One Night of Trouble (2 page)

He brought his hand close to the tattoo on her forearm, his fingers lingering in the air. He hadn’t planned on touching her, but those dark eyes that fascinated him so damn much went heavy-lidded, and then she tentatively leaned into his outstretched fingertips.

As he gently skimmed the tattoo, she let out a shaky exhale, and AJ’s groin promptly stirred again. He traced the outstretched wings of the ethereal figure inked on her skin, then followed the angel’s wispy dress to the tangle of vines at her feet.

Lord, her skin was hot to the touch. Silky smooth. And he didn’t miss the throbbing of her pulse at the base of her slender throat, or the way her small breasts rose as she drew a deep breath.

Oh yeah. She liked having his hand on her skin. Just as much as he liked putting it there.

AJ shifted his feet again, praying her gaze wouldn’t drop south. The bulge straining against his zipper was impossible to hide. His pants suddenly felt too frickin’ tight, and his primal reaction to this woman made his head spin. He was usually more controlled than this, but damn it, there was no controlling the erection trying to poke right through his pants.

Or the relentless need to kiss the living daylights out of her.

“Do you really not remember me?” she blurted out.

He froze. “Do we know each other?”

Chapter Two

Ugh. Why were men so clueless?

Brett Conlon stared into the vivid green eyes of the golden boy of Hawthorne High, wondering why she’d bothered telling him the truth. She should have just pretended she didn’t know who he was. At least then she’d be spared the embarrassment of him not recognizing her.

Granted, there was no reason for the star of her high school football team, Mr. Popularity personified, to remember the artsy, hell-raising girl who’d been three years behind him in school. And even though she’d hung out with an older crowd, she and AJ Walsh definitely hadn’t traveled in the same circles. He’d been friends with the we’re-God’s-gift-to-the-world kids who made up the school’s popular group, which included the snobby cheerleaders. A.k.a. the awful girls who had no qualms about harassing girls like Brett.

When she’d walked up to the bar earlier and seen AJ, all the nasty comments she’d endured back then had buzzed in her mind and instantly triggered her hostility. She’d probably been ruder than she should have, considering AJ had never ganged up on her the way his cheerleader friends had. But he’d still been present for it, and when she’d spotted him behind that counter, her hands had involuntarily circled into fists as long-ago anger and embarrassment crept in like a puddle of oozing tar.

“C’mon, you’re not allowed to drop a bomb like that and not follow through,” he said quietly, intently studying her face as if trying to place her.

Brett met his gaze head on. “We went to high school together.”

A crease dug into his forehead. “No way. I would totally remember you if we did.”

“Why? Because of the tats?” She gestured to her ink. “I didn’t have these back then.”

“Not the tats.” Heat darkened his expression. “Your eyes. They’re so dark they’re almost black. I’d never forget eyes as sexy as yours.”

Oh God, he was flirting with her.

AJ Walsh was flirting with her.

She suddenly had the most ridiculous urge to sprint to the ladies’ room and make sure she looked okay. That her hair wasn’t tangled and her mascara hadn’t run. It was sad, really, how one blast from the past could turn a person into a stammering, insecure teenager all over again.

Or how one flirty remark from a guy who’d never given her a second glance in high school had caused the teenage girl inside her to do wild, excited cartwheels like the cheerleaders AJ used to hang out with.

Fortunately, the older Brett stepped in and kicked teenage Brett in the shin before she could make a total fool of herself.

“Yeah, well, my eyes haven’t changed, and trust me, we went to the same school. AJ,” she added meaningfully.

“The same grade?” he challenged.

She almost lied, just to make him feel bad about not knowing who she was, but she wasn’t that much of a jackass. “I was three years behind you,” she admitted.

Triumph lit his expression. “Ha. See? I definitely would’ve remembered you if you were in my class.” He shrugged. “I didn’t really chill with anyone younger than me.”

“Too cool for us young’uns, huh?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

The teasing smile he shot her made her heart skip a beat, and when he took a teeny step closer, she was floored by the sheer size of him. Whoa. He was a lot bigger than she remembered. He’d always been tall, but now he was
ripped
.

As his broad, muscular frame towered over her, she couldn’t help but gape at his arms. Sleek, powerful biceps poured from the sleeves of his snug black tee, and his chest was so deliciously defined she could see the individual ridges of muscle rippling beneath the fabric of his shirt.

She was momentarily dazed, incapable of doing anything but full-on ogling.

Crap. It was impossible to dwell on the bad memories when he was smiling at her like that, especially when AJ’s only crime in high school was being too damn popular for his own good.

“So do I ever get to learn your name, or are you withholding it as my punishment for not knowing who you were?” he asked, that boyish grin widening.

“I’m Brett.”

“Brett…not usually a girl’s name.”

She sighed. “My mom was obsessed with Hemingway. She named me after a female character from one of his books.”

“
The Sun Also Rises
,” he said with a nod. “I love that book.”

It didn’t surprise her that he knew exactly which book she’d been talking about. Another thing she remembered about the guy—he wasn’t your typical dumb jock. Nope, AJ Walsh had been the absolute perfect package. Smart, funny, gorgeous, athletic. It was just too bad he hadn’t had better taste in friends.

“So tell me,” he said, sounding pensive. “What heinous crime did I commit back in the day to get you all grumpy and scowly?”

“Nothing. You did nothing.” She paused. “Some of your friends weren’t so nice to me, though.”

“Ah. Let me guess—the cheerleaders.”

A wry smile lifted her lips. “Bingo.”

“Who tortured you? Tamara? Edie? They were usually the ringleaders for any nastiness that went around.”

“Double bingo. Those two made my life miserable for a while.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

He sounded so genuine that she felt a pang of guilt for being rude to him before.

“If I’m being honest, I didn’t pay much attention to what the girls were up to,” he admitted. “I was pretty focused on football.”

“I remember.” She paused. “Did you ever go pro?”

“Yes and no.” Before she could question that cryptic remark, he changed the subject. “So what brings you here tonight? Did you come with friends?” He rapidly answered his own question. “Wait, of course you did. Those were a lot of margaritas you ordered.”

And not a single one had been for her.

Which was seriously ironic, because Brett couldn’t remember the last time she’d visited a club without the intention of getting plastered.

But that was the old Brett. The wild, up-for-anything Brett who used to climb on bar counters Coyote Ugly-style and dance the night away.

The new and improved Brett didn’t get into those kinds of shenanigans anymore, and truth be told, she was proud of herself for cleaning up her act. But with the pride came shame, which tugged on her insides as she thought of the conversation she’d had with her brother Mike last month.

When he’d flat out asked her if she was an alcoholic.

She’d honestly been able to answer no, but there was also no denying she hadn’t made the best choices in the past. Yes, she knew when to cut herself off, and she was perfectly capable of going for weeks, months, and even years without a drop of alcohol. Her problem wasn’t getting drunk, but the decisions she made when she
was
drunk.

Like hooking up with the worst possible men for her—ahem,
Troy
—or staying out late and missing work the next morning. Or not paying her bills on time because she’d been too busy partying to remember when stuff was due.

Now that her father and brothers were monitoring her like prison guards, she couldn’t afford to make those kinds of mistakes any more. She was twenty-six years old, not a dumb kid or a reckless teenager or a self-destructive young adult. It was time to grow up. Six months ago, she’d vowed to herself and her family that she would start making smart decisions.

“It’s my friend’s birthday,” she told AJ. “We’re here to celebrate.”

At the thought of Jamie, a lump of guilt rose in Brett’s throat. In her attempt to conduct a bad-influence cleanse, she’d had no choice but to distance herself from some of the more destructive people in her life, and unfortunately, Jamie and the girls fell under that category.

To make matters worse, her friends definitely weren’t on board with her new-and-improved lifestyle. From the moment the group had arrived at Sin, the girls had been coaxing her to get drunk with them, which was not only disappointing, but disheartening. If the roles were reversed, there was no way she’d be dangling carrots of temptation in front of her friends. She’d support their choices without question, and it saddened her that they couldn’t do the same for her.

“I think I’m taking off soon, though,” she added.

“I thought you were the DD,” AJ said with a frown.

The lie she’d told him brought another jolt of guilt. “Naah, not really. The girls plan on closing down the place and taking a cab home. I was going to head out around midnight. Do you know what time it is now?”

AJ pulled a cell phone from his back pocket and glanced at the screen. “Eleven fifty-eight. Looks like you’re about to turn into a pumpkin. Did you drive here?”

She shook her head. “I’m calling a taxi.”

“Or…” His eyes gleamed recklessly.

Brett’s throat went dry. “Or?”

“Or I could drive you home.”

Uh-oh.

Big
uh-oh.

The awareness that had sizzled between them earlier returned in full force, leaving pinpricks of heat along her bare arms. The air was cool and she’d left her coat inside, but she wasn’t cold. Not by a long shot.

She knew
exactly
what would happen if she let AJ drive her home. She might have willpower when it came to alcohol, but around this man? With his sandy-blond hair and chiseled features and sparkling green eyes? And that incredible body? And throw in the fact that she hadn’t had sex in six months?

Willpower? Fat chance.

“What do you say, Brett? Do you want a ride?” No missing the way his voice went husky at the word
ride
.

Oh boy. Oh boy oh boy oh boy.

This was
not
the AJ Walsh she remembered. Back then he’d come off as a gentleman.

Right now there was nothing gentlemanly about him. His expression was downright smoldering, broad body radiating pure sex appeal.

If he took her home, she knew it wouldn’t end with her walking up to her apartment alone.

But she still had to make sure she wasn’t misinterpreting that look on his face.

“What are you really asking me?” she said bluntly.

“I’m asking if I can take you home and screw your brains out.”

Her thighs clenched so hard she almost keeled over. Okay, well, that certainly left nothing to interpretation.

“Judging by your response, I think you like the sound of that.” There was something smugly
male
in his voice.

Hers was embarrassingly squeaky and as weak as her attempted ignorance. “What response?”

He flashed a knowing smile. “What, you think I can’t tell when a woman is attracted to me?”

Nope, this was
not
the AJ she remembered. The golden boy was gone, replaced by a primal creature teeming with raw sexual energy. The electricity in the air was liable to burn her alive.

“Y-you…” She swallowed hard. “You don’t seem like the kind of man who does stuff like this. Sleeping with someone you’ve just met…”

“Why do women always take it upon themselves to decide what kind of man I am?”

“Am I wrong?” she challenged.

After a beat, he gave a sheepish grin. “Fine. I haven’t had a lot of one-night stands. But…” His eyes burned. “I have a feeling not going home with you tonight would be the biggest mistake of my life.”

She didn’t have time to absorb that intense answer, because suddenly he was touching her.

Holy hell. The air damn near incinerated when his callused fingertips stroked her wrist, sweeping over the roses inked on her skin.

“Let me take you home, Brett,” he said roughly. “Let me show you who I am.”

Her breath got stuck in her lungs when he brought his other hand into play. He traced the line of her jaw before sliding his palm behind her neck, then dragging it higher so he could thread his fingers through her hair.

His touch was magic. Sweet and gentle and—or not, she amended when he gave her hair a sharp tug. He nudged her head to the side to bare her throat, his spicy, masculine scent drugging her senses as his head dipped and he planted a hot kiss on her even hotter flesh.

Brett gasped at the sharp sting of teeth nipping her neck. “I know who you are,” she stammered. “Or at least I thought I did.”

A dark laugh fanned over her skin. “I’m pretty sure you thought wrong.” He planted an openmouthed kiss right beneath her ear.

She moaned.

“Christ, you smell so fucking good.” AJ rubbed his cheek on the side of her throat, his stubble scratching her hypersensitized skin.

He still hadn’t kissed her on the mouth, and her lips were trembling in anticipation. When he released her and took a step back, she actually whimpered in disappointment.

“My car’s parked in the back,” he said huskily. “Why don’t you say good-bye to your friends and then meet me in the parking lot?”

God, she should say no.

But what came out was, “Don’t you have to go back to work?”

He smiled. “I’m co-owner of this place. I can take off whenever I want.”

The revelation that he owned the club barely registered. She was too focused on the curve of his lips, too entranced by the seductive smile that once again brought an ache to her core.