Love is a Battlefield: Games of Love, Book 1 (6 page)

The women scooted their chairs to make room for them. Julian sat next to Kate—so close he could smell her slightly floral perfume. She was still wearing the tiny slip of a dress from before, but she’d allowed her brownish-blonde hair to fall down in soft waves almost to the middle of her back and changed to a pair of gold sandals with bands going halfway up her calf, winding and hugging her flesh in ways that seemed almost indecent.

He had a hard time looking away. If it was possible to slap sex on a pair of legs, she’d done it.

“Do you guys want something to drink?” Kate asked, dangling one of those perfect legs close to his own without even seeming to realize what she was doing.

Her friend, Jada, on the other hand, leaned over the table, angling to give both him and Michael a clear view down the top of her bright red dress.

“I’m going to bet you two are Scotch men. Neat?”

He let Michael argue the finer points of ice in a drink with her. Jada was the type of woman Michael lived for—flashy, obvious. Julian had dated those types of women before, usually when he was on the job down in Arizona or on the road for the Games. For all their superficial trappings, women like that made great companions for the short term. But right now, a one-night stand was the last thing on his mind. His body was definitely warming for something a bit softer. A bit more real.

He turned to Kate. “I hope you weren’t waiting long.”

She shrugged, and the thin strap of her dress fell along the gentle curve of her shoulder. He watched it, mesmerized.

“A few minutes. It’s not a big deal. There was a blues singer on before the pianos started.”

“Oh, it’s too bad we missed it.”

Kate wrinkled her nose. “I’m sorry about this place. It’s probably not your thing, pianos, is it?”

Julian laughed. People always took one look at him and assumed the worst. “I’m a large man, Kate, but that doesn’t mean I’m a barbarian. A little jazz isn’t going to kill me.”

“You never know. Jada is her own force of nature, and I thought maybe you guys got caught up in it against your will. Lord knows she’s made me do one or two things I regretted later.”

Julian’s pulse picked up, and he leaned forward. That was a topic he could warm to. “’Like what?”

Kate shook her head firmly. “No way. I’m going to need a few more drinks before those secrets start spilling.”

“She’s being modest,” Jada interrupted, watching them both with a smile. “Kate here once drove an entire rugby team off the road. Their van tipped over into a ditch.”

“They deserved it!” Kate declared, her eyes dancing. “Don’t believe a word she says. They were trying to cut in line after the rest of us had been waiting for hours to get through a single lane of traffic. I just blocked them from doing it, and they drove themselves off the road. What’s the point of driving a nice big Cadillac if you can’t use it for good?”

“Did you stop to see if they were okay?” Julian asked, amused.

“They didn’t really tip over. It was more of a gentle lean. You should have heard all the cars in line, honking their approval. I felt like a superhero.”

“A vigilante in a Cadillac.” Julian laughed.

“Like the Green Hornet,” Kate agreed.

Julian settled back in his chair, taking in the scene with a deep breath. There was a gentle ferocity to Kate he hadn’t been expecting. He liked it. “So, you run cars off the road when you’re mad, you grew up in Seattle and you wear pretty shoes. What else should I know about you?”

She blushed and lifted one of her feet, examining the appendage as if seeing it for the first time. “You think my shoes are pretty?”

“Well, they’re not very functional, that’s for sure.” He fought the urge to rub his hand over her leg to double check how well that footwear was working out. “But nice. Definitely nice.”

She toyed with the stem of her glass, avoiding his eyes. “Thank you. But I’m not sure what else you want to know. Birthmarks? Employment history?”

“Good call, Kate,” Jada said from across the table. “Always start with birthmarks.”

“How about what it is you want Cornwall Park for?” Julian offered. He doubted he was going to get anything about birthmarks out of her.
Yet.

She blushed and played with the edges of her cocktail napkin. “It’s this group I’m part of. A historical preservation society—kind of like your Scottish Games, I guess? We do a big annual event, and we need a place to hold it.”

“Historical? Like what?”

“Umm…Regency. Jane Austen type stuff—the nineteenth century. We wear pretty elaborate gowns, and we do lectures.” Her leg tapped a nervous beat, inching closer to his own.

Julian nodded. An academic he was not, but he knew enough of history and women to know what she was talking about. Waist-cinching underthings. Thigh-high stockings held in place with ribbons and silk.

A group of women doing Regency playacting—he could get on top of that idea.

“That sounds interesting,” he managed to say without giving away the sudden loss of blood in his brain, which was coursing hot and thick toward his groin. “But isn’t that all indoor stuff?”

“Well, we hold balls and tea parties, and those are all inside.” She chose her words carefully and watched after each one for his reaction. “But I’m hoping to recreate this big, elaborate outdoor garden thing. And Cornwall Park is the perfect place for it.”

“You’re doing this all by yourself?”

“Sort of. It’s for the whole group, but I’m in charge of this particular event. It’s a long story, but I’m basically being punished for some…er…misbehavior on Jada’s part. I’m excited to do it, though. You probably think it’s silly, but—”

Her leg brushed against his. He reached over and rested a hand on her knee, stilling her nervous movements. “Don’t do that. It’s not silly at all. Recreating history and honoring the past is important.” He grinned down at her. “I should know. I do it in a skirt.”

He hadn’t yet let go of her leg, unable to pull the pad of his thumb and fingers away from the soft skin. Like before, her leg was almost cool to the touch.

“I’m sorry,” she said so softly it was almost a whisper. But her gaze was direct, and she didn’t pull her leg away.

“For what?”

“I’m so used to people making fun of the Regency group that I get weirdly defensive. If I’m not stammering about it, I’m usually up on a soapbox preaching the superiority of my ways.”

He nodded. “I get it. I used to get a lot of flak for the Scottish Games when I was younger, but I don’t anymore.”

“Of course you don’t. Who would dare?” She cocked her head and raked her gaze over him, appreciation and awe glinting warmly in her eyes. His internal body temperature jumped several degrees.

She softened her tone and added, “That’s not a fair comparison. You have extreme powers of intimidation. I don’t.”

Julian finally released his hold on her leg, allowing himself to take in the curve of her thigh where it met the hem of her dress, which fluttered higher as she shifted. All of it—the dress, the skin, the promise of what lay farther up—writhed with silken sensuality.

“Oh, you have powers too. Believe me.”

“And how about you?” Jada called from across the table, her voice overloud and wholly unwelcome.
Just when things were starting to get interesting.

“What about me?” he asked, leaning back in his chair and draping one arm casually over the back of Kate’s. It wasn’t an embrace, precisely, but it could easily become one.

“I was asking Mr. O’Leary here what it is he wears under that kilt of his. Boxers? Briefs? Nothing but what the good Lord gave you? He’s curiously mum on the subject, and I’m dying to know.”

Julian laughed. No matter who they talked to about the Highland Games, it always came around to the subject of kilts and the requisite gear underneath. Girls. Boys. Old ladies. They all had to know. He blamed Mel Gibson.

“A warrior never tells,” was all he would say. The truth would only disappoint them.

“Why don’t I get us all the next round?” He pushed back his chair and nodded at the two almost empty glasses on the table. “What are you drinking?”

“Vodka tonics,” Kate replied. “But you don’t have to. We can get them.”

“It’s no problem.” It wasn’t. Stepping away from the table seemed like a good idea. If he’d come here to confirm or deny his attraction to this woman, the cues were pointing overwhelmingly to confirmation. Which
was
a problem.

The bar was crowded with many of the glittery dresses he’d passed on the way in, but the bartender was a woman, which placed Julian right at the top of the queue. He shook his head when she plopped her white towel on the counter right in front of him and asked what he wanted.

“I’ll wait my turn. I’m not in a rush.”

The bartender shrugged and moved to the woman next to him, who thanked him warmly. He turned and leaned against the bar, his shoe hooked on the foot rail. It was a good vantage point to watch the table. Jada was practically sitting in Michael’s lap, laughing at something he’d said. Kate seemed to appreciate the joke too, though she was more intent on the music than the conversation, one of her hands tapping in time to the beat. As if feeling his gaze, she looked up and smiled before returning her attention to the music.

He could have watched her for hours.

So, of course, he turned away.

“Cool down, Jules,” he muttered, inspecting the marble bar, black and sleek like the rest of the place. It helped, the detached urbanity of it all. This wasn’t his world, and it wasn’t the right time to get swept up in it. Not until he had that Rockland Bluff sponsorship firmly under his sporran could he devote more time to all the things he’d been neglecting for the past decade. His mom. His sisters. His love life. They were all important, he wouldn’t deny it, and he wanted nothing more than to go sit across from that woman and find out more about her sense of vigilante justice and Regency undergarments. But it would be foolish to throw it all away now.

His turn came, and he ordered drinks for the table—vodka tonics for the women and plain beer for he and Michael. He easily held two glasses in each of his hands as he headed back toward the table.

Where things were apparently heating up.

Jada had jumped up from the table and had a hand on either hip, glaring down at Michael as though he’d wronged her a thousand times over. Kate held her lower lip captive with her teeth, looking at Julian anxiously.

“What’s going on?” He set the drinks on the table and studied their faces. “What happened?”

“Your big, dumb jock of a friend here called Kate a psycho.” Jada pointed an accusatory finger at Michael, who held up his hands in mock surrender. As if on cue, the piano music picked up, a suspenseful and low thrumming sound holding them all in a state of suspension.

The music shifted.

“No, he didn’t.” Kate sighed. “Calm down, Jada. All he said is I’m crazy if I think Julian’s going to back down.”

“Back down from what?” He wasn’t sure where the conversation was headed, but he felt his heartbeat pick up, an automatic response to the sudden change in the air. He couldn’t help it. He was able to sense battle like other men sensed desperation.

“Your Highland Games. Did you really have it set for the weekend of August the sixteenth? In four weeks?”

“Ye-es,” he said carefully. “Why?”

“That’s when my event is planned,” she said, her shoulders sagging a little. “I knew this was too good to be true.”

A strong surge in his stomach made Julian long to comfort her, but his sense of caution was stronger. “Can’t you just reschedule?”

“It’s an important date,” Kate said softly. “You probably wouldn’t understand. It’s…sentimental.”

Michael snorted. “Sentimental? The word isn’t even allowed on the playing field. It’s about the might, baby. The brawn. The balls.”

“Oh, I’ve got your balls right here.” Jada leaped forward and grabbed at the crotch of Michael’s jeans.

Michael howled in a combination of outrage and pain as Jada latched on, her aim true. Julian winced in sympathy. Never one to condone unnecessary violence against men or women, especially in public nightclubs, he tried to pull Jada away as gently as he could. It would have been easy to forcibly eject her from the scene, but things hadn’t progressed that far. At least Michael was still breathing.

Kate’s soft voice behind him stilled his movements.

“She’s just trying to prove a point. She’ll let go in a second.”

“I don’t have a second!” Michael howled. “She’s ripping the bloody things off!”

Julian was never more grateful than when Peterson came up behind Jada and laid a heavy hand on her shoulder. He had a feeling everyone was exaggerating the severity of the issue.

“Miss, I’m going to have to ask you to release this man’s testicles.”

The note of authority in his voice registered better than Michael’s howls, and Jada immediately released her hold and stepped back.

Michael bent over double, rocking back and forth on his heels, his hands clutching his balls with more tenderness than they’d probably seen in years. When he looked up, his eyes streamed with moisture. Not tears—not from a man like him. They were drops of pure pain, spilled right from their most primal source.