with Nick.
She could walk up to the bar and ask the bartender for a bottle of beer to take out with her, she considered. Then, while the bartender was getting it, she could turn to Nick and ask him if he knew of any bed-and-breakfast places nearby. It was a reasonable question to use to start a conversation.
Swallowing nervously, Gina got to her feet. But before she could move toward the bar, someone touched her arm.
Startled, she turned to find herself looking at a slightly overweight, middle-aged man who gave her a leering smile and then ran his eyes over her body with a lascivious look that made her skin crawl.
“I beg your pardon!” Gina gave him her best imitation of her mother’s freezing outrage. “I don’t believe I’ve met you.”
“That’s easy enough to fix. I’m Jim, and who are you, babycakes?”
Gina blinked uncertainly, not sure what to do. Jim wasn’t following the script. He was supposed to retreat in the face of her obvious disinterest. Instead he’d inched closer. Close enough for her to smell the sickly sweet odor of his cologne. Her stomach rolled protestingly.
“I’m not interested,” she muttered, not wanting him near her, but also not wanting to bolt for the door and give up any chance of speaking to Nick Balfour.
“How do you know that? Why don’t you let me buy you a beer, and we can get acquainted?” Jim insisted, seeming to find her nervousness a turn-on.
Nick turned as the whiny pitch of Jim’s voice grated across his nerves. His eyes narrowed speculatively as he saw the woman the older man was trying to pick up. Jim’s taste in women had definitely improved. Not only was she satisfyingly tall, but… His eyes slipped down the length of her slender figure, lingering on the slight thrust of her breasts beneath her dark-green shirt.
He shivered as he imagined the feel of her breast filling his hand. Trying to control his body’s instinctive response to the provocative thought, he forced his gaze upward, only to find that her face was just as intriguing as her body. He studied the slight tilt of her nose with its faint dusting of freckles, which perfectly matched her reddish-brown hair, before moving on to the full curve of her pink lips. They made him long to feel them beneath his own. To find out if they really were as soft and pliable as they looked.
He watched as her face paled in annoyance at Jim’s refusal to take no for an answer. Or was it fear?
Odd, he thought curiously. A woman that attractive should be experienced enough to flatten lechers like Jim without even thinking about it. And yet she didn’t seem to be able to shake him off.
Why not? he wondered, and then hastily quashed his interest. It wasn’t any of his business, he told himself. He couldn’t afford to get involved. Women, especially those who looked the way she did, demanded more from a man than he had to give. Bitter experience had taught him that.
Nick sighed as he saw the sudden flare of panic in her expressive eyes when Jim inched even closer to her. She shouldn’t be out alone if she didn’t know how to deal with the Jims of the world. She had no right involving innocent bystanders in her problems.
But right or not, he was unable to resist the growing fear he could see in her face. It wouldn’t take long, he told himself as he got off the bar stool. He’d slap down Jim, walk her to her car and that would be the end of it. He refused to even acknowledge the flash of loss he felt at the thought.
“You heard the lady, Jim.” A dark, velvety voice flowed soothingly over Gina’s agitated nerves. She turned to find herself staring into Nick Balfour’s cool gray eyes. She felt as if she could drown in their incredible depths. She took a deep breath, trying to break their mesmerizing hold on her, and the faintly spicy fragrance of his cologne filled her nostrils.
“Give it up, Jim.” Nick’s voice hardened perceptibly when Jim didn’t move.
“Hey, no call to get all bent outta shape, Nick.” Jim held up his hands as if warding him off. “I didn’t realize I was poaching. But if you should decide you want a change, babycakes, give me a call. Everyone knows me.”
Gina’s breath escaped on a relieved sigh as Jim returned to his own table.
“I’m Nick Balfour. I’ll walk you to your car.”
“Gina Tessereck, and thank you,” she muttered as she scrambled for something bright and witty to say. Something that would make him want to linger to get to know her better.
“Do you come here often?” Gina mentally cringed as she heard the inane question emerge from her mouth.
“No. Where are you parked?” he asked her as they emerged from the bar.
“Across the street,” she said, trying not to let her chagrin at his clear disinterest show.
His hand unexpectedly closed around her arm as she stepped off the curb, and he jerked her back as a car hurtled past them.
Gina landed against his chest. She could feel the scratchy sensation of his wool sweater against her cheek, and the heat pouring from his large body momentarily suspended her rational thought.
“You okay?” he asked when she didn’t move.
No, she wasn’t okay, she thought frantically. She was fast losing her entire sense of perspective, and she didn’t have a clue as to what to do about it.
“Did that fool Jim really upset you that much?” Nick asked, and Gina felt her stomach twist at his concerned tone.
“No, I… I…” I always sound like the village idiot around sexy men, she thought in dismay.
“Are you well enough to drive?”
Gina took a deep breath and forced herself to step away from him.
“I’m fine,” she blurted out, and then could have screamed in frustration when she realized that she’d just blown a great chance. If she’d claimed to have been too upset to drive, he might have offered to buy her a coffee while she calmed down.
“Is that blue Ford yours?” He pointed to a car parked a little down from the restaurant.
“No.” Gina shook her head. “I have a brown Camry. It’s parked…” She broke off as she realized that her car wasn’t where she’d left it.
Frowning, she looked up and down the street. She was positive she’d parked in front of the restaurant. She turned and checked the other side of the street. There were no Toyotas of any make.
“I don’t understand,” she said. “I left my car right there.”
Nick watched as she pointed to the vacant spot behind the Ford, momentarily distracted by her slender fingers with their shortly cut, clear-varnished nails. He hated long, luridly colored nails.
“I know I left it there,” she repeated as if the very strength of her words could make her car reappear.
“Either you’re mistaken about where you left it or someone took it.” Nick stated the obvious.
“Thank you, Sherlock Holmes!” she snapped, fear and frustration swamping her awe of him.
“Everybody
