Terms Of Engagement. Kylie Brant

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СКАЧАТЬ her hand, despite her discreet tugs. “Half a suit. Half the credit. And they’re just smearing my name because they want to unionize.” He lowered his voice, and the sexy timbre sent a quick shiver over her nerve endings. “So how about we compare notes before Dace and Jolie get back? I’ll tell you what they told me about you if you do the same.”

      That stopped her short. “They’ve talked about me to you?” She wasn’t sure she liked the sound of that.

      “Attractive, even though she plays it down, straitlaced, needs to loosen up a little, good sense of humor, mean at cards,” he recited rapidly. “Your turn.”

      “I’m not sure I remember them mentioning you,” she lied. “Are you the one who spent time in prison?”

      He gave a loud bark of laughter as Dace and Jolie approached the table again. “Mean, and not only at cards. I like that.”

      She finally succeeded in wresting her hand free. And found herself curling her fingers into her palm, trapping the heat that lingered. “I have a feeling, Langley, that your ‘likes’ would fill several dozen little black books.”

      Jolie set a bottle of Corona in front of Lindsay and sat down again next to Dace. Jack shot the other man a look. “Don’t know what you told her about me, but she’s got the totally wrong impression.”

      Dace tipped his bottle to his lips. “She must have. She hasn’t run out of here screaming yet.”

      “Perhaps her impression has something to do with your wardrobe,” Jolie put in dryly. “Not everyone finds half-dressed Santas appealing. Go figure.”

      Jack leaned toward Lindsay, his look of contrition as insincere as that of a ten-year-old altar boy caught sampling the sacramental wine. “The stuffing and the beard were hot. I normally wear shirts. Almost always.” He paused, as if to reconsider, then corrected, “At least a lot of the time.”

      Because she was feeling a little warm herself, Lindsay picked up her beer and drank. And took the time to remind herself of all the reasons she’d sworn off men just like Jack Langley.

      He fairly sizzled sex appeal. Anyone with a pair of X chromosomes was bound to respond to it. And it didn’t hurt that she had an up close and personal view of his rock-solid build, which had no resemblance to the real Santa’s. She’d never given it much thought, but she doubted Jolly Old St. Nick had ever had such broad shoulders, muscled arms, or that washboard belly. Which was a real pity for Mrs. Claus.

      But…Lindsay was through looking for thrills. In life, and in men. Safe, solid and secure were the new parameters of her life. And if that equated with dull and dreary…well, at least it kept her alive.

      There was nothing remotely safe about Jack Langley.

      She set her bottle down and listened politely as the other three talked shop. Despite what she’d said earlier, she remembered everything Jolie and Dace had ever said about the half-naked man sitting next to her. Specifically that he and Dace went way back. That he was a detective like her two friends, assigned to the same SWAT squad. He wasn’t a negotiator like Dace and Jolie but was one of the guys who entered the building when an assault became necessary. An adrenaline junkie, she figured, watching him as he conversed. The kind who thrived on danger and risk. The kind who hadn’t yet found out that excitement carried its own risk and all too easily could turn deadly.

      “Doesn’t matter.” Jack lifted a shoulder and reached for his beer. And it was annoying to find herself more focused on that expanse of bare skin than on his words. “I’m cleared for duty, and our squad’s in line for the next incident. Don’t worry about me, I’m ready.”

      “What happened?” The words were out of Lindsay’s mouth before she could stop them.

      “He was injured in that explosion at the Metrodome a few months ago,” Jolie informed her, her gaze still on Jack. There was a slight furrow between her eyes that indicated Jack hadn’t completely alleviated her concern.

      “Hurt my leg, but it’s healed.” Jack picked up one of the sadly wrinkled drink umbrellas from the table in front of him and reached over to tuck it in Lindsay’s hair. “Nothing to worry about. But if you’d like to kiss it better, I could be persuaded to drop my Santa britches and show you the wound on my thigh.”

      The dare in his words was reflected by that wicked glint in his eye. The invitation should have sounded sleazy. But somewhere along the line, probably by grade school, he’d mastered the art of delivering a line with enough humor to engage rather than repel.

      Lindsay definitely did not want to find him engaging.

      “I’m going to say thanks…but no,” she drawled, eliciting laughter from Dace and Jolie. She couldn’t prevent a smile at the crestfallen expression Jack affected. He might be—how had Jolie described him?—something of a player, but at least he didn’t seem to take himself too seriously. Relaxing a bit, she took another sip of beer. There were worse ways to spend an evening than chatting with friends with a half-naked hunk by her side.

      Since looking was about all the action she allowed herself these days, what was the harm in treating herself to a little eye candy for the next couple hours?

      Two hours and two beers later, Lindsay had the belated answer to that question.

      Harm was an abstract concept.

      The time spent in his company had only fanned her slumbering hormones to an unwelcome simmer, which was definitely a waste, because there was no way she was going to indulge them. It would have been simpler if she could dismiss Jack as just another good-looking guy with a smooth line and easy banter. But the affection Jolie and Dace had for him was evident. And he was amusing, whether trading good-natured barbs with Dace or directing humorous asides to her.

      It was almost enough to lull her well-honed instincts into believing Jack Langley was harmless, and that would have been a mistake. Lindsay was perceptive enough to see the toughness beneath the charm and smart enough to steer clear of both.

      To distract herself from the stab of regret that thought brought, she focused on her friends across the table. Jolie was as guarded as Lindsay was herself, which was why it had taken weeks after their initial meeting outside the restaurant for Lindsay to learn the woman’s occupation. By then it had been too late for that inner shrill of alarm. They’d been solidly on the way to becoming friends. Jolie had told Lindsay enough about her and Dace’s past to make Lindsay doubly happy for the plans they were making for their future. The thought of not being around for their wedding this spring brought a pang, but there was always the possibility that she could come back for it.

      Panic stabbed through her at the errant thought. Once she moved on, she never went back. Not ever. She didn’t use the same identity twice or even stay in the same state. Doing the unexpected had kept her alive this long. She couldn’t alter her strategy now.

      Troubled, she rubbed at the condensation on the bottle with her thumb. This was why it was best to have no lasting relationships. Ties elicited emotion. Emotion fogged logic. Made it difficult to leave and start over.

      But starting over had long since lost the appeal it had once held.

      “Jolie says you’re a cook at Piper’s.” Jack’s husky baritone sounded in her ear. “Maybe you’d like to go out somewhere you can order a meal you don’t have to prepare.” At her silence, he lifted a lazy black brow. “I’ll wear a shirt, I promise. And I do СКАЧАТЬ