Lisa Jones - Jump Start

“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.

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.”