Wild Fling or a Wedding Ring? (3 page)

She kicked the small bag out of the booth toward the safety of the abandoned hall, and then, forcing the air from her lungs, pulled free of his gentle hold and voiced the words that would hurt to say. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

Jake’s brows drew down, his features hardening as he inched back to let her pass. “Cali, wait—hold on.”

She shook her head, scooping up the bag with her phone and holding them close to her chest. “I wish—” But that wouldn’t do any good. Pinching her lips between her teeth, still tasting him on her tongue, she shook her head and ran from the club as if temptation itself was on her heels.

A
WARENESS
crept in, staking daylight’s claim over her consciousness, shooing away the hazy bliss of midnight’s oblivion. Within her hotel room, Cali fixed her gaze on the ceiling above her.

She’d done it in a phone booth. Almost.

In the deserted back hall of a jazz club.

With a man she’d just met.

It was
totally
a one-night stand.

Okay, so she hadn’t had
actual
sex. A technicality. They’d been standing. And it had been one night. One incredible night, topped off with an incredible kiss that flamed so far out of control it had passed X-rated—and by the time it finished, so had she.

Wow. It definitely counted.

A one-night stand. Something “good girls” were supposed to regret. Not wake the next day feeling refreshed, rejuvenated, and all around delighted to have cast their morals aside.

The “morning after” was supposed to be a miserable, hollow, shame-ridden experience. She’d heard it from a variety of reliable sources. But by the time she’d found her shoulders braced against the wall of the tiny phone booth,
with Jake’s kiss coursing through her veins, she’d been more than willing to accept the consequences.

Only now, snuggled into her so recently sated skin, Cali couldn’t seem to muster even a smidgeon of remorse. Maybe she’d get there someday, but as of this glorious morning Jake Tyler had been the best exception to a rule she’d ever made.

After a three-year self-imposed dry spell, he’d been just the kind of no promises, no risks, no regrets tall-glass-of-water Cali hadn’t even realized she’d been thirsting for. And now, quenched as she was, she could take on the Chicago assignment and knock the ball right out of Wrigley Field.

Finding a spot of too-cool sheets, she curled into herself, pulling the heavenly comforter tight and letting her mind slip back to the night before. To the deep blue-eyed gaze that had kept her pinned to her seat for hours longer than she’d planned to stay out. The warm, easy laugh that had slipped past her defenses and sent unexpected heat swirling low in her belly.

That rapturous kiss.

God, his mouth was phenomenal.

And the rest. Yum.

Still staring at the ceiling, Cali let out a wistful sigh.

No-harm recreation at its best. The one-night distraction by tall, dark and devastating had been sensational.

She should be ashamed, but couldn’t quite summon the energy for it. She’d never see him again. There was zero chance of
this man
ruining her career. It was bittersweet perfection.

At least it would be if she could forget the look on his face when she’d run like a fool from the club.

Flopping the comforter back with a groan, she emerged from her warm cocoon.

Shake it off.

A quick glance at the clock told her Amanda’s beloved
brother-in-law was due within the hour, to take her over to her new place.

Her teeth set as she blew out a steady breath. Time to shift gears and get moving.

Stepping into the shower, she hoped the hot spray and lemon-sage lather of shampoo would wash her mind clean of all things Jake—there wasn’t time to get caught up in a crush, no matter how gorgeous or funny or intelligent— No! The man’s pure perfection stemmed from the fact that he’d been little more than a ship passing in the night.

Wait, not a ship. A sleek, sexy speed boat, whose wake had rocked her world.

Sure. Just one kiss. What was the harm in one tiny kiss after three years of going without?

Ha.
Well, now she knew.

There would be no forgetting him.

She toweled off, with images of glinting eyes and a hard-planed chest pressed against her teasing her resolve. Ponderings of how different her life might have been if she’d been with a man like Jake three years ago in Boston instead of with Erik.

That was nonsense. When Jake had asked to take her home, she’d fled from the man. Imagining him in her life in any capacity other than as the exciting one-night spectacular exception he’d been was crazy. She wouldn’t. Definitely not. No matter how much he’d made her laugh. Want.

Agitated, she jammed her legs into a pair of jeans, then pulled a periwinkle and white halter over her head. As if in accordance with her mood, her curls had gone particularly wild that morning, requiring that she gather them at the nape of her neck with a leather tie. A dab of lipgloss and done. Satisfied with her look, she was just tossing back a glass of water when three hard knocks sounded at the hotel door.

A smile broke out across her face as excitement welled within her. Forget about blue-eyed bar heroes. On the other side of that door was Amanda’s brother-in-law, Jackson, here to deliver her to the rest of her life—or at least to the sublet where she’d live while she worked her butt off nailing this job for Amanda. It was go-time.

Barefoot, glass in hand, she darted over to the door and pulled it open wide. “Hey, give me one minute….”

The rest of her words died on her tongue as she gasped at the sight of Jake Tyler, casual in worn denim and a cuffed button-down, leaning with one arm braced against the frame of her door.

His brow drew down as his darkening eyes took her in. “You?”

Cali stood immobile, dread hollowing the pit of her stomach. It was a mistake. It couldn’t be what it looked like— Jake wasn’t
Jackson.

Oh, God. Her boss’s little sister’s husband. Lying about his name while he scored in a bar!

No!

Breath ratcheting, she staggered back.

She could
not
have screwed up again. Not this quickly; not this royally! Maybe she was wrong and this was some kind of happy misunderstanding. Maybe Jake was just some sick stalker, bent on creeping her out with his ability to track her. Maybe he wasn’t her boss’s brother-in-law after all.

Let it be true, she prayed, willing to offer him a pair of her panties, or whatever insane keepsake he wanted, so long as he didn’t confirm that she’d been swapping spit with the married man her boss secretly coveted.

“Jackson?” she whispered, clinging to the hope that he’d shake his head and deny it, come after her with a knife instead.

The corner of a mouth she’d had her lips all over turned
up the slightest degree. “
No one
calls me Jackson but Amanda and my mother.”

No apologies, no denials, no miraculous explanation proving she hadn’t blown everything before she’d even gotten through the gate. Just that calmly assessing gaze, smug and secure. Amused, even. What could he possibly find amusing about this situation?

The backs of her knees collided with the low coffee table behind her before she realized she was still retreating—and momentum kept her going.

“Aiyee!” Her arms flailed, then she shot one out to catch herself. Instead, the glass in her hand broke the fall, crushed in her palm as her rear-end smacked down.

Glass shards glittered pink as they drowned in the rising wash of blood at her wrist. “Ungg….” she moaned. “Cut myself….” Jake’s guttural curse registered vaguely as he appeared, crouching at her side. The room dimmed, tilting, and distorted images began playing before her eyes.

Of course it wasn’t her life flashing there—she wasn’t dying. Merely fainting from the sight of her own blood. No, the images she saw were a series of memories, bar-side snapshots, leading to her latest life-shattering, career-flushing mistake.

“Ah, hell.” Jake muttered, quickly assessing the injury. “Not too bad, but we need to get the glass out.”

Cali let out a sick moan. As his focus shot to her paling face, and her eyes fixed on the blood oozing down her arm, he knew without question what was next. “No. Don’t look at it, sweetheart…. No—no, don’t—” Too late. Her eyes rolled back, her face went slack, and her body crumpled against him.
Great.

This just got better and better.

The last thing he’d expected as he knocked on the hotel room door was for the incredible woman who’d run out on him the night before to open it. But once it had happened, and he’d seen
who she was—connecting Cali to Calista—he’d indulged in a momentary fantasy about picking things up where they’d left off.

Obviously he was going to have to forget about that ego-driven idiocy, because Cali clearly hadn’t been thinking the same thing. In those first seconds she’d looked more like she wanted to skin him than screw him, so it was safe to assume she was annoyed to discover he wasn’t just some stranger who’d gotten her off and then conveniently faded into the mist. And that didn’t jibe with the image he’d constructed from the night before. Which was just irritating. She’d been soft. Funny. Sweet. And a little bit shy, blushing at her own interest.

He’d spent hours lost in her laughter.

He was an idiot.

He did
not
want a relationship. And he did
not
date—even in his
über
-casual capacity—women connected to his family. Ever. They came with too many strings that were too hard to sever, and he wasn’t interested in the complications. So why should it matter if Cali wasn’t exactly who he’d thought the night before? If what had happened wasn’t quite as special as he’d thought?

It shouldn’t—didn’t.

And
special
? What was he? Twelve? They’d been in a phone booth, for God’s sake.

But she
was
now crumpled in his arms, and he
did
care about getting her cleaned up and back on her feet. Pulling her into his chest, he banded one arm behind her back and the other beneath her knees, then swept her up.

“Cali? Calista, sweetheart?”

Dodging the low-profile furniture in the suite, he crossed to the bathroom and sat with her tucked into his lap, her arm elevated, head lolling against his chest as she struggled to come around.

“Hey,” he whispered into the top of her hair. “Don’t
watch—just look up at me or keep your eyes closed while I wash this out.”

But in the mirror’s reflection he saw her eyes on the sink, where the water was tinged with red as he ran the tap over her arm…and she was out again. The cuts were shallow and didn’t require stitches, so he finished up, then carried her to the bed. He laid Cali back, using a towel to protect the rumpled spread.

Blood rose slowly on her cuts—but it was nothing a few Band-Aids wouldn’t take care of. At the very least they’d cover enough to keep Cali conscious. He returned to the bathroom and, with only mild guilt, began riffling through her bags. In his experience women traveled with enough toiletries to perform a double bypass, so Band-Aids were a sure bet.

In addition to a selection of cosmetics, brushes, sprays, gels and creams, he noted the slim case of her birth control pills, a pack of breath mints, mouthwash, floss and, in one stiff zippered plastic compartment, a single condom with a label he hadn’t seen since med school. The expiration date had passed the year before.

Somehow the idea of Cali packing her little wash bag with the accoutrements of a sexually responsible woman—even though it appeared she’d had limited or lack-luster experience if that one single condom had suffered such a bleak and joyless existence in her bag—made him think again of the way she’d looked at him the night before as she confessed that she hadn’t been kissed in such a very long time.

He shouldn’t be thinking about it. The way she’d melted against him, the taste of her sigh in his mouth, the heat of her—

This was Amanda’s new shooting star. He didn’t want the strings. But still he made a mental note that if Cali ever looked at him as she had last night—if his resolve ever weakened—to bring his own protection. A whole box, not a single rubber.

Behind the decrepit prophylactic he hit the jackpot, with a small stash of equally ancient bandages. Returning to Cali’s side, he peeled the adhesive backs free then carefully applied them to cover her cuts.

“Pretty big faint for not a lot of wound, there, Cali.” He pushed a lock of hair from her eyes, tracing down the line of her jaw and under it to the soft, warm skin of her neck, where he found her carotid artery. Her pulse beat against the gentle pressure of his fingers, healthy and strong.

As he stared down at her face he saw she was beginning to stir. Her long-lashed lids fluttered like butterfly wings and then slowly lifted, revealing eyes like emeralds. Her lips parted, and he had the insane urge to sink into them with a kiss—

“Get your filthy hands off me.”

Jake arched a brow, not bothering to fight the smile that rose in response to her throaty grunt. “My hands are clean, sweetheart. Habit of the trade. Aren’t you a nasty little ogre in the morning?”

Cali began pushing up on her good arm, her sharp-edged stare slashing at him, but Jake stopped her with a firm hand against her shoulder and pushed her back into the mattress. “Not yet. Let’s give it a minute more before you hop out of bed. Do you always faint at the sight of blood?”

Her jaw flexed, and a sound that was almost a growl emanated from low in her throat. “Only when it’s mine. Your blood wouldn’t bother me a bit.”

For someone on the edge of consciousness, her temper seemed in good working order. Jake leaned back, amused. “Really? Interesting.”

“Not interesting. Not interested. I’m furious, so thanks for catching me, but back off.”

Wow. “Take it easy. My presence on your bed is purely professional. Doctor? Remember?”

Cali’s delicate jaw clenched as she blew out an angry breath and refused to meet his eyes.

“Someone must have gotten under your skin good. Look, I didn’t know you worked for Amanda, but, honestly, does it really matter now?” From the look of her scowl, Jake gathered it did.

“Are you kidding?” Cali gritted out, flashing him a murderous glare.

“This is because of last night?” he asked, confused by the overt hostility. “Or did I miss something else?”

Maybe she was as worried about Amanda as he was. But her lashing out at him didn’t make a world of sense. It was an accident. One of fate’s little mess-ups you lived with and got past.

If she was
miffed
he could understand it. Sulking or in a bit of a pout, sure. Women got that way. But Cali wasn’t any of those. She looked as though she wanted to flay him alive. Considering he’d just carried her, princess-style, across her suite while she dripped blood down his sleeve, and then spent the next five minutes cleaning her minor but messy wounds, a smidgeon of gratitude seemed in order. But, no, she was in a snit.