Impulsive (3 page)

K
atie stared at the pans and trays piled in the overflowing sink and wondered what her future would look like if she skipped college and took up life as a professional dishwasher instead. Sounded like a one-way ticket to mind mush to her. Working for her sister and collecting a paycheck, no matter how small, meant moving on. It also meant getting stuck with the crappy jobs like serving food to idiots and handling catering cleanup.

Cara spent her nonwork time with Ashleigh, her blond-haired bundle of wild energy. Six months old, she never stopped moving. So, when Cara cut out early to catch a few extra minutes with her daughter, which rarely was possible, the responsibility for bringing the catering kitchen back to order fell to Katie.

The bright spot was that the insurance catering job had gone well today, as evidenced by her sore feet and the smell of puff pastry in her hair. Even now she hid in the small room at the center of the strip mall where no other human might be forced to see her. That would be a mean thing to do to anyone with decent vision. Good thing her Wednesday evening plans consisted of scrubbing, drying, stacking, and sweeping.

“Hello?”

Katie froze at the sound of the familiar male voice. Then her head whipped around. The main door was open, but the metal security screen was closed and locked. It would be hard for people to see inside and impossible for anyone to break it down, but, oh boy, could she see out.

It couldn't be. It couldn't be. It couldn't be.

She repeated the refrain as she stared at the outline on the other side of the steel screen. Dark hair, broad shoulders, and relaxed stance. She'd know that body anywhere.

That would teach her to want fresh air. If the stifling heat hadn't bothered her, she'd be hiding in the storage closet and ignoring him right about now.

“Can you hear me?” He looked right at her as he said it. Clearly he knew she was there. Could see her, despite the promises in the sales brochure about the door providing protection and privacy. It didn't seem to be doing either at the moment.

With wet hands dripping on the floor beside her sneakers, she stood there. “Uh…”

“Not sure if you can see me.” He waved his hand. “We met at the Armstrong-Windsor wedding.”

Met?
Now there was an interesting word for what they did. “Oh, I know who you are.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” Eric chuckled in a rich open tone that vibrated down to her feet.

She could hear the amusement in his voice. Figuring out how to take it was the bigger issue. She rubbed her hands on the towel hanging out of the waistband of her khaki shorts and adjusted her white tee to make sure everything that should be covered was. “What are you doing here?”

“I can explain if you'll let me come inside.”

Talk about a stupid option. “No.”

After a beat of silence, he spoke up. “Really?”

He sounded stunned at the idea of being turned down. Apparently the big, important man didn't like it when people disagreed with him.

That realization was enough to make her brain reboot. While running held some appeal, it wasn't very practical. They lived on an island, after all. And she needed to know how he'd tracked her down. “I mean, why do you want to come in?”

She could see his broad shoulders through the thick safety mesh and the way he balanced his hands on his lean hips. He was a man in control of his surroundings, even though this part of town didn't fit him at all. He wore tailored suits and walked into a fancy high-rise office every day.

Many of the folks in the Kalihi neighborhood never ventured near the expensive restaurants and exclusive communities around the island. This was a working-class area with an increasing crime rate, older and lined with warehouses, a little rough. A place where words like “redevelopment” were thrown around but never brought to fruition. In other words, not the place where one would expect to find Eric Kimura.

“I wanted to talk with you,” he explained.

She'd been afraid he would say that. “Okay.”

He pressed his face close to the screen. “And people are starting to wonder why I'm screaming into a door, so could we take this inside?”

Last thing she needed was for him to be mugged. She tried to imagine explaining that bit of news to the cops…and to Cara.

“I'm coming.” Katie rushed over, jangling the keys in her hand as she tried to find the one for the top dead bolt. “Here we go.”

Eric didn't hesitate. The second she opened the screen, he pushed his way in and closed the solid door behind him. The controlling move should have made her nervous. Instead, she was strangely intrigued. Hunting her down took some work. Stepping into this neighborhood at five o'clock, which probably qualified as the middle of his workday, created a bit of mystery. Clearly he wanted to find her. Now he had.

He held out his hand. “Eric Kimura.”

She stared at his long fingers before sliding her palm inside his. “Oh.”

The corner of his mouth kicked up. “But you knew that, right?”

“Pretty much.” The feel of that smooth skin against hers brought a rush of heat to her cheeks. She looked down at their joined hands, wondering at what point long turned to
too long
and she had to let go. “I watch the news now and then.”

“Ah, yes. Not always the most flattering place to pick up information about me, but not a surprise.” He frowned as if the notoriety didn't sit all that well with him. “So, do you have a name?”

“I figured you knew it since you tracked me here and all.”

“I have my sources but the exact name was tougher.”

Yeah, he had something all right
. “Katie Long.”

“The caterer.”

Looked like he didn't quite know everything. She dropped his hand and backed up a step. No need for them to be this close, sucking up all the air in the room, when there was a big No-Eric zone right behind her. “Her assistant and sister. I'm surprised you went to the trouble to find me.”

His head tilted to the side. The wide-eyed look made him look younger, less imposing, if only for a few seconds. “Why?”

This qualified as the strangest morning-after type conversation she'd ever had. “I guess this is the part where I say I've never done that at a wedding before.”

He nodded. “For the record, me either.”

“And where I insist I'm not the kind of woman who engages in thirty-minute sex romps with strangers.” She actually wasn't, but there was no way to sell that as a convincing story after the way they'd met.

“I'm not judging.”

Of course he was. Hell, she was. When she'd vowed to turn her life around, she'd promised the days of putting herself at risk were over. She wouldn't do dumb things or get involved with the wrong guys. Eric didn't appear to be a loser, but he was most definitely wrong. He was her assignment. She was supposed to keep a safe distance and being under him didn't cut it.

“Maybe just a little judging?” She held up two fingers and squeezed them together.

“Any name I call you would apply to me.”

“Very logical.”

“You weren't alone in that room.”

She tried very hard not to conjure up a visual image of his hands up her skirt. “Oh, I know.”

“I admit, that sort of thing isn't a weekly occurrence for me.”

She laughed. The contrast between the serious way his brows came together and the humor in his tone did her in. He might be good at sex, but he wasn't all that comfortable with the way they'd met.

That made two of them.

“You mean the straitlaced guy running for prosecuting attorney doesn't have sex with strange women every Saturday?” she asked.

He pretended to mull that one over. “You didn't strike me as being all that strange.”

“Wait, what?”

“Look,” he crossed that invisible barrier and stepped right into her buffer space. The jokes and sly smile were gone. “I need to deal with something else here.”

The change in direction made her brain shut down for a second. “What?”

“You say that word a lot.”

“How could you know that? You've known me for a sum total of two hours.”

“Probably less than half that, but it was some pretty intense time.”

She refused to blush. Women who had sex in the bathroom during a high-class wedding did not blush. “True.”

He smiled. “Which brings us full circle.”

For some reason when he relaxed and his mouth turned up, she got more nervous. “To what exactly?”

“The wedding.”

Here it was. He'd beg her to keep her mouth shut. Throw some money around, maybe a threat or two. Explain how it would be good for her to pretend it never happened.

She'd feel smug if she weren't so disappointed. She wasn't expecting a marriage proposal or even a cup of coffee from the man, but being reminded of how little she meant to him chilled her from the inside out. “I was wondering when you'd get to that.”

“Katie, I'm sorry.” He reached down and slipped his fingers through hers. The move pulled her closer, until nothing more than a slip of hot air separated them.

“You're…what?”

“Honestly, do you just feel compelled to use that word?”

She almost said “what” but stopped the word in time. “Right now, yeah.”

Staring down at their linked hands, she wondered what was happening. She'd made a lot of bad choices with men and slept with a few she should have run away from, but none of them came walking into the middle of her out-of-control life, spouting off about regrets and how they should have treated her better. Not her experience at all.

“I'm sorry.” When she didn't respond, he ducked his head until her gaze met his again. “I can't be the first man who's ever apologized to you for something.”

She did a quick mental check and couldn't come up with another name for that list. “You're sorry for the sex?”

His mouth fell into a severe frown. “Hell no.”

“Then I'm confused.”

He squeezed her hand in a gentle move that mirrored the concern in his face. “Clearly.”

“Maybe we should start this conversation again.” In a public place, with a wall between them. And no touching. Definitely no touching. His fingers swept over her skin and her good intentions went down faster than the
Titanic
. No woman could withstand that sort of temptation. Certainly not one with her record of questionable choices.

“I am trying to apologize for running out of the wedding before I even got your name. That was a pretty shitty thing to do in light of what happened between us.”

Damn, he couldn't even describe their horizontal bathroom dancing without sounding refined. “Do you have trouble saying the word ‘sex'?”

He smiled. “No trouble saying or doing.”

She wasn't sure where he was going or what he was looking for. He was either super smooth or an ass in hiding. Unfortunately both possibilities appealed to her. Everything about him appealed to her.

Instead of crawling all over him, she went with the truth. “Admittedly, I was surprised you took a few seconds to zip your pants before you hauled it out of there.”

He winced. “That bad, huh?”

“Does the phrase ‘ass on fire' tell you anything?”

“Only that I need to work on my skills.”

She had no complaints in that department. None. At. All. “So, now what?”

“Depends. Is my apology accepted?”

Her heart started pounding. The noise drowned out the doubts and questions ringing in her ears. It thundered through her until it muffled everything else. “Is this really why you're here?”

“Why else would I track you down?”

“I have no idea. Unless you've wiped out crime on Oahu, I'm guessing you have work to do, and I figure there are other women who take up your time. Why you'd spare a few minutes to come over here is, well, let's just say I don't get it.”

“You can't be serious.”

“Actually I am.”

“Do you own a mirror?”

That's all it took. A simple bit of flattery and she fell right into her old pattern. She recognized it, heard the warning signal screech through her brain…and ignored it all.

“Is it possible you're really here for this?” She stepped into him then, pressed her chest against his as she lifted her chin and brought her mouth to the whisper of space right under his.

“Katie?”

“What?”

He smiled then. “I didn't come for a booty call.”

She knew when a man was interested. This guy had it written all over him. “So you're saying no?”

His gaze toured her face, landing on her mouth. “I'm not an idiot.”

 

He mumbled the denial right before his head lowered and his lips brushed against hers. For the second time, an engulfing heat swept through him. He'd had sex before. Hell, he'd had great sex before, but there was something about Katie that rubbed him raw and sent a blast of want shooting through him.

At thirty-seven he'd passed his need-sex-all-the-time phase long ago. Now he preferred a mix of hot and comfort, a woman who could set his nerves blazing and hold an intelligent conversation afterward. But Katie brought out something else in him. A memory of that time before responsibility and politics when he could just enjoy without worrying about how it would play out or who would care.

Gentle kissing turned hot before he could calm it down. One minute he was tasting her with small kisses on the corners of her mouth, getting to know her nice and slow. The next, his hands traced up and down her back as his tongue swept inside.

Like last time, reason abandoned him. His body overruled his mind. Before common sense stepped in and screwed up everything, he walked her backward until her butt smacked against the island. He tugged on material, hoping to push aside her shirt and find bare skin, but he pulled out a towel instead. The surprise made his head pop up and his lips leave her delicious neck.