Innuendo

As he watched Tamara Clarkson order a Mai Tai, he concentrated on her pouty mouth, drawn by every word she formed while she talked. All he wanted was reach out to trace her lips with his fingers, to slip one inside and slide it in and out as a promise, an invitation.

How would she react if he tried it? He could tell she was attracted to him, but maybe that was because she’d already talked to Kyle and he’d pumped her up with expectations Murphy couldn’t even begin to think of fulfilling. Or could he?

He realized that Tamara was staring at him. Had she asked a question that he’d been too hot and bothered to hear?

Recovering more smoothly than he could ever have anticipated, he pretended that the music and the crowd’s noise had been the problem. He leaned over to her, closer.

As she laughed a little, her warm breath caressed his ear. And even over the bar’s working-class perfume of stale sweat and hops, he caught the scent of her: honeysuckle and orange blossoms, earthy and sweet.

Murphy’s skin flared with a flash of heat.

“I thought maybe you’d changed your mind and left.” She paused, bit her bottom lip then smiled. “I thought that…well, maybe you decided the business-card routine was too forward after all, too out of the ordinary. But then I remembered what you said on the phone….”

There was a daring gleam in her eyes as she trailed off and backed away from him just enough to gauge his answer, possibly even to ferret out why he had left the lounge earlier.

There was no way he would say that Kyle had judged her as “not pretty enough” and abandoned the date for greener pastures.

Searching for an answer, Murphy could only guess what Kyle had already said to her. And whatever the specifics, Tamara Clarkson had clearly liked every bit of Kyle’s act. He could tell by the anticipation in the flush of her cheeks, the way her body was angled toward him, as his was toward hers.

Before he could stop himself, he leaned down and said something that could’ve come straight out of Kyle’s own mouth.

“I like knowing that you made the first move.” His lips brushed against her hair. “Confidence is attractive, and it shows that you’re open to—” he laughed, her strands tickling his mouth “—anything we come up with.”

Damn, even his voice sounded like his cousin’s. It wasn’t hard to imitate Kyle—his own mom couldn’t even tell them apart on the phone—but it was the tone he used that rattled him.

The innuendo that he was a different man.

Tamara’s fingers were pressed against his chest, not to push him away, but perhaps in reaction to what he’d said. He wondered if she could feel his heart banging, if the vibration of his pulse had traveled through her hand and was echoing inside of her.

Instinct told him that she wanted to hear more of Kyle’s flirting, that she might already be so into the fantasy of Kyle that she might reject Murphy if he backtracked and told her who he really was.

A boring drone. A turnoff to someone with Tamara’s obvious predilection for a wild boy.

Was telling the truth worth it when things were going so well? What would revealing his identity accomplish, especially since this wasn’t going to turn into a serious relationship anyway? After tonight, she would never be the wiser to his identity, especially if Murphy could use to his advantage all the persuasive skills he’d professionally honed and somehow convince her that a single date would be enough, that it would be her idea never to see him again. Could he manage that?

It was a hell of a lot better than what Kyle would’ve done.

Going beyond tonight with her wasn’t an option, anyway. The less she knew, the more likely it was that she would never find out why Kyle had unceremoniously dumped her. Murphy didn’t wish that truth on any woman.

She turned her face so that she was talking near his ear again. “You’re my first date in this city. I don’t know much about what to do for kicks.”

“You’re in my capable hands.”

They grinned at each other, the double entendre hardly lost on either of them. In that moment, he realized that she did know what her boots were all about. That she’d worn them on purpose. That she hadn’t been kidding about having a good time when she’d talked to Kyle on the phone.

As the waitress brought their drinks, Murphy insisted on paying, not only because it was courteous but because he wanted to make this up to her. He was lying by omission, and he felt too good to stop.

He took a swig of the draft beer, and she sipped from her cocktail. The drink left some moisture on her lower lip, and she sucked at it, casting him a slanted look.

He leaned close again, breathing her in, feeling drunk with the freedom of stepping outside of himself, of playing a naughty game that had no rules.

“What do you like to do, Tamara Clarkson?”

Definitely Kyle: teasing, lightly charming, the kind of guy women forgave a few lies because he was so entertaining.

“The usual.” She stirred her drink, ice-sweat clinging to the glass. “Travel, read, watch too much TV.” She made an endearingly goofy face. “I decorate stuff, too.”

“Decorate?”

When she laughed, his neck tingled with the dampness of her breath. It smelled of exotic fruits.

“I’m working on some home improvements. And I kind of have this thing for making my own clothes. Fashion makes the world—” she paused, shrugged “—a more beautiful place, I suppose.”

He ran a lingering gaze over her body, from the high neck of the wide-sleeved, gauzy blouse, over her breasts, down her scarf-clad waist, past her hips to her legs.

She shifted, as if restless under the weight of his lazy perusal. Just like that he was turned on again, his entire body one beating mass of erotic energy.

At that moment, it became perfectly clear to Murphy: what he wanted more than anything in this world was for her to desire him, to surrender to his hands as they roamed her up and down, to ask for more as he peeled off the layers of clothing that separated them.

Primal, predatory. His lust robbed him of logic. All that existed was here and now. Want. Need.

“You’re talented,” he said, voice ragged as he dragged his gaze back to her face. “You really know how to dress, Tamara.”

“Tam,” she said, voice soft in his ear. “Just Tam, okay?”

Heartbeats marked the seconds that thudded between them.

Murphy propped his arm on the wall, just below the gold of a Chinese symbol. With him hovering over her, she had to tilt her chin to look up at him.

She wasn’t a short woman, coming up to just above his shoulder. Their proximity meant that her mouth was this close to his neck. All she would have to do is cant over a couple of inches to press her lips to his skin.

The music’s volume abruptly lowered, breaking the flow of his thoughts. With a glance, Murphy discovered that the bartender had turned down the stereo while he argued with a patron who’d imbibed way too much happy juice.

Great. That meant there was no need to lean over her anymore. The lack of a rhythmic, driving cadence changed the room’s tone, somehow set them back to first-date distance.

“Julia had nice things to say about you.” Tam was holding her drink in front of her chest now.

Kyle. She was talking about Kyle. Murphy had to keep reminding himself.

“What did Julia have to say?” Murphy asked, not certain who the woman even was. Could she be the one who’d put Kyle’s name into the business-card lottery? His cousin had told him all about the setup, but had failed to mention the name of the lady he’d impressed, not that he probably even remembered.

“Hmm, let me think. What did she say?” Tam tapped a finger against her mouth, stopped, then glanced at him sideways out of the corner of her eye.

Cute. Taunting him, huh?

Murphy inched nearer, lowering his arm from the wall.

“Tell me everything,” he said, tweaking a curl that was hanging down to her collarbone. Inadvertently—or maybe not—he skimmed against the thin material separating his finger from her flesh, and her face went red.