Jump Start

Reaching across the bar, Jen squeezed Marcie’s arm and plastered on a bright smile that didn’t quite make it to her eyes. “Two short weeks and you’ll be a married woman.”

Marcie all but glowed as she glanced across the crowded room to where Mark Snyder, her fiancé, chatted with a table of customers. Mark and Marcie, the two M’s, often joked about. The two lovers. “Yeah,” Marcie said in the midst of a dreamy sigh.

Mark looked up as if he felt Marcie’s eyes on him and then motioned for her to join him. Obediently, Marcie darted from behind the bar. Jennifer sighed in relief, happy to have a few minutes alone.

Grabbing her purse, she decided she’d go freshen up. A little mascara, a dab of powder, and she would have a new mind-set. Her plan intact, she swiveled around on the bar stool and started to slide off.

The minute her feet hit the wood floor, she was stopped dead in her tracks as she crashed into a rock-hard chest. She stood stunned for a long moment as strong hands, familiar and warm, settled on her arms and sent an electric charge pinging around inside her, awareness instant, hot. Her body knew what her mind desperately burned to reject. Bobby Evans was standing in front of her. Touching her. The scent of him, rawly male, intensely masculine, and so damn arousing, insinuated into her senses. Seeped through to her bones.

Slowly, her eyes traveled upward, taking in his towering six-foot-three frame—first sliding over denim-clad hips, then a soft black tee, a broad defined chest and finally his longish, fair hair that framed intense blue eyes. Those eyes now connected with hers. The impact was nothing shy of a head-on, steam-engine collision. Hot and hard. Just like his body and their sex life.

He was older now, a man fully developed and now thirty. Time had served him well; he was bigger, broader and even more appealing than before—tanned with fine lines around his eyes that spoke of experience, depth. And a life she hadn’t been a part of.

“Hey, Jen.” His voice was a deep baritone; his tone, intimate. Familiar. The same tone he’d used when he’d whispered naughty things in her ear during lovemaking.

She swallowed a sudden tickle in her throat. The things she had done with Bobby were, well…beyond pleasure. They were downright delicious. The man had a way of stripping away inhibitions and leaving nothing but the two of them, alone in the world. But that was then, and this was now.

“Bobby?” she asked, as if she were surprised. Well, she was, actually—surprised, that was. Which was something she’d be taking up with Marcie, wedding or not.

“You look good, Jen,” he said, in an embarrassing reminder that she had on her softest, most worn Levi’s and a pink T-shirt that said I love my cat, and that was about it. No jewelry. Not even fancy shoes.

It was that kind of day. A Thursday she wouldn’t soon forget. She’d put down a dog that morning, one she’d treated for years, and watched the owner bawl like a baby. Exactly why she’d been anticipating this daiquiri and some laughs. But she’d made it through that, and she would make it through seeing Bobby again.

Marcie was right. She needed to heal. She needed to put Bobby behind her, once and for all. New beginnings were upon them. Jennifer straightened.

“You do, too,” she said, managing a cool edge to her tone despite the tiny quaver, not quite suppressed. His hands still rested on her arms, making her skin tingle. She would have stepped away from him, but the bar stool was behind her and, besides, she wasn’t going to run. Or hide. Or let him believe she couldn’t deal with him being around her. She was an adult. She could deal. Casually, she added, “I’m surprised you’re here so soon. I thought you would arrive closer to the wedding.” The big day was a full two weeks away.

“Better early than late,” he said, his hands dropping from her arms, leaving goose bumps in their wake. He offered nothing more in his answer, and she asked nothing more in return. They just stood there. Staring at one another. Close. Too close.

What did he see when he stared at her? Was she what he remembered? More? Less? She told herself that what he saw mattered about as much as the peanuts on the counter. A lie she swore to make truth. But his gaze slipped to her lips, and she knew he was thinking about kissing her. She was thinking about kissing him, too, and hated herself for that weakness. It would be so easy to lean in close to him, to lift to her toes, to see if their kiss still tasted of wildfire and passion. The temptation rippled through her with such demand, she wanted to scream. And yes—run.

That was not what a grown, respectable, confident woman did. Not obviously, at least. Since running wasn’t an immediate option…

Delicately, she cleared her throat. “How long will you be here?” Inwardly, she cringed. Why had she asked him that? And why was she searching his expression for a hint of his reaction to both her question, and to seeing her again?

And she found what she was looking for. There was a familiar intimacy in his gaze that touched her heart and her body. There was warmth to their nearness, a subtle sizzle, forcefully demanding her acceptance.

His brow inched up slowly. “Were you asking because you want to know how long until I leave, Jen?” He paused a split second. “Or because you want to know how long I’m staying?”

She knew what he was asking. Was she glad to see him? Yes. No. She didn’t want to be, but she was. She didn’t want to feel like that. Her life was fine without him. She’d spent far too long asking why he’d left. Now she simply wanted him to go away. Again.

Marcie’s scream saved Jennifer from responding. “Bobby!” she yelled as she launched herself at him. Within seconds, she was giving him a bear hug.

Jennifer knew opportunity when she saw it. She ran. Darted toward the restroom. The one stall was thankfully vacant, and Jennifer quickly dashed inside, shut the door and slid the lock into place with a firm twist of her wrist.

Bobby had never been one to allow a girl her privacy. When he wanted to fight, he wanted to fight. When he wanted to talk, he wanted to talk. Even when she didn’t. Well, they just made love until she did.

That thought sent a rush of heat spreading through her limbs, and her hands shifted to her arms where he’d touched her, branded her. After all these years, she still wanted him. She wasn’t sure whom she was more angry with. Marcie for giving her all of three minutes of warning that Bobby was about to show up or Bobby for making her all hot and bothered after leaving her heartbroken.

“Neither,” she whispered into the wood-paneled restroom. She was ticked at herself for allowing Bobby to be such a big deal. He’d done her wrong, and she deserved better than him. It didn’t matter that he was long, strong and packed with sex appeal. It didn’t matter that old feelings had rushed over her upon hearing he would be attending the wedding. What mattered was what he had done to her and what she would not allow him to do again—hurt her. Right.

She was going back out there to show him she was not affected one way or the other by his presence, and darn it, it was going to be true. Okay. Maybe not true tonight, but at some point in the very near future it would be. For now, she’d settle for pretending.

Jennifer turned to exit and hesitated. Maybe she’d dab on a bit of makeup. Not because she wanted to impress him, but darn it, looking good was revenge in itself. Having him show up when she was looking beaten, broken and makeup-less was not helping with the confident, I-am-so-over-you attitude she hoped to convey.

She stepped to the mirror and tried not to cringe at the sight she’d made for Bobby. Hair in disarray, face and lips pale. She reached for her purse and then realized that if she returned to the bar with even one peep more of color, he’d decide it was on his behalf. And it would be.

Pursing her lips, she forced herself to let her purse drop back to her side. But the more she looked in that mirror, the more her hand itched to grab a tube of lipstick and some blush. She reasoned with herself. Looking like crap was better than being the stunning ex he’d lost out on. It would be her way of saying that he wasn’t worthy of a fuss. Right. She so hated this plan. But she was sticking with it. She turned away from the mirror.

Sooner or later she had to go back into the bar, and face Bobby. Better now than later so she could make her excuses and go home. Alone. And then allow herself one night of self-pity, perhaps a big bubble bath. Then, eat chocolate. Lots and lots of chocolate.

Yep, that was the plan. And it was a great one until she pulled open the door to find Bobby standing in the tiny, private hallway, waiting for her.

2

TALL, BLOND AND GORGEOUS, Bobby was a dominating presence in any room, let alone the tiny hallway outside the restroom with only a nearby stairwell up as her escape. And his eyes, crystal-blue with little specks of yellow, were downright spellbinding. Especially when they pinned her in an intimate inspection that said he remembered every last inch of her and was picturing those inches right here and now. It was…arousing. It made her head spin and her heart race. Yet, still he wore that unaffected, cool, in-control edge that had always been Bobby, and had obviously grown more frustratingly sexy with time and maturity.

“Your hair is longer,” he said. It had been to her chin when he’d left. It was to her shoulders now. “I like it.”

That observation upset her on some level she didn’t try to understand. Perhaps it was because he assumed he had a right to like or dislike anything about her life in the here and now. Or because of the fluff of his comment, addressing nothing but yet accentuating everything.

“Don’t,” she said flatly, wishing she couldn’t smell the spicy male scent that was so Bobby, filled with memories of hot nights and playful mornings. “Don’t do the small talk and compliments. You’re here. I’m here. Happy wedding to Marcie, and please let me out of this hallway.”

His eyes, those damn crystal-blue eyes, studied her all too attentively, heating her inside out. He didn’t immediately speak. Didn’t move. Or did he? A sway forward. Yes. If anything she felt as if he’d come closer. The tiny hallway shrank, if that were even possible, and judging from the claustrophobic, trapped feeling making her heart thunder in her chest, it was.

“We should talk,” he finally said in that deep voice he’d once used to whisper wicked promises in far too many public places. Like this one.

“Look, Bobby,” she said, grabbing the frame of the door to steady herself. The solid door behind her reminded her how locked into this up-close-and-personal encounter with Bobby she really was. “I know you want to smooth things over between us for Marcie’s sake. Done. Smooth. Nothing else to talk about. Welcome home. You look good. You like my hair. Great. See you at the rehearsal dinner.”

His expression didn’t change, nor did his body position, which remained close and radiating heat. “Just like that? The past is behind us?”

“Right,” she agreed, trying to smile but failing miserably with a weak attempt that was more a twist of her lips. “Behind us and all is well.”

His hand went to the frame above her head, and this time there was no question that he was removing the space between them. Mere inches separated them and she could barely breathe. “Then you shouldn’t have any problem coming upstairs and having a drink with me,” he suggested. “For old times’ sake.”

Jennifer’s mind was spinning. She’d lost a dog today. Then found out her best friend, whom she didn’t believe would ever deceive her, had been secretly conspiring with Bobby. This had been an emotional, confusing day, that clearly wasn’t over yet. Because now, standing in front of her was not only the man who had secretly always held her heart, despite breaking it, but also the man she’d lain awake worried for, many a night. Fearful of the day she’d hear Bobby had died on some Army mission.

“No,” she said firmly, her hand coming up and, Lord help her, almost resting on his chest. “I don’t want to do this, Bobby.”

He caught her hand and electricity shot up her arm. “Do what, Jen?” he asked, and then settled her hand to that delicious wall of muscled chest. “And you can touch me, Jen. I never bite unless you want me to. You know that.”

This time she did willingly touch his chest, shoving him away. “Damn you, Bobby Evans. I don’t know what you’re trying to prove. I don’t want to touch you. I don’t want you to bite me or not bite me, or tell me my hair looks good. You left. Fine. But there is nothing between us now, and I won’t be your local bedroom pit stop while you’re here.” She steeled her spine. “Now. Let me by so I can go home before I…” Do something embarrassing and cry. Her eyes prickled and that made her mad. She shoved his chest again. “Let me by.”

He released her hand but he didn’t move; he ran a hand through his hair. “Listen, Jennifer. This isn’t how I planned this.” There was something akin to real, raw emotion in his eyes now, all that coolness gone. And she knew she had to get out of here, before she did something foolish and asked exactly how or why he’d planned anything with her.

“Let me by, Bobby,” she repeated, her voice low, calmer than she felt. Way calmer than she felt. And to her total utter relief and displeasure, he did.

BOBBY HAD TAKEN his share of blows over the years, most of which had come from U.S. enemies. A few from his Army buds during drunken altercations. Being the sober guy who didn’t want to turn into his drunk father, in the middle of a bunch of drunks, turned into a bucket of laughs or a gutter of irritation. Sometimes both got the best of a guy. But being rejected by Jennifer hit him harder than any combination of those blows—like a Mack truck head-on.