Jo Leigh - Want Me

“We weren’t talking about me. I should have stopped after my second Guinness. But come on. Guinness. At Molly’s Shebeen. How am I supposed to resist that, hmm?”

“You’re right,” she said. “You were perfectly justified. I, on the other hand, was reckless and foolish. I should be ashamed.”

“Well, hell. If you’re going to waste shame on something like having an extra beer, you should give up right now.”

Her laughter warmed him like a hot toddy. “What, you want me to rob a bank? Steal a car? Have an illicit affair?”

“Those are all legitimately shame-worthy, yes. Although I never said that shame had to come along with a prison sentence. You still need to have good judgment. So that leaves illicit affairs.”

“I don’t have anyone to be illicit with.”

“No?”

She grabbed his arm and pulled him close. There wasn’t enough beer in Molly’s to slow down his heart.

“You almost walked into that pole,” she said as she released him.

“Damn, I thought—”

“What?” she asked, and he shook his head. “You thought what?”

“Nope.”

She studied him for a second. “Coward.”

“Yep.”

She laughed. “I could get it out of you if I wanted.”

“Hey, go for it. I welcome the challenge.” Suppressing a smile, he kept walking. She hated a dare, and he doubted that had changed.

“You have some nerve bringing up good judgment,” she muttered. “I’d like to know where you got your measuring stick.”

He had a totally juvenile remark at the tip of his tongue, which only proved how deeply irresponsible he’d been about the beer. Though the pole—that had nothing to do with drinking and everything to do with the illicit-affair remark. “Experience has taught me not to sweat the small stuff.”

This time Shannon stopped completely. “You must be drunk if you’re throwing that old clunker at me. How do you know what the small stuff is? One extra drink could be devastating.”

“But you’re not driving or operating heavy machinery. You’re walking a block to your home, and you’re safely accompanied by a man who knows how to kick the crap out of anyone who might try anything untoward. Therefore, you having a third beer isn’t a big deal.”

“What do you mean you know how to kick the crap out of anyone?”

“I have skills.”

He couldn’t see her smile in the shadow between streetlights, but he would swear on his life he could feel it.

“Would those be mad skills?” she asked in the most smart-ass, taunting voice he could imagine.

“They would,” he said, realizing that with every word he was digging himself a deeper hole.

“Of the martial-arts variety?”

“And if I said yes?”

She poked him in the chest with her index finger. “You still have every single comic you ever bought, don’t you?” Poke. “You store them in airtight containers and don’t let other humans touch them.” Poke. “You don’t have to rent your costume for Halloween. Ever.”

He grabbed her poking hand and walked her toward a streetlight until he was sure they could see each other well. “I do have a hell of a comic collection, which is worth a great deal, by the way. I do store some of them in a temperature- and humidity-controlled storage facility because of their value. I do not have costumes in my wardrobe, however. But I’ve been known to go to comic conventions and I keep up with the industry. I like comics. I like graphic novels. And someday, if you agree not be bitchy about it, I would like to show you why.”

There was a moment of silence. Not just from Shannon, but from the street, from the city. A fleeting lull in the traffic, the subway vibrations, the chatter of pedestrians. He heard her inhale, sharp and startled, as if the last thing in the world she’d expected was his little speech.

He was surprised himself, so that seemed fair. He’d had no preparation, though, for how she was looking at him. As if he was someone unexpected. Someone interesting in a way he shouldn’t be.

Good. That’s what he’d wanted. And if he hadn’t had the extra beer, he’d lean over right this second and kiss her until she cried uncle. But he was tipsy enough to know that he was treading on thin ice, illustrated perfectly by his use of the word tipsy .

Both of them having inappropriate thoughts didn’t mean the thoughts were no longer inappropriate. He had one place he considered home in this world, and to risk that, he’d have to be sober as a judge and twice as sure.

“I’d like that,” she said, her voice a breathless whisper in the quiet. “A lot.”

“Yeah?”

Her nod was slow but it still made that gorgeous hair of hers move forward on her shoulder. He raised his hand, but the last vestiges of good sense stopped him from carrying out the gesture. He was going to be at the Fitzgeralds’ for several weeks. There would be time to figure things out. Time to see where the lines were drawn.

The last thing on earth he wanted was to be ashamed about anything to do with Shannon. So tonight, he’d walk her home and he’d sleep it off.

Tomorrow he might curse himself for letting this chance go by, but better safe than sorry when there was so much at stake.

Dammit, he was going to wake up to his second hangover in two days. The sooner he got back to his real life the better off he’d be. He looked again at Shannon as they reached the steps of the brownstone. Then again, as long as he had to be here, he might as well enjoy the visit.

SHANNON HADN’T SEEN NATE at breakfast, and she was almost late because she’d dawdled, hoping. Then she’d castigated herself the whole way to the plant. Last night hadn’t been a date. She wasn’t sure precisely what it had been, but not a date.

Despite the extra beer, she’d stayed up far too late. Her brain wouldn’t stop. Thoughts of his voice, his scent, how he looked in a suit were only the beginning. She imagined vividly his friendly touch on the small of her back sliding past her waist until his palm slowly brushed over the curve of her behind.

A smile, then as his gaze hit her lips, the heat of his breath, the brush of a tentative kiss.

An innocent look turned smoldering, unmistakable want.

By the time she’d entered her office, she knew her first order of business wasn’t going to be a call to the deputy commissioner in charge of Union Square Park. That and everything else on her list would wait while she turned her total attention to creating Nate’s trading card. Maybe then she could stop obsessing.

He was going to be staying at the house for several weeks at least, and wouldn’t it be nice and smart to hook him up with one of her friends from the lunch exchange? He’d be otherwise occupied while she pulled a new card or two for herself. The next lunch exchange meeting was coming up soon, and she had six new trading cards to prepare including Nate’s.

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