IN LOVE WITH HER BOSS Page 5

  And if it were a date, he wouldn't be in such a damn lousy mood because he'd have been able to do all those things … and more. Instead, he was her self-appointed, self-sacrificing watchdog, destined to spend the evening looking, smelling, but not touching. Never touching. Grrr.

  Lucky for him, the other couples at their round, ten-person table were in much better moods than he. Melissa instantly caught Josh's unspoken signal and insisted Lori sit on her right. Josh tipped the chair beside Lori's against the tabletop to indicate it was taken, then headed to the bar. He took a big swallow of his whiskey on his way back and set Lori's chardonnay in front of her before dropping into his seat.

  She looked away from Melissa and smiled at him. "Thanks, Josh. The next round is on me."

  He waved her thanks away, but his mood lightened at the sparkle in her sapphire eyes. She turned back to her conversation with Melissa and Josh half-closed his lids, savoring his drink and the animated chatter of the two women.

  He could do this, he thought. He could ignore the persistent tug of his hormones, the ones that kept clamoring for him to get closer to her, to touch her, to treat her like a real date. The nice-guy thing came naturally to him – probably because he'd grown up with three older sisters who were never shy about sharing with him the kind of stupid things men could do.

  So he was going to be the nice guy. The smart guy who didn't push for something Lori didn't want.

  The evening progressed smoothly enough. The five-course dinner was excellent, despite Melissa's adamant assertion that the Hip Hop served better roast beef and roast potatoes, not to mention chocolate mousse. Of course another of their tablemates, Darcy Montague, waitress at the Hip Hop and now fiancée of Whitehorn detective Mark Kincaid, loyally agreed.

  The Norths, Darcy and Mark, and the other friends at the table listened avidly, however, when Lori mentioned the traditional Southern dishes she'd grown up with. Despite the fact that everyone said they were stuffed, to the last person they all sighed over her description of a bourbon-laced bread pudding.

  Then the plates were cleared away and the dancing started. A swing band struck up a Glenn Miller favorite, and within seconds their table was deserted as couples streamed toward the dance floor.

  Dancing. Josh hadn't thought about that.

  Lori turned toward him, her smile bright, her cheeks flushed. "Thank you again for inviting me," she said. "Your friends are so welcoming." With the table's candlelight gleaming off her half-bared shoulders, her pale skin held the lustre of pearls.

  If this were a date, he would have gone poker-hard with lust.

  But it was a rescue, so he shifted on his chair and tried to appear relaxed. He would have given his best backhoe to take her in his arms on the dance floor, but he knew wary Lori wouldn't welcome the offer. If her heart pounded against his, it would be in the jerky rhythm of a spooked jackrabbit, not the speeding beat of an aroused woman.

  But she didn't know he knew that. Her gaze darted toward the dancers, then back at him, and he could see the wheels starting to turn in her mind. She scooted a little away, her worry written all over her face.

  He leaned forward as if to share a secret. "I hope you don't mind if I don't ask you to dance."

  "Oh…well…"

  "I'm a lousy dancer," he went on. "It's the big feet, you know. I avoid the activity whenever possible."

  The tension slid right out of her. Her smile looked relieved. "I don't mind at all. We'll just sit here and talk. How's that?"

  "Perfect." He tossed back the dregs of his whiskey. "Tell me some more about the South."

  She did. As the occupants of their table came and went, sometimes dancing and sometimes resting, Lori focused her attention on Josh. In words spoken in that smooth Southern accent of hers, she drew pictures of the place where she'd grown up, pictures of a childhood eating something called Frogmore stew under Spanish-moss-draped oaks, with friends who took their cast nets out on weekends to go crabbing in the nearby estuary-fed creeks.

  Fascinated by these glimpses of a different world, fascinated by the way her lush mouth moved and the way her eyes laughed when he did, Josh forgot where he was.

  He forgot that he was supposed to be rescuing Lori, not reacting like a normal, red-blooded man to her beauty.

  Until Wyatt dropped into his chair and pleaded with Melissa for mercy. "Honey, it's not long until midnight. You need to give me a breather if I'm going to lay on you the best New Year's kiss of your life."

  Hell, Josh thought. Midnight. Kisses. He'd planned that he and Lori would be well on their way home before midnight to avoid all that.

  Because midnight in Whitehorn meant kisses all around. Men kissing Lori.

  Josh kissing Lori.

  He swallowed. "Maybe we should head home," he said to her.

  Her eyes widened with surprise. Perhaps even hurt. "Oh. Sure."

  He wanted to kick himself. She didn't understand his sudden urge to leave the celebration. She didn't realize he was saving her.

  "You can't go now!" Melissa protested, fanning herself with one slender hand. A waiter came by and dropped an armful of noisemakers and party hats on their table. She plucked one out of the bunch. "Stay, Josh, and we'll let you wear the king's crown."

  "Thanks, but—"

  "I'll take it. Hey there, folks." Wily Rick Weber appeared out of nowhere to grab the cardboard-and-glitter party hat from Melissa and nod at all of them in greeting. "I'll take your … date home too, Josh, if she wants to stay."

  Josh studied Rick with distaste as the other man plopped the purloined crown on his arrogant head. Damn it. The only thing royal about Rick was that he was one royal pain in the ass. Obviously he'd been hanging around, just waiting for his moment to horn in, and Josh had been so focused on Lori that he'd missed the other man's presence altogether.

  "She goes home with who she came with, Weber," Josh said coolly.

  With a shrug, Rick pulled out the empty chair beside Josh.

  "And that seat's taken," he added.

  Rick's eyebrows rose. "Not at the moment," he answered. Then he smiled at Lori, as if Josh wasn't there. "Happy New Year, Lori. You look incredible."

  "Thank you."

  She handled the flattery so calmly that Josh couldn't believe he'd thought he was being considerate by not complimenting her himself.

  "Are you having a good time?" Rick asked her.

  "Yes." Her smile was so pretty, so genuine, that he couldn't blame Rick for angling his chair even closer. She glanced at Josh, a teasing light in her eyes. "Josh is a first-rate escort, even if he doesn't dance."

  Rick immediately straightened. "Dance? Did you want to da—"

  "Dance?" Melissa broke in, putting the brakes on the request about to come out of Rick's mouth.

  Josh wanted to kiss her.

  Until she continued talking. "You must have misunderstood, Lori. Josh loves to dance. He's one of the few men I know who truly does."

  Lori's smile died and her expression turned doubtful. "Oh, but—"

  "He's getting old, though," Rick interjected smoothly. "Now me, I must be a good four or five years younger than ol' Josh and I'd be happy to show you what youth can do on the dance floor."

  'Ol' Josh' set his back teeth. Rick had graduated from high school a year ahead of him. "Weber," he started, a warning in his voice.

  "You wouldn't want Lori to play the wallflower just because you're one, would you, pal?" Rick asked.

  Backed into a corner, Josh wondered if it was possible to commit murder with a coffee spoon. What the hell was he supposed to do? Look like a caveman, like a caveman with possessive rights, and say he didn't want Lori to dance? She wouldn't thank him for that.

  Rick stood up, smiling and holding out his hand to her. "They're playing our song," he said.

  She stilled, her gaze darting toward Wyatt and Melissa. Josh could see those wheels turning in her head again. She was just beginning to make some friends in Whitehorn and she didn't want to offend or appear
stuck-up by turning down what looked like a perfectly innocent offer. Slowly, she rose to her feet, the only sign of her discomfort in the deep-blue depths of her eyes.

  Josh rose too, unsure what to do.

  "Oh!"

  Their heads all swung toward Melissa.

  "What's the matter, honey?" Wyatt said.

  "I … um…" A strange expression crossed Melissa's face. "I need … I need Lori in the powder room."

  Lori blinked. "Are you all right?"

  Melissa stood and grabbed Lori's arm, then pulled her away from the table. "I will be." She looked over at the astonished men. "It's a … it's a female problem," she said, then rushed the two of them off.

  The three men left alone at the table didn't meet each other's eyes. "I think I'll, um, just be getting back to my own seat," Rick said, obviously suffering from the same inadequacy Josh was feeling at the mention of a problem exclusively "female."

  As the other man departed, Josh settled back in his chair. Then he cleared his throat. "I hope everything's okay," he ventured.

  Wyatt's mouth twitched. "I'm certain of it," he said. "In case you didn't notice, Melissa's womanly antennae were quivering from the moment Rick arrived."

  "Huh?"

  Wyatt chuckled. "I think the "female problem" that suddenly came over Melissa was the need to get Lori off the hook of dancing with Rick."

  Josh laughed. "Damn. Remind me never to malign female intuition again. And may I tell you I'm in love with your wife?"

  Wyatt grinned. "Get in line, buddy. Get in line."

  Josh grinned back, even as he realized that though Lori had been saved from dancing, they still had another bridge to cross. There was still midnight to come. There was still that kissing to avoid. He sighed.

  By the time the two women came back, wearing identical, innocent expressions, the rest of the people at their table had returned. Everyone was wearing a hat and clutching a noisemaker. Lori and Melissa donned matching silver headbands that were fair renditions of the Statue of Liberty" s headgear.

  Handing them each a plastic horn, Josh was suddenly struck by their similarity. Both on the tall side, slender, with dark hair and blue eyes, there was something about the set of Melissa's features that was echoed on Lori's face. "You know, you two…" he started.

  "Ten! Nine! Eight!" His comment was drowned out by the bandleader at the mike. The room took up the chant.

  As Josh watched, Lori's face lit up and she joined in. He sidled closer to her, not touching, but close. When the smooching began, he'd hustle her toward the door. With any luck, she'd be so glad he wasn't getting her in a liplock that she wouldn't mind not saying goodbye to their group.

  "Happy New Year!"

  The resulting cacophony was deafening. Horns blared, toy drums were thumped, wind-up noisemakers squealed. Lori dropped her blower to hold her hand over her ears. She met Josh's gaze, her wide smile tipping up the corners of her eyes. Her mouth moved.

  "What?" he yelled, leaning forward.

  "I said," he could barely hear her, though she leaned toward him too. "Thank you. This is so much—" the noise around them suddenly died. "—fun."

  They both froze. Lori's eyes widened as she took in the kissing couples all around them.

  A deer caught by headlights would appear less startled.

  "Lori," Josh said softly.

  Her gaze jumped to his.

  "It's all right," he said. "I won't. But another man might. So maybe we should—"

  "Too late," she whispered, glancing over his shoulder. "Here comes Rick."

  "Oh, Lori."

  She half smiled. "Oh, Josh."

  He only knew of one way to save her – he was here to rescue her after all. Still, he stalled. "Someone hurt you, didn't they?"

  She hesitated, then nodded.

  He closed his eyes for a moment, opened them. "I'm sorry. So damn sorry. But the truth is, though I don't want to scare you, I definitely want to kiss you."

  Her gaze flicked back over Josh's shoulder, then back to his face. She licked her tempting, tantalizing lower lip. "You don't have—"

  "Shut up," he said, moving close enough to enjoy her soft, evocative scent. No more nice guy, not with Wily breathing down his neck. Not with Lori, beautiful, creamy-skinned Lori in front of him. Josh leaned over her, ignoring her flinch.

  "I won't touch you," he said gently, shoving his hands in his pockets to prove it. "Not anywhere but—" his mouth settled lightly against hers "—here."

  Peach brandy. Lori tasted just like peach brandy.

  A relative had sent his folks a bottle one Christmas. It had sat in the cupboard above the oven, dusty and forgotten, until Josh was seventeen. Then, one night, with typical teenage idiocy, he'd unearthed it when his parents were out of town and a couple of buddies were over.

  The initial sip had seemed harmless enough. Sweet, like a long, hot summer captured, then its essence extracted and candied. But even that first swallow had lingered on the tongue, heated up the belly, dizzied the mind.

  So Josh wasn't thinking clearly when he ran his tongue across Lori's full bottom lip. Her mouth softened and he tickled her bottom lip again, pushing on its puffy center to encourage her mouth to open. She sucked in a sharp breath and he followed it with his tongue.

  More heat, more sweetness. The taste of Lori's mouth rushed into him, into his blood. His hands fisting in his pockets, he angled his head for a better fit. Her mouth opened wider and that signal of willingness instantly hardened him. He edged closer, the tips of his shoes bumping against the tips of hers.

  He thought they should breathe, but he couldn't make himself lift away from the delicious taste of her mouth. His tongue slid against the slick warmth of hers, his heartbeat banging like drums in his ears.

  But over that, he heard her moan.

  He stilled. The sound was soft, an entreaty, and a great flood of satisfaction ran through him. For a moment he'd forgotten her fears. And maybe she had, too.

  The idea gentled him. He softened his mouth, made his tongue retreat from the seductive sweetness of hers. He separated their lips in a last, slow caress. Then he kissed one corner of her mouth. Then he kissed the other.

  Then, letting out a long sigh, he lifted his head and stepped back.

  Her eyes were closed, her head still tilted toward his. Slowly, her lashes rose. They stared at each other.

  Lori put the back of her hand to her lips. She held it there, and he didn't know if she was trying to erase the feel of his mouth or press it more firmly to hers.

  His heartbeat was slowing, his sense was returning, he remembered the piercing pain of the hangover that peach brandy could bring. Nothing so sweet, so potent, came without a price.

  "Are you okay?" he asked.

  Her hand dropped. Her mouth was rosy, darkened by his kiss. "I'm…" She shrugged.

  A chill ran down Josh's spine. Maybe he'd misinterpreted her response. Her willingness. Hell, hadn't he had trouble reading her from the very beginning?

  He swallowed. "Damn it, did I get it wrong? I thought you enjoyed it."

  "I did."

  At those two words, he stepped forward.

  She instantly, instinctively, stepped back. Josh froze. Of course one enjoyable kiss hadn't healed her. He rocked back on his heels, giving her more space without actually retreating, then scrubbed one hand over his face. "I think we might have a little problem."

  She gave a nod, and he gave her credit for facing up to it. "We shouldn't have kissed," she said.

  "I wouldn't go that far." Josh tried grinning, but he wasn't sure how successful he was. "The real problem is, I'm going to want to kiss you again."

  Her eyes widened and she swallowed. "Josh—"

  "So what are we going to do about it, Lori?" She put her hand to her hair, encountered her Statue-of-Liberty crown, pulled it off her head. Her eyelashes swept down as she gazed at the hat. A wavy piece of her dark hair fell across her cheek. "I don't know, Josh. I honestly don't know."


  * * *

  Chapter 5

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  New Year, schmoo year, Lori thought. Instead of making a list of resolutions, she was going to make a batch of cookies. Chocolate chip. Ooey, gooey, can't-think-of-anything-but-how-good-they-taste chocolate chip cookies.

  It didn't matter that it was only nine o'clock in the morning, New Year's Day. A bowl of oatmeal or a bagel and cream cheese wasn't going to cut it. Not this morning. Not when she had to get her mind off Josh and the fact that they'd shared a kiss.

  A heart-stopping, nerve-hurdling kiss. A kiss she could have sworn would scare her. And it did. Oh, God, it did.

  Over the pass-through in her small kitchen, Lori could see the TV in her living room. As she gathered the cookie ingredients, she caught glimpses of the floats of the Rose Bowl parade sailing by. The commentators spoke non-stop, their voices full of studied, if not quite sincere, enthusiasm.

  Lori had expected to react to the New Year's Eve party the night before with that same kind of gaiety – the kind one had to work at.

  But she would have forgiven herself for it, because merely accepting Josh's offer to attend the celebration had been a big step all by itself. She was so accustomed to hiding – first, the kind of marriage she'd had, and later, from her ex-husband – that she usually said an automatic no to invitations and regretted it afterwards.

  But Josh had breached Lori's walls by mentioning Melissa. Lori's reason for coming to Whitehorn had been to establish a relationship with her half sister, but she was wary of going to the other woman with the truth straight away. She badly, badly didn't want to be rejected by Melissa. Not when she needed the strength of family connections so much.

  Damn David. Lori fostered the fiery spurt of anger against her ex-husband. Thumbing on the hand mixer, she vigorously beat the butter, eggs, vanilla and sugars together, watching them blend with a fierceness the innocuous ingredients didn't deserve.

  Her anger leaped higher. She hadn't deserved to be hit by David. She hadn't deserved to be made afraid.

  But she wasn't going to let him ruin her life forever. To ruin her.