Unexpected (27 page)

Her life was definitely going to undergo some changes. She looked forward to each and every one.

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T
hat's when Ben saw her.

She came out of the shadows and started across the street toward him. Spellbound, Ben watched as fog seemed to part around her, giving her an ethereal appearance. Somehow her steps, slow and rhythmic, matched the beat of the music, and the beat of his heart.

The reflection of a streetlamp glinted off her reddish-brown hair. It was tied into a high ponytail that might have been neat at one point during the day but now straggled loose and sloppy around her face. A fringe of bangs, stringy with sweat, hung half in her eyes. She wore a dusty white sleeveless shirt under a pair of coverall shorts with unraveled hems and a pair of brown lace-up work boots over rolled gray socks.

Ben wouldn't call it feminine attire, but maybe fetish attire? Whatever. She sure got his attention.

He couldn't help but wonder what kind of panties a woman wore under a getup like that.

Despite being midnight and hotter than Hades, her stride was long and sure and fluid, matching that provocative music—“Bad to the Bone.”

She had the walk of a satisfied woman, and it turned Ben on. He'd always found confidence to be very sexy.

Because he stood in the shadows, she didn't notice him until the last moment, when she was a mere three feet away. Their eyes met; their gazes caught and held. She faltered, then slowly, intently, surveyed him. Her lips parted in surprise.

Ben didn't move, didn't alter his relaxed pose against the building. But inside, interest roiled, kicked up his heartbeat and sent his senses—and his equipment—on full alert.

Knowing he looked too enthralled, Ben managed a more casual nod.

At his acknowledgment, the woman inched closer, but now her every step seemed weighted with caution and curiosity, as if she didn't want to look at him, but couldn't quite help herself. When she was directly in front of Ben, her wide lush mouth tilted and her eyes smiled. She shook her head, as if bemused.

Or disbelieving.

“You ought to be illegal.” Her laughing comment, low and throaty, broke the spell. “It's a good thing I have a stout heart.”

With that strange, yet provocative remark, she strode on past and into the building.

A little amazed at his aberrant reaction, Ben realized he hadn't said a single word, hadn't taken advantage of the situation or her comment, hadn't even introduced himself. He turned to view the back of her and his interest expanded. Her ass looked great in the coveralls, soft and cuddly and rounded just right. A nice handful. Her legs were strong, shapely with smooth muscles, lightly tanned.

The rousing music faded away, but the scent of heated woman touched by the damp outdoors remained. Ben grinned in acute anticipation.

Oh yeah, this was what he'd been looking for.
She
was what he'd been looking for.

The chase was on.

Feeling like a bull in rut, he trailed into the bar after her. Impatiently, he waited while she looked around, located a booth at the back of the room, and headed in that direction.

With one nod, Ben let the waitress know he'd take care of this particular customer. He followed along and when she slid into the bench seat, Ben propped his hip on the table. He tried for a nonchalant smile of welcome, but he knew his eyes were glittering, that his smile was more wolfish than not. He couldn't help that; he hadn't felt this sexually alert in a long time. “Hi.”

She glanced up, saw it was him, and pinched off her automatic smile in an effort to keep her expression impassive. “A Coke, please. Plenty of ice.”

The interior lights this time of night were dim to accommodate all the drinkers. Ben couldn't see the color of her eyes, but the shape was exotic, tilting up on the outsides, heavily fringed with dark lashes. Ben studied her face and attempted to determine what it was about her that lured him.

Her mouth looked sinful, and very soft.

Her freckles looked playful, a bit impish.

Her body . . . Well, it was hard to tell in her sloppy clothes, but he sure as hell intended to find out.

Even with his obvious perusal, she looked away, reached for the menu, and effectively dismissed him.

Ben's interest escalated. Oh yeah, she was good at this, at playing the game. So, she wouldn't make it easy for him? Good. He nearly rubbed his hands together in anticipation of the coming night.

Feeling challenged and loving it, he straightened away from the table. “I'll be right back with your drink.”

She didn't reply.

Taking her at her word, Ben filled a glass with crushed ice and then poured in the soda. She had her head propped up on a fist, her exotic eyes closed tiredly when Ben returned.

Her nails weren't painted. They weren't even clean. Wherever she'd worked today, it had been a dirty job, and the stains on her fingers proved it. But that didn't bother Ben. He was too pleased to make note of the lack of a ring. Not married, not engaged.

Perfect.

He set the drink down and waited.

Very slowly, her eyes opened. She had a sexy, full mouth, which stretched wide in a yawn before she mumbled through her hand, “Thank you.”

Her voice was smoky and deep, her expression orgasmic. Or maybe exhausted. Hard to tell when he was so aroused.

Rather than take a drink, she lifted the icy glass to her forehead and sighed at the cool touch. “It's so hot outside tonight.”

It was hotter than hell inside, too.

A drip of condensation rolled down the frosty glass, fell onto her upper chest, and trickled down between her breasts. Ben held his breath.

Damn, everything about her seemed devised to push his buttons. Only he couldn't ever recall a bedraggled, sweaty woman in work clothes turning him on before now.

In an effort to diminish the lust and further his association, Ben cleared his throat. “You work next door?”

A proud, friendly smile lit up her eyes. “Yeah. I'm the new owner. We've spent the past couple of weeks getting the place into shape. But today we finally started business.”

She owned the business. She'd be close by.

Damn. Any woman who would constantly be so close could be trouble. Starting something that would be difficult to end due to proximity would be plain foolish. He had to be cautious, to consider all the possible problems . . .

Using two fingers, she fished an ice cube out of the glass and sucked on it.

Ben drew in his breath.
To hell with caution.

He held out a hand, anxious to touch her even in a platonic way. “Welcome to the neighborhood. I'm Ben Badwin, and I own this motel.”

She looked at his extended hand. “Is that right? Wow, great place.” She swiped her fingers across the top of her thigh, on the coveralls to dry them, then took his hand and pumped twice in a mannish way. “Sierra Murphy. It's nice to meet you, Ben.”

Sierra—an unusual name for an unusual woman. Her hand was small, slim, warm. And callused. She looked far too young to own a business, and far too appealing to be working in the dirt. Reluctantly, Ben released her. “You're out late.”

ZEBRA BOOKS are published by

 

Kensington Publishing Corp.
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Copyright © 2003 by Lori Foster

 

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

 

If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

 

 

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ISBN: 978-1-4201-3319-6

 

First Zebra Books Electronic Edition: May 2014
eISBN-13: 978-1-4201-3512-1
eISBN-10: 1-4201-3512-0