped the drink slowly, breathed out appreciation, and took another sip. Maggie took what could only be termed a gulp. She knew what the damned stuff tasted like. Right now she needed something to burn some of these ridiculous nerves away.

“Very nice,” Alex murmured. “And here I thought you were a tequila girl.”

“Only when I’m having a very bad day,” she muttered.

“Today isn’t bad?”

She tilted the glass at him, let herself study his face over the amber liquid. “It’s been okay so far.”

“Just okay?” He put his glass down. “Watch out, you might wake up my competitive streak.”

“Oh, do you have a competitive streak?” She swallowed another mouthful of Scotch, then pushed her glass away. Burning away the nerves was okay but she didn’t want to actually drink much. It might dull the anticipatory delight that lay below those nerves. The part of her that wanted to stretch like a cat and wait to be coaxed into purring as she listened to the rumble of his voice.

“I have been accused of it on occasion.”

“Back when you played baseball?” she asked.

“Maybe more recently than that.”

“You never did tell me when you played.”

“Later,” he said. “Right now I’m more interested in current events than ancient history.” He shifted on the sofa, so that his thigh pressed up against hers.

“You want to talk about the economy?”

“I thought we could talk technology. Like how the use of text messaging has improved male/female relations in the United States.” He smiled.

Damn. She was lost when he did that.

“By allowing partners to remind each other to buy milk?”

“By allowing them to remind each other about other things. Do you need a reminder, Maggie? You could look back at what we discussed earlier.”

“Uh, my phone’s in my purse,” she managed. “But maybe we could try the less high-tech version?”

“Such as?”

“Well.” She decided to throw caution to the wind entirely and pushed up and swung herself around to straddle his lap. “We could start with some basic techniques.”

His hands settled on her hips, fingers splayed, the pressure of his grip pressing her down against him. She’d worn jeans to the game. Jeans and long boots and she was suddenly regretting that there were too many layers between them. Still, there was no mistaking that Alex was quite happy to find her in his lap.

She wriggled a little closer, heard his breath catch.

But he didn’t make a move. His hands stayed still, though his fingers curled a little harder into her flesh. His pupils had gone wider, darkening his eyes. She’d never thought green could look hot but it did now. His restraint made her want to see if she could break it. She ran her hands across his chest, smiling as she felt the thump of his heart under her palm, and then she let her fingers go exploring, tracing the lines of his face. As one finger drifted over his lips, he sucked at it gently then released her again. Every time they’d kissed it had been hot and fast and unexpected, no time to learn the lines of the man who’d dug himself so quickly beneath her skin. No time to impress the feel of him into her nerves and memory.

Slow.

That’s what they needed right now.

Slow. She laid her hands on either side of his head and bent to kiss him. Soft, slow kisses. Dragging her lips over his, tasting him and the Scotch. His mouth softened and opened and his tongue met hers.

The taste of Alex and Scotch was her new favorite thing, she decided. Someone needed to synthesize it, bottle it, turn it into Popsicles so she could take her time, lick it slowly, and let it melt onto her tongue. Her hips arched a little at the thought and Alex groaned as she pressed harder against him.

He let her go then, hands flying up to tangle in her hair.

Things were speeding up. She found her own hands working on his shirt buttons, greedy to feel his skin, to see him finally.

She pulled his shirt apart roughly and then leaned back to get a better look at what she’d bared.

Hard muscle. Warm flesh. The abs she remembered all too well.

She traced the path of the dark hair that arrowed down those abs, paused when she reached the button of his jeans, distracted suddenly from what she’d been doing by his sucked-in breath.

“You’re overdressed,” he said.

She shook her head. “Fair’s fair. You’ve already seen me. I want to see you.”

“How about a trade?” His hand went to his waistband, fingers settling over hers just at the button. “My jeans for your shirt?”

That seemed fair. After all, she was suddenly way too warm and clothing did seem somewhat overrated in this scenario. She shrugged off her sweater and Alex grasped the hem of her top and whipped it up and over her head before she could blink.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Just for that…” She pushed herself off him and then tugged him to his feet. “Off with them, Winters.”

That earned her a lazy smile. He toed off his shoes, bent to pull off socks. When he straightened it was she who sucked in a breath. He looked like something out of a very expensive commercial. Shirt undone and hanging loose, jeans with one button undone. Bare feet. Very nice feet. There were male escort sites all over the world that could triple their business overnight with one shot of this man at this exact moment on their Web sites.

But they weren’t going to. Because tonight, he was all hers. All hers to appreciate in full. But that meant dealing with the rest of his clothes.