Say No To Joe? (39 page)

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Authors: Lori Foster

BOOK: Say No To Joe?
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“Hunting up another bail jumper, huh?”
Bryan shook his head. “No, not this time.” His fists clenched and unclenched. “My brother needs a little help.”
Luna and Alyx joined them in time to hear that last comment. “You have a brother?” Luna asked.
“Does he look anything like you?” Alyx wanted to know. She leaned close and smoothed Bryan's lapel. “You certainly are handsome in a suit.”
Joe caught his sister's arm and hauled her to his side. Bryan just smiled. “Actually, Bruce is the spitting image of me. See, we're identical twins. But looks are where the similarities end.”
“Oh?” Joe smiled, and just to harass Bryan, he asked, “He's a nice guy, is that it?”
“Real nice. A preacher actually.” With everyone momentarily speechless, Bryan straightened away from the tree. “Speaking of my brother, I need to get going.” He gave Luna a hug, shook hands with Joe, then said to Alyx, “Scott is headed this way. Your ploy to make him jealous worked.”
Alyx grinned. “What makes you think I wanted him jealous?”
Bryan's eyes narrowed. “Because otherwise a princess like you would never flirt with me. You have to be too smart for that.” He saluted Scott on his way to the back door.
Joe laughed at his sister's stunned expression. “Well, Alyx, that trick fell flat.”
She recovered quickly. “No, it didn't. If you look at Scott and the way he's fuming, you'll see that it worked just fine.”
Just then, Scott appeared. He stood in front of Alyx, his nostrils flared, his eyes bright.
A mournful tone in her voice, Alyx said, “Bryan had to leave. But where's Jamie? I haven't seen him in hours.”
Without a word, Scott wrapped his fingers around her wrist and tugged her away. Alyx looked over her shoulder, gave a tiny wave of triumph to Luna, and then went along quite willingly.
“Your sister is something else.”
Joe stood behind Luna. He bent and kissed her nape, her ear. “This dress is something else. I do love your sense of style, babe.” She'd chosen a long, cream-colored sheath. It was strapless, leaving her shoulders completely bared, and gathered just a bit between her breasts. The design was simple but elegant, and quite understated for Luna. She carried a small bouquet of daisies, carnations, and baby's breath tied with long ribbons.
“Do you love me?”
Joe growled. “Let's get out of here and I'll show you how much.”
They heard Austin let out a shout and looked across the yard to where he sprawled on a quilt, arm-wrestling with Chase Winston, Joe's quieter cousin. With a lot of fanfare and heckling, Chase allowed himself to lose. Zane boosted Austin up to his shoulders, and they heralded him as a champ.
Julie Rose sat to the side, cheering as loud as anyone. She and Zane's wife, Tamara, seemed to be hitting it off. Though Julie Rose claimed to be an engaged woman, she'd come to the wedding and reception alone. But she didn't look sad about it. No, prim Julie Rose acted like a full-time partyer, given half the chance.
“Where
did
Jamie go?” Luna asked, looking around for him.
“I'm sure he's evaporated into the mists or magically transported himself somewhere. Who knows? More importantly, who cares?”
Luna slanted him a teasing look. “I can't believe you're still jealous.”
“I'm possessive, not jealous.” Joe started to nibble on her ear.
“Well, that's good. Because Jamie likes you. Before he left, he told me you had a really special wedding gift for me.”
Joe froze. Very slowly, he lifted his head to stare at Luna. “The hell you say.”
“Was he wrong?” She appeared a little deflated by that possibility. “I swear he almost smiled when he told me about it. The corners of his mouth curled up just the tiniest bit.”
“That son of a . . .” Joe's soft exclamation trailed off. “Come on. Let's get out of here. I'll show you your gift once we're all alone.”
“Well, now I'm doubly curious.”
Joe lifted her into his arms and, at the same time, called out, “To anyone who's interested, she's throwing the bouquet so we can get on our way.”
Alyx immediately reappeared, her hair a little mussed, her cocky smile in place. Julie Rose lined up alongside her, along with Willow, and Mack's daughter Trista, and a few other single relatives in the extended family.
Joe twirled Luna twice, making her laugh, then said, “Throw it,” and she pitched the bouquet into the air. Rather than soar toward the line of women, it went in the opposite direction.
Bryan had just come back around the corner. “Hey, my car is hemmed in by someone's minivan—” The bouquet hit him square in the forehead, and like the combat machine Joe knew him to be, he staggered back, recovered, and caught the damn thing.
Not two seconds later, he got tackled by every single woman in the yard.
 
 
Joe was still chuckling about Bryan's fate when he carried Luna into the cabin and kicked the door shut. They were less than two hours from home, but for all intents and purposes, they had privacy.
“Finally,” Joe said, keeping Luna in his arms while heading straight for the posh bedroom. From the moment she'd said, “I do,” he'd been struggling with such a powerful sense of possession and pride and love, it was all he could do to keep being cordial.
Joe laid her on the mattress and followed her down, blanketing her with his body and sealing their mouths together before she could say a single thing. He cupped her face, licked into her mouth, and groaned with contentment.
“Joe,” she whispered when he pulled the top of her dress below her breasts and began kissing his way down her throat. “Where's my gift?”
“It's coming.” He gently drew one nipple into his mouth, all the while thinking how nice it would be to get to sleep the entire night with her. They'd kept to their discreet routine of nooners while the kids were in school. Luna might be a free spirit, but she took her responsibilities to the kids seriously, and that meant being what she considered a good example.
He slid his hand up her thigh and into her panties to palm a warm cheek. “Tell me you love me.”
“I love you,” she moaned, already wiggling against him.
“Good. Then let's get these clothes off you.” Joe sat up and efficiently stripped her. Once she was bare, he had to touch her everywhere, and when that didn't suffice, he had to kiss her, taste her, everywhere.
Luna didn't ask about her gift again, but she did demand that he strip also. “Take your clothes off, Joe. I want you. Now.”
Anticipating her reaction, he stood and yanked his tie away, then quickly unbuttoned his dress shirt. He wadded it up and threw it across the room. Luna came up on one elbow to watch as he kicked off his shoes, bent to remove his socks, and then, with a smile, turned and dropped his pants.
There was a moment of stunned silence before Luna started to laugh. “This,” she asked, giving his tush a swat, “is my gift?”
“Yeah.” Joe turned and crawled into bed beside her. “You like it?”
“I thought you said it'd hurt too much to have it lasered off.”
“It hurt like hell. But, babe, you're worth a little pain. Besides, I only had to remove a few letters.”
“And add a few more?”
Joe grinned. “I lost an
ou
, but gained a
una.”
His tattoo now read,
I Love Luna
.
Luna crawled up onto his chest. “You're branded as mine, Joe Winston. There's no turning back now.”
“Not a problem.” Joe pulled her mouth down to his and began to nibble on her lips. “I've been yours since the day you threw food at my head.”
She teased his chest hair thoughtfully a moment before meeting his gaze. “You promise you won't get bored? You won't miss the excitement?”
Joe's eyes widened, and he laughed. He rolled Luna beneath him, felt her soft curves, the perfect way she cradled him. “Honest to God, you're about as much excitement as I can take, Luna. The only way I'd go back to one of my old jobs is if I needed the break, and I know I'm not a spring chicken anymore, but, honey, I ain't
that
old.” This time when he kissed her, Luna was laughing and kissing him back. “Believe me?”
“Yes, Joe.” Then she smiled. “Saying yes to Joe Winston—it has to be one of the smartest things I've ever done.”
Joe growled as he entered her. “Beats the hell out of no any day, that's for sure.”
You won't want to miss UNEXPECTED by Lori Foster, coming next month, from Brava. Following is a sneak peek.
She'd already signed the contract.
Backing out now would blow her reputation with the agency, and besides, this mission was a piece of cake, so there was no reason for dragging her feet. She needed the money, she was free at the moment and it'd be a routine run, nothing more, nothing less. If anything, it'd be easier now than it had been in the past. Everything had changed . . .
Unfortunately, herself included.
She shook her head at that thought. True, she was older now, wiser, more settled. But at the core, she was the same. Her skills, as much a part of her as her hair and eye color, were still finely honed. She knew what she could do—and damn it, she'd do it. Hell, she'd
missed
doing it.
So why, when she pushed the door open and stared into the dim, smoky room of the bar, was her heart heavy in her chest? It wasn't the depressing gray cloud that hung thick in the air, not only from cigarettes, but from disgust and ambivalence and antagonism. This was not a happy place, but then, she'd known it wouldn't be. By necessity, it was an obscure hole in the Chicago slums where meetings like this one, with people like her, could be handled with discretion.
But it wasn't like her to borrow trouble or dwell in indecision. Doing so undermined her credibility, so she was done with it. Instead, she'd concentrate on getting this over with fast and easy, with no complications.
She had everything planned out.
Flipping her bangs off her forehead, she strode into the room, ready to get things started.
She knew several heads turned her way, scrutinizing her, making note of her appearance. Calculating. For much of her life, she'd gotten undue attention for one reason or another, most of the reasons uncomplimentary. She'd long since gotten used to the stares and the whispers. She ignored them all and with luck, they'd show her the same courtesy.
Peering through the obscuring smoke, she scanned the tables and booths, searching out each darkened corner. Country music blasted through tinny speakers, vying with the boasting and bragging of drunken men. It was the typical atmosphere of a seedy bar. Without thinking, she rubbed her stomach, feeling slightly sick with a rush of vivid memories.
Then her gaze locked onto his. Wow. The past faded away under the impact of the present—
his
impact. She felt . . . invaded.
Bright hazel eyes, radiant in the otherwise dismal interior, held her captive. She stared at him; he stared back.
Never before had she seen such intense emotion in a man's expression. For a moment, it knocked her off guard. Without moving, he appeared turbulent, frustrated, filled with determination and impatience.
Because of his situation, or because she'd arrived late?
Ha. She watched him a moment more, taking his measure. He was bigger than most of the men she knew or had worked with. And he had a more self-assured air. That he'd be trouble, she didn't doubt—he fairly screamed it with a capital T. But how much trouble, that was what she needed to know.
Lounged back in his chair, he allowed her perusal, and even took the time to look her over too. Slowly. But then, amazingly enough, he dismissed her by giving his attention back to the entrance of the bar.
Cynical amusement nudged away the lingering nervousness. So, he hadn't realized her identity? She wasn't what he'd been expecting? Typical. And here, for only a brief moment, she'd thought he might be more astute than the others.
Anticipating his reaction when she introduced herself, she started toward him. He sat at a solitary table at the far end of the room, his back to the wall so he could face the bar, a rear exit to his right. It was a guarded position she would have chosen, but probably mere coincidence for him.
She wove her way around the tables, drunks and proffered drinks without once taking her eyes off him.
As was her usual habit at such meetings, she'd dressed all in black, her clothes plain and unadorned. It made it easier to disappear if necessary, and didn't draw added attention that more complimentary clothes might have.
Her long-sleeved tunic hung to mid-thigh, loosely fitted so it wouldn't impede her movements should she need to take physical control of the surroundings. Her jeans were slim, her lowheeled boots only ankle high. She never wore jewelry—in fact, she didn't own any to wear—but she did carry a black briefcase. The case was an annoyance, but it usually proved necessary to have it handy.
When she stopped in front of him, his gaze came to her face, arrested for only a moment. Then slowly, very slowly, he looked her over again, his attention lingering in certain places like her chest, below her waist, her thighs. His look was so intimate, so personal that it brought on a mélange of sensations—outrage, disgust and strangely enough, heat. Surely not embarrassment, she told herself. She was too old and far too jaded to be disconcerted by the likes of him.
His visual inspection was appreciative and felt like a tactile touch. Damn it, she didn't like being touched, not without permission.
Her eyes narrowed, prompting him to a softly uttered, reluctant rejection. “Sorry, honey. It's unfortunate, but I'm already busy tonight.”
The nerve. Despite her exceptional control, antagonism bristled to the surface. Her every movement rigid, Ray hooked a chair and drew it out. She seated herself, placing the briefcase at her feet for safekeeping.
He cocked one dark brow upward and braced his forearms on the rough, scarred table. The new position emphasized the width of his shoulders, the brawn of his arms. She'd expected another wimpy, slim GQ look-alike, but this man could be a bouncer. He wasn't bulky, just big and hard and solid.
Added to the fine physique were the eyes of a predator, now filled with annoyance. He leaned toward her with a scowl.
“I'm Ray Vereker,” she drawled, refusing to back down from that concentrated stare. She didn't say anything more, didn't offer her hand in polite greeting. She just waited for the usual sign of disbelief and disparagement.
It was slow in coming.
Rather than gape, he leaned back and studied her anew. If she'd thought the earlier perusal was intimate, it was nothing compared to how he looked at her now. For a lesser person, for someone without her skills and background, it might have been an unnerving process. His eyes were such an unusual shade of mellow hazel, cat eyes, bright with intelligence, almost menacing. They went from heated notice to cool regard.
Deciding to do her own up-close and personal inspection, Ray draped one elbow over the back of the chair and slouched down in the seat to get comfortable. Wearing an air of unconcern, she took in his appearance from his dark brown hair cut in precise lines to his straight, masculine nose and high cheekbones to his mouth, now flattened with irritation at her boldness. He had a stubborn jaw, she noted, proving he'd be plenty of trouble, indeed.
The black tee he wore looked softer than heaven, fitted over that broad chest. Even his jacket bespoke wealth, made of fine leather and deliberately scuffed to appear fashionably worn. The watch on his thick wrist probably cost as much as her truck. Maybe more. And his nails were impeccably clean.
Thanks to the table, she couldn't see below his waist, but she'd be willing to bet the rest of him was as sturdy and strong as what she could see. Maybe it was a good thing half of him was hidden. Half was about all she could take at one time. The man made her heart race.
Though she doubted he'd ever been in such a ramshackle bar in his life,
he
didn't look the least bit ill at ease. Even her presence, which had to be a shocker, hadn't really rattled him.
To be honest with herself, she admitted he was very fine to look at. She appreciated strength and self-control. Apparently, he had both in spades.
Not that it mattered. He was still rich, and given what she'd seen so far, too arrogant for his own good. What fool came into such a place and advertised himself as an easy mark? And that was exactly what he'd done by wearing the watch and the jacket.
He was a fool, all right. And for the next few days, she owed him her service.
As the silence stretched on, Ray sighed and crossed her legs. She knew his tactic. He hoped to remain silent so long that she'd begin to babble nervously, giving herself away as a fool also. He underestimated her. He could sit in strained silence as long as he wanted. Time was money,
his
money, and she didn't mind wasting it if he didn't.
He looked at her mouth, rubbed his own, then pinned her in place with a laser-sharp gaze. In a flat tone devoid of any telltale emotion, he said, “I requested the meanest son-of-a-bitch they had.”
She gave a slow smile. “I know what you requested. I have your papers with me.”
“And?”
She lifted one shoulder, held up her hands to indicate her presence. “And they complied.”
Eyes closed, he pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering under his breath. Ray noticed that his hands were large, sprinkled with brown hair. They looked like capable hands, not the pampered, smooth hands of a rich boy.
Catching herself, she jerked her attention back to his face. He scrutinized her, then asked with some disbelief, “Do you have any idea what it is I want from you?”
“Sure.”
With a touch of disbelief, his gaze slid all over her again, appraising, before both brows lifted. Ray never moved a muscle. He could look a dozen times if it helped. She wouldn't be changing.
“I assumed ‘Ray' would be a man.”
“Assumptions are nasty things. They can get you into trouble.”
He waved that away. “What's your whole name?” “Why does it matter?”
Ray could feel his growing tension deep inside herself. It was an odd sensation, one she'd never experienced before. She half expected an explosion at any minute and braced for it, making herself tense too.
“I'm wondering,” he said slowly, his unnerving attention on her mouth again, “if there's some feminine nuance I'm missing.”
She smirked. “In me, or my name?”
His gaze snapped back to hers and he barked a laugh. “Honey, despite the hard attitude, your appearance is most definitely
un
manly.”
He said that with . . . interest? No, no way. She was lousy at judging men and their various moods in regard to the whole man–woman thing, but she understood reality very well, thank you. No man in his right mind would be thinking of anything but the mission. Not with her. Not now.
And most definitely not after the mission ended, when her special skills had been revealed.
During her ruminations, the silence grew and finally, because she had no reason not to, she said,
“Ray Jean Vereker. But I go by Ray and only Ray. You're given fair warning right now not to use my middle name, ever.”
Oddly enough, her warning evoked amusement. Oh, he didn't laugh, didn't even smile. But she saw the lightness that entered those mysterious eyes. “Yeah? Or what?”
Done with the small talk, with the nonsense, Ray said, “Or I'll walk out and you'll be left to settle for the second meanest son-of-a-bitch there is.”

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