Lipstick on His Collar (4 page)

The drive was short. All drives in this town were. It boasted a grand total of one stoplight and, as his luck dictated, Bram hit a red light. With his thumb bouncing on the steering wheel, he checked the hotel information sheet he’d grabbed and looked for the turnoff to the small business district.

The Greenville Wash-n-Dry was a squat white cement block building with a massive glass front. Bram jammed the Durango into park and absently noted the gleaming washers and dryers through the sparkling window. During his travels, he went through enough tolls that he kept a stash of coins in the dashboard cubby, and he scooped out a handful of quarters. The brisk wind sliced through his sweatshirt with a bite and the metal bar across the glass door chilled his hand. He hated driving in a jacket and rarely wore one.

Inside, the scents of steam and Tide smacked him in the face. Dual rows of gleaming machines in steel gray greeted him, their bellies rolling splotches of suds and colors in circular windows. A harried mother chased a toddler pushing a wheeled basket cart and an old man sat with his nose buried in a newspaper. A few others milled around, folding, sorting, staring into the machinery half-awake. The hum of laundry served as background music for a country tune. The music piped from a boombox that matched one he had gotten for his tenth birthday. He wondered, if he turned it over, would he find a child’s name scratched into the bottom?

He looked up and his stomach fell to the floor.

It was her.

The same pixie nose twitched as she rubbed it, those mesmerizing green eyes trained on entering something into a laptop beside the cash register. She nibbled the full bottom lip that had filled far too many erotic dreams for him in the past few months. With a scowl pulling those expressive brows lower, she used a pencil to tap in a series of keys. She still took his breath but she looked different. Her hair wasn’t loose about her shoulders but caught back in a tight, thick braid. The moist heat of the room dampened her sleeveless shirt and clung to her back. Faded, ragged cutoffs hugged her exquisite curves.

A supernova of longing, a burst of having found that which was lost, gripped him with fiery steel claws. His heart rate spiked and his balls tightened. Wild, frantic thoughts rushed his mind. He’d spent an entire day looking for her, but it was pretty hard to find a nameless goddess who obviously didn’t want to be found. Now, she stood less than three feet from him and he didn’t have the first clue what to do. She solved that problem for him by grabbing a thick binder and turning around.

Her gaze landed on him and recognition was instant. He saw it. First, a joyous light flared in her eyes matching the one in his chest. Want slammed into him with the force of a Mack truck, thickening his cock and surging hot blood through his system. She smelled of lemony sunshine and her sparkling eyes shone with amusement in golden flecks. His biceps twitched with the sudden urge to pull her close and sniff the warmth from her hair.

She took a step toward him with a breathy whisper. “Bram.”

Then her eyes widened, her mouth fell open and the binder slipped from her fingers, crashing to the floor and spilling pages in a wide arc. The twinkle of delight died with a fizzle and regret slipped in. A deep scarlet stained her face, and she hurriedly looked down then stooped to gather her papers. He bent to help her.

“Who are you this time? Nefertiti? Helen? Cleopatra?”

She didn’t look at him, her gaze darting between the binder, the pages she was messily shoving inside, and the door. She ripped the pages out of his hand and stood. “Bram, I’m sorry. You have no idea how sorry I am but…please, go away.”

Numb disbelief flooded over him. What? She’d been on him like white on rice at the fair, and now she wanted to pretend he didn’t exist? What about that connection they’d found, the happy recognition that had flashed in her eyes a second ago? Maybe he’d imagined the entire thing. A swift, bitter sense of disappointment stunned him. Nope, his central nervous system was still in hyperdrive. Sexual tension pounded inside him, his tongue thick and his balls drawn close to his body. It had been no hallucination.

So he was good enough to fuck but not see again? That hurt, maybe a little deeper than his ego if he really wanted to examine it. He was slower to rise, but every inch he unfolded, his resentment grew. She turned her shoulder to him, her face fixated on the door as if expecting to see Dracula swooping in, fangs wide open.

“The sign says you’re open until six.” The steel in his voice was raw defensiveness he knew, but he couldn’t pull it back.

He pushed past her as rudely as he could. Every muscle in his frame twanged with indignation.
This
was why he didn’t do one-night stands—the awkward run-into-your-lover thing. Blow jobs and orgasms, no problem, but don’t look at me the next day. He didn’t like this feeling one damn bit. He was sorry he’d found her, all the intense sudden elation at seeing her again stripped away, leaving him raw. Her rejection was a rusty knife in his gut.

That night had been… It was the stuff of fantasies. Now, her less-than-stellar greeting tarnished it, cheapened it, cheapened him. He felt used.

He found two side-by-side machines not in use far away from the counter. Jerkily, he separated his clothes into two basic loads—lights and darks—and stole fast, angry peeks at her. Like an automaton, she moved with precision, no wasted efforts or motions, her face a mask of blankness. She pried open the rings and carefully realigned all the pages in the folder. Her hands shook and Bram took a miserly satisfaction in that.

The bells over the door jangled but he barely heard them through his humiliation. A vending machine along a sidewall held an array of laundry products. He hit the buttons for a double package of liquid Tide laundry detergent in Renewing Rain scent.
Rain
.

The image of wet trails along her breasts, the way the downpour had spiked her lashes and molded that sinful scrap of a dress to her body burst into his mind. A lump rose in his throat, a burning lump of salt-tinged ache that he swallowed with effort. He didn’t want to think about that now, not on the heels of her shoving him away.

He fed the coins into the slots and slammed it into engaging with far too much angry force. The side-by-side machines filled and began their shake-and-shimmy cleaning dance, and he settled onto a hard plastic chair intent on ignoring her. For fifteen minutes, he tried to convince himself that whatever intoxicating aura surrounded her, surrounded them, last July was nothing more than a product of the sweltering heat and his severely limited sex life.

It had been months since he’d had any type of sexual encounter. Work had been simply too demanding. He’d had to have been plain old horny and projected that onto his anonymous goddess. Sharing secrets and touches, dreams and kisses, fears and orgasms, nothing had been held back that night…except her name. No amount of cajoling could make her give up her name. He’d tried, finally accepting she was just
lady
.

Lady. Did that make him the Tramp?

Shame descended like a firestorm, scalding him. Damn, why was he torturing himself like this, lusting after some nameless bombshell? Why hadn’t he walked out, dirty laundry be damned?
Because you are a masochistic asshole who wondered “what if” and, barring that, wanted to feed your vivid sexual fantasies, that’s why
.

The iron grip he had on the belief that night had meant more than just mind-blowing sex brought his gaze back to her. Her eyes were no longer filled with regret but shone with annoyance. A tall blond man gestured angrily, and his tightened lips said something that shot her brows upward. The braid along her shoulder rocked wildly as she shook her head. The man glared at her reorganized binder then knocked it off the counter with an irritated shove. She dove to catch it.

The guy pointed his finger in her face, his frame shaking with fury. Bram’s eyes narrowed. She held the binder to her chest, defiance blazing from her eyes until they sparkled like gemstones. The masculine fist that smacked the counter made her jump and Bram shot to his feet.

Jason was a bomb and his fuse was shrinking, so she kept the counter between them. He came down every night after work, trying to convince her they were meant to be. They were meant to be a closed case, he just didn’t get it. He hadn’t gotten it for months. He was an insurance broker, for God’s sake, he wasn’t stupid. What was so hard to understand about “goodbye, loser”?

“There is no way in hell you’re taking that job.”

“I don’t need your permission, Jason.”

The glint of control she’d once mistaken for love flashed bright in his eyes. His lip curled over orthodontically perfected teeth clenched in fury. Anger changed his face from golden-boy charmer to frightening bad dream. Every line in his lean swimmer-sculpted body now poised for domination, and she took a step back. Fast as a cobra strike, he lashed out and gripped her elbow. Pain shot through her arm but she refused to flinch, to give him the satisfaction of seeing her hurt. When she didn’t do the girly-gasp that got him off, he tightened his hold.

Jason had never actually touched her in anger before. His normal pattern was to yell, slam stuff around and hit inanimate objects until she got scared enough to shrink into herself. When she cowered, he gloated. Then he calmed down, apologized and swore to never lose his temper again. This time he was no gloat, all glare.

“You are not leaving me.” The dead certainty in his flat tone rang through her bones like a funeral dirge. Her heart leapt to her throat and she swallowed it back along with an instinctual squeak. She
had
left him and this was why she’d left, why she’d walked away. His outbursts were coming too frequently, too unpredictably. He’d pulled his arm back to hit her once but stopped. It was only a matter of time if she’d stayed.

She might have left
him
but he wouldn’t leave
her
. Every day, he came and cajoled, pleaded, and he always watched her. Jason loomed over her life like a chilly shadow, touching every aspect but not really ever leaving an imprint. No matter how many times she told him to leave her alone, he never went away. It was another reason she had taken the job offer in Michigan.

He thought she had cold feet. What she had was a good, solid case of save-your-own-ass-itis. Tugging free from the bruising grasp on her arm, she spied a flash of movement over Jason’s shoulder. Bram’s brows were drawn tight and his mouth slashed thin.
Oh shit, I don’t want him mixed up in this
. Softness seeped into her chest. Bram was the type of nice guy who would naturally come to a woman’s defense, even if she had just shot him down. He was one of the good guys.

Her gaze locked with his and he arched one brow in a silent “want some help?” move. She really didn’t, wanted to handle this on her own, but she wasn’t stupid. Jason had crossed a huge line into Scary Stalkerville. Everyone else in the Laundromat averted their head. No one wanted to get involved. Swallowing her pride, she bobbed a quick nod.

Bram casually walked around the counter as if he’d done it a million times and dropped a light kiss across her mouth, protectively putting himself between Jason and her. “Hey, lady.”

The taste of his kiss and the gentle welcome in his voice soothed her, music for her savage bitch of a headache. The smile she sent him wasn’t forced or stiff in the least. For one long minute, she simply stood there, soaking in the feel of his embrace, the summer warmth of his skin. She had to tighten her lips to prevent
I’ve missed you
from slipping out.

“Who the fuck are you, buddy?”

Jason’s snarl planted a wicked idea in her head. She shot a fast glance at Bram and a short prayer above. Nothing else seemed to get the message through Jason’s thick skull that they were no longer a couple. Maybe a good old-fashioned lover would do the trick.

Okay, she was using Bram again, she knew it, but damn, she’d almost forgotten how nice his hands felt sliding around her waist, how perfectly she fit in his arms. She hiked her voice to candy-sweet and casually waved a hand in Jason’s direction. “Honey, this is Jason, my ex. Jason, this is Bram, my…uhm…”

Deliberately drawing out the introduction, she plastered a sassy smile on her lips and bumped Bram’s hip with hers. He caught on like a forest fire and pulled her deeper against his chest.

“I really hate the term boyfriend.” He sighed in mock exasperation. “Can we just leave it at lover?”

Jason glared at where Bram’s hands rested on her waist. His nostrils flared with the noisy breaths he sucked in, and she wondered if this was going to get uglier. Using Bram as a masculine buffer was one thing, but she wouldn’t let him get hurt because he stood up for her. Although Bram was two inches taller and outweighed her ex by a good thirty pounds—not one ounce of that flab—Jason was livid. That kind of insulted temper was never safe. She was beginning to realize how unstable Jason was.

Jealousy scented the air with an acrid odor, like a candle snuffed out by a hidden breath. Every line in Jason’s body tensed. He narrowed his eyes. “You slept with him?”

“No, but I have fucked him.” She leaned back against Bram. “Several times.”

“You cheating bitch!”

Bram snapped board straight, tightened his hold on her and growled. “That’s it, asswipe. Get out.”

The controlled power in his voice rumbled with command. The rich baritone swaddled her in comfort, shielding her from the bright fury reddening Jason’s cheeks. An ugly sneer peeled back his upper lip and he banged his fist on the counter again. She jumped but Bram’s arms remained around her.

“I’m not done with you,” Jason promised.

“Oh, you’re done,” Bram assured. “Door’s over there, asshole.”

Blistering them with a glare, Jason stomped toward the exit, thrusting the heavy door wide into the frigid wind. She’d love to think the icy air that poured over her legs made her tremble but couldn’t lie. Jason scared her.

Bram’s arms fell away, and she stepped aside, watching Jason’s ramrod stiff back. He crossed the parking lot with waves of anger pouring off him, jerked his car door open and threw his body inside. The same spot he’d held for the past five months, watching her. January couldn’t get here fast enough. She rubbed her thumping elbow. Screw January, she could leave immediately after graduation on the nineteenth of December. Yeah, that sounded like a smarter move. Beat the holiday traffic and start fresh for the New Year. Not quite three more weeks, she could handle that.