Barbara Dunlop - An Intimate Bargain

He set aside his own cardboard cup. “Yeah.”

“Family?” she probed, promising herself, whatever it was, she’d keep the conversation to generalities.

He shook his head.

“Girlfriend?” she dared, swallowing a sudden lump.

He turned to paste her with a scowl. “While I’m hitting on you? Thanks tons, Doll-Face.”

She tried not to feel quite so relieved. “Gambling, drinking, illness?”

“Business,” he answered, his tone smoothing out. “There’s a problem with my mysterious, yet perfectly legitimate, business interests. But I take it your problem is family?”

“What makes you say that?”

“It was your first guess for me. That makes it top of your mind.”

She took in his expression, seeing warmth and compassion and, yes, a little bit of lust. But she was okay with that. It had taken her two hours to dress up for the reception tonight. It was nice to know somebody appreciated her efforts.

Her first instinct was to evade his question. But for some reason, she wanted to be honest with him. “My family needs me to do one thing,” she told him. “But I want to do something else entirely.”

He canted his head, and he suddenly seemed closer, his chest looked broader, his voice going lower. “Age-old dilemma,” he rumbled.

She picked up his woodsy musk scent, getting lost in his warm, brown eyes, and momentarily lost brain function. She braced her hand on the tabletop, gripping with her fingertips. “I guess.”

“So what are you going to do?”

She blinked. It wasn’t like there was a choice. “Support my family.”

The pad of his thumb passed over her knuckles, sending a kick of reaction up her spine. He gave a small smile. “I’d have guessed that about you, Doll-Face. You seem like the loyal type.”

“What about you?” she managed to say around a drying throat and laboring breaths. Every single thing about this man oozed sex appeal. “What would you do?”

His hand covered hers completely, warm, broad and strong. “I’d make my own choice. I’d do whatever I wanted.”

She was surprised, but also intrigued. “Even if it hurt your family?”

“My family doesn’t need me.”

“Mine needs me.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Positive.”

He lifted an index finger to touch the bottom of her chin. This time, she didn’t wave him off. She drank in the sensation of his touch, anticipating the kiss that was sure to come.

What would it hurt?

What could it hurt?

Tomorrow she’d be back in her blue jeans, and men like Lucky wouldn’t give her the time of day. Surely she deserved one single kiss.

Zach figured there was a pretty good chance he was about to get his face slapped. He also figured it was going to be worth it.

He leaned in, anticipating her taste, the softness of her full lips. But a boat horn suddenly blasted from the lake, and Doll-Face abruptly turned away. Then another horn sounded, and another.

Disappointment clenched Zach’s gut, even as light and color flashed in the periphery of his vision. He looked toward the lake in time to see starbursts of color cascading in the skies above.

A cheer went up from the crowd that had gathered far down the shore and out onto the wharf. A few people had also arrived in the park, taking up spots on nearby picnic tables. Zach hadn’t even noticed them.

Doll-Face settled back to watch the show, bracing her hands and locking her elbows, bringing her dress taut against her breasts, highlighting an intriguing dip of cleavage.

Her skin was honey-toned with a tan. Her neck was long and graceful, her face classically beautiful, with big, golden eyes, dark lashes and a wide, sexy smile.

“Wow,” she whispered. “That’s spectacular.”

“It sure is,” he agreed, gaze fully on her, still desperate to lean down and kiss her mouth. Her auburn hair was slightly mussed. Wisps had worked their way free from the updo, along her neck and forehead. He had a sudden vision of her lying back on a white pillowcase, naked, thoroughly kissed, a sheen of sweat glistening on her brow.

He gave himself a shake.

“Oooh,” she sang, smiling. Then she glanced up at him. “You’re missing it.”

He wasn’t missing a thing. But he turned to look at the fireworks anyway. “Part of the election celebration?”

“It is,” she said. “I should be standing out there on the dock with a glass of champagne in my hand, toasting my-”

He waited, but she didn’t add anything to the end of the sentence. “You want to go drink some champagne?” he felt compelled to ask. The last thing he wanted to do was join the crowd down the beach.

“No. I was just wondering if anyone noticed I was missing.”

“Did you have a date at the party?” That could easily have been the end of her sentence. Toasting with her boyfriend? Was that what she’d meant to say?

He glanced reflexively at her left hand. No ring. At least she hadn’t been talking about toasting with her fiancé.

“No date,” she assured him.

He scanned his way from her knees to her breasts, along her neck, returning to her face. Bursts of light danced off her skin, reflecting in her gorgeous eyes. His voice went husky. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

She met his gaze for a long moment, while he tensed, waiting. Then she shook her head. “Not since Russell Livingston, senior year.”

“How old are you?”

“How old do I look?”

“Young enough that I should ask.”

She grinned. “I’m twenty-six.”

He did the math. “So you haven’t had a boyfriend in four years?” He found that absolutely impossible to believe. What on earth was wrong with the men of Colorado?

“Not a steady one.” She gave a little lift of her chin. “How about you?”

“I’ve never had a boyfriend.”

She threw an elbow to his rib cage. “You know what I mean, Lucky.”

He steadied her arm with his hand as she rocked back. “Nobody serious.”

She resettled her bare feet on the picnic-table bench. “Since when?”

He reluctantly removed his hand from her arm, shrugging as he took in the glinting copper polish on her toenails. Sexy. How had he missed that up to now? “Since forever.”

“You’ve never been in love?”

“I’ve never been in love,” he confirmed. He’d never had the time. Not that he’d be likely to recognize it if it happened. He’d had no role models, no examples of romantic love in his formative years. He supposed he loved Alex like a brother. But that was a completely different thing.

“Me neither,” said Doll-Face. She contemplated the fireworks display for a minute. “But both of my sisters are in love.”

“You have two sisters?”

“And two brothers.”

“Are your parents still together?”

Her expression faltered for a second, but then she nodded, voice a little quieter. “Yes, they are. And they’re still very much in love.”

“Sounds like a perfect family.” Reflexive resentment flickered inside Zach. But he quickly tamped it down. He wouldn’t wish his tough childhood on anyone, least of all this delightful, beautiful creature in front of him.

She laughed. “We’re a long, long way from perfect. But there’s a wedding coming up. A double wedding.”

“Both sisters?” he guessed.

“I’ll be the maid of honor.” Then she sniffed and wrinkled her nose. “And me, the oldest.”

“Oh, that’s not good.” Zach shook his head in mock concern. “Tragic, really. Pitiful.”

“Isn’t it?”

“An old maid at twenty-six.” He clicked his cheek. “What will the neighbors say?”

Her laughter tinkled. “They’ll probably introduce me to every eligible bachelor they can lay their hands on.”

Zach knew she was probably right. And he didn’t like that image. He had a sudden urge to curl an arm around her, pull her close, tell her to stay away from all those no-good bachelors.

“Funny,” she continued, her gaze back on the fireworks. “Marriage has never been a goal of mine.”

“Mine, neither,” Zach agreed, ridiculously relieved. It was silly, stupid even. He didn’t know the woman’s name, yet he didn’t want to think about her with other men.

“What is your goal?” he prompted. The gasps of the crowd and the pops of the rockets once again penetrated his conscious, reminding him of where they were.

She shrugged her slim, bare shoulders. “A career, maybe.”

“What kind of career?” This line of conversation definitely beat talking about her future boyfriends.

“Lately I’ve been thinking about event management, or maybe business.”

“What’s your degree in?”

“History. Don’t you dare laugh.”

Did she mean at the impracticality of studying history? “I’m not laughing. I don’t even have a college degree.”

She waited for him to continue. There was no judgment in her expression.

“Where I come from,” he found himself explaining, “high school graduation is about as far as kids go.”

“Did you graduate high school?”

“I did.” He paused. “But would you care if I hadn’t?” He was honestly curious.

“I don’t think it’s your education that matters. It’s what you do with it.”

He couldn’t agree more.

With the exception of their accountant, DFB Incorporated didn’t have a single employee with a college degree. Mostly because they were all foster kids. They’d grown up in group homes, like him, or in a series of short-term, single-family placements. They’d learned to avoid emotional attachment to their caregivers and had spent their childhoods in survival mode. None of them had family ties. None would have had a single penny of support, even if they had wanted to go to college.

“If you want to use your history degree to go into business,” he told her, “I’m all for it.”

She smiled, and his chest tightened. “Thank you.”

He drew a couple of hard breaths. He’d never wanted to kiss a woman quite this badly. But people could see them, and she was trying to keep a low profile. “What kind of business?” he forced himself to ask again.

“I haven’t the slightest idea.”

“Well, if you start your own, expand slowly. Make sure you don’t overleverage.”

“Is that what you did?” There was an astute intelligence in those golden eyes. It was as if she’d suddenly shifted modes, staring frankly, seeking information.

Okay, that really shouldn’t strike him as sexy.

“We grew fast,” he told her, shifting his attention to the lake in order to keep from grabbing her right here in front of everyone. “When you hit a certain size, all of a sudden there are a whole lot of moving parts. We ended up with a weak link. And I’m here to fix it.” It seemed silly to stay so oblique. “You want me to tell you what the-”

“No!” It was her hand on his arm more than her words that shut him up.

He glanced down at her slim fingers, the lavender polish, felt the heat through the thin cotton of his shirt, and thought about all the other places he’d like her to touch him.

“It’s better this way,” she assured him.

It would be better with her in his arms.

The sky suddenly lit up with the fireworks finale. The crowd oohed then aahed then cheered madly as the sky went dark.

“Whatever you want,” Zach told her, meaning it in all possible ways.

* * *

Abigail knew the evening had to come to an end. It was after three in the morning. They’d been talking for hours, and she was nearly asleep on her feet as they approached the front entrance of the Caspian Hotel.

Except for the doorman, the place was deserted. He tipped his hat, gave them a welcoming smile and opened the glass-fronted, brass-trimmed door so they could enter.

Lucky slowed his steps and motioned with an outstretched arm for Abigail to go in first. Her heels clicked on the marble floor, echoing through the empty lobby. A front-desk clerk glanced up from her computer screen. Seeing they had no luggage, so obviously weren’t checking in, she nodded a greeting and went back to typing on the keyboard.

They crossed the vast lobby toward the bank of elevators, while Abigail struggled for something clever or memorable to say. But everything she came up with sounded either trite or ridiculous.

Lucky pressed the call button, and an elevator door immediately slid open. She wanted to tell him she’d had a great time. No, not a great time, an amazing time. A time that she wished she could repeat again someday. But she knew that was impossible. He was leaving town. And she was going back to her real life. And she didn’t even know his name.

He pressed eight, then lifted his brows in her direction.

“Same,” she confirmed, her voice raspy over her dry throat.

Their gazes locked, and the air in the elevator seemed to thicken with anticipation.

The door slid shut.