Once Tasted: A Silver Creek Novel (13 page)

“You might want to slow down on those martinis.” Reid’s tone held a mixture of irritation and something else that she didn’t immediately recognize. Whatever it was, it lent a rough rasp to his voice.

She shifted on her stool to study him. He looked as irritatingly handsome as ever. Holding his gaze, she gave him her sweetest smile, picked up her martini, and drained it. Then she had to stifle a gag, the cocktail suddenly possessing the cloying heaviness of cough syrup. It settled uncomfortably in a stomach that was empty save for six chickpeas, a glass of Zinfandel, and her last, much more delicious martini. Drawing upon whatever acting skills she possessed, she kept her smile in place and set the glass down.

Will returned. “I’m back.” His announcement was accompanied by a wide grin. “Miss me?”

“Loads.” It was painful to look at him beside Reid. No need to detail why he appeared abruptly softer, blurrier, and infinitely duller. And he was grinning far too much. Moreover, he’d done something funny to his hair. It stood up in short, straight spikes, making him
look like … well, for some perverse reason, the only thing that came to mind was a red hedgehog.

She wasn’t sure hedgehogs came in red.

But, unfortunately, Mia suspected that Will could have magically transformed from his present likeness into George Clooney and she still would have found him lacking.

She really should have her head examined.

Will scooped up his newly refilled shot glass and tossed the liquor back. “So, Mia, ready to shake your delicious booty on the dance floor with me?”

She winced inwardly. “I’d love to.”

Reid hadn’t moved from the bar since Mia sailed past him. He could see the dance floor from where he was. A Train song was playing—Beau’s temporary concession to the fact that they were in California rather than Louisiana—and it wasn’t particularly danceable.

Perhaps Mia would get sick of the guy rocking from side to side with a goofball smirk on his face while he pumped his elbows at her, and she’d walk off the floor. Then again, Mia’s stubbornness knew no end—just as Reid’s idiocy was boundless.

“You look like you could use another beer.”

Reid didn’t turn around. “No thanks, Beau. I rode the Harley here.”

“A good night for it. Saw you talking to Mia just now. Didn’t seem to go well.”

When did it ever? “You know anything about the guy she’s with?”

“Heard him say he was in sales. Harvesters of some sort. He had some pickup line about vodka’s healing properties. So far he seems harmless. Lousy dancer.” Reid didn’t have to look across the bar to know Beau
had lifted his shoulders in a heavy shrug. “Mia’s looking good tonight. Different.”

“Yeah.” She’d freed her hair, for one thing. It moved as she swayed to the beat, the gold-brown curls taking on a life of their own. She was dressed differently, too, in a dark purple top and a long white skirt with a purple and navy blotchy print. The outfit didn’t show anything, draping with frustrating looseness, but it was pretty.

The fact that she’d dressed up bugged him to no end, because she hadn’t done it for him. Even worse, she was dancing with an equipment salesman, someone Reid ordinarily would have no problem sharing a beer with while discussing capacities and the different attachments that came with the models he hawked. But tonight all Reid wanted was to run him out of town. Five minutes ago.

What kind of goony Neanderthal did that make him? A jealous one, that’s what kind.

It was the damnedest thing. He hadn’t initially been attracted to Mia in high school. She hadn’t even been a blip on his radar. Then after the crap Jay pulled, making all the guys in the locker room listen to Mia’s fantasies about Reid, his former obliviousness toward her became … well, complicated. A messy mix of embarrassment, attraction, and self-consciousness. The combination was too confusing for his sixteen-year-old self to handle. His bungled attempt to apologize for her cousin’s cruelty—he winced to remember how he’d stumbled over the words—had only made things worse. And any chance of getting past the awkwardness and asking her out—which would doubtless have opened the door to even more snide gossip and humiliation for them both—became impossible.

Avoidance had been the obvious solution.

Dodging her hadn’t been hard, since she’d been even
more embarrassed about the diary thing than he. When they happened to pass in the hall at school, she invariably turned a scary shade of red. But then, after a month or so, things had changed. Her cheeks no longer flamed. Instead, he was treated to white-pursed lips, pinched nostrils in a nose stuck high in the air, and a narrowed critical gaze. And that had been Mia’s fixed expression for pretty much the last twelve years.

Given their history, he shouldn’t be experiencing the telltale tightening of his gut whenever she was near. And he certainly shouldn’t be tormented by the thought of what Mia would look like naked. He shouldn’t wonder what she enjoyed in bed, whether he’d be able to please her.

What was human nature if not perverse? For some insane reason, he wanted to know the answer to all those questions.

There was just something about Mia.

Hell, maybe it was because she’d written about him in her diary, had spun those fragile teenage dreams about him. Whatever it was, it made him
possessive
.

He didn’t like the emotion, and he really didn’t like that it was becoming harder to control around her. It turned him into someone he didn’t recognize.

The song ended. He watched Mia’s thick mane flow and shift across her back and around her shoulders as she shook her head, refusing the guy’s attempt to convince her to stay for a second dance. As Mia made to walk away, Reid’s hopes rose, only to plummet when the guy stepped in front of her and put his hands together as if saying
pretty please
.

Christ almighty, she wasn’t going to fall for that, was she?

Damn it all, he cursed in disbelief when she relented. And
of course
the next song was slow enough to justify
the guy crowding her and wrapping his arms about her waist.

“Hey, Beau?”

“Yeah?”

“If Mia orders another drink, make sure to give her some pretzels and a glass of water, too. And don’t let her leave the bar without my knowing.”

“Gotcha.”

He’d told himself he wouldn’t watch. But when he dropped into the chair beside Ward, Reid angled his body so he had a clear view of the couples on the floor.

“Having fun?” Ward asked.

“A blast.” He drummed his fingers against his thighs, the tempo much faster than the music coming out in surround sound. At least Beau didn’t play extended tracks.

“Why don’t you dance? There are several women who appear quite eager to take a spin on the floor with you.”

“Don’t feel like it.”

“Oh. You’d rather watch?”

Reid dragged his attention away from the dance floor for a second to shoot his brother a clear message about what he could do with himself and then shifted his gaze back to the couple shuffling slowly on the dance floor. “Jesus, did you
see
that?”

“What? You mean his hand? It does seem a touch friendly. Ah, that’s the way to discourage him, Mia.” Ward’s voice was warm with approval. “I think it’s a safe bet Mia’s dance partner will be limping for several hours.”

Reid stood, his eyes never leaving her. “He’s lucky she only decided to stomp on his foot. I’ll take her back to her house.”

“On your bike?”

Right. The Harley wasn’t an option if she was looped. She hadn’t seemed drunk earlier, but vodka and sugar had a way of ambushing a body. He wasn’t going to risk her falling off his motorcycle. “I’ll take her truck and come back in the morning for the Harley.”

“No need. I’ll ride it back to the ranch. Tess and Quinn can follow in the Jeep.”

“Thanks.” He dug his keys out of his pocket and tossed them to Ward.

“You’re welcome. And, Reid? Don’t break the guy’s arm.”

A
MAZINGLY, DESPITE HAVING
his foot crushed by an annoyed Mia, the guy who’d been dancing with her was still hanging on, perhaps too rocked from groping her ass to feel the broken bones or to recognize how close he was to acquiring a few more.

Any sane or sober man would have taken a good look around and known better than to mess with Mia in Beau’s watering hole. Beau Duchamp was not someone to rile, and he was staring like a hawk at the red-haired man, more than ready to jump over the bar and rescue Mia. But it was clear from the sloppy grin on the guy’s face that he was too damned happy to read the scene. Whether that was from drink or a Mia rush was immaterial. His night of boogying down and feeling up was over.

On his way to the dance floor, Reid caught Beau’s eye. “Call Ralph Cummings, would you, and have him take this bozo wherever he belongs?” Ralph Cummings was the sole taxi driver in the area. Since Ward had told him he couldn’t break the guy’s arm, Reid figured sticking him in the back of Ralph’s car—far from the most pleasant ride in Mendocino County—would suffice as punishment. And the roads would be safe.

“Consider it done,” Beau replied.

As he neared the dancers, Reid saw that Mia was none too pleased with her new friend. She was pushing at his shoulder. He kept squeezing.

“Time to head home, Mia,” Reid said.

She turned at the sound of his voice. Naturally her expression only grew darker. Why be grateful that he was saving her from Octopaw?

“And who are you to be telling her anything?” The guy looked at Reid and puffed out his chest, a bantam preparing to fight.

Reid smiled. He only hoped the man was stupid enough to throw a punch at him.

Instead, the guy turned to Mia. “Who’s he?”

“This is Reid. He’s—”

“I’m her partner,” Reid said, before she could offer her own scathing characterization. With a tender smile he said, “Isn’t that right,
darling
?”

She scowled but remained blessedly silent.

“Partner?” the guy repeated. “She didn’t tell me—”

“I’m telling you. Loud and clear. So beat it, pal.”

Mia shook off his grip as soon as they stepped outside the bar.

“That was totally unnecessary,” she informed him as she marched toward her truck. “I did not need your intervention.”

He kept stride with her. “You sure did. He was all over you. Not even the threat of a second mangled foot was stopping him. What were you doing with him, anyway—what happened to you and Andrew Schroeder?” He couldn’t believe he’d asked that.

The question obviously surprised her, too. She faltered, tripping on a stone, but when he reached out to steady her, she flapped her arm like an angry bird.
“How did you know I was going out tonight with Andrew?”

“I know lots. Answer the question.”

“Thomas told you, huh? Andrew and I came to a parting of ways. He needs more time to play video games.”

Her breezy tone didn’t fool him. “Schroeder’s a moron.”

That stopped her in her tracks. She even looked at him sort of pleasantly. “You know, that’s the nicest thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

Was that true? Probably. Funny, he knew exactly what to say to a woman—if her name wasn’t Mia Bodell.

“But actually I should thank Andrew,” Mia said as she resumed her military march. “He showed me what a jerk he was before I made the mistake of sleeping with him.”

Reid’s jaw nearly hit the ground.

Blithely unaware, she continued. “He also helped me realize how sick and tired I am of being me. That’s why I went to The Drop.”

“To guzzle martinis like they’re Gatorade and pick up guys? Brilliant plan.”

“Ha. Very funny. I didn’t pick up Will; I merely didn’t discourage him. And he was perfectly nice until that third shot of vodka.”

“A prince among men.” Thank God this Will person was taking a cab to wherever he was staying. Reid hoped the fare was astronomical.

“Again, your wit dazzles. And for your information, I did not guzzle. Not really. And I’m not drunk.”

“Not really,” he replied, but his sarcasm was lost on her. He could tell she wasn’t drunk—her clearly articulated sentences proved that. But she had to be a little buzzed. Otherwise she’d have never shared that information
about her and Andrew. And she was still babbling—ranting—away.