Turn Up the Heat (6 page)

As if destiny heard her thoughts like a homing beacon, the only thing standing between Bellamy and the sweet dreams she craved was Shane Griffin.

Literally.

The minute Bellamy's eyes locked in on his as she sauntered from the back hallway where he'd been heading, Shane's first impulse was to look away.

So it was really weird when he found he couldn't.

Instead, he stopped to lean against the wall in the alcove leading back to the bar, sinking his thumbs through the belt loops on his jeans. She paused by way of a tiny stutter step, then straightened her shoulders and promptly ignored him even though they were the only two people in the alcove.

Typical. Man, girls who did shots from fifty-dollar bottles of tequila were so not in his best interest, no matter how sweet the curve of their hips looked.

Goddamn designer jeans.

Of course, he knew about the tequila because he'd been watching her carefully, even though it was a bad idea. Chalk it up to the fact he was pretty bored, and that, contrary to his hopes, none of Samantha Kane's friends was the least bit interesting. Kind of tough to work up a whole lot of appeal if you had the IQ of a doorknocker, even if you had the other kind of knockers to make up for it. As far as Shane was concerned, the trade-off wasn't worth it, not even for a night.

And the pinnacle of his so-so evening was going to be the cold shoulder routine from a girl he didn't even like? Thanks, but no thanks. Bellamy's emerald-green eyes were focused squarely on the path back to the bar, and she looked as if she was going to breeze right past him even though he knew she'd seen him. Shane scoffed and pushed off of the wall with disgust, ready to beat her to the punch and let her watch his back for a change.

But before he could turn all the way around, she stumbled off course and walked smack into the support pole in the dimly lit alcove.

Shane swung back toward her, his legs giving up an impressive response time to cover the space between them. “Whoa! Bellamy, are you okay?”

Both of her hands flew up to her right cheek, and without thinking, he covered them with his own. “I'm fine. It's fine,” she insisted, but her voice betrayed her hurt.

“It's not fine. Christ, let me look at you.” Shane guided her beneath the one decent overhead light in the back of the alcove, and she didn't fight him. “Here, lean against the wall.”

“Don't be stupid, I told you I'm—ow!” She winced and yanked her head away from his gentle touch, smacking it into the wall behind her.

Shane raked a hand through his hair and sighed. “Could you knock that off please, before you give yourself a concussion?” Maybe if he made light of it, Bellamy would ease up and at least let him take a look. God, she was tough.

“Oh, that's nice. Go ahead. Make fun.” She scowled, but her voice was tenuous.

“I'm not trying to make fun of you. I'm trying to look at your face.” She couldn't lose the bravado for the ten seconds it would take for him to make sure she was okay? Jeez!

Shane took two fingers and very gently lifted her stubborn-as-hell chin so he could get a better look at the angry welt on her cheekbone. “You need to get some ice on this,” he murmured, frowning. He'd had a few shiners in his day, and he wouldn't be surprised if the mark on her face bloomed into a nasty bruise before morning.

Bellamy closed her eyes and slumped against the wall. “I don't want any ice,” she whispered, chin trembling beneath his fingers.

Something inside his gut went completely soft, and his lips parted in surprise. “You're going to have a bruise, Bellamy. Plus, you hit your head kind of hard. Maybe you should go to the emergency room or something.” He turned to see if one of the bouncers was milling around near the back hallway.

“Shane.” The tone of her voice made him turn back around, mid-movement. “Please don't get anyone, okay? I promise I'm fine. I just . . .” She broke off, her green eyes flashing with tears that she seemed to be fighting with every ounce of her willpower. “I've had a really, really bad week. The whole walking into a pole thing? Let's just say a trip to the ER would be the miserable icing on the cake of my issues right now, okay?”

He opened his mouth to argue with her, but the sliver of nice-guy that lurked in his subconscious recognized her embarrassment and wouldn't let him. “All right. Let me at least get a good look at it, though.” She didn't resist,
finally
, so he leaned in for a closer inspection. “You don't feel dizzy? Nauseous, anything like that?”

She let him turn her head under the light for a better look. “Of course I feel dizzy and nauseous. I was just doing shots of tequila.”

Welcome back to square one. Even hurt, she was a pain in the ass.

Shane stiffened at the mark on her face as he ran his fingers along her jaw. He was no expert, but the bruise that was forming looked small and fairly straightforward. “I think you're fine. Let's see your eyes.” Not like he'd really be able to see her pupils in this light, but at least he knew that if they were round, it meant she was okay. Her attitude sure was intact.

“I told you, I'm really fine.” Bellamy turned her head back toward his, making a show of opening her eyes as wide as they would go.

It was right in that moment that time slowed way the hell down, and Shane realized that her face was less than a couple of inches from his. Her green eyes glinted as he looked into them, and he was struck again by the very odd sensation of not wanting to look away. Insane as it was, he wanted to be closer.

He wanted to kiss her.

Shane cleared his throat, not moving. “How many fingers am I holding up?” The lag time between his brain and the rest of him made him wonder if he sounded like an idiot.

Her eyes crinkled around the edges, and she smiled a little even though it looked like it hurt. “None.”

Affirmative on the idiot thing.

“Looks like you're fine,” Shane said, his voice low. His fingers were still on the side of Bellamy's face, and somewhere in his brain, a voice screamed that he should move them.

But she looked like she didn't want him to.

“Mmm-hmm,” she agreed.

It was a really terrible idea, but Shane didn't care. Something high-powered, almost magnetic, was in charge of his actions, charring his free will like toast right there in the alcove.

He placed his lips on hers in the barest hint of a whisper, and for a second, she didn't move. Tracing her uninjured cheekbone with the pads of his fingers, he curved them beneath her chin and tipped it carefully upward, increasing the contact between their bodies. Bellamy sighed into him then, parting her lips to accommodate his, her soft skin opening to reveal enticing heat.

God, she tasted like pure electricity.

Not wanting to hurt her, but not willing to let go, Shane swept his tongue across her bottom lip, letting his teeth follow in the gentlest of grazes. Bellamy arched up to him, her tongue darting into his mouth tentatively at first, then filling him so boldly that he wanted to do a lot more than kiss her. He slid his hand around the back of her neck, cupping her hot skin, getting tangled and lost in her soft golden curls, until . . .

“Bellamy? Are you back . . . oh,
shit
!”

Bellamy's entire body seized beneath Shane's hands, and he pulled away from her in a flash.

A pair of giggles lifted over the muffled background noise of the bar beyond where they stood, while Bellamy wrapped her arms around herself and blushed, clearly embarrassed. “Yeah, I, uh . . .” She trailed off, unable to finish.

“God, we're sorry.” The friend who had picked Bellamy up from the garage earlier eyed both of them with a half smile as she stopped short in the dim hallway.

Bellamy's expression went from embarrassed to mortified in less than a breath. Well, shit. Who could blame her? Her highbrow friends had just caught her kissing the lowly car mechanic. What was he
thinking
?

The tall honey-blonde stammered. “We just wanted to make sure she was okay, but it seems . . . well, that she is. So we can just . . .”

Desperate, Shane cut her off. “No, no. It's a good thing you came along. She hit her head, over there by the pole and I was just taking a look.”

Bellamy's expression morphed into a glower before she averted her gaze from him completely.

“Oh, God, Bellamy! Are you okay?” The girl Shane hadn't met, a petite redhead, came rushing over to Bellamy, and the awkward circumstances seemed to be quickly forgotten by her friends.

“I'm fine. It was a total idiot move, really,” she muttered, a swath of blond curls falling across her injured cheek as she tried to hide her face. “I guess I wasn't paying attention to where I was going.”

In the low light of the alcove, Shane could see the look of despair that crossed her pretty features, and he remembered the admission of her bad week. Bellamy opened her mouth, presumably to elaborate on what had happened, but he cut her off.

“It was totally my fault. I wasn't looking where I was going, and I plowed right into her. Knocked her right into the damned thing. She really needs some ice.”

Bellamy's head jerked up in surprise, causing her to yelp in pain, and her eyes narrowed on his in confusion for a split second before he looked away.

This was his out, and he was taking it. “So, if you girls can wait with her, I'll go get some ice from the bar.”

Translation: I'll send someone back here with some, and then I'll hightail it out of here as soon as she's taken care of. Had his brain gone on a complete walkabout? As Bellamy's friends fussed over her, gasping at the mark on her face, he knew she was in capable hands.

He never should have kissed her. And judging from the way she'd glared at him and was now refusing to look in his direction, Shane wouldn't be making that mistake again even if he wanted to.

He'd be surprised if Bellamy Blake would touch him with a ten-foot pole.

 

 

“Room service!”

Bellamy squinted at the clock on her bedside table and groaned. Now she knew what Wile E. Coyote felt like when the Road Runner managed to dump that anvil on his head.

Oh, to be a cartoon so someone could erase it all.

“Jenna, it's nine in the morning.” Bellamy nestled deeper into her pillow, unable to ignore the marching band in her head.

“I know, but you slept for eight hours, so I wanted to check on you.” Jenna balanced a room service tray between both hands as she entered, silhouetted by the sunlight trying to breach the drapes in Bellamy's bedroom.

Bellamy made a face, which she instantly regretted. God, that hurt. “I
told
you two not to Google ‘head injuries. ' This so doesn't count.” She made a mental note to kill Shane for outing her like that to her friends. It figured he'd feel the need to draw attention to her getting hurt. It had been the perfect getaway for him, after all. The whole walking-into-a-pole part had really just been the pièce de résistance of her night.

Unless you counted the whole kiss-and-run thing. How could she have fallen for something so stupid?

Jenna cleared her throat gently, bringing Bellamy back down to earth. “Are you sure it doesn't count? Maybe you should bite the bullet and take a look at your shiner,” she offered, placing the tray on the dresser.

“You've been taking drama lessons from Holly. I don't have a black eye.” The smell of fresh coffee perked Bellamy's senses to life, and she left the rumpled confines of her bed to inspect the tray.

Jenna snickered. “If you say so. You looked like an extra from
Fight Club
before you even went to bed.”

Bellamy sighed. “Okay. Fine.” She glanced at the mirror over the dresser, wincing as Jenna swung the drapes open. Since when was the sun so malicious? “See, I don't have . . .”

An inch-long bruise the size of a nickel glared at her from her reflection, as if it was made of spite.

“Oh, you've got to be
kidding
me!” She leaned toward the glass until she was so close that her breath fogged her reflection. The bruise wasn't big or terribly swollen, but it was definitely noticeable.

She would never, ever try to look cool in front of a guy again. Who gave a shit what Shane Griffin thought, anyway?

Well, apparently she did, because she'd been so torqued up over breezing past him that she'd smashed into a stupid pole.

“It's really not as bad as I thought it would be, considering how nasty it looked. I bet it hurts like a bitch, though.” Jenna sat down on the edge of the bed while Bellamy examined the bruise from every possible angle.

“Oh! You're up,” Holly said, bouncing into the room. “I brought you a couple of things from the store. You know, for your head injury.” She held up a plastic bag that was full to the point of straining.

“Okay, you guys, really? It's just a bump,” Bellamy griped, padding back to the bed with a mug of coffee between her palms.

Holly ignored her and opened the bag with glee. “Motrin, one every four to six hours for pain. The pharmacist said for a really bad headache, you could even take two. Portable cold packs—you really should ice it again, you know. Look how cool these are, all you do is just . . .”

“I'm pretty sure I know how to take Motrin.” Bellamy scowled, then blew out a breath. “Sorry. I know you're just worried. But really, it's fine.”

Holly peered at her, unfazed. “S'ok. I thought kissing the hot mechanic guy last night might improve your mood, but I guess not. Was he a bad kisser?”

“No!” The need to deny that the whole thing even happened propelled the answer out of Bellamy before she heard its implications. Neither of her friends skipped a beat.