Under the Surface. Kira Sinclair
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When she opened her eyes again a man stood at the end of her table watching her. She started. The slushy contents of her glass rocked over the edge, sliding thickly down the angled curve to pool on her fingers.
With a frown, Loralei switched hands, brought her fingers to her mouth and sucked.
The man groaned low in his throat. Uneasiness crawled up to settle right between her shoulder blades.
“Do you mind if I sit?” he asked, folding his body in half before he’d finished the question.
“Yes, I do mind. Nothing personal, but I’m not looking for company.”
His body stalled, shock crossing his face for the briefest moment before it was gone again. She supposed he was the kind of guy who didn’t hear the word no often. He was handsome enough in a professional kind of way. Probably on vacation. Possibly with a wife upstairs.
A smarmy smile replaced his startled expression, as if he expected she would change her mind at any moment.
Something about this guy made her seriously uncomfortable. And that was saying something considering the emotional turmoil she’d already been struggling with.
At least he straightened, keeping his rear from occupying the seat opposite her. “Let me buy you another drink.”
“Nope, I just got this one and I plan on nursing it for a while.”
She hadn’t been, but what was a little white lie in the grand scheme of things? Nothing if it kept his guy away from her.
Out of the corner of her eye, Loralei watched a man she’d noticed on the docks stalk across the bar. Over her admirer’s shoulder, she saw him walking in their direction.
Now he was gorgeous in a blond-surf-god kind of way. Tall, if she had to guess, several inches over six feet. Being five-ten she was used to looking most men in the eye. But not him.
If she’d been here to pick up someone, he definitely would have been on her list of prospects. Tall and muscular. The kind of guy whose mere presence commanded attention.
Yummy on a stick, as Melody would say.
He was wearing a pair of khaki shorts with about a million pockets sewn up and down the thighs. A pale blue polo stretched taut across his broad chest, the soft material doing little to conceal the swell of pecks and dip of abs. He hadn’t bothered to fasten the three tiny buttons, and she could see a dusting of pale blond hair that swept across his chest.
The color perfectly matched the honey-toned, tousled hair on his head, which looked as if he, the wind or some red-lipped siren had just been ruffling through it.
Loralei’s mouth went dry. Bringing the glass she still held to her lips, she gulped down a huge swallow of the slushy goodness to try to relieve the pressure. It didn’t quite work.
Especially when she realized the bronzed god was heading straight for her and not to one of the nearby tables.
She barely had time for a full breath before he was pushing the guy she’d completely forgotten out of the way.
“Excuse me,” he said, drawing close to her.
Leaning down, he brushed his mouth against hers, warm and soft. All Loralei could do was sit there and stare up at him.
“Sorry I’m late, baby,” he murmured, the low timber of his voice making every muscle in her body melt. She was pretty sure he’d also liquefied the frozen drink in her glass.
Somehow she managed to murmur something that obviously passed as appropriate because he smiled down at her, his unbelievably blue eyes twinkling with mirth and mischief.
Loralei’s mouth dropped open—she wasn’t sure if the gesture was an invitation for him to kiss her again or because she knew she should say something like, Who the hell are you?
Before she could decide, his solid body was pressing against her, urging her to slide over into the corner of the booth.
And she did, which left her a little miffed and seriously bewildered.
The guy still standing at the end of the table sputtered. “I thought you weren’t looking for company.”
“She isn’t. She already has me.”
The guy frowned. Anger flared deep in his eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me you were here with someone?”
Because she wasn’t. Although, she was coherent enough to realize it wouldn’t be smart to say that out loud right now. So, she simply offered a shrug and an apologetic half smile.
With a labored huff, the guy finally walked away, apparently realizing arguing with her wasn’t going to get him anywhere. Especially with the wall of masculinity sitting between them. The guy would have been mental to take on the man currently pressed against her body from shoulder to hip.
The heat of him seeped into her flesh. Maybe she should have changed clothes, put on longer shorts. The hem had ridden up her thigh at some point and she could feel the rub of his skin against hers, smooth to hair-roughened.
She found her voice enough to ask, “Who are you?” She kept the words pitched low so only he could hear them.
Draping an arm across the back of the booth, he squeezed in closer. A few seconds ago she would have thought that physically impossible. She was obviously wrong.
“Jack,” he said, dipping his head and brushing the single word across the sensitive shell of her ear.
“Nice to meet you,” she answered without thought or intent.
Pulling back, he smiled down at her. A shiver snaked through her stomach. Somehow he managed to fill his expression with kindness, sensuality and predatory promise. Apparently a deadly combination to her libido.
Loralei shifted in her seat. “What are you doing here?”
He shrugged, his entire ribcage lifting and sliding against her. “Rescuing you. I would have thought that was obvious.”
“Well, yes, but why?”
His smile changed, going a little dangerous around the edges. “Because I wanted to.”
Oh, this guy was trouble. Clearly. The kind of man who got whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted it.
Too bad. Tonight he was going to be disappointed, because he couldn’t have her.
JACKSON WATCHED LORALEI LANCASTER’S eyes narrow. Part of him wanted to laugh. The rest wanted to pull her harder against his body.
From a distance she was beautiful. Up close...she was gorgeous. Even in the low bar light, her skin was luminous. Like sunlight filtering through the bright blue surface of the water in the last few moments of a great dive.