Seven-Year Seduction (3 page)

“Remember that dance back in junior high,” he said, “when your folks wouldn't let you go unless Nick and Karen and I went along?”

How could she forget? She'd convinced herself it was a real date, while to Connor, it was nothing more than a favor for his best friend's sister and her parents.

“We danced half the night just like this,” he continued.

Not exactly like this, she thought as his pelvis brushed against hers, making her stomach muscles tighten and heat pool thick in her veins.

“I even think they played this same song,” he said with a chuckle.

She didn't remember the music from that night so many years ago, only the feel of Connor holding her as they shuffled back and forth in the middle of the darkened gymnasium. Her complete adoration for the boy of her dreams had been embarrassingly clear on her face, she was sure.

Thank God she'd grown up and moved on. She was beyond the starry eyes and stupid, love-struck glances of adolescence. She was strong, independent, and over him.

As soon as the thought passed through her mind, she knew she had to exert a bit of that independence and get away from him. She didn't want to talk about junior high or high school. Or anything from their past,
for that matter. Better to let those memories—not a one of them good for her—remain dead and buried.

Before the song even ended, she stopped cold and took a step back. He still held her hand, his other arm extended from her waist.

“What's wrong?” he wanted to know, but he didn't release her.

“Nothing. I just don't want to dance anymore.”

“Then let's take a walk.” His fingers clenched around hers for a moment before relaxing. “I'll get us something to drink and we can go outside for a breath of fresh air.”

“Thank you, but no.”

“Come on. Just for a few minutes.”

She stopped trying to pull away from him then and simply stared him straight in the eye.

“Why?” she wanted to know, studying him closely. “Why won't you let me go back to the table and leave me alone?”

For a second, he didn't say anything. Then he gave a heartfelt sigh, letting one arm drop to his side, but keeping a grip on her other hand.

“Look, I know things have been weird between us the past few years. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that you do your best to avoid me every time you come home to visit your family, and I just thought that maybe we could talk. Clear the air a bit.”

Clear the air.
As soon as the words sank in, her hackles went up.

If only life were that simple. If only a breath of fresh air and a few interesting stories about the good
old days could wipe away all the pain, misery and anguish from that time in her life.

But they couldn't, and she had no desire to dredge up the past. Coming home for her brother's wedding had been difficult enough. Having a heart-to-heart with Connor was more than she could handle, more than she was
willing
to handle tonight.

She had been telling herself for years that she'd put him and everything that had passed between them behind her. Now seemed like the perfect time to prove it.

She yanked her hand from his, giving him no choice but to finally let go.

“There's nothing to talk about,” she told him, leaving no room in her tone for argument. “Consider the air perfectly clear. Now, I'm going back to the bridal table to finish my champagne. And you should go back to your girlfriend.”

She cast a glance over his broad shoulder, toward the well-built blonde in a stylish burgundy sheath who'd been glaring at them for the past several minutes. “She doesn't look too happy that you've been dancing with another woman.”

With that, Beth turned on her heel and walked away. She grabbed her empty glass and the fresh bottle of champagne from the table as she passed, deciding to catch that breath of fresh air, after all. Alone.

C
onnor ran a hand over the top of his head, blowing out a frustrated breath. Well, that had gone just great.

He'd meant to smooth things over with Beth, try to repair their old but battered friendship, not piss her off all over again. Or even more, depending on how one looked at it.

And there had to be something seriously wrong with him to be staring at the tight curve of her bottom as she stormed away while she was so obviously annoyed with him
and
while Lori was watching.

He couldn't seem to help himself, though. Beth had been an adorable kid, an attractive teenager, and now, as an adult, she was drop-dead beautiful.

He cursed himself for thinking it, for noticing her
feminine attributes at all. She was his best friend's sister and he was practically engaged to Lori, for God's sake. Or at least, they'd been living together for the past three years, and he knew that was what she expected.

But he was a man, and as much as he might wish it otherwise, he wasn't made of stone. Beth Curtis had eyes like the Hope Diamond—clear and bright and reflective. With one glance, she could either make him squirm or make him want, freeze him out or set fire to his belly and below.

She used to wear her chestnut hair in a ponytail or braid, but the older she'd gotten, the more she let it hang long and loose down her back. The wavy strands reminded him of the finest silk, and he wanted to run his fingers through them every time she was near.

And her body…man, her body had filled out like nothing he'd ever seen. Yeah, Lori was built. Tiny waist, long legs, big breasts. But her chest had been surgically enhanced, and as much as he'd enjoyed the benefits of that work, there was something about the idea of silicone or saline swishing around in there that turned him off. He would never tell Lori he felt that way, of course, but it was true.

Beth, on the other hand, was just as God had made her. And he'd done a damn fine job. She wasn't model thin or tall, but he liked that. He liked the way her breasts filled that awful pink-and-green gown without looking fake. He liked the curve of her waist, the flare of her hips, the sweet little behind the cut of her dress alluded to. He even liked the slim expanse of her ankle, visible above the strap of her pink, three-inch heels.

And that was why he was going straight to hell.

He pressed a finger and thumb to his eye sockets, thinking—not for the first time—that he was either crazy or the unluckiest bastard around to keep getting into these situations. Beth was practically family, but he couldn't seem to stop lusting after her.

Knowing he couldn't put it off any longer, he dragged his gaze away from Beth's retreating form and turned to face Lori.

Beth had been right, she didn't look happy. Which meant he'd managed to piss off two beautiful women in one night. That was a record, even for him.

She was sitting at the table where he'd left her, arms crossed over her ample chest, legs crossed, top foot tapping angrily in midair. A pulsing, upbeat dance number shook the floor beneath their feet, but the music failed to permeate Lori's sour mood.

Well, this should be fun.

He started toward her, but she leaped to her feet and met him halfway, fire brimming in her eyes.

“Hey,” he greeted her, smiling and trying to pretend he didn't realize how upset she was.

“So that was her.”

“Who?” Connor cocked his head slightly, hoping he would catch another glimpse of Beth before she disappeared too deeply into the crowd. No such luck.

When he turned back around, Lori's expression was even darker, brows drawn and lips pulled down.

“Her. She's the one.”

“The one, who?” he asked, growing more confused by the minute.

“The one who's keeping you from making a commitment to me.”

“Lori,” he began, scoffing at her accusation.

“No,” she cut him off. “I knew there was something going on. I knew there was someone or some incident you couldn't put behind you, but I had no idea it was
her.
Your best friend's sister.”

She said the last as though it was the gravest of insults, and Connor once again felt his insides tighten with shame.

She was right. Beth was his best friend's sister—off limits, taboo. What he thought about her those times he couldn't control his raging hormones, and what they'd done all those years ago, was reprehensible.

And even though Lori had hit the nail on the head, he wanted to deny it.
Needed
to deny it.

“You don't know what you're talking about,” he told her, sliding his hands into the pockets of his tux jacket. “Beth and I are friends. We grew up together. She isn't keeping me from doing anything.”

“I
mean,
” she growled, leaning in to be heard over the music, but not by anyone else, “I saw the way you looked at each other. The way you held her while you danced. I'm not blind, Connor. There was more there than friendship. More than dancing with your best friend's sister.”

“That's ridiculous.”

“It's not.” Her voice grew thick and tears glistened along her lower lashes. “It explains a lot, actually. Like why there's no ring on my finger,” she said, holding up her bare left hand as proof. “And why I'm at your best
friend's wedding instead of my own. We've been dating for six years, Connor. Living together for three. If that doesn't prove you have commitment issues, I don't know what will.”

She turned her head in the direction Beth had earlier escaped. “Now I know why.”

“Lori…”

“I don't think this is going to work, Connor. I don't think I can live with you anymore, knowing I'm not the woman you really want to be with.”

She walked to the table to gather her purse, then returned to stand in front of him. Without meeting his gaze, she murmured, “I don't think you should come home tonight. Maybe not ever.”

It crossed his mind to tell her it was his house…she'd moved in with him, not the other way around. But this was hard enough on her. He'd never meant to hurt her, yet here she was, in obvious pain because of him.

His throat was too tight to speak, so he merely nodded.

He saw the hitch in her breathing before she straightened her shoulders and left the reception hall like a queen leaving a grand ballroom, head held high, regal to the core.

Damn, this night just kept getting better and better.

“Hey, buddy.”

Nick came up behind him, slapping him on the back and shoving a bottle of cold beer at him. Connor pulled a hand from his pocket and accepted the much-needed drink.

“Thanks, man.” He took several long swallows before lowering the bottle.

“No problem. Trouble in paradise?” his best friend asked.

“Yeah. I think I just got kicked out of my own house.”

“Ouch. You and Lori had a fight, then. What about?”

Nothing he could share with Nick.

“It's not important,” he mumbled, hoping Nick wouldn't press for details.

He took another swig of beer, then dug into his pants pocket to feel for his wallet. “I hate to take off so early, but I'd better start looking for a hotel vacancy or I'm going to end up sleeping in my truck.” Which he'd have to walk home to retrieve, since they'd driven to the wedding and reception in Lori's car.

“Listen,” Nick told him. “Why don't you stick around a while longer, enjoy yourself, then you can crash at my place. Karen and I are heading straight for the airport after this and won't be back for two weeks. If you and Lori make up, great. But if you don't, you can stay there as long as you like.”

“Are you sure?” Connor asked, touched by his friend's generosity. But then, the Curtises had always treated him better than he deserved.

Even as a rough-and-tumble foster kid from across the street, they'd invited him in and acted as if he was no different than Nick or any other boy their age.

Never mind that he was hell on wheels, with a chip on his shoulder the size of Texas, working on getting kicked out of his eighth or ninth foster home. They'd
accepted him, trusted him, even grown to love him as much as he loved them.

His eyes grew damp just thinking about how accepting they'd been of him, despite the asinine things he'd done to test them. They'd changed his life, and if it took him until the day he died, he'd do everything he could to repay them.

“Mi casa es su casa,”
Nick quipped. “I'd feel better knowing someone was around, anyway.”

“Thanks, man, I really appreciate it.”

“No problem. Now, why don't you come on over to the table with us, and when we leave, we'll swing past your place so you can pick up your truck.”

Connor cast a sideways glance at his friend as they negotiated the crowd and headed toward a smiling Karen, still decked out in her white wedding dress and veil.

“You're going to ride me about this after you get back from your honeymoon, aren't you?”

Nick snorted, not bothering to hide his amusement. “Oh, yeah. Getting dumped at my wedding, kicked out of your own house… It's too good to let go.” He slung an arm around Connor's shoulders. “Don't worry, buddy, I'll still remember all the details when I get back.”

Connor shook his head, rubbing at the headache that was beginning to form right between his eyes. “That's what I'm afraid of.”

 

The scent of fresh-brewed coffee filled the air and tickled Beth's nose where it was buried in her pillow-
case. She rolled to her back with a groan and slowly opened her eyes.

Well, the room wasn't spinning. That had to be a good sign.

She wasn't intoxicated—not anymore—but she was hungover. She could feel it, from the throbbing in her brain to the thick pile of cotton coating her tongue.

What had she been thinking? She'd left her brother's wedding reception with a full magnum of champagne and ended up drinking so much the bottle ached.

She never did that sort of thing, and it galled her to realize she'd let things get to her so much last night that she'd turned to alcohol to numb her emotions.

Thank God it was over, though. Nick and Karen would be on their honeymoon by now, or at least on their way to sunny Honolulu. And all of their guests would have gone home, Connor and his peroxide-blond girlfriend included. She never needed to see him again.

Life couldn't get much better.

She pushed herself out of bed and lurched to the connected bathroom, using the nightstand and dresser to keep from falling over. After brushing her teeth and splashing a little water on her face, she felt more human. She was even walking straighter as she made her way downstairs, following the mesmerizing fragrance of java and the promise of a jolt of caffeine.

Turning the corner into the kitchen, covering a yawn with the back of her hand, she opened her eyes to find a man standing at the counter with his back to her.

A yip of fear and surprise passed her lips before she
could stop it, and the man whirled in her direction. If she hadn't been feeling so sluggish and out of sorts when she woke up, she might have figured out earlier that in order for her to smell fresh-brewed coffee, another body had to be in the house to make it.

And she'd been wrong: Life couldn't get much worse.

Connor watched her with wide eyes, just as stunned by her sudden appearance as she was by his presence. He clutched a cup of steaming coffee in his hands, a splotch of the dark brew staining the front of his shirt where it had sloshed over the lip of the mug when he'd spun around.

Good, she hoped he'd burned himself.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, not kindly, grasping for the edges of a robe that wasn't there. Instead, she was standing in the middle of her family's kitchen, covered only by the paper-thin camisole she'd worn beneath her bridesmaid gown.

Last night, after she'd dug her brother's spare house key out of the flower bed where he kept it hidden in the bottom of a resin lawn ornament and climbed the stairs to her old bedroom, she'd shrugged out of the pink-and-green concoction, but left the camisole on. With spaghetti straps and a hem that hit high on the thigh, it was no more revealing than any of her other satin nighties.

Besides, she'd been alone in the house…just her and Dom Pérignon…and not expecting guests.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Connor responded, setting his mug on the countertop and grab
bing a paper towel to blot at the stain on his shirt, just above the waistband of his low-slung jeans.

Lord, he wore denims like no one else she'd ever seen. Even out in L.A., where every waiter or valet was an aspiring actor or model, the men didn't have waists and hips and buttocks like Connor Riordan. They would never be able to pull off the open flannel shirts over faded T-shirts the way he did, or the worn blue jeans and work boots.

Not that it had any effect on her whatsoever. She was merely making a mental observation, the same as she might be slightly awed by a famous, high-powered celebrity who waltzed into her office back on Wilshire.

“In case you've forgotten, this is my house.”

“Since when?”

She lifted a brow, her annoyance growing in direct proportion to the pounding in her skull. What she wouldn't give for a cup of that coffee and fifty aspirin right about now.

But she couldn't have those things just yet. Not until she'd finished this argument with Connor and kicked him out on his tight-but-aggravating butt.

“Since I grew up here. Remember?”

“That was a long time ago,” he remarked, picking up his mug once again and taking a slow sip of the black coffee that was making her mouth water. “Seems to me it's not so much your house anymore. Your parents moved to a smaller place on the other side of town, and you moved all the way to Los Angeles. It's your brother's place now…his and Karen's.”