Wolfe Watching. Joan Hohl
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What was happening to her? she marveled in confused silence. What kind of sensual power did Eric Wolfe possess to so effortlessly affect her in this manner? She hadn’t experienced such a compelling carnal compulsion since—
Tina’s mental process stalled, then raced forward, blurting the truth into her disbelieving consciousness. Never before in her life had she experienced such a depth of carnal compulsion. Not even with her husband. Not on his most potent night, or day, had Glen ever managed to arouse her in body or mind to the degree that Eric Wolfe had accomplished with smoldering glances, murmured innuendos and the relatively minor pressure of his thigh and shoulder against her own.
It was weird. It was scary. It was not to be tolerated, Tina decided, edging closer to Vincent. She didn’t appreciate this hot-and-cold, hard-and-soft reaction to what, in fact, were the blandest of advances.
“Another drink?”
Tina’s thoughts fractured. Blinking, she turned to face Eric, certain her expression was every bit as blank as her mind. “Ah...what?”
“Would you like another seltzer?” He inclined his head, indicating the tall glass in front of her, empty except for a wedge of lime and three half-melted ice cubes.
Feeling dull witted, Tina stared at the glass in bemusement, wondering when she had drunk the fizzy water...and why her throat still felt so dry.
“The waiter’s waiting.” Eric’s droll drawl snagged her attention. “Would you like another?”
“No. Thank you.” Tina shook her head. She felt suddenly tired, drained by the interior havoc created by this too-attractive, too-sexy, too-close man. “It’s been a long day.” Beginning with a short, wild ride, she added to herself. “I’d like to go home.”
“I’ll take you.”
On that silver-and-black monster? Tina stifled the question, and shook her head again. “No, you won’t,” she said with tight asperity. “I came with Ted, I’ll go home with him.”
“Yes, but when?” Eric sent a pointed glance at Ted, then back to her.
Leaning forward, she gazed down the length of the tables to where Ted was engaged in a heated political discussion with Helen, Mike and Louise. At that moment, the waiter set a full mug of beer in front of him. Obviously Ted hadn’t given a thought to leaving yet; it was still early, after all.
“Whenever.” Tina lifted her shoulders in what she hoped conveyed an attitude of indifference she was far from feeling. “I think I will have another seltzer, after all.”
* * *
Cool. Christina Kranas was one cool cookie.
Interesting, Eric mused, how the so-very-cool cookie called Tina could activate his personal heat button. Concealing a sardonic smile, he turned away and raised a hand to attract the waiter’s attention.
After placing her drink order—seltzer? Eric grimaced—he shifted around to her again, only to find that Tina had turned her back to him to join in on a conversation in progress between Vincent and Bill.
Lazing in the chair, Eric monitored the discussion on the pros and cons of the current professional football season, and various teams, primarily the Philadelphia Eagles, while at the same time doing some professional work of his own, that of evaluating the members of Tina’s close-knit group.
They appeared ordinary enough—all-American, clean-cut, ages running from the mid-to late twenties, upper-middle to middle class, well educated, motivated, career minded. Everyday, normal, innocent.
Maybe.
Then again, maybe not. Eric hadn’t remained alive by relying on guesswork. He wasn’t about to begin now. Although he regretted having to do so, he would have to go back to the well of information at the fingertips of one special agent for the FBI, his brother, Cameron Wolfe—referred to by his fellow agents as the Lone Wolfe.
Eric was prepared to endure the ribbing Cameron would most assuredly give him about a member of the force having to once again come begging for assistance from a federal agent. His brother’s teasing was nothing new, and it was a price Eric was more than willing to pay.
Raising his arm, Eric took a small swig from the long-necked bottle, swishing the beer around inside his mouth before letting the brew trickle down his throat. The bottle was his second for the night...his second and his last.
Eric knew better than to overindulge at any time. A soused undercover cop had even less value than a soused anyone else, and was potentially a lot more dangerous...to himself, to the force and to bystanders, innocent or otherwise.
“Aren’t you about ready for another beer, Eric?” Bill asked, almost as if he had tapped into the other man’s thought process. “You’ve been nursing that one since right after you sat down. Hell, the rest of us are on our fourth.”
No kidding? Eric mentally responded, lips curling into a rueful smile. “Two’s my limit,” he said truthfully. “I can’t tolerate more than that, it goes to my head,” he explained, lying without compunction.
“Bummer.” The unsolicited opinion came from Vincent. “I can knock ‘em back all night without getting woozy.”
“Yeah, you just can’t drive,” Bill retorted.
Vincent shrugged. “I don’t have to.” He favored Tina with a sweet smile. “We have a nondrinker in the group.”
Eric had known from the investigative report his brother had provided for him that Tina rarely indulged in any kind of alcoholic drinks, the exception being the occasional celebratory half glass of champagne at holidays, weddings and such. He hadn’t known that she was the designated driver for the less prudent members of her circle of friends. He again arched a brow at her.
“You’re the official D.C., huh?”
Tina frowned. “D.C.?”
“Drunk chauffeur,” he explained, grinning to ease the sting from the expression.
“Hey, I resent that,” Vincent protested, loud enough to be heard over Bill’s eruption of laughter.
“Sorry, no offense meant.” Though Eric offered the apology to Vincent, he kept his gaze steady on Tina.
“I don’t mind.” She was quick to the defense. “It doesn’t happen too often...and they are my friends. And I prefer having them alive.”
“Thatta girl, Tina,” Vincent crowed, raising his frothy mug in salute to her, while leveling a smug look at Eric. “She doesn’t want to see this handsome face and body all torn and mangled in a wreck of metal.”
“Oh, brother.” Bill rolled his eyes.
“No, it’s true,” Tina said, her smile soft, maternal. “I don’t want to ever see any of my friends or anybody else for that matter torn and mangled.”
Eric felt an odd little catch at the base of his throat at the softness of her smile, the caring sound of her voice. It was not the sound or look one would expect