As Bad As Can Be (8 page)

They stepped into the pedestrian tunnel, an arch of corrugated iron. It curved part way through, cutting off the light and blocking their view of the tunnel ahead. “With all the new, though, do you ever miss the old?” Shay asked, his voice echoing down the long tube.

Mallory's laugh sounded oddly intimate in the enclosed space. “With all of the old, do you ever miss something new?” She stumbled on a rough bit of footing in the dim light and clutched at his arm for support. When she'd steadied herself, she didn't let go. Awareness spread through him.

He tried to focus on her question as they rounded the bend in the tunnel, anything to keep from thinking about touching her more. “I think everyone gets restless sometimes,” he said. The sound of the waves grew louder as they neared the mouth.

Mallory stopped, her feet in sunlight, her face in shadow. Her eyes were dark, her voice close as she reached out to brush a stray lock of hair out of his eyes. “Is that what you are now, Shay? Restless?” Her touch shivered over him. “Welcome to my world,” she murmured. Then she flowed up against him and swept his senses into overload.

Hot and sweet, her mouth was avid on his, tempting him to taste, then taste deeper still. Satisfaction had nothing to do with it—every stroke, every touch, every brush of her lips made him crave more. The rhythm of her kiss was the rhythm of sex, and he found himself moving against her without realizing it. She was all slender strength in his arms. The soft murmur she made in her throat had the blood roaring in his ears.

This was what he wanted, not just the mouth and the body but the person. It was all wound together inextricably in a vortex of desire that pulled him in. Outside the tunnel, waves crashed against the rocks and the breeze sent dead leaves scudding and scraping against the paved Cliff Walk. Inside, there was only Mallory. Sleek and fragrant, she pulled him into a private world of sensuality where only the physical dominated.

His hands roved over her body, feeling the slender strength of it, molding her against him. It made him dizzy, it made him hard, it sent his pulse rocketing to feel her shiver at his touch as he slid his hand under her coat, under her sweater. If he could just touch her skin, he told himself, it would be enough. If he could just feel that satiny texture, the solid fullness of her breasts, he could stop.

Mallory gave a soft groan at his touch, turning so he could reach her more easily. This was what she needed, the heat of his hands on her. She reached up to guide his fingers to the clasp of her bra and a flood of arousal flowed through her as the soft friction of his fingers brushed against the sensitive skin. He squeezed her nipple and a thousand nerve endings exploded, sending bolts of desire through to the center of her. Oh, the heat of his hands wasn't enough, she needed more.

Voices suddenly echoed through the tunnel. Shay cursed and jerked back, breathing hard. The rush of cool air after the heat of his touch had goosebumps forming on her skin. For an instant, all she could do was feel. Then she blinked and swiftly slid her bra back into place, the friction of the fabric dragging awareness from her already sensitized nipples.

Without a word, Shay turned and led her back into the tunnel. Mallory headed after him, her fingers rubbing her lips almost absently. The acoustics were deceiving; the group that they'd heard was only just stepping into the tunnel as they neared the mouth. Still, Shay said nothing, only reaching out to help her once when she stumbled.

They stepped out of the echoing tunnel and onto the deserted Cliff Walk. Shay just kept walking, and annoyance swept through her. “Look, don't go getting angry at me. You were into that as much as I was.”

“I'm not angry at you,” he said shortly. “I'm angry at myself.”

“Why? We're consenting adults, Shay, and we both want it.”

He raked his fingers through his hair in exasperation. “Jesus, Mallory, I'm trying to do the right thing here.”

“The right thing according to who?” Her voice rose. “What, did you make a pact with my brother that you wouldn't touch me no matter what?”

He rounded on her. “No, but I told him I'd take care of you, and in guy speak that doesn't mean sleeping with a guy's sister.”

She gave him a cool look. “Then I guess you've got yourself a choice, Shay,” she purred. “You can either do what your head tells you to do or you can do what you think you should do, or go ahead and do what you want to do.”

“I generally try to live my life so that what I want to do
is
what I should do.”

“You know, Shay, you've got yourself trapped in this Mr. Upright persona when there's this whole other side to you begging to get out. You're restless? Of
course you're restless, you want to be human for a change. That's a new Harley you brought me here on.” She gave him a speculative look. “I'd say you were too young for a midlife crisis, except that it sounds like you've been holding up the responsibilities of a grown man since you were a teenager.” Impatient, she strode up to him and kissed him, hard. “I want you, Shay,” she said simply, running her fingers up his chest. “And you want me. What does Dev matter? How would he even know?”

“I'd know.”

“Haven't you been getting tired of being the good one? You've always been the good boy, the one who was dependable, who never got a chance to say what the hell. Isn't it time, Shay?” Her voice was soft, hypnotic. “Time you said what the hell and did what felt good without worrying about the consequences? Loosen the leash for a change. Do something irresponsible.”

“Like break my word to your brother?”

Mallory held his eye for a moment, then shook her head. “Have it your way. Just don't expect me to make it any easier on you because I know what we both want.”

“I already know enough about you not to expect easy.”

She curled her hand into the front of his shirt and pulled him close. “For you, Shay, I'm a pushover.”

A
BREATH OF EARLY FALL
chill lingered in the evening air as they walked from the dark parking lot toward the bright lights of the roadhouse. A doorman sat in the garish glow of the neon sign; cars whipped by periodically on the highway.

“Ernie's Hideaway?” Shay read dubiously.

“Hey, what do you want? We're here to audition a bar band, not U2,” Mallory said, shifting the small bag that she had looped across her bandolero-style.

Jukebox rock flowed out into the darkness along with the scent of cigarettes and the sound of laughter. “Cover's five bucks a head, man.” The bearded doorman held his hand out to Shay, but his eyes lingered on Mallory.

Shay gave the doorman a ten.

“Have a good time,” he said, turning around on his stool to watch Mallory as they walked in.

She gave him a careless smile that had his heart palpitating, then turned to Shay. “Paying my way?” she asked with an ironic lift to her eyebrow. “Watch out, you'll get me thinking we are on a date.”

The smile that seemed to perpetually hover around the corners of her mouth bloomed then, making his pulse bump. A date? In his dreams, which she had begun to haunt on a nightly basis. Unfortunately she
was off limits, a fact his mind understood but his body refused to accept.

“We're doing this for your bar,” he said, giving her a look. “You should be paying for me.”

She blew him a kiss. “How about if I buy you a drink, instead, big boy?” she asked playfully and turned to plunge into the dimness of Ernie's.

Located on a highway outside of Newport, it was more a roadhouse than a club. The walls were a scarred beige, unadorned except for a tattered poster of Spuds McKenzie next to the darts board. Plain planked wood covered the floor. The establishment flowed from the main bar area to an area with billiards and shuffleboard, to an area where the bands played. The bandstand was currently empty of people except for someone who was either a roadie or a musician fiddling with an amp.

Shay followed Mallory as she wandered idly. Most people entered a bar and gravitated to get a drink then find someplace they could make into their comfort zone. Mallory seemed to have no such compulsion. She strolled, relaxed and curious, scoping out the bar, stepping around the dance floor, studying the place like a cat exploring a new home.

And everywhere she went, men watched her. She wore a narrow red silk minidress that showcased long, sleek legs in matching stilettos. The halter neckline dipped low and left her shoulders bare. Her hair was a wild tumble of sable.

She walked blithely past men who tried to catch her eye with a smile. Her lack of reaction made it easier for Shay to stifle the sudden surge of protectiveness. He would have done a better job of convincing himself that he felt it on behalf of her brother if it hadn't been
for the way the silky curve of her hip begged for the touch of his hands.

Mallory turned and gave him a glance, then, as though she knew where he'd been looking. “You want to get a drink?”

“Sure.”

At the bar, they'd barely found themselves stools before the bartender stood in front of them. “What'll you have?” he asked. One of the advantages of being out with a beautiful woman, Shay reflected, was that you were seldom invisible.

Mallory touched the tip of her tongue to her upper lip and suddenly every molecule of Shay's body was hummingly aware of her. “Maker's Mark, on the rocks,” she said finally, with a smile that probably made the bartender's night.

As Shay ordered a Dewar's, Mallory turned to lean against the wooden bar and stare out into the room.

Shay turned around to follow her gaze. “So what, you thinking to add Spuds McKenzie to your decor?”

“It's hard to stop working,” she said. “I'm always curious to see what people seem to like.”

“And what do people here seem to like?” The jukebox was loud enough he had to lean close to her to be heard.

She turned to pick up her drink and threw him a smile. “Same thing they always have, pretty much. Drinks, pool, music. Flirting with the opposite sex.” She dipped a finger in her bourbon to stir it, then and put it in her mouth to suck it dry. “Especially flirting.”

Knowing she was fully aware of the effect she was having on him didn't stop his system from responding.
“You broke a couple of hearts earlier when you didn't react.” He sipped from his own drink.

She raised an eyebrow as she paid the bartender. “Did you want me to?”

He hadn't, Shay realized with sudden intensity. “As your brother-appointed chaperone, I probably shouldn't encourage it.”

“I'm sure my brother knows I talk to men occasionally.”

“Trust me, it's something brothers don't like to think about.”

She leaned over so close to him that her lips just brushed his ear. “Shay, when are you going to stop being the responsible guy and start letting yourself enjoy life a little?”

Wanting what he couldn't have, what he shouldn't have was driving him slowly mad. Irritation surged through him. “Don't be so sure you've got me figured out,” he said abruptly, trying to ignore her scent. “I'm not nearly as simple as you think.”

Her eyes darkened. “Does that mean that if I tempt you too much you might bend me over a table and ravish me?”

The image, the way it would feel, bloomed in his mind. It had been hard enough to pull back the previous day when she was fully clothed and in cool and breezy daylight. Now, in a warm, dark bar, all he could think was that he wanted to make her his.

“So you really didn't do the bar thing when you were younger, did you?” she asked him curiously.

“I worked in a bar nearly every night. The last thing I wanted to do when I had a night off was go into another one.”

“Must have limited your dating repertoire.”

“Life limited my dating repertoire,” he said lightly, watching a guy across the room teaching a giggling girl how to shoot pool. “When you're twenty-two or twenty-three, most women expect to go out on the weekends, especially if they've got a boyfriend. Tuesday night just isn't the same.”

Mallory crossed her legs, sending his thoughts scattering. “Well, maybe we should pretend this is a date, just so you can get back some of your young adulthood. To going back in time.” She clicked her glass against his.

Shay looked at her speculatively as he let the scotch slide over his tongue. “What about you?”

“What do you mean, what about me?”

“When did you start bartending?”

She flicked a glance at him, then looked out across the room. “As soon as I was legal. I started out cocktail waitressing in a bowling alley. The bartender got sick one night, so they put me back there.”

“You must have been a quick study.”

“It's not exactly rocket science,” she said dryly. “Besides, they had pretty simple tastes. His bartending book gave me enough to get started.”

“So you couldn't have had a whole lot more opportunities to go out than I did.”

“Don't you worry about me, Shay. I had plenty of chances to kick up my heels.” She gave him a bawdy wink. “I'm the original bad girl, remember?”

“So you're always telling me.”

Mallory looked toward the bandstand, where the musicians were picking up their instruments. “Looks like the Blues Jockeys are getting ready to play.”

He winced. “The Blues Jockeys?”

Mallory laughed at his pained expression. “They're a bar band, cut 'em some slack.”

“Let me guess, they play jazz.”

“Perish the thought. I want stuff you can get hot and sweaty to.” She traced her fingertips over the back of his hand in a teasing brush. “That's what I like when I'm dancing. What about you, Shay?”

A twang of a guitar string and thump of a bass drum saved him from answering. With a click from the drummer, the band launched into a cover of “Mony Mony.”

Mallory listened for a few minutes, moving her shoulders to the beat. “Okay, they're not going to light up the planet with creativity, but they're all right. What do you think?”

The alluring cleft that appeared between her breasts every time she shifted a shoulder forward made it hard to concentrate on the music. Shay gathered his scrambled thoughts. “Nothing wrong with a cover band for bar music. It would be nice to hear something that's not a wedding reception standard, though.”

“Kind of my thought, too,” she admitted. “I guess the question is do they get people onto the dance floor? That's the key. People dance, they get thirsty and they buy drinks.”

He gave her an appraising glance. “Don't miss a trick, do you?”

“Not when I'm playing with somebody else's money, I don't.”

The song changed to an infectious groove that had him bouncing his heel lightly on the ground and moving his shoulders. “Better,” he nodded.

“Would you dance to it?”

“I might,” he decided. “How about you?”

“Definitely.” She stood up. “Let's go.”

Over on the dance floor, everything was louder. In an open spot up by the stage, Mallory turned and started swaying to the music. The beat was hypnotic. It vibrated through Shay's system until he was keeping time. Then she began to seriously move and he forgot everything but the rhythm pounding in his head and the woman in front of him.

It was less a dance than a seduction. Running her fingers back through her thick curtain of hair and looking at him through slumberous eyes, she had the look of a woman welcoming her lover to her bed. Her hips moved sinuously, snapping on the beat in a darkly sexy cadence. Her arms flowed through the air to the music, now snapping to it, now tracing their way up her body. She wove the same spell as she had when she'd been up on the bar. Except that this time she was in front of him, just a foot away. And as more people crowded the dance floor, the distance narrowed.

Shay stepped closer and Mallory took his hand to spin in against him, her back to him, his arms wrapped around her. The scent of her hair, the feel of her curves under his hands sent his system into overload. Then she turned to face him, fragrant and smooth. And then quickly, he felt himself grow rock hard.

There was no point in trying to hide it. Eyes dark, she pressed herself to him, still moving to the music, tantalizing him more with every sway of her hips. Each push against him, each brush of heat and warmth jolted through his muscles. His hands slid around her waist, pulling her in tighter. He was long past even thinking about holding back.

When she brushed her mouth against his, it seemed only an extension of the dance, less a temptation than
a physical imperative. The touch of her body, the touch of her lips blended together in a flush of sensation. It was more like making love than dancing. Desire rippled through him. He could feel her breasts against him, warm and yielding. He could feel her fingers playing down his back, slipping under the waistband of his jeans.

The crowd around them receded from his awareness, the music no longer even registered except as something to drive their motion. The only thing real was Mallory against him, pliant and eager. Mallory was the only thing that mattered, the only thing he wanted.

“Shay.” She stopped kissing him long enough to breathe his name over his lips.

“What?”

“Let's go. Now.”

They stopped to kiss outside of the bar. Shay could hear the throb of the music through the walls, could feel the throb of sex running through his veins. Control was gone, he was saturated by desire.

In the dark of the back parking lot, urgency compelled him to drag her close and feast on her mouth.
Now, now, now
drummed insistently through his bloodstream. He straddled the bike and pulled on his gloves. Then Mallory melted into his arms.

“Don't wait,” she whispered, “here.”

He felt her hands unbuttoning the front of his shirt and slipping in to stroke his chest, pinch the nipples lightly. Then her other slid out to stroke his thighs, the heat of her fingers coming through the denim of his jeans.

A car rushed by out on the highway, but the parking lot was silent, everyone inside dancing to the band.
Now,
he thought. Dev didn't matter, responsibility didn't matter, nothing mattered but that he should silence this desire that was slowly driving him mad.

 

T
HE HARD, SMOOTH PLANES
of his chest, the parallel ridges of his abs quivered under her fingers. It was irresistible. She wanted to be licking them, tasting them, laying against him skin to skin. She wanted to see him naked, then touch all of him.

Mallory could feel him shuddering against her fingers. Wondering what it would feel like to make love with him made a jolt of anticipation run through her. Knowing that his desire for her had brought them to this point was intoxicating.
Soon,
she thought, almost unable to breathe for the desire clogging her lungs. His arm wrapped around her to pull her close, onto the seat in front of him.

She'd thought about sex with him for nearly a week, teased him, goaded him, urged him on. Now, it seemed, his inhibitions were gone. She'd unleashed a different Shay, one driven by desire. Gone were any attempts to hold back. Instead he pushed her relentlessly, pushed them both. His hands were hard and urgent on her, his mouth demanding a response.

Mallory tangled her fingers in his hair and pressed his mouth harder against hers. Once, she'd aimed them toward this moment with a goal in mind. Now, the act itself was the only thing that mattered. Friction, pressure and heat fused together in one inextricable tangle of sensation, until her entire being focused on the connection of their lips.

Oh, but there was more. The touch of his fingers in their leather riding gloves tantalized and aroused as they slipped up her sides, but then he made a muffled
noise of impatience and stripped them off. Then it was just the heat of his hands against her skin.