in the space of a second. “Maybe that’s what Aunt Pasha meant.”
“Who’s Aunt Pasha?”
Her eyes twinkled with a secret. “A late, great fortune-teller.”
He inched closer, letting his thigh press against hers and earning another sweet blush. “Did she see trouble in her crystal ball?”
“She saw…something.”
“Whatever she saw, I hope it happens tonight.” He gave her a slow once-over, enjoying a spark of electricity crackling between them as he admired her toned arms, freckle-dusted skin, and the alluring slope of small but appealing breasts under a simple white T-shirt. This one wasn’t trying too hard to get attention, and he liked that. It reminded him of—
Don’t go there.
“Are you staying in Mimosa Key?” she asked.
“At the moment.” For the past month, since he had to tear-ass out of Singapore, he’d ridden around the state of Florida, finally finding his way over a bridge to this suitably out-of-the-way island. He’d checked in to the first motel he’d found and headed straight out the door for his numbing agents of choice: cheap scotch and a willing woman. He’d found one, and, with a little luck, was looking at the other. “You?”
“I live at the resort up the road in Barefoot Bay.”
“You live on a resort?”
“I run the gardens.”
That explained the sun-kissed skin and shapely shoulders.
“What do you do?” she asked.
“I don’t run anything,” he admitted. “I just run.”
“From what?” She gave him a curious look and he cursed himself again. What was wrong with him tonight? The scotch mustn’t be watered down enough.
Instead of answering, he stretched his hand around the back of the booth, letting his fingers graze her shoulder, getting a quick rise of chill bumps on her arm in response.
“You’re pretty,” he said, happy to note that this time his standard but woefully uncreative line was actually accurate. She was very pretty, in a simple, sweet, genuine way. Another thing that reminded him of—
“You didn’t answer my question.”
Because I’m still fucked up. “Because you’re so pretty I forgot what you asked.”
She looked skyward and fought a smile.
“What do you want to know, pretty Tessa?” Not that he’d tell her anything, ever.
“Why do you have a lethal insect tattooed on your neck?”
He angled his head to let her get a real good look, remembering the unspeakably dark night when he’d gotten the ink in some hellhole off Balestier Road.
“Do you have a death wish or something?” she prompted.
“Something.” He slugged the rest of his scotch. “What about you?”
“Me?” She laughed softly, with a wry and ironic shake of her head. “Well, I don’t wish for death.”
He stole a look at her, lost for a second in the honesty in her eyes. Damn it, sometimes the small talk wasn’t enough. Maybe this meaningless chatter was a necessary evil before getting a woman on her back, but for one brief instant, Ian ached for…more.
More information, more revelation, more than a quick screw to kill the pain for a very short while.
But John Brown couldn’t have more. And Ian Browning best not forget that.
“Then what do you wish for?” he asked, the question proof that his mouth was ignoring the warnings in his head. Talk about sex, dumbshit. Not wishes.
“You want the truth?” She dropped her head back, her hair brushing his arm.
The truth was the last thing he wanted, or at least the last thing he was willing to give back. “Sure.”
“The fact is, I’m wishing for a man.”
Now we’re talking. At least she had some common sense about what was going down here. He threaded his finger into her silky locks, gently turning her face toward his. “Looks like you found one.”
“But I want something specific.” In her eyes, he could see the flecks of gold—and a hell of a lot more. Goodness. Understanding. Truth. All things he could never reciprocate.
“Whatever floats your boat, Just Tessa. I can do slow and sweet or hard and fast.” Her eyes flashed a little. “You can tie me up or take me down.”
Another flash, this one more than surprised. Maybe she wasn’t quite that adventurous.
“I’m yours for the night,” he finished, coming closer.
He let his lips brush hers, tasting a hint of the ale and something warm and hopeful. Too bad, but he wasn’t her hope, not by a long shot.
By the time she figured that out, he’d be long gone.
Chapter Two
Tessa closed her eyes and opened her mouth, certain the silken flick of this alluring stranger’s tongue would shock some sense into her. His scotch-flavored kiss shocked a whole lot of things, but sense