Dangerous Flirt Read online

  “Got one.” He chuckled softly. “Vegetarians like to give blow jobs more than meat eaters.”

  The waiter picked that moment to arrive at their table with a tray loaded down with Mexican food. He acted as if he hadn’t heard anything, but the tips of his ears were pink. Keeping his eyes glued to the table, he made fast work of unloading the food, the dishes clanking on the wood table, then sped back into the main dining room.

  They busied themselves with filling their plates from the family-style serving dishes. More relaxed than she’d been in months, she snagged an enchilada, cut a chimichanga in half and scooped rice onto her plate. She savored the first bite of cheese and onion wrapped in a handmade corn tortilla. Not as good as abuelita’s, but awful close. Next, a bite of beef chimichanga. The deep-fried shell snapped under her fork as she cut off a piece, making sure to get some guacamole with it. The seasoned beef revitalized her taste buds. She felt more herself with every second that passed.

  “It’s not true, you know,” she said before taking a second bite of chimichanga.

  “What’s that?”

  “About blow jobs. Carnivores love oral sex.”

  Hank’s cock caught her meaning a full five seconds before his brain and he choked on his enchilada.

  His eyes watered as he reached for his beer. All the while, she ate her chimichanga like nothing had happened, as if she hadn’t just given him a month’s worth of wank-off material.

  She blinked her big brown eyes at him, an innocent look on her face. “You okay?”

  No. Absolutely not. “Affirmative,” he managed to sputter.

  Entranced, he watched as she did some sort of girl trick where she flicked her head and all of that luscious, shoulder-length brown hair fell into place. God, what he’d give to bury his fingers in that silk while she went down on him. His mouth went dry. He didn’t think it was possible, but he got harder.

  Let’s talk about sex. What a boneheaded idea that had been.

  “The workout thing?” She paused to take a drink of her Pepsi. “I can confirm that.”

  Fuck.

  Chapter Three

  Beth smoothed down her white skirt, as if by doing so, she could soothe the lust buzzing inside her like she had swallowed a beehive. It had been like this every day for the past three weeks since her dinner with Hank. And at night? Her fantasies would make porn stars blush.

  What had she been thinking that night at dinner? Just remembering her quip about carnivores had heat steaming her skin. Flirting with Hank wasn’t just swimming out of her depth, it equated to treading water in shark-infested ocean with a twenty-pound weight tied to her toes. Not a good idea.

  And yet, here she was in Claire’s living room, toasting her best friend’s soon-to-be-rebuilt Harvest Bistro while denying her secret hope that Hank would throw her over his shoulder, sneak her away and ravage her until her body turned to Jell-O.

  “Guess what I just heard.” Claire nudged Beth with an elbow.

  She looked down at her best friend. Claire had every right to bask. Everything in her life had gotten back on track and as a bonus, she had Jake to share it with. It had taken a psycho killer and one completely twisted family to bring the two of them together, but they’d managed to turn all that ugly into something beautiful.

  “Spill it.”

  Claire hooked her arm through Beth’s elbow and tugged her to one of the few unoccupied spots in the living room. “That troll of an ex-wife of Hank’s, Amanda, used her alimony payments as collateral in some investment scheme tied to the new casino.”

  “What kind of scheme?”

  “Well, you know how the Lakota Tribe announced yesterday the casino entrance would be on Highway Five?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “She was part of the group that bought Fred Nathan’s farm, which butts up against the reservation. That bitch is going to make a mint using Hank’s money. Why he even agreed to alimony, I’ll never know. The woman blackmailed him with the promise of babies for most of their marriage.”

  Beth’s stomach dropped.

  Her nonexistent womb clenched. Veterans who lost limbs in war reported feeling their phantom limbs decades after it had been blown to bits. Why shouldn’t she feel the uterus she’d lost after her doctor had found a fibroid tumor four months ago?

  For the millionth time, she almost told Claire about the outpatient laser surgery, but couldn’t. Saying it out loud would make it real. And after losing the rest of her family already, Beth couldn’t bear to admit she’d lost the future family she hadn’t realized she wanted until it was too late.

  “What? I didn’t know he wanted kids.”

  “Oh yeah. Mr. Mom, that’s Hank. But don’t tell my mom. She’s on his case enough as it is.” Claire paused as a trio of women walked by. “When he told me that Amanda even faked a pregnancy to keep him from leaving at the end? What a complete bitch. No wonder he’s dating half the county.”

  Beth shoved her secret into a dark room in her mind and added one more line to the seemingly endless list of reasons why Hank wasn’t for her. “Wow.”

  Fire practically blazed from the ends of Claire’s red hair. “Exactly.” She pivoted, the look on her face the same as the time she’d talked Beth into climbing the fence around the country club’s pool and going skinny dipping with Mike Hanson and Steve Gerke. “You should date Hank.”

  “No.”

  “Hear me out. You have the same sense of humor. You’re both smart. You’ve had a crush on him for forever.” She rolled her eyes. “Don’t give me that look. Of course I know. And, you two could get married so we’d be sisters!”

  Stall, Beth. Stall. “Why is it people who are in a relationship suddenly want everyone to join them?”

  “Don’t try to change the subject.”

  Chalk one up to the best friend bullshit detector. “I don’t want to date Hank.”

  “Why not? Give me one good reason.”

  “You know why not.”

  “Are you talking about what happened between you two a million years ago? Really? Ancient history. Come up with a better reason or I’m breaking out my matchmaking skills.”

  Beth gulped, her brain fizzling under the pressure. She wouldn't risk losing Claire and the whole Layton clan, who'd practically adopted her, if a roll in the hay with Hank turned into heartbreak and ugliness. And if it did work out, she'd be forcing him to give up having kids. She wouldn't accept either option.

  She latched on to the only part of the truth she could say out loud. “He’s your brother.”

  “So?”

  “If things went wrong, and you know it would end badly, it could make things awkward between us.”

  Claire snaked an arm around Beth’s much higher waist and gave her a quick hug. “Oh, Beth. There’s not a damn thing in this world that could submarine us.”

  “Still…”

  “Fine. I’ll keep my big mouth shut,” she huffed. “But if I end up with another bitch for a sister-in-law, I will hold it against you forever.”

  Hank couldn't look away from Beth’s glossy, red lips. Even from across the living room, the sight of those full lips touching the rim of her wine glass as she sipped the white liquid had him hooked. He needed to get her alone.

  “Dude, I think you're drooling. Not cool.” His youngest brother, Chris, held a small mountain of BBQ chips in one hand and sucked the reddish orange powder off the fingers of his other.

  “Thanks, Miss Manners, what would I do without you?”

  Chris rolled his eyes. “It's Beth. Claire’d kick your ass.”

  “What makes you think she'd need to?”

  His brother snorted and shoved the mound of chips into his mouth. After crunching them into submission, he took a swig of beer. “Whatever.” He let out a low whistle. “Break Beth’s heart and Claire will take you apart bone by bone.”

  “Butt out.”

  Something had happened at Juanita’s. She’d staked a claim in his subconscious, the smell of her vanilla
perfume had taken up residence in his nostrils, and the look in her eye when she’d taunted him with that line about carnivores and blow jobs haunted him every night.

  Chris rammed an elbow into his ribs. “Get ahold of yourself, you're embarrassing me.”

  “I won’t break Beth's heart.”

  Because right now she was stomping all over his, ignoring his calls and avoiding him like the plague. Even at the party, she shimmied away anytime he came within ten feet.

  Enough of being a wuss. He’d led the University of Nebraska to the BCS championship. If he could take on a defensive line packed with three-hundred pounders, what challenge did one amazingly hot woman pose? Sufficiently psyched, he zeroed in on Beth's location and marched forward.

  Like a bunny sensing danger, she spotted him while he still had half the room to go. She slid her fingers through her silky brown hair and her gaze flicked from one side of the crowded room to the other, everywhere but on him.

  A third of the way there, his cock twitched in recognition of her being near. His fingers itched to strip the white frilly dress away from her brown skin and lick every inch he exposed.

  His quarry clutched at the silver chain around her slim neck that dipped between her pert tits and beneath her dress. She couldn't look away from him now. Her lips parted slightly and her pink tongue darted out, licking her bottom lip.

  Two steps and he'd be within touching distance.

  The worry lines smoothed from her forehead.

  His gut lurched.

  Damn, she’d figured a way out. Again.

  “Hank, there you are,” she greeted him as if she had no idea of all the things he'd like to do to her delectable body. “Sarah Jane was just telling me about her latest scrapbooking project. It's fascinating. I'm sure she could give you some tips for the Layton family tree your mom has you putting together. Why don't you two chat while I circle to make sure everyone has a drink.”

  Whippet quick, she dashed away, leaving him no choice but to listen to a half-hour dissertation about the importance of archival-quality paper.

  Oh, she was good, but he had time on his side.

  Let the hunt begin.

  It took Hank exactly fifty-three minutes to get Beth alone. Actually, he stumbled upon her in the hallway completely by accident, but that's not how he'd tell the story years from now.

  She stared at a Layton family photo with intensity and a hint of something else that made him pause before his gaze traveled down her long, lean body to the flimsy white heels strapped to her feet. Her dress covered her legs down to her knees, but he had memorized the curve of her thighs years ago.

  “I was wondering how long it would take you.”

  So tangled up in observation, her words caught him completely off guard. Hell, he needed to work on his stealth skills. “You were timing me?”

  “Yep.” She turned, pushed her glasses up her nose and crossed her arms. “You unwound yourself from Sarah Jane Hunihan with record speed.”

  Everything about her stance said stay away, except for her slight smile and the undeniable interest twinkling in her brown eyes that her black-rimmed glasses couldn’t hide. Taking a chance, he closed the distance between them, stopping outside of an arm’s reach. He didn't trust himself not to brush the long strand of black hair away from her high cheekbone.

  “How long are we going to play this game?”

  Her warm brown skin tinged pink at her cheeks. “What game?”

  Fuck it. Another step closer and he pushed the rebellious strand back. The air sizzled around them. “The one where I chase and you run.”

  A dozen emotions crossed her face in quick succession and her long fingers picked at one of the frills on her neckline. Her lips parted and he zoned in on her sweet mouth, hypnotized by its luscious promise. Electricity sparked between them stronger than a lightning bolt and for a second he thought he'd won her over. Then, the lust in her eyes retreated behind some inner wall.

  “Until you realize the ending isn't the one you want.”

  “What ending is that?”

  “I won't be one more number for you to call on Saturday night.” Her breathy voice teased him, making his jeans fit more snugly than they had five minutes ago.

  “What makes you think that's what I want from you?”

  “It's all you've wanted from any woman since your divorce.”

  “But those women aren't you.” He traced a finger down her smooth cheek. “There’s something about you that has me wanting more. A lot more.”

  She quirked a thin eyebrow at him. “Uh-huh.”

  Time for the direct approach. “Come out with me.”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you're my best friend's brother.”

  Not the response he’d expected. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  Her silence and the way her gaze slid to the left screamed out how much of a bullshit excuse it was. Damn, Beth would be the death of him. She wanted him. He wanted her. What the hell was the problem?

  “I need to get back to the party.” She circled around him.

  Oh, hell no.

  He stopped her with a light touch on her hip.

  She let out the smallest of sighs, but to his ears it sounded as loud as a tornado plowing through a trailer park.

  Pulling her closer, he inhaled her vanilla scent. “When you're ready to stop lying to me and tell me what this is really about, I will be here to listen. But this,” he lowered his head, “is real.”

  Brushing his lips against hers, his body responded the moment she relaxed into his arms. She tasted of wine and sweetness and unfulfilled promise. As she softened against him, everything about him hardened. He spread his fingers wide on her round hip, the tips grazing her firm ass, and pulled her to him. She rubbed against his fast-hardening cock and he almost lost it right then and there.

  Beth pushed him away. Breathing hard, her eyes dark with passion. Without saying a word, she slipped through his fingers and hurried down the hall.

  Alone in the hallway, Hank fought to calm his hammering heart and bring his body back under control. But he wasn’t likely to accomplish either until he found a way to win over Beth Martinez.

  A week later, he still hadn't come up with a decent plan. Sure, kidnapping her and carrying her off to a remote cabin had crossed his mind, but him being the Dry Creek County sheriff kind of negated actual law-breaking.

  “Stop lollygagging and bring me that box of mementoes down from the attic.”

  Ah, the sweet dulcet tones of his mother, Glenda, on a Founder’s Day preparation binge. A few more hours as the dutiful eldest son, then it was Friday poker night at Mike’s, and finally out to Vegas on the first flight on Monday to meet his brothers for the traditional Layton poker trip. Playing cards always helped him think. He'd figure out how to get on Beth's good side while staring at a full house.

  “Are you taking a nap up there? Get a move on.”

  Gritting his teeth, he grabbed the box marked “Rebecca’s Bounty” in red marker and hefted it down the stairs. “Where do you want it?”

  “Over on the table by the family tree would be perfect. Thanks.”

  He nudged a portrait of his great-great-grandmother Emma Davenport a few inches to the left and lowered the box onto the oak table. “What's in this thing anyway?”

  His mother appeared out of the kitchen dressed in jeans and a sparkly T-shirt. She carried a bowl and two spoons. “That is your great-great.” She paused and scrunched up her nose. “Oh, I'm not sure how many greats it is, but it's your great-grandmother's belongings. Come sit down and help me eat this, I accidentally got too much.”

  She moved the family Bible to the center of the table and set down the bowl. Three gigantic scoops of chocolate ice cream complete with whipped cream and sprinkles filled the speckled blue bowl. His favorite. That meant only one thing—trouble ahead. Well, at least he’d get grilled on a full stomach.

  “I thought Uncle Harlan lo
st Rebecca's diary in a poker game a few years back.” He dug into the sundae.

  “Oh that man. He's lucky he still gets invited to Thanksgiving dinner.” She pursed her lips. “The treasure hunters only valued her diary, but the historical society is putting together a display of her other belongings as part of the Founder’s Day celebration.”

  “They're going Layton crazy, are they?”

  “Our family did help settle Dry Creek. Didn't I raise you to be proud of your legacy?”

  The hairs on the back of his neck pricked up. Damn, half the ice cream still sat melting in the bowl, but he’d started Glenda down the wrong path and there was no going back.

  “And when are you going to find a nice girl to settle down with and have kids to build upon that legacy?”

  Soon. Not that he could tell his mother that.

  “What happened to make my children so marriage-averse?” She sighed melodramatically. “You're not getting any younger you know.”

  “Maybe after Amanda, I'm not so keen on getting married again.”

  Glenda harrumphed. “That girl? She was never the right one for you. I must have told you after every one of the dozen break ups you had starting in high school. But did you listen? Nope. I'm just your mother. What would I know?”

  “Or it could be that I have someone in mind, but she doesn't want anything to do with me.”

  She looked up, aghast. “Who wouldn't love you?”

  “Careful, Mom, you're starting to sound like you've gone soft and mushy.”

  “Enough of that smart mouth, mister.” She nailed him to his seat with her best mama bear look. “That ex-wife of yours is a real piece of work. I'd like to use other words for her, but your father put up a swear jar in the kitchen last week. I’ve already deposited three dollars.” Speculation twinkled in her dark-brown eyes. “How about Beth Martinez? She’s such a nice girl. You’ve known each other forever. Why don’t you ask her out?”

  Like a man trying to disarm a ticking time bomb, he weighed his options, both of which were ugly. Cutting the green wire meant keeping his mom in the dark. When she did find out—and she would, being Dry Creek’s biggest gossip—she’d hang him out to dry. Snipping the blue wire equaled spilling the beans and begging her not to get involved. Like that would ever happen.