A Little Wild (3 page)

Had Ethan known Miss Strawberry would be here? Had he perhaps even set it up?

Ethan’s work schedule would give most men angina, yet every few months he blew off steam by playing a practical joke on Zach or their dad, so it wasn’t impossible.

Zach would throttle the truth out of his brother tomorrow. In the meantime, he’d one-up the jackass by throwing Miss Strawberry a curve.

He remained standing. “Don’t be nervous. I’d love to take you out. What’s your name?”

Her gaze narrowed. “What’s yours?”

“Jack Halloran.” Let her stew for a bit, think she’d hit on the wrong guy.

The pad of her thumb bumped his palm as they shook hands. “Tess…S.,” she stammered.

Apparently, she didn’t want to use her real name, either. “Tess Ess?” he teased. “That Spanish?”

Her freckles nearly disappeared beneath another blush. She moistened her lips, stepped closer. “
Tess
,” she said, voice husky. “Tess
S
.,” she repeated. Like he’d ever forget. Her seductive gaze ensnared him as her soft smile whipped through his veins. His undisciplined cock sprang to life.

“Do you have a pen?” she asked.

“A—”
Think, Halliday.
“What?”

“Never mind.” She fetched a pen from her purse and a cardboard coaster from the bar. She scribbled on the coaster and passed it to him:
TESS S.
A telephone number followed.

“Call me.” She hiccupped.

He grinned. “No last name?”

“Not unless we actually go out.”

At least she possessed a few street smarts. He examined the scrawled number. “Is that a one or a seven?”

No reply. He glanced up.

She’d disappeared.

He surveyed the bar to see her threading back toward her table, her prim ass and long legs attracting several male glances. Her companion stood, and they headed for the washrooms—the refuge of every female he knew.

What the hell did women do together in the washroom? Would they talk about him?

His ego liked to think so.

“She works around here, you know,” the bartender said.

“Huh?” Zach climbed onto his stool. “Where?”

“Not sure,” the brawny man answered. “Doesn’t come in often. Always thought she was classy. Sure never seen her hit on a customer before.” He pointed at the coaster. “Maybe she’s gone whacko. Want me to toss that for you?”

“Nope.” Whacko or not, she fascinated him. Madonna or minx—which was it?

He looked at the coaster again, tapped it.

There was only one way to find out.

Ethan Halliday had better things to do than listen to his brother drone on about some woman he’d met in the bar. A stack of financial reports threatened to topple over and spew their contents on his desk, and his computer kept dinging reminders of a meeting with their father.

A meeting he’d attend without Zach, at Dad’s request.

Ethan reclined in his leather chair, mimicking Zach’s slack posture in the visitor’s chair facing his desk. A sad thing when he needed to ape relaxation, but there it was.

“Zach, I told you, before last night I’ve never seen your mystery woman. I only specified Danver’s for drinks because of its proximity to the Halliday parking garage.” A small lie intended to cut short his brother’s inquisition. Ethan
had
noticed the redhead in Danver’s a couple of times over the last several months. However, usually she sat with business-suited clones of himself. He’d certainly never spotted her with the large-breasted brunette who worked at his favorite coffeehouse. That green-eyed, smart-mouthed dynamo whose body invaded his dreams and whose full lips looked perfect for—

He chucked his pen on the desk. Why fantasize about a sex life he lacked energy to pursue?

Zach tapped a denim-covered knee. “It’s not like you haven’t pulled a fast one on me many times before, Eth. I’ll admit, not of this magnitude, but—”

“But, schmut,” Ethan interrupted as the computer dinged again. Had he really set the reminder tone for every two minutes? “I don’t know her from Adam. Believe me, if I had any time right now to cut loose, I’d take off to Vegas or the Gulf Islands—” with a certain gorgeous brunette he’d love to invite along “—not spend it dreaming up ways to score
you
another woman.”

Zach laughed. “I thought that was the point. Get her to hit on me and then disappear, so I’d go nuts trying to track her down.”

“I thought she gave you her phone number.”

“She did. In a manner of speaking.”

“You’re talking in riddles, bro.”

Zach straightened in his chair. “It’s okay with you if I ask her out?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Because last night you said you preferred her over the brunette.”

“Oh. Right.” Ethan had pretended disinterest in the dark-haired spitfire so his brother wouldn’t goad him to hit on her. A woman like that would drain the last vestiges of energy from his mind and body, leaving him a lifeless but extremely well-satiated husk. “Forget me. You know I live to crunch numbers. Go for it, Zach.”

“You’re sure?”

“How many times do I have to say this?
Yes
.”

Zach’s hands shot up. “Okay.” The computer double-dinged, and Zach’s eyebrows hoisted. “What’s with the Son of Hal there, Eth? You late rearranging your sock drawer?”

“Cute. I have a meeting.” He clicked the Reminder icon on the computer screen. “Now.”

“With who?” Zach pushed out of his chair.

“Can’t say.” Ethan didn’t like keeping corporate secrets from his brother. However, for reasons he’d soon discover, for once their father didn’t want him trying to tempt Zach’s participation in a meeting with details.

“Don’t worry.” Zach ambled to the door. “I’m not interested, anyway. I have an appointment of my own to get to.”

“Business?”

Zach glanced back. “Nope.”

The story of their lives—Ethan did what was necessary, and Zach did whatever he wanted.

Ethan loved his brother, but sometimes Zach’s lax attitude frustrated him as much as it did their father.

“Buddy, can you believe I did that? I still can’t believe I did that!” Three days had passed since Tess had foolishly hurled herself into Chloe’s trap. Hitting on a studmuffin? What had she been thinking?

Groaning, she placed a bowl of shredded lettuce and diced apple inside the budgie’s cage then closed the door. Buddy chirped, fluffed his powder-blue feathers, and pecked the treat.

“Chloe knows how to press my buttons, that’s for sure. A bet? Yeah, she suckered me, all right. And she’s a pit bull—she won’t give up.
Five times
she’s called me since Wednesday night, Bud. ‘Has he phoned you?’ ‘Have you phoned him?’ It’s enough to make me wish I did have the nerve to call up Jack Halloran and ask him over for the hottest sex of his life.”

Buddy chirped again.

“No, you can’t watch. I’m not that kinky.”

Sighing, Tess folded her arms over her bathrobe and padded in sock-clad feet across worn hardwood floors to the living room window. Mature birch trees and thriving junipers flanked the low apartment buildings dominating her Fairview neighborhood. The gray skies forecasted rain, but the cool temperatures didn’t stop the joggers and stroller-wielding couples from taking to the sidewalks.

Vancouverites were notorious for their love of the outdoors. Usually, an August Saturday afternoon would find her enjoying the summer, too, regardless of the weather. But all day—all week, since hitting on Jack Halloran—she’d felt like a cartoon character walking around with a dark cloud hanging over her head.

Out of sorts.

Out of balance.

Unhinged.

Her bad mood was all Chloe’s fault, damn the devious little…fiend. Chloe’s aggravating psychobabble about Tess’s alleged inability to separate sex from love had infiltrated her brain and jumbled her ordered life. When she went to bed, the doubts assaulted her. When she woke up, they were still there, jeering.

Had Chloe nailed it? Was Tess afraid? So she didn’t want to repeat her mother’s mistake of giving her heart to a man who didn’t truly love her, no matter how wonderful a father and provider he might otherwise be.

She refused to be a slave to her emotions. It wasn’t worth it. Falling in love always carried a cost.

But just because she didn’t
want
to fall in love didn’t mean she was
afraid
to.

She wanted to rely on herself, no one else.

What was wrong with that?

At least weekend work would distract her from the niggling doubts Chloe had planted. In a matter of days, research for the Halliday acquisition would deluge several of the firm’s junior associates. Tess wanted to hit the ground running, so she’d already pored over the background material. However, although she loved her job and longed to exceed her boss’s expectations, she couldn’t bury herself in legal documents twenty-four/seven. Her head would explode.

Turning from the window, she dabbed a finger to the face mask she’d applied before feeding Buddy. Another five minutes should do it. Then ten more on top of that for the deep-conditioning treatment saturating her hair.

While waiting, she’d brew tea. For the first time in weeks, she didn’t have a Saturday night date. Her reasons for turning down one of her male friends had bupkus to do with Chloe’s ridiculous proviso that she date Jack Halloran exclusively, either. If she wanted a clear head for Monday, she needed major rest. She’d devote the next several hours to buffing, waxing, plucking—routine maintenance—then lose herself in a legal thriller before collapsing into bed.

As she headed for the kitchen, the phone rang. She picked up her old cordless resting on the curvy-legged table between Buddy’s standing birdcage and an overstuffed leaf-green armchair. Tess had chosen the chair and sofa set herself, and she loved them, but the table was a castoff from one of her mother’s redecorating binges. Queen Anne all over the house, until Patrice Sheridan had replaced every last stick with her current Santa Fe.

“Hello?” Tess answered without checking the incoming number.

“Hey, girl.”

“Hi, Chloe,” she muttered, anticipating her friend’s question.

“Has he called?”

Bingo
. “Chloe,
no
.” Honestly, paper training a puppy must be easier than dealing with Chloe Nichols in determined-to-drive-Tess-crazy mode. “It’s been, what, an hour since you asked? Have you considered that every time he tries the line is busy?”

“You have call waiting.”

“He still hasn’t phoned.” Thanks to Tess’s fake-number brainwave. She allowed a small grin at her craftiness.

“Then you phone him.”

“Not enough time has passed.” Oh, she was good.

“Yes, it has.”

Guilelessness cheered Chloe’s tone, and guilt pummeled Tess. By now, she should have admitted her plan not to follow through with the bet. However, visions of Jack Halloran’s soul-deep, coffee-brown eyes and sensual lips kept bungling her good intentions. Her fantasies had provided ample fodder for several hothothot, erotic dreams—and she didn’t want to give them up.

Entirely understandable, given that she hadn’t had sex in over a year.

Okay, logic argued that she should be able to confess all to her best friend and still indulge in lusty dreams about Jack Halloran every night. However, for some reason, hiding the truth enabled her to imagine she really possessed the brass ovaries to unleash her inner nympho by jumping the man’s gorgeous bones.

A loud rap clattered at the door. “Just a second, Chlo. I need to get that.”

“You’ll be getting some soon if you call him.”

“The door, ditz. Somebody’s knocking.” Phone to her hip, Tess opened the door. Chloe stood in the hallway, cell phone jammed to her ear.

“Surprise!” Chloe snapped shut the cell phone.

Tess smiled, and the clay mask tightened. “You’re a nut.” She placed her cordless on the kitchen counter. “Why aren’t you at work?” she asked as Chloe sailed inside, closing the door.

“I changed the schedule. I’m tired of working weekends. Besides, I’m the boss, so I can do what I want. Right now I want to be here pestering you.” Chloe gave her a wry once-over. “Real attractive.”

Pestering was bang on. But Tess was always glad to see Chloe. “Would you like tea? I was about to make some.”

“Ugh. I manage a coffeehouse. How can you ask?”

“You once drank it by the vat, that’s how.”

“I converted. Sue me. Do you have juice?”

“Orange.”

“Make it pineapple.”

“I have orange.”

“Mmph.” Chloe flicked a hand indicating she’d settle.

Tess poured them each a glass of cold, pulpy orange juice while Chloe walked through the kitchen to sit at the teak dining room table Tess had harvested from her mother’s Scandinavian phase. Tess handed a glass to Chloe then took a chair.

“Thanks.” Chloe patted her cell now lying on the dark teak. “I want you to call him.”

“No.” Tess’s mouth moved stiffly beneath the clay mask.

“
No?
Ten cartons, Tee. Can you give that up? That’s ten huge cartons of
West Coast Charlie’s Best!
gourmet wild cherry ice cream. Yum.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Goodbye lusty dreams. So long sizzling fantasies featuring one eager-to-please, curl-my-toes hottie. “I’ll have to pay up. I can’t call him.”

Chloe sipped her orange juice. “Why not?”

“Because,” she hedged. “He can’t call me.” She expected Chloe to press for clarification, but none came.

“Yes, he can. He just hasn’t. The idiot. Doesn’t he realize what he’s missing? You’re a prize, Tee. I tell you, if I were a lesbian, I’d sleep with you myself.”

Despite her gloomy mood, Tess chuckled. “Thanks. But he still can’t call me.”
Confession time.
“I gave him a fake phone number.”

Chloe imparted her trademark evil grin. “I’m way ahead of you, lass o’ mine. You thought I wouldn’t guess you’d try to weasel out of this? It’s been ages since our university dares. I figured you’d be rusty. You have led a rather sedate life these last couple of years.”

“My life isn’t sedate. I date up a—”

“Storm. Yeah, yeah. Read the book, saw the movie. Compared to most women our age, your life is sedate, with a capital S.” Chloe sipped her juice again. “Don’t worry, though. Auntie Chloe’s here to help.”