Solid Steel (Unseen Enemy Book 6) (3 page)

Chapter Three

After breakfast, Griff excused himself to go to the bathroom, exchanging quick looks with Luke as he lumbered away down the hall.

Selena sat alone in a booth, finishing her cup of coffee. She had her back to the bar where Luke had been standing for the past thirty minutes, but she’d been achingly aware of his presence the entire time that she’d consumed the incredible breakfast that he’d made.

To her alarm, there was something almost magnetic about the man, something that crackled with energy, something that connected her to him. She sensed him, felt him, almost
tasted
him, even when facing away from him. It had been a hellish half-an-hour trying to ignore that tug, that pull to turn around and let her eyes roam all over his delicious face and body.

Luke ambled over now, approaching carefully. She looked up at him, her face a blank.

“So,” Luke said as he started to stack the plates. “How was it?”

“Good.”

He waited. “No compliments to the chef?”

“It was good.”

“Aw, c’mon. Feed my ego just a bit, huh?”

Despite herself, she almost grinned back. “It needs feeding?”

“Sometimes. We men are fragile creatures, you know.”

“OK, then… that was the best huevos rancheros I’ve ever had that was cooked by a non-Mexican person who was not a member of my immediate family.”

He paused. “Those were some serious qualifications on a statement.”

“Yeah.”

“So your Mom does it better, I guess?”

Right away, she closed up again. “She did. When she was alive.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why? You didn’t know her.”

“No. But I know you, so I’m sorry for you. For your loss.”

She stared up at him, trying to not see the kindness in those astonishing blue eyes. She kicked the defensiveness up a few notches, motivated by sheer emotional survival.

“You
don’t
know me, Luke. We met less than an hour ago.”

Seeing his opening, Luke plunged right on through.

“Well, I’d like to
get
to know you. What do you say we go for a drink this weekend?”

Selena blinked, totally stunned. “A – a drink?”

“Uh-huh. And not here, yeah? I mean someplace nice. Maybe with a wine list and a menu that doesn’t specialize in spicy chicken wings?”

Still shocked beyond the ability to speak, Selena stared at him some more. Was this gorgeous man actually asking
her
on a date? He seemed to be, and he seemed to mean it.

He was standing there all rangy muscles and dark hair and flashing eyes and cocky smile, relaxed and sexy-as-hell in jeans and a t-shirt. That dark stubble on his cheeks and his cuts and bruises made him look dangerous, hard, bad-ass, but his lips were generous and sensual.

Luke was all charm and good humor, but he had a steadiness to him, too, a calm centre, a core of strength. He was the perfect mix of tough and tender, and she yearned to feel both kinds of touch on her body, on her lips.

Her eyes dropped to the stump at the end of his left arm and she marveled – yet again – that Luke’s missing hand was just about the last thing that she noticed about him. His confidence, his warmth, his fucking amazing good looks were all she saw.

For a few seconds, she was so,
so
tempted. Not to sleep with him, obviously, because no way she was taking her shirt off in front of Luke, no matter how badly she wanted him to take off
his
. No, she wanted to just be around him. Talk to him, bask in that amazing glow, relax and tease him and laugh. She actually thought that Luke Rhodes could make her feel beautiful… quite possibly he was the
only
man in her life right now who could do that.

And just like that, she slammed the door on those traitorous, treacherous thoughts. She wasn’t a beautiful woman; hell, she wasn’t even a whole woman. Besides, a man like Luke undoubtedly had his pick of women and from what Selena knew about Dangerous Curves, he definitely had female customers throwing themselves at him constantly. No way the guy was a Boy Scout, no way he’d turn down the spread legs on offer every single shift he worked here.

No, Luke was a beautiful, tempting, flashing-red danger sign. And danger had to be avoided.

“Sorry.” Selena busted out her scary voice, the one that she used when holding a gun to some asshole’s head as she talked him down from whatever stupid thing he was thinking of doing. It seemed to have no effect on Luke at all, which pissed her off pretty majorly. “I can’t. I work overnight on Friday and you’re going to the game on Saturday.”

“So next weekend?”

“Nope.”

“You busy?”

“Nope.”

“You’re going to make me work for a date with you, huh?”

Selena narrowed her eyes at him. “Let’s get this straight between us, yeah? I don’t play hard-to-get. In fact, I don’t play games at all. They’re bullshit and they waste time and they’re no fun for me, anyway. I’m saying
no
because I mean
no
. I don’t want to date you, Luke, and I’m sorry if you can’t handle rejection.”

“Oh, I can handle rejection just fine,” he said cheerfully. “When it’s sincere.”

Now she gaped at him. “You think I’m being
insincere
?”

“Oh, hell, yeah. You’re as interested as I am, but for reasons that completely elude me, you’re being stubborn about acting on it. Now, if you don’t play games, then I’m at a loss here. You strike me as the kind of woman who goes after what she wants, all fearless and no goddamn apologies, and since I think you want me, I can’t figure out why you’re turning me down.”

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

“So.” Luke shifted that massive frame back and forth, and she worked hard to ignore the sensuous way that his body moved. “The way I see it is, you’re lying to me and you’re
also
maybe lying to yourself. Why?”

“I’m – I’m not lying to anyone.”

“Lying again.” Luke’s tone was light and unconcerned, but his eyes were blazing down at her. “You scared?”

“Of
you
?” she said, trying to sound scornful. “As if.”

He shrugged one huge shoulder. “Maybe of me. Maybe of something else. But
are
you scared?”

To her horror, Selena felt tears approaching. Again. What the hell
was
it about this guy that made her emotions bubble up so close to the surface? After weeks and weeks of holding it together without any major problems, this smooth-talking, arrogant-as-all-hell bartender was reducing her to mush without any effort whatsoever. Yeah, Luke was dark, hot, smoking danger, and she had to get the fuck out of here. Now.

She stood up without a word, threw some money down on the table. “That should cover it. Tell Griff I’m waiting outside.”

Luke watched her turn and stalk out the door, admired her curvy ass in those jeans. Everything about her screamed ‘running for her life’, and he wondered why she was denying something that she so clearly felt. In all this time of hearing Griff talk about the woman, Selena Perez had never struck Luke as the kind who’d run from anything. Not even her own feelings.

He glanced down at his left arm, wondered briefly if she was repulsed or disgusted by it. Plenty of women were, and he could see it all over their faces and from a mile away. Hell, his own fiancée had taken up with his former good friend and run shrieking within days of him arriving back from Afghanistan mostly healthy and almost-whole – just missing what he’d lost in that freak explosion.

Yeah, Natalie had been grossed out to the point of breaking off their engagement, and lots of women since had grimaced at the sight of Luke’s missing limb. Not Selena, though; she hadn’t been about to puke in his presence, hadn’t shown anything but compassion. No, Luke was sure that whatever the issue was, it wasn’t his hand.

Griff returned now, looked around. “You run her off?”

“I think so.”

“You ask her out?”

“Yeah. She said no.”

“Mmmm-hmmm.” Griff’s dark green eyes were amused but watchful. “And?”

“And.” Luke grinned. “How about I bring you guys some breakfast at work on Monday morning?”

“Sounds awesome, man. Drop by the office around eight o’clock. We’ll just be arriving from finishing our shift then and we’ll be starving.”

“Perfect. We’ll talk strategy at the game this weekend.”

“For sure.” Griff put on his jacket. “You’re gonna need some help with this one, Romeo.”

“Oh, yeah. Yeah, I can tell.”

**

Emma Cartwright threw her skirt on the bed, frustrated and ready to cry. It landed on the top of a towering pile of clothes that included jeans, dresses, jackets with buttons… and now her very last skirt.

“Hey, angel.”

She turned, delighted to have found a target for her wardrobe-induced meltdown.

“
You
,” she hissed.

Dean Jessop stood with a cup of coffee in his hand, blinked at the rage in Emma’s voice.

“Me what?” he said cautiously.

“
You
did this to me. This is all
your
fault.”

“What did I do? What’s my fault?”

“
This
!” She gestured at the pile of discarded clothing. “Nothing fits me!”

“Ah.” Understanding dawned in his mint-green eyes. “Junior’s getting big, huh?”

Emma stared down at her stomach. OK,
logically
she knew that she was being ridiculous. She knew that she should be thrilled that she was almost five months pregnant with Dean’s son. She knew that it was a wonderful, miraculous thing for her body to be doing this at all, especially so soon after her remission from cancer. She knew that Dean would love her even if she got to be the size of a minivan, that he’d find her devastatingly sexy even if she never wore a hot dress or high heels again.

Yeah, she knew all that. But right in this moment, she kind of forgot.

“I have nothing to wear!” she burst out. “I mean, my oversized things were getting a bit tight last week, but it’s like my stomach doubled in size overnight! I’m not prepared… I was going to go shopping this weekend, and now I have to go to the doctor and then to the safe house and I have
nothing to wear
except for my pyjamas!” She glared at him, her dark blue eyes flashing fire. “And it’s
all your fault
!”

Dean set down the coffee cup a safe distance away, in case she got it in to her head to throw it at him. He ran his hands through his scruffy blond hair, tried not to laugh. Emma was totally adorable when she was mad, but he knew she wasn’t going to appreciate that right now. Right now, he had to calm down the pregnant woman. He also had to help her get dressed.

“Emma?”

“Yes, Dean?” She made the two syllables sound like a threat.

“I have some clothes for you.”

That gave her pause. “You – you do?”

Thinking that it was safe to approach, Dean moved closer. “Yeah.”

“How? How do you have clothes for me?”

“I went shopping last week, when you first said that your waistbands were getting tight.”

She squinted up at his handsome face. “I don’t understand.”

“I went shopping for you.”

“At clothing stores?”

“Yeah.”

“
Women’s
clothing stores?” she clarified.

He snorted, covered it up by coughing. “Yeah.”

She sat down on the bed. “I – I don’t believe it.”

“Believe it, baby.” He smiled at her now, that hot, slow smile that brought her to her knees every single time she saw it –
sometimes even literally to my knees in front of him
– and her stomach jumped. Or maybe the baby was just doing gymnastics again.

“Can I see them?” she said.

“Of course.” He went to his side of the closet and rummaged around on the floor. He stood up, a few bags in his hands. “Here we go.”

Silently, Emma watched Dean unpack the clothes, still a bit disbelieving. When she saw the clothes, she shot past stunned and landed right on stupefied. They were perfect… absolutely gorgeous.

She picked up a deep-blue wrap-around dress, noticed that it was almost the same color as her eyes. The other dresses were equally flattering, the jackets were cut perfectly for her slim shoulders and rounded ass, the blouses were sexy and colorful, the skirts were the ideal length for her short, curvy legs. She picked up a pair of chocolate-brown knee-high boots with zippers and low heels, and she shook her head.

“How…” she said softly. “Dean,
how
?”

“Well, I had help.”

A sudden vision of Dean storming a woman’s clothing store with his ex-battalion brothers came to her. She fought back a giggle, imagining Dallas Foreman, Chris Brooker, Jim Alden and Dean all standing around, scowling at the bewildered saleswomen and discussing the merits of various dresses and blouses for her. Like Dean, they were all huge, hulking guys with muscles and tattoos and bad-ass attitudes – though every one of them was a gentle, kind man in his heart.

“Who helped you?” she asked.

Dean grinned at her. “You think it was the boys, huh?”

“Uh, well.” She smiled back at him. “I figure these boots look like something Dallas would pick out for Olivia.”

Dean laughed. “Oh, hell, yeah. But
any
man would pick those out for his woman, baby. They’re fucking hot.”

Now, she did giggle. “So,
was
it the guys?”

“Nope. Try again.”

“The girls?”

“Nope.”

“I give up.”

“Nigel.”

Delighted, Emma gave a real laugh. Nigel Ramirez was Olivia’s ex-personal assistant from her modelling days. He had a great eye for clothes and style and he was the first person that Dean would have thought of calling as he ventured in to the totally unknown world of female fashion.

“Nigel,” she said. “I should have known.”

“Yeah, he was the happiest I’ve ever seen him, I swear.” Dean reached for her slowly, still afraid she might detonate. “Said he loved spending my money on you.”

Emma let him tug her to her feet, went willingly in to his strong arms. She rested her head on his chest and sighed. “I’m sorry I shouted at you. I was being an asshole.”