Taste for Trouble (13 page)

It’s
professional suicide
, her brain said
sternly.

Yep
, her body answered.

It’s
an aberration
, her brain snapped.
A
momentary trick of the libido
.

Yep
, her body said.
And what if it never happens again
in my lifetime? Am I really going to let myself shrivel into old age without
once having participated in this kind of kiss
?

Will
you please grow up
? her brain asked.

Will
you please
shut
up
? her body
responded.

She
hesitated, her hands awkward and uncertain in the space between deciding and
doing. Then she finally released the counter she’d been gripping with desperate
strength. She inched her fingers tentatively up toward that sunshiny mass of
hair they’d been itching to dive into all day.

Just
do it
, she told herself.
For once
in your life, take a chance
.

She
squeezed her eyes shut and screwed up her courage and—

He
pulled back and shot her a wry, lop-sided smile. She eased her hands
surreptitiously to her sides.

“No,
huh?” He shrugged as if she’d declined a stick of gum rather than an invitation
to his bed. No, not his bed, she realized with a sinking humiliation. More
likely the kitchen floor. The counter, if he was feeling ambitious. “Bummer.”

Bel
gaped at him.
Bummer
? Had he really just said
bummer
?

Yes,
indeed
, her brain said, a trifle
smugly.
He is exactly the sort of man who says bummer when denied sex
.

Bel
dragged the lapels of her robe together over her pounding chest and leaned back
as far as the counter digging into her spine would permit. “Do you think you
could—” She made a little shooing motion. He lifted his hands in easy surrender
and stepped back. “Thanks.”

She
cleared her throat and made a valiant effort to do the same with her head. She
ought to be relieved, she told herself. Relieved, outraged and maybe even a
little ashamed. And she
was
, all those things. It had been a close call,
after all—the underdog Libido had had the reigning champion Will Power on the
ropes for a minute there. She couldn’t deny it.

But what
insane, self-destructive part of her psyche had tossed disappointment into the
mix?

There
it was, though. A tiny, persistent spurt of disappointment.
Gave up pretty
easily, didn’t he
? it said.

She
yanked out the thought like a weed from her garden.
Of course he gave up
easily
, she thought. If James Blake were in the habit of expending any sort
of effort or patience in difficult situations, she wouldn’t have a job. Or, all
right, maybe she would have a job but she’d be sleeping with it. Him. Whatever.

Okay,
she told herself. New plan.

Clearly,
she had a weak spot for sunny man-children who thought women ought to fall into
their laps like ripe peaches. It was probably in her DNA, same as her hair and
her eyes and her height. A wave of old bitterness backed up her throat and she
thought
thanks, Mom
.

But
whatever, right? Just because it was part of her didn’t mean she had to embrace
it. She couldn’t control what she felt, only how she acted. And lust was no
different from any other emotion when she got right down to it.
Being
angry didn’t give you a license to
act
angry, did it? No. Of course not.
Self-control. Grownups practiced it all the time, and she was better at it than
most. It had gotten her this far, hadn’t it? It would get her the rest of the
way.

But
at least now she knew. She had a rogue lust gene at work somewhere deep in her
DNA, the kind that, without close supervision, derailed careers, families and
entire lives. And she ought to know. She’d seen it in action, up close and
personal, more times than she’d care to count.

It
was a blow to have discovered it in herself, but at least now she could be
prepared. No more sneak attacks from her own army.

She
gave James a cool look. “Do you treat all your colleagues this way?” she asked.

He
gave her an easy smile in return. “Only the pretty ones who turn up half-dressed
in my kitchen after midnight.”

Bel
lifted her brows and maintained a polite silence.

“Okay,
okay,” he said. “They don’t
have
to be in the kitchen after midnight.”

She
let the silence draw out and drop below freezing.

“Or
half-dressed.”

She
narrowed her eyes.

“But
hey, I draw the line at pretty. And at girls. They totally have to be women. Not
that there’s anything wrong with people who go, you know, the other direction. But
for me, personally, I prefer girls.” His smile broadened. “They smell nice.”

“A
ringing endorsement.”

He cocked
his head. “Should I apologize?”

“For
what? Being a guy?” She lowered her chin and gave him what she hoped was
patient look. “You’ve been gearing up to make your move all day, James. Do you
think I’m surprised?”

“A
little.”

She
shook her head. “Please. You have your own unique sense of timing, I’ll give
you that. But the move was coming, one way or the other. It’s actually a bit of
a relief to have it behind us.”

“Is
it?”

“Sure,”
she said, her tone nice and brisk. “Asked, answered. Check it off the list. Move
along.”

He
stared. “Rejecting my move was on your to-do list?”

“Making
the move wasn’t on yours?”

He
considered that one. “All right. Maybe. What else is on there? Your list?”

She
grimaced. “After what I saw tonight?” She picked up the pot from the stove,
frowned at the remaining water and dumped it in the sink. She might be in
difficult straits, but she wouldn’t make tea with twice-boiled water. A girl
had to have standards. She put fresh water on to boil and said, “Your family. Right
at the top. Big, bold letters.”

“My
family?” he asked, and his sudden, intense stillness had the hair on the back
of her neck standing up. “What about them?”

Bel
threw him a look over her shoulder. “They’re a problem, James.”

“They’re
my
problem,” he said. “Not yours.”

“Sorry,
but no.” She leaned back against the counter, crossing her arms over her waist.
“Trust me on this one. Kate Davis’ personal standard for civilized behavior
does
not
include hanging around with people who a) drink to excess, b)
harass waitresses into unemployment, or c) stalk their favorite strippers.” She
met his eyes steadily. “Your family is a problem and unfortunately for both of
us, you don’t have any problems that aren’t mine right now.”

“Okay,”
he said, and rubbed absently at the stubble on his jaw. Bel could hear the
sandpaper rasp of it over the hiss of the gas burner at her elbow and immediately
wished she couldn’t. It made him too...physical. Too real.

“Fair
enough,” he said. “I’ll give you that one. What do you propose?”

She
hesitated and he said, “Come on, Bel. Don’t tell me you haven’t spent the
entire night making a list—
Top Ten Ways to Fix James’ Life
. I’ll bet
it’s color coded and cross indexed, too. So let’s have it. I know there’s a sub-list
titled
Family Disaster Solutions
. What’s on it?”

“You’re
not going to like it,” she said.

“I
know. Say it. You won’t be the first.”

“I
have a feeling I won’t be the last either. But okay.” She shrugged. “Your
brothers are a problem, James. A big one. You need to cut them loose. You do,
and half your problem disappears.”

He
considered her, then nodded slowly. “No.”

“No
what? No, I’m wrong? Or no, you won’t?”

“No,
you’re right. But I won’t.”

She
sighed. “They’re grown men, James. They’ll be all right.”

He gave
her a grim smile. “What’s your family like, Bel?”

“Small.”

“Brothers?
Sisters? Folks?”

“Just
my mom and me.”

“You
close?”

She gave
him a grim smile right back. “No.”

“Is
that no, as in
we chat on the phone once a quarter
? Or no like,
I
quit bailing that junkie out years ago
?”

Her
smile went from grim to downright frosty. “Neither. We’re just different
people, and the lives we chose for ourselves don’t really mesh. It took a few
years for everybody to accept that but eventually it was a relief.”

He
gave her a skeptical look and said, “How very practical.”

“Thank
you.”

“So
now that we’ve established your complete ignorance of how a normal family
operates, let me tell you this: my brothers and I are a package deal. You deal
with me, you deal with them. Their problems are my problems.”

“Even
if you
are
their problem?”

“What
does that mean?”

“Think
it through, James. They act like overgrown teenagers because that’s all they
have to be. That’s all you’re letting them be.”

“I’m
not in charge of what my brothers do, Bel.”

She
snorted. “Please. Through you they have free housing, hot cars, unlimited funds,
and access to an endless stream of women who enjoy the dubious glory of
sleeping with pro athletes and their hangers on. Forgive me for being blunt,
but you’re the proverbial golden goose. What guy in his right mind is going to
walk away from that?”

“Wow,”
James said, regarding her with an unexpected mix of amusement and pity. “Your
childhood must’ve been worse than I thought.”

She
frowned at him, stung. “What do you mean?”

“All
that crap Will was flinging tonight about who makes the money, who gets the
girls, who’s got the juice? It’s not about my job, or his job, or anything else.”
He smiled at her. “It’s just what brothers do.”

“What?”

“We
give each other shit. It keeps us humble, see?”

“Really.”
Bel gazed at him in wonder, not bothering to make it sound like a question. He
believed this. He truly did.

“Absolutely,”
he said. “Trust me on this. I don’t like to brag but the fact is, I make a lot
of money. A shit load. Way more than one person deserves, especially for
playing a game.”

“Amen,”
Bel said.

“And
I’m not saying I don’t appreciate it. Obviously I do.” He grinned. “We all do. But
it does complicate things.”

“What
kinds of things?” Bel asked. “Certainly not the rent or groceries or car
payment sorts of things.”

“Well,
no. Granted. But it does get kind of difficult after a while to tell the
difference between people who enjoy your company and people who enjoy your
money.” He spread his hands. “My brothers are the only people on this earth I
trust to tell me the truth. They loved me before I was famous, believed in me
before I’d earned it, and if I blew out my knee tomorrow, they’d still be here
to help me figure out if I wanted to sell used cars or insurance, see? That’s
how family works.”

Bel
felt her eyebrows heading for her hairline and James shook his head at her. “Or
should work anyway,” he said.

“If
you say so.”

“I
do. And because I know that’ll stick in your craw, I’ll just break the rest
down real simple for you, okay?”

“Oh
thank you,” Bel said, laying the back of her hand against her brow. “My poor
little head is just spinning. So much enlightenment all at once, you
understand.”

He
grinned at her but it was all teeth and no eyes. He said, “You can either a) draw
a big black line through anything on that To Do list of yours that involves getting
rid of my brothers, or b) you can find yourself a new job.” He folded his arms
and leaned back against the opposite counter. “Multiple choice, just the way
you like. Real easy.”

Bel
considered him. He stood across from her, all lazy slouch and wry half-smile. But
his eyes were completely serious and she was starting to understand she needed
to look there first for her clues on how to deal with this man.

“You’d
do it, wouldn’t you?” she asked slowly. “Torpedo your career to keep this
unhealthy, inbred thing you’ve got going with your brothers alive?”

“Where
I’m from, we call that family.” He lifted a shoulder. “We’re a package deal,
and anybody who does business with me gets that eventually. All you have to
decide is if you’re willing to work with those terms.”

Bel
frowned at him but he just returned her gaze with equanimity, utterly
unperturbed by her displeasure. She bit back a sigh. She’d never walked away
from a career challenge in her life, and she wouldn’t now. Particularly not
with everything she’d spent the last ten years earning hanging in the balance. But
that didn’t mean she had to be happy with the fact that Fate had just put a big
chunk of her future into the hands of a man who felt that keeping his brothers
in beer and women was more important than honoring his signature on a couple
dozen multi-million dollar contracts.