Taste for Trouble (9 page)

“So,”
he said, those green eyes hot and interested. “Where was I?”

“You
were waving goodbye to all your friends here and getting inside.”

“I
was?” He eased forward and Bel shot him a clenched smile that said
try it
and I’ll bite you
. He froze.

“You
were.” Cameras flashed continuously and Bel gave up on the idea of appearing
like anything other than a...God, what did they call women who chased soccer
players? Soccer sluts? Football floozies?

“Sure,
all right.” He backed cautiously away from the warning in her eyes then beamed
at the crowd which roared its adoration in return. “Let me just sign this one
last—”

“
Now
.”

He
shook his head in mock consternation and put his mouth very near her ear. “There’s
that boss-lady tone again. What did I tell you about that?” His voice was all burnt
sugar, hot and melty and tempting, and it sent a delicious shiver chasing down
her nape. A thoroughly unwelcome and inappropriate shiver, she told herself.

“And
what did
I
tell
you
about your seams?” she said.

He
frowned at her. “My seams?”

“Yeah.
The one in the seat of your pants, to be specific. The one your fancy footwork
there just
blew out
.” She glared at him. “And don’t tell me you can’t
feel the draft either, because we’re not talking about a cute little peek-a-boo
hole.”

“Blew...”
Comprehension stole into his eyes and a dull flush mounted his cheekbones. “How
bad?”

“Sizeable.”

“I
see.” He cleared his throat. “And here I thought you were just warming up.”

Bel’s
hand twitched involuntarily on the gaping rip in his pants, on the firm curve
of his backside. She was warm, all right. “I have a sewing kit in my purse,”
she said. “Can we please just go in?”

He
shot her a sidelong glance. “You’re going to keep your hand on my ass the whole
way?”

“That
was my plan,” she said, cheeks burning. “Unless you’d rather the press just
took pictures of your shorts?”

“No,
no. It’s fine. I don’t mind at all. In fact—” He snugged her into his side again
and splayed a big hand over her butt crack. The vital heat of his touch soaked
through her dress and sang through her entire body, pooling in all the most
interesting bits. “I’ll return the favor. Just so you don’t look so forward.”

“Forward!”

“Yeah.
When the pictures hit the papers. You don’t want to look like one of those desperate
groupies copping a quick feel off some footballer who doesn’t even know her
name, do you? You’ll come off much better if this is a mutual grope.” He gave
her bottom a fond pat. “Trust me.”

She
closed her eyes and tried to ignore the way her stomach jumped in response to
his touch. This was her job now. Exchanging mock feel-ups with her newest
colleague in front of the cameras. Fate never failed to ding the good girls, did
it?

“Fine,”
she said. “I defer to your vastly superior experience with public displays of
bad taste. But if you
pat
me one more time, I’m going to pinch you. Hard.”

He
paused, arrested. “I’m starting to think you
want
me to make a move.”

She treated
him to an icy smile. “Try it and I’ll make you very sorry.”

“Yeah?”
He lifted an eyebrow, more interested than wary. “How?”

She
stared at him. She might as well be talking dirty to him for the look on his
face. “Just try to remember that I’m the girl who’s going to sew up your pants
in a minute, okay? Mess with me and I can make this a very uncomfortable
evening.”

“You’d
do that?”

“In
a heartbeat.”

He
stared at her, then laughed. “I bet you would, too.” He started up the red
carpet at the leisurely amble he seemed to apply to all situations that didn’t
involve a soccer ball. “Only makes it worse, though, Bel. Just so you know.”

She
rolled her eyes. “I’ll bear it in mind.”

“I
sincerely hope you will.”

Will
perused the top shelf scotch collection with an expert eye. Free alcohol was
nothing to take lightly, after all. This was a big decision. And considering
that Drew was already mooning around over one of the waitresses, he could use a
stiff drink. Add to that the fact that James and the new nanny had gone directly
from the red carpet to the bathrooms with their hands plastered all over each
other and this night was shaping up to be a real misery.

God,
he was sick of his life.

“I’ll
take the Glen Garioch,” he said to the bartender. “Neat.”

“It’s
her,” Drew said, his gaze following some curvy little waitress around the room.
“I know it is.”

Will
glanced at him, then back at the bartender. “Better make it a double.”

The glass
arrived in his hand, heavy-bottomed and cool, two inches of gorgeous amber
liquid swirling inside it. The impulse to pound the drink back was there—always
there—but it would be a crime to gulp down scotch of this quality. An insult to
all the wizened little brewers who babied dank cellars full of oak barrels in
the wilds of Scotland to ensure that their fine, life-sustaining product could
end up here where Will needed it most.

He
raised the glass slowly, relishing the moment. He loved that instant when the
alcohol first hit his tongue, the way it spun into his system all lazy and
reassuring. He especially loved the way it blurred the sharpest edges of his
stupid fucking life. The one where his only professional, social or emotional
obligations revolved around somebody else’s talent. The one where Will, at
thirty years of age, was still making his living off his younger brother and
building his weekends around opportunities for free alcohol.

He
rolled that first taste around his mouth, forbidding himself to swallow until
he’d savored it. Then Drew poked him with a sharp elbow and said, “Seriously, will
you
look
? It’s totally her.”

Will
closed his eyes and let the scotch trickle down his throat. Then he threw the
rest of it back in a single gulp. Fuck it.

“Which
one?” he asked.

“The
blonde,” Drew said, his dark eyes glued to a pretty little thing with curves
that, even in a waitress uniform almost made up for that salad spinner haircut.
“God, how can you not remember her? From Maxwell’s? Last night? I tried to get
her number for hours. Ordered all kinds of drinks I didn’t want.”

Will
remembered that. He’d drunk most of them. He set his glass down on the bar and
forbade himself another for at least an hour.

“She
told me she was leaving for Tucson in the morning.” That was true confusion in
Drew’s voice. No anger, no petulance, just hurt wonder. “She
lied
to me.”

“They’ll
do that.”

“But
why
?” Honest bafflement now. Will shook his head in disbelief. Kid was
an optimist, sure. Just wired like that, lucky him. But he’d have to be purely,
willfully ignorant to think any woman was going to choose
him
when James
Blake, superstar, was sitting across the table all alone. “I really liked her.”

Will
didn’t bother to enlighten him, just made a non-committal noise and turned back
to the bar. He thought about reducing the interval between drinks to half an
hour. An hour was starting to look unreasonable. Good thing he’d treated
himself to a couple quick shots before leaving the house. He’d had a feeling
tonight was going to be a total cock-up and he’d been right. As usual. The curse
of his genius IQ.

A
movement in the mirror behind the bottles caught his attention and he turned to
see James and Bel exiting the bathroom. Together. She gave his shirt a furtive tug,
as if to make sure she’d retucked it properly, and it sent a black rage rolling
into his stomach.

Their
new nanny couldn’t be bothered to scramble Will an egg but she had no problem
fucking his brother in a bathroom stall her first night on the job. Proving
once again that there was no limit to James’ magical luck.

He
checked his watch and gauged his level of sobriety. Even if he adopted the new
half-hour-between-drinks policy he was still looking at 25 minutes until the
next scotch. And while he wasn’t precisely sober, he wasn’t anywhere near drunk
enough to endure 25 minutes of James’ post-coital glow. Not with this ugly urge
to break shit crawling up his throat. He needed to bleed it off, he realized
dully. Break something small before he broke something big. It wouldn’t satisfy
the itch but it would take the edge off. He hoped.

He
turned to Drew, slung an arm around his brother’s neck with a heartiness he
didn’t feel.

“Hang
on, now. That waitress lied to you?”

“Yeah.”
Drew didn’t look at him. He was still tracking the not-into-him hottie as she
wove expertly through the crowd with a tray.

“That,
my brother, is an insult we can’t be expected to bear.”

Drew
finally looked at him, those big brown eyes suddenly wary. Maybe the boy wasn’t
purely stupid after all. “What? No! Will, don’t—”

“Oh,
but it’s my pleasure.” He smiled and Drew actually took a step back. “Pay attention,
now, son. Justice is about to be served.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Bel frowned
critically at James’ backside and nodded. “It’ll do,” she said.

“As
long as I don’t try to sit, stand, run, walk or move.”

“Right.”
She smiled and it felt deliciously evil. Goodness, where was this coming from? Why
was she having so much fun torturing the poor man? What had he ever done to
her?

Oh,
right. Now she remembered. He’d torpedoed her life-long dream with his
thoughtless mouth and his stupid brothers, and hadn’t had the good grace to
even remember her face later. She’d made him eggs and pressed his tuxedo and
he’d accused her of being bossy. Then he’d split his stupid pants and rather
than let photos of his underwear turn up on the front page of tomorrow’s sports
section, she’d thrown herself into the breach. Smashed through several
personal-space boundaries in the process, but she was a good sport and a
dedicated worker. She did the job, no matter what.

And
how had he repaid her? By threatening to kiss her in front of hundreds of
people with cameras? By insinuating that she was begging for it? He deserved to
squirm a little, and the extra two inches she’d taken out of the crotch of his
pants would ensure he did.

“You’re
enjoying this,” he said.

“Nooooo.”
Then she gave up resisting and sank into her pettiness with a happy sigh. “Just
doing my job.”

“How
many times do I have to tell you the wedding thing wasn’t my fault?”

“You
think I’m paying you back for ruining my wedding and derailing my career?” She
gave him big, innocent eyes. “How insulting.”

He
studied her. “There’s only one other reason for you to hate me so.”

“I
don’t hate you.”

“Well,
that’s it right there.” He beamed at her as if she were a particularly bright
and amusing companion and the sudden bounce back to easy camaraderie had her
head spinning.
He’s like a golden retriever
, she thought.
Happy by
default
. She found herself caught between a pang of envy and the urge to throw
her purse across the room to see if he’d fetch.

“That’s
what right where?” she asked instead.

“That’s
why you’re so mean to me.”

“Because
I don’t hate you?”

“Exactly.”
He took her elbow and they strolled into the crowd. “If you hated me, you’d
have just let me kiss you.”

“Um,
no. I wouldn’t have.”

He
patted her arm. “Sure you would. And then you’d have had yourself a good, long
laugh at my moves. Then you’d have called my brothers over so they could laugh
at my moves, too.” He shot her a sidelong look. “But you didn’t do that, did
you? There’s something interesting snapping away between us and you’re curious,
too. You wanted me to kiss you but
shouldn’t
is getting all tangled up
with
wanna
and it’s causing you some grief.” He smiled at her, a potent
combination of understanding and temptation. “And that’s why you’re so mean to
me. You’re into me and it’s got you downright pissy.”

She
stared at him. “That’s a ridiculous suggestion.”

“Is
it?”

“Yes,”
she said firmly.
Yes
, she told herself.

“Suit
yourself,” he said cheerfully. “But don’t blame me when you finally erupt in a
massive explosion of repressed lust and beg me to satisfy your sexual urges. Because
I’m only a man, Bel. I’ll have to say yes.”

An
unwilling smile tugged at her lips. “I won’t blame you in the event that I
erupt like a sexual volcano, okay? Now can we please go find your brothers?”

“Sure,
okay. I need to talk to Will anyway.”

“Why?”

“I
want to find out who I’m supposed to say hello to tonight. Be nice to ask after
their wives and kids by name, too.”