Say No To Joe?

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Authors: Lori Foster

BOOK: Say No To Joe?
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“I can't imagine too many people dumb enough to take you on.”
Joe gave a wolfish grin. “Yet you never hesitate.”
Affronted by the suggestion that she might be dumb, Luna said, “I believe I've avoided you.”
Joe subtly kicked the sheet lower. Apparently, not subtly enough because her eyes shifted, then stayed glued to his abdomen. “Avoided me?” he asked, to keep her from noticing that he'd noticed her looking. “So that wasn't you with me in the dark hallway at Zane's wedding, kissing me and clawing my back and arching up against me and—”
She was off the bed in a flash. “A touch of modesty wouldn't hurt, you know.”
“Modesty is for wimps.” He kicked the sheet farther away.
Being stubborn, Luna refused to look. “All right. So, I kissed you. It was a momentary lack of sanity.”
Joe nodded in mock sympathy. “I have that effect on a lot of women.”
Her eyes got glassy with her determination to stay on northerly ground. “Which is why I came to my senses and walked away.”
It gave Joe a lot of satisfaction to point out one irrefutable fact. “But you're back.”
“Only out of necessity.” As if she couldn't help herself, her gaze flicked over him. Her breath caught; her cheeks warmed. Softly, she said, “There's no denying it, Joe. You'd be a treat.”
SAY NO TO JOE?
Lori Foster
ZEBRA BOOKS
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Chapter One
S
prawled out flat on his stomach, his big body stretched end to end on the full-sized bed. Two women loomed over him, touching him, quietly oohing and ahhing. They were so absorbed in their scrutiny, they didn't even notice Luna's entrance, hadn't heard her knocks. She shook her head, but she understood, indeed, she did.
After all, Joe was buck naked.
And he had a . . . tattoo on his ass?
Huh. Luna squinted to read the ornate script wrapped around a three-dimensional heart. It looked like it said
I Love Lou
. She frowned. Now what was that about? She knew without a single doubt Joe Winston was into women, not men—as witnessed by the two Barbie dolls presently pampering him.
One of those women whispered with longing, “I do wish he'd wake up.”
The other sighed. “I've been trying for half an hour. No luck.”
Luna cleared her throat, and when the women looked up, startled and somewhat guilty, she explained, “The front door wasn't locked.”
Rather than question her sudden presence or order her out, as Luna expected, the women shared a glance and flushed. The breasty blonde even dropped her hands from Joe's back where she'd been petting him.
The redhead bit her lip in nervousness. “Ummm . . . Who are you?”
Seeing that Joe hadn't moved, was apparently, in fact, sound asleep just as they'd said, Luna seized her opportunity. She stared with contrived contempt at both women, raised her chin in disdain, and uttered with complete absurdity and unrivaled fiction, “I'm his wife. Get out.”
That they didn't question her told Luna all she needed to know. These women weren't important to Joe or they'd have already learned all about his aversion to marriage. She almost smiled as the women tripped past her—until she saw the bottle of pills on Joe's nightstand.
Striding forward, Luna read the label and saw that they were rather powerful pain pills. She frowned and set them aside. No wonder he was out cold. But what had happened to him? Why was he medicated?
“Joe?”
He didn't move, but he did give a slight, snuffling snore and shifted the tiniest bit. His shoulders, as wide as a tank and just as sturdy, drew her hand. Luna touched him, felt the hot silk of his taut flesh—and realized she was trembling. Not that she was nervous about her mission. Nope. But hey, Joe was naked, and if that wasn't enough to make any red-blooded female shake, then what could?
She hadn't seen him in three long months. The last time he'd asked her out, he'd told her if she refused him, he wouldn't ask again.
She'd refused.
His thick blue-black hair lay in disarray, a sharp contrast to the rumpled, snowy white pillowcase. His heavily whiskered jaw appeared clenched, and as Luna looked closer, she saw a purplish shadowing around his eye. A bruise?
Sitting on the side of the bed, Luna shook his shoulder. “Joe, wake up.”
At her nearness, his nose twitched; then with a slight frown, he drew a slow, deep inhalation of breath. With exaggerated effort, he got one thickly lashed eye to open. The seconds ticked by while they stared at each other.
Abruptly his other eye snapped open and Luna got snared in his flinty, dark blue gaze. In a voice deep and rough from sleep, he said, “I thought I recognized that scent.”
Bemused, Luna pulled back. “Sorry, champ, but I'm not wearing perfume—”
Her statement strangled in her throat when Joe rolled to his back with a rumbling groan of agony. His new position gave her a shocking display of his battered ribs along with a variety of bruises and scrapes on his chest, face and abdomen.
Someone had hurt him.
Outrage blossomed, but the outrage was tempered by awareness because he also provided her with a full frontal view of his gloriously naked body—and wow, what a view it was.
Joe Winston might be a bonified jerk, a sexist pig in fact, but Luna had no complaints with his physique. He was all bulky strength, long bones, dark hair and sinew. And sex appeal, the man had it in spades.
She was trying to convince herself to look away when Joe snagged her upper arms and dragged her over him.
“You don't need perfume,” he purred in what could only be a tone of seduction.
Alarm shot up her spine. “Oh, no, big boy. Hang on there . . .”
Even weak and apparently drugged, Joe had no problem overpowering her, big overgrown lug that he was. She ended up with her breasts crushed to his massive hairy chest, her legs caught between his. He grunted in pain, then growled in appreciation.
“Joe,” she started to object—and his mouth covered hers.
Luna recognized the danger of the moment even as she thrilled at the strength of his thick arms circling her, the press of his groin into her belly, the damp heat and gentle hunger of his mouth. The summer temperatures outside had nothing on Joe. The man was too hot. It had always been like this with him. He touched her, and common sense fled.
Without her conscious permission, Luna's eyes drifted shut and for only a moment, a single moment, she gave in, kissing him back, taking his taste and giving him her own.
He made a sound of hunger as his big, hard hand opened on her back, mostly bared by her halter top. His fingertips were rough, warm, and before she could assimilate that, they slid low to her bottom to enclose an entire cheek. He gently squeezed.
Like a shot, Luna sprang from the bed to glare down at him. She was breathless and annoyed and damn it, he still looked good enough to eat.
Deep blue eyes narrowed on her face, expressive and intent. “Come back here.”
He said that as if he really expected her to obey. She almost did. “You,” she accused, valiantly resisting temptation, “are drugged.”
Amazingly, his hand slid to his lap and he laid his fingers lightly against himself. Wearing a crooked smile, Joe murmured, “I'm still fully functional.”
Her jaw loosened; her mouth fell open. Oh, Lord. It took a lot to knock her off kilter, and this qualified. Luna wanted to swoon, to fan her face. She wanted to touch him, too, to feel the strength of him, the hot silk of his flesh, the crisp black hair.
Absurd. Men, even big, muscular, overconfident hulks, did not affect her this way, to the point she had trouble breathing or forming a coherent thought. She swallowed hard and managed to keep her eyes on his face. “I didn't come here for that, Joe.”
“No?”
“I came to talk.”
“Let's talk in bed.”
His purring tone sank into her bones, weakening her resolve. Trying for a little attitude, she summoned a teasing smile. “You're the only man I know who gets aroused by pain medicine.”
His gaze slid over her breasts beneath the brightly colored halter edged in shiny beads. “I've been on pain meds for three days now, honey. Trust me, they don't turn me on.”
Suspicion dawned. “You're not as out of it as I thought, are you?”
He groaned, winced, and forced himself a little straighter in the bed. “Out of it, no. Not anymore. In pain, yes. Give a hand, will you?”
Mouth flat, eyes watchful, Luna wrapped both hands around his thick upper arm. Muscles bunched and flexed against her palms, raising her awareness level even more. He braced against her, then shoved himself upward in the bed until his back rested on the pine headboard. He looked pale from the effort and so battered she almost softened toward him.
“Jesus,” he muttered, “my ribs are killing me and my knee hurts like a son of a bitch.”
She could see that. He was tense with the pain, his forehead damp. But Joe wasn't a man you coddled, especially not while he was in a bed and naked.
Once he was propped up, he let out a slow, cautious sigh.
Choosing discretion over titillation, Luna tossed the top sheet over his lap.
Joe blinked at her. “Getting to you, huh?”
Yes.
“Not at all.” His long, hairy legs still showed, so she spread the sheet over his lower body and tucked it in around him, doing her best to ignore his knowing smile and the way the sheet tented with his semi-arousal.
“Thanks,” he murmured with a lot of irony; then he cautiously stretched, settling in a bit more. “I'm glad you're here.”
“Of course you are.” Luna put herself a safe distance from the bed and the reach of those long muscular arms. “You looked to be suffering greatly with two women fawning all over you.”
“Suffering? Yeah, that about sums it up. Why do you think I was playing possum?” He kicked the sheet loose until his right leg was again visible, clear up to the paler skin of his hip. “The insatiable tyrants don't understand that I'm only human, and subject to injury.”
Refusing to give herself away, Luna kept her gaze glued to his face. “You're telling me they were here for sex?”
“Did either of them look like Florence Nightingale to you? And I don't have any money, so they couldn't be after that. What else is there but sex?”
Luna rolled her eyes. “I can't believe I came here.”
“Yeah, me either. Why are you here, by the way? Oh, wait, you're my wife, right?”
His expression was alight with devilish delight, enhanced by his slightly crooked nose and the small gold hoop in his ear. Joe would enjoy embarrassing her, making her ill at ease. But she had no time to be embarrassed, no time for second thoughts.
Drawing a fortifying breath and praying he wouldn't give her a hard time about it, Luna said, “The truth is Joe . . . I need you.”
 
 
Joe did his best to hide his reaction to the thumping, grinding pain in every muscle, bone and joint. He glanced at the clock and saw that it was nearing eight o'clock. He'd been in bed forever it seemed, and God, he felt like something the cat had mauled, killed, and then dragged in. But he couldn't afford to be distracted with the annoying pain right now.
Luna had sought him out, and by God, he'd take advantage of the moment if it killed him.
“As I recall,” he said around a wave of discomfort, “you told me to get lost. Sounded pretty sincere to me, too.”
Seeing Luna Clark flush was a unique experience. Usually she was all brass balls and feminist pique. Not once had he ever witnessed any insecurity in her.
Her chin rose. “You know why, Joe.”
“Because you're cold-hearted?” The second he said it, he held up a hand. “No, don't abuse my already abused body. One more blow and I'm done for.”
She did look ready to clout him, not that he didn't deserve it. Whenever he got near her, it seemed he had no control over his wayward tongue, his better sense, or his lust. But damn it, her continued rejection nettled him so much that more often than not he behaved like a complete ass.
Uncomfortable with that fact, Joe shifted, and a groan slipped out without his permission.
She inched closer. “What happened to you anyway? Did you accost another woman and she took a ball bat to you?”
Joe hid his grin. “A little grab-ass is not accosting.” At the worst of times, Luna could amuse him. And now he finally had her where he wanted her.
His cousin Zane had called yesterday to explain that Luna would be visiting, that she had a situation—which was as much explanation as Zane would give—and that she could use his special skills. Naturally, Joe had agreed to help out. Hell, Luna was the best friend to his cousin's wife, which made her practically family. And Joe would do anything for family.
Yeah. That sounded plausible enough to suit him.
She'd gotten here sooner than he'd expected, though. He'd thought to have a few more days to recoup before he had to pit wits with her.
Her mesmerizing eyes shone with annoyance and disbelief. “I barely knew you, Joe. I brought you a sandwich, and half a minute later you had your hands all over me.”
Despite his aches and pains, the memory warmed Joe. Locking onto her gaze, he said in his defense, “You have that kind of bottom, honey. All round and soft.”
Her color deepened. “Of all the stupid, sexist—”
“It's irresistible,” Joe insisted, and meant it. “It begs for a man's hands. It—” There looked to be an explosion imminent, so Joe wisely let that go for now and instead distracted her. “And for your information, no, I didn't get beat up by a woman.” He snorted. “How absurd is that?”
“I dunno.” Her body vibrated with tension. “I'm ready to beat you up.”
Oh, he'd love for her to get close enough to try. For that brief moment when he'd pulled her over him, touching body to body in all the right places, he'd felt alive. Aware. Hungry in a way that had eluded him since . . . well, the last time he'd touched her. Damn.

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