First Time For Everything (5 page)

THREE

Eyes fixed on the middle-aged man inside the small, glassed-in booth of the run-down parking lot, Jax carefully kept the panic from her tone as she leaned closer to the speaker in the window, acutely aware of Blake's gaze on her.

“What do you mean I can't retrieve my car until Monday? We still live in a democracy, don't we? I have a right to retrieve my property, don't I?” she said to the attendant, pointing at her old VW Beetle parked among all the other cars surrounded by a chain-link fence.

Jailed, just as she had been. And it wasn't fair her car should pay the penalty for her mistakes.

“Cry me a river, lady.” Perched on his stool, the man swiped a hand through his thinning hair in irritation. “Next time don't park your car in a two-hour parking spot and leave it there for six hours.”

“I got arrested,” she said, her face flooding with heat at her poorly worded defense. But there was no taking back the overshare now. “I couldn't move my car.”

“It's not my fault you got tossed in the slammer,” he said, and Jax forced her chin higher. “And I ain't the one making the rules, either,” he went on. “I'm just paid to follow them.”

“What rule dictates that I have to go to the city municipal building first?”

“The one that applies to a previous unpaid parking ticket of yours. And the order states you can't get your car until you pay that delinquent fine. And you can't pay that fine until Monday morning at nine o'clock.”

Jax opened her mouth to protest, but Blake interrupted.

“Then Monday morning it is. Thanks for your help,” Blake said smoothly, taking her elbow.

His touch brought back the memory of being in his office, the overwhelming need to kiss him, and every muscle in Jax's body tensed. Despite his cool demeanor, she knew he was dying to make a comment about her delinquent parking ticket. The one she'd stuffed into the bottom of her purse. And with all the turmoil at the club recently, it hadn't been high on her priorities.

Just one more sin stacked up on her towering pile of crimes.

And her need to secure a bit of freedom from Blake was escalating by the minute. The purposefully bland expression. The glimmer of amusement in his eyes. Not to mention her growing obsession with those broad shoulders, the lean hips and those lips...

As he led her back to his car, she hoped she didn't sound as desperate as she felt. “I need my vehicle.”

“You can use Nikki's until Monday,” he said reasonably.

A frown threatened. “But right now we're not far from South Glade Teen Center. I was planning on leaving here and swinging by to check in with everybody.”

“I'll take you.”

Her heart tanked. Great. More time cooped up with Blake in his car. The ride over had been strained as they'd both diligently ignored her additional condition on the contract, an impulsive decision on her part. But she hadn't been able to stop herself, because Blake had been looking at her as if he wanted to kiss her and was dismayed by the thought at the same time. Not exactly an ego booster. And the last time a man had looked at her like that—with the combination of desire and a doubting-her-sanity look—she'd vowed she wouldn't put herself into that position again....

Her stomach knotted as she remembered the expression on Jack's face—the man she'd once hoped to build a permanent relationship with. Maybe even, God forbid, start a
family
.

Because who didn't want a core group of people, or at least one other person, to whom you always belonged? Someone to lean on when the world turned cruel and unusual. Outside of the teen center, the concept of a permanent home had eluded her since she was ten years old. As a grown-up she'd finally been free to create one of her own. After a false start—her former boyfriend a massive disappointment, to say the least—she'd finally realized she didn't need a man to achieve her goal.

The club had been all the family she needed.

She looked longingly at her beautiful, beat-up Beetle and let out a sigh. And she'd been so looking forward to escaping Blake's presence in exchange for a visit to the center—her safe place since her adolescent days—giving her nervous system a much-needed holiday.

As they neared his sleek Lexus, Blake said, “I'm curious. Why do you need to go by the club?” He rounded to the driver's side, looking at her over the hood. “To check in with the kids you're supposed to be providing a good example to?”

She shot him a lethal look as she opened the passenger side and then dropped into the seat, pulling the door closed with a hard thunk.

Blake slipped into the driver's seat. “And do tell,” he went on, closing his door and turning to face her, clearly struggling to maintain an impassive expression, “what other life lessons do you teach besides getting arrested, parking illegally and not paying your traffic fines?”

She refused to grind her teeth in annoyance. And it would be so much easier if he'd just go ahead and laugh at her with those sensual lips, so he could move on to more important things.

Like kissing her.

The sexual tension, the awareness, was a living, fire-breathing thing that was so much worse when enclosed in small spaces with the infuriating man. Especially now that she knew it was mutual.

Damn it.

“Trespassing?” Thickly fringed eyes on her, he went on lightly, listing the possibilities. “Shoplifting?” The knot of attraction and irritation in her gut twisted harder as he went on. “Or maybe—”

Desperate to end the sarcasm, she placed her fingers on that maddening, sensual mouth, halting his words. And everything went still.

Except for the need surging through her body...

Blood whooshed in her ears as his gray eyes, flecked with gold, remained fixed on hers. Her nerve endings vibrated from the sensation of firm lips, smooth, stubble-free skin and warm breath seeping between her fingers. There was no mistaking the heat in his gaze or the tension in his body, clearly a combination of lust and steel—the steel communicating just how much he was humoring her by not calling her out on her impertinent move. And what would he be like if the lust won and he released all that careful control?

As she held his mouth, the seconds ticked by with only the faint sound of their breathing, until she finally controlled her own emotions enough to keep herself from doing something rash.

Either throttling him or tasting that sexy mouth, she wasn't sure which.

Her voice low, she forced herself to continue to meet his heated gaze. “You get one more comment, Suit. And then I'm cutting you off.” Two heartbeats passed, long enough for her to wonder if he was again contemplating kissing her, and then she said, “Well?” She dropped her hand and raised a prompting eyebrow, braced for his last verbal jab. Would it be angry? Amused? Or, God help her, sexual? “What's the comment going to be?”

The pause was brief, but the intensity in his eyes scorched her insides, leaving the moment feeling longer than it was. “I think that with your lifestyle,” he said, his voice huskily amused, as if struggling between the dueling notions of humor and sex, “you should keep a full-time lawyer on retainer.”

Irritated by his words, Jax pressed her lips together and pivoted to face forward, crossing her arms to contain her thrumming heart in her chest. “Just turn on the car and drive.”

* * *

Blake parked on the street in front of the South Glade Teen Center and turned off his car, looking doubtfully at the old downtown warehouse that had been converted into a club for kids. Alarm bells were ringing in his head again, the same ones that had sounded earlier when Jax had touched him. But this alert was of a nonsexual kind and triggered by his environment.

To say that the club was located in a questionable part of town was being generous.

“It doesn't look safe to park here,” he said.

“It isn't,” Jax said with a careless tone as they
exited the Lexus and headed for the front door. “But with your fancy security system, I doubt anyone will steal your car. Of course, that won't keep some random kids from having fun.”

The alarm crept higher. “Fun?”

“You know, doing a little redecorating with spray paint or a set of keys,” she said. Frowning, he opened the door to let her into the building, and she shot him a saccharine-sweet grin as she passed by. “Maybe a tire iron or two.”

Her tone was unconcerned. But then again, it wasn't her car. Or maybe the many dents in her old Beetle were from a tire iron, as well.

His lips twisted wryly. “Thanks for the warning,” he said, following her inside.

They headed deeper into the building, passing clusters of kids of various ages and ethnicities. Although they eyed Blake with suspicion, each group was clearly excited to see Jax, some of the preteens rushing to give her a hug. The older ones were too cool for outward displays of affection, but beneath their ribbing and sarcastic comments lay a fondness that was impossible to miss.

And with each acknowledgment, Jax grew more relaxed, her previous tension evaporating as she ruffled heads and dispensed smiles, heading for the stairwell on the far side of the gym. They passed a contentious game of basketball involving a dozen lanky male adolescents, and several called out in greeting to Jax, joking about her arrest. She waved in reply and returned each verbal jab with a quip of her own, obviously knowing each kid's history, leaving the players laughing as she started up the narrow stairway to the second floor.

“I'll just swing by the office and check my mail,” she said to Blake. “I also need to get my guitar from my locker.”

“A guitar?” He wasn't particularly surprised by her choice of instrument, and he tried hard to ignore the delicious curve of her backside, the seductive sway of hips just several steps in front of him as their footsteps echoed in the small, shabby stairwell. “Do you take requests?”

She kept her back to him. “I doubt I know anything you'd like to hear.”

“How about Lynyrd Skynyrd's ‘Free Bird'?”

Surprise brought her head around with a jerk. “‘Free Bird'?” Her eyebrows lowered in doubt, and her footsteps slowed. “I never would have pegged you for an old Southern rock fan.”

“I'm not,” he said, suppressed humor bunching his brow. “But anyone who's been bailed out of jail should have ‘Free Bird' as their theme song.”

Her eyes slowly narrowed as she stopped and faced him, raising his heart rate. Her location on the stairs brought them eye to eye, her mouth level with his.

The perfect position for capturing those lips.

“Your ability to deliver a subtle slap on the wrist is extraordinary, Suit,” she said silkily. “It takes real talent to chastise someone in the same breath as a musical request.” Her smile didn't quite reach her eyes, but the awareness did. “But I have my own ideas for a personal theme song.”

Voice huskier than usual, he said, “So what song would be most appropriate?”

She looked at him thoughtfully for a moment, as a small, purely female smile crept up her face. “Let's see.” Mouth pursed, she pretended to give the question careful consideration, and he couldn't get past the image of her puckered lips. “I was thrown in jail for defending an institution that I believe in,” she said, sending him a pointed look. “And then promptly chastised for my reckless behavior by a man who thinks he's living life on the edge when he ignores the do-not-remove-by-penalty-of-law tag on his mattress.”

He barely managed to repress the image of her on his mattress. “I would never do that.”

“Of course not. How about make a right on red when it's posted not to?”

“It's against the law,” he said lightly.

Her hazel eyes flickered with heat. “Briefly park your car in the drop-off lane at the airport?”

“Illegal.” He struggled to keep the sizzle from his gaze. “Not to mention inconsiderate.”

Jax bit her delectable lip, clearly suppressing the grin as she turned and continued up, reaching the second floor and moving down an empty hallway. “So my willingness to risk an arrest for my cause is being questioned by a man who thinks I'm reckless for leaving home without an umbrella when there's a ten percent chance of rain. I'm thinking the most appropriate song for me is ‘It's My Life' by Bon Jovi.” She entered a small, cramped office with two desks and stopped, turning to face him again. “But that's only because I'm not aware of any songs entitled—” Jax leaned in, bringing her arousing, obstinate gaze closer “—‘My Choices Are None of Your Damn Business.'”

She was near enough for him to see the flecks of brown and green in her eyes. But he didn't require a close-up view to see the fire snapping in her gaze, the stubborn insistence that she would do what she wanted and damn the consequences.

Including touching him...

The memory resurfaced, resurrecting the acute need she'd created when she'd held his lips. Her soft fingers. The heated skin. And the smell of vanilla filling the car. Suddenly he was struck with the realization that Jax's scent was always changing, as unpredictable as the woman herself.

With his heart pounding, his tone was rough as he dished up a dose of harsh reality. “Your choices are my business now.”

At the reminder of her current living arrangements—made more alarming by the chemistry sizzling between them—time stretched. Expanded to impossible lengths. Gazes locked, the moment lasted ten forevers as awareness pulsed between them. Until they were interrupted by a woman about Jax's age as she poked her head through the doorway.

“Janet Bennet stopped by looking for you, Jax,” the blonde said. Blake cleared his throat, willing his libido to heel, and Jax took a small step back as her coworker sent her an encouraging smile. “There's a private-practice therapy group in town that's looking to hire a music therapist, and she recommended you. Apparently the job is yours if you want it,” the woman continued. “They can afford to pay you a lot better, too.”