Burn on the Western Slope (Crimson Romance) (14 page)

• • •

Garret admired her for her retort.
Wow
was the only word he could use to describe it.

“I’m sorry we had to take our meal to go,” Garret said as they crunched their way to the gondola.

“I’m not. How dare he sit without asking.”

“Well, you did invite him,” he reminded her. She only huffed.

He loved watching Tanner’s face turn crimson when she told him she would leave with Garret. His heart soared and he wasn’t sure why. Had he expected her to dump him and leave with Tanner? He didn’t see her as rude.

She refused to go back to his condo to eat and would barely look at him when he walked her to her door.

“You want to meet at Air Dog later?” he asked.

Reagan shrugged. “I don’t know. I may stay in tonight.”

“We could watch a movie.” He wasn’t eager for this night to end. As much as he knew it was wrong, he longed to kiss her again. He enjoyed her company more than he had any woman’s in a long time. If ever.

“We’ll see,” Reagan said.

Her aura had changed in the restaurant, and he wondered what pushed her away besides Tanner’s insult.

“Are you okay?” Garret asked, placing his hand over hers before she had the chance to open the door.

“I’m fine.”

She didn’t move to go inside but neither did she say anything. He longed to kiss her again, but she wouldn’t look at him. Finally, he placed his fingers under her chin and made her look at him.

“You’re not okay.”

She smiled, but it was a snarky smile. He dropped his hand and she glanced at the door.

“You want to ski again tomorrow?”

“No. It was fun, but no.”

“You’ll be hurting in places you’ve never hurt before.”

Reagan only nodded. He felt like an idiot trying to make small talk but hated that she was angry. Tanner had been a jerk, but had he said something himself?

He planned on finding Tanner later and warn him to keep his distance. And if that didn’t work, he’d report it to Buchanan.

This was
his
investigation, dammit. Buchanan should have sent a woman. A woman could have befriended Reagan without trying to sleep with her, leaving that turf to Garret.

“Chayton is having a Valentine’s Day party this coming weekend. I hope you and Naomi will come.”

“Yeah. Naomi told me. I’m sure we’ll make it.” She rested her hand on the doorknob. “Thanks again for your patience. I had fun.”

“Wait,” he said, settling his hand over hers. He didn’t know what he would say to keep her here, didn’t know if he should kiss her again. Had he insulted her in some way? “Do you have a boyfriend back home?” he asked. A stupid question at a time like this, but he had to know. For Buchanan, who would call sometime tonight, and for himself.

Silence stretched among them. He fought to soften his breathing, but his heart only pounded harder as he tried to convince himself she was not his to possess.

When she looked at him, dead in the eye, she didn’t flicker. The strength she’d shown on the mountain today, pushing herself when most women would have cried and complained, and the snappy comeback with Tanner made Garret realize she was the kind of woman who could stand up to a man like Javier Mass. The type of woman Javier — or Nelson, either one — would prize. Garret’s world capsized.

Shaking her hand from his, she said, “Shouldn’t you have asked me that before you kissed me?”

Chapter Ten

Garret sat in the corner of Air Dog in what he called the dungeon section. Dark room, large, chubby chairs. Great viewpoint to the entire club. He eyed Tanner playing pool with a few guys Garret didn’t know. A few he did.

His chest constricted with hostility. He considered telling Tanner to back off from this investigation. Weighed the pros and cons. The decision grew easier when Tanner approached.

Bristling when Tanner offered his hand but remained standing, Garret sipped his beer and nodded.

“How you doing?” Tanner dropped into the chair beside him. Perched one foot on the other knee, his legs wide and open, his elbows pointed up and out as he planted his hands behind his head. Probably what he considered a gesture of dominance. It didn’t escape Garret’s notice Tanner kept his side profile to Garret. A gesture of dominance punctuated by insecurity? Or just a guy trying to chummy up to another guy?

Garret remained slouched, comfortable and confident, in his chair.

Tanner chugged his beer and parked it on the small table between them. “How’s everything going?”

“It’d go easier if you’d back the hell off.”

“What do you mean?”

Tanner’s lack of concern and complete ignorance pissed Garret off. He took a deep, silent breath to stabilize himself before he landed a fist in Tanner’s face. Something he’d been dying to do ever since Tanner first laid eyes on Reagan.

“You know what I mean.”

“I’ve been giving you plenty of space,” Tanner said. “Too much, in my opinion. Seems all you’ve been doing is seeing how far you can stick that tongue of yours down Reagan’s throat.”

Garret watched Tanner, but Tanner wouldn’t meet his eyes. When he finally did, Tanner held a look of defiance.

“This is my investigation. You back the hell off. And stop insulting Reagan. That isn’t going to get you anywhere.”

“I was trying to rile her. And it worked. You can learn a lot about a woman when you piss them off.”

“Back. The hell. Off.”

Tanner raised his hands. “Okay, okay.” He reached for his beer and swilled. “I’ll be in the background when you need me. You stay with her. See if her tongue will start talking while you’re using yours on her. I’ll do the grunt work.” He stood, saluted, and walked away.

Garret hated the sonofabitch. Agents like Tanner gave the bureau a bad reputation. Gave police work in general a bad reputation. Cocky. Arrogant as hell. With nothing but a title to back him up.

• • •

That weekend, Reagan and Naomi went to Air Dog, sporting grins and laughter. She tried to convince herself she wouldn’t care if Garret didn’t make it to the Valentine’s Party at Air Dog. It’d be best if he didn’t. Something about the red hearts gave Reagan a crazy longing to truly experience love and devotion. To have red roses and dark chocolate delivered to her door. Silly, silly thinking.

Red lights glimmered across the ceiling, emitting low, sexy illumination. A beam of lights corralled atop the dance floor, emanating a stream of colors. Tables flaunted small red candles and white bears.

The décor wasn’t set for sweet. It was set for sexy.

Chayton stood behind the bar with a bright red jersey shirt advertising the number sixty-nine. Only he could look good wearing a shirt like that. With extra help, he tended a flurry of customers. The other bartender was the woman she knew as Simone. The lights flickered off blonde and cherry streaks to make it appear outrageous in an appealing way.

Just the kind of woman Chayton would like. Reagan perceived Naomi’s sigh more than she heard it.

“Ladies, ladies, welcome.” Chayton retrieved two glasses hanging above the counter. “What can I get you? You want to try my Valentine Rose?”

“What’s that?” Naomi asked.

“My specialty. You have to try at least one.”

“Hit me,” Naomi said, and glared when Chayton winked. And here Reagan thought they were getting along.

“And you, Reagan?”

“I’ll try it,” she said, trying not to be too conspicuous as she searched for Garret. Even if it was best he didn’t come, she longed to see him. It wouldn’t be hard to blend in here. Masses of people swarmed the bar and the dance floor brimmed with patrons.

Reagan watched Chayton concoct the beverages. Naomi focused her attention away from the bar.

“I thought you and Chayton were friends,” Reagan said.

Naomi nodded. “We are.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Chayton returned, furnishing their requested beverages.

Reagan popped a couple bucks in the tip jar. “What’s going on tonight?” she asked.

“Entertainment night. Tourists and locals play music, tell jokes, karaoke, whatever they want to do onstage as long as it’s legal. Gets pretty crazy but it’s loads of fun.”

“Where’s Garret?” Naomi asked, as if she knew Reagan was dying to ask but wouldn’t.

He nodded behind them before turning to another customer.

Reagan swiveled her chair to look. Garret stood on stage, a guitar strapped around his neck. The loud music overhead stilled and Garret sat on a chair in the middle of the stage. The lights dimmed.

Reagan swallowed. The pulse in her throat ached. A bright flash of panic seared her eyes. She blinked.

His hair, mussed to perfection, coasted across his forehead and curled at his neck. She resisted the urge to jump him, right there on stage. Her thoughts grew naughtier as she imagined the stage lights illuminating their bodies as they made love.

Reagan gripped Naomi’s hand. “Ohmigod. He sings.”

“That’s yet to be determined,” Naomi said.

“He’s a Greek God.”

“Yes, he is.”

“And I haven’t slept with him yet.”

Naomi coughed as her drink sputtered to her nose. Reagan slapped her back with the palm of her hand. Okay, not the best move if her friend had been choking, but whatever.

“Yet?” Naomi asked.

“I should live a little dangerously, right? I can’t help that the first guy I see is fine, intelligent, and sings. Remember, I’m being wild? Leaving my safe little past behind?”

“Okay, so you’re ready to make the first move?”

“Give me a few more of these,” Reagan said as she held up her drink, “and I will.”

Garret strummed the guitar a few notes and began his song. “Bad Moon Rising
.
” Something bubbled in her throat as she watched him. Something like desire and ecstasy, as if she’d already found her release but needed more. She felt like an enamored high school student watching her current celebrity crush at a concert as he belted out her favorite tune.

Oh, but it felt good. Let that bad moon rise around her tonight. All she had to do was stumble home. She’d never been irresponsible in her life, so why not start now? Even if she had to be the one to prompt the lovemaking.

After downing the Valentine drink, she asked for another, urging the dizziness to hit. The more the merrier tonight. She yearned to get wild with this guy like she’d never been wild before. To hell with the damn consequences. She was tired of worrying about consequences and right now, didn’t see why two bright, responsible people should cause many. Who cared if he was a neighbor? Who cared if she might accidentally run into him after they had sex?

Who cared if he professed only to be friends? Friends slept together all the time.

“How is it?” Chayton asked.

Warm and ready. She stifled a giggle as she turned and handed him the empty cup.

“Wonderful. I need another.”

“That good, huh?”

“I’ll run twice the distance tomorrow on the treadmill,” she said, though she hadn’t gotten on a treadmill once since she’d arrived in Montana. “Hit me with another one.”

“You go girl.” Naomi struck her shoulder against Reagan’s.

“I’m in lust,” Reagan said, staring at Garret. He sang another song, a low, guttural, sad song that wrenched her heart in two.

Damn, he was sexy, and his voice was sexy, and his hair, his eyes, his hands …

A man sat beside her. A man who couldn’t hold a candle to the one she currently lusted after, and she declined a dance. She drank another cocktail and by that time, the room spun.

It felt good. No, it felt great.

After a third song, this one quick and screeching, the crowd roared and asked for more. “It’s someone else’s turn,” Garret said as he dismissed the crowd with a wave.

Chayton already had a Guinness ready for Garret when he arrived.

“That was great,” Naomi told him.

“Thanks.”

“You didn’t tell me you were a singer,” Reagan said, the twitter in her voice hovering between desperation and completion, like she knew she was about to have the most magnificent sex of her life.

“I’m not technically. I like to sing and do it for fun but I’m not a singer.”

“Better than a lot of singers I know.” She swept a finger across his silken cheek, something she’d been dying to do since she first met him. “You could quit your day job, whatever that might be.”

“It’s your turn.” That same guttural voice in which he sang kept her on the brink of losing her composure, or her sanity, or her clothes.

“What?” She plunked a hand over her chest, steadying her pounding heart by planting her heel, which had been propped on the barstool, on the floor. “Oh no, oh no, not me.” If he did have an urge to sleep with her, that would change as soon as he heard her sing.

“Oh come on,” Naomi said. “I’ll do it with you. We’ll sing ‘It’s Raining Men’ or something like that.”

“You want me to make a total fool of myself, don’t you?”

“Yes. Come on.” Naomi pulled her up, and she gave Garret one last lingering look before following her cousin to the stage. Her legs wobbled as she walked up one step, two steps, to the stage. Her heart pounded in her throat but Naomi, the perfect being she was, broke the tension.

“We’ve never done this before,” Naomi said, shaking her hips, looking cute, and gaining applause. “So don’t be too hard on us.”

They had a blast, and Reagan couldn’t hear how bad she sucked over the loud speakers. Other women joined in the fray, and before long the entire crowd sang.

But she couldn’t take her eyes off Garret, who stood by the bar and watched.

“Okay, okay,” she told Naomi when their second song ended. “I gotta go. I’m gonna see if that hunky man wants to go home with me tonight.”

“What about me?” Naomi asked.

“You’re not invited.”

“But where am I supposed to sleep?”

Reagan’s giggle sounded a tad tipsy, a tad silly, and a whole lot horny. “With Chayton.”

Reagan moseyed down the stage, attempting to appear sexy even after all the drinks she’d consumed. She couldn’t remember anymore. She didn’t care. The drinks provided the courage she normally wouldn’t possess, and she needed the courage to kiss Garret again.