Teach Me To Ride Page 9

  Her suitcase could wait. An ice-cold glass of chenin blanc would start her new life off just right. Pushing aside the notion that it wasn’t right for a girl to walk into a bar on her own—a sad rule from her mother’s old-fashioned ideals—Michelle embraced her new “kick-ass” persona. This girl did whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted.

  Swallowing hard, she hesitated for an imperceptible moment at the periphery of the bar entrance before stepping from the tiled corridor to the bar’s wooden flooring. Without making eye contact with a single patron, whose gazes she felt boring into her temple, breasts and denim-clad ass, she headed straight to the bar.

  With the bravado of a woman used to frequenting such places alone, a welcome and heated cloak of sexy confidence settled like a new friend around her shoulders. She slid onto one of the stools and leaned back…then realized there was no back.

  “Oh, God.” She tilted backward and reached out toward the bar. Too late. She was going to land right on her ass.

  A clammy hand caught her elbow before she could fall. “Hey, pretty lady, don’t worry I’ve got you.”

  Michelle gripped the bicep of the tattooed arm that grabbed her. She inhaled the guy’s scotch and cigar-tainted breath as it blasted her face, making her want to gag. Her stomach dropped to her shoes as she looked up into his bloodshot, leering eyes.

  She forced a smile. “Thanks.”

  “Hey, thanks buddy. But I got this.”

  Michelle’s heart stopped as a very different hand slapped onto the bar, the arm tanned and strong and very male. His other hand brushed and stilled against her butt as he steadied the stool that wobbled precariously beneath her.

  “Are you okay, sweetheart? I turn my back for a second and you get yourself in a load of unwanted trouble.” His voice was deep, husky, and dark. “You trying to dance with that stool?”

  Michelle’s cheeks burst into flame even as icy-cold perspiration broke out on her upper lip. She felt like a side of beef at a meat market. Could she have looked any more stupid? Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to ignore the image of her mother’s disproving face that filled her mind.

  She should be grateful. There was absolutely nothing to be ashamed of. She opened her eyes and faced the second man.

  Her stomach tightened. Could anyone possibly look that good?

  Michelle stared as words lodged painfully in her throat and her heart picked up speed. He winked, his dark, midnight blue eyes flashing a silent “trust me.” He turned to Scotch Breath. “Thanks for saving my wife from landing on the floor, buddy. You want a drink?”

  Michelle looked from one man to the other, her eyes widening with each passing second. What was he saying? His wife? Scotch Breath shot her “husband” a killing look, grunted, and moved away. Michelle watched him go, all too aware that her hero had yet to move his hand from her ass. Her heart pumped and her mind whirled. It felt strange to be caught in such a masculine cage—strange and not entirely unwelcome. Guilt threatened to invade this new experience like liquid poison, seeping into her conscience and spoiling the first minutes of her new life.

  No. She wouldn’t allow it. She wasn’t hurt and she hadn’t hurt anyone. In fact, judging by her racing heart and knotted stomach, this was kind of fun.

  She met her hero’s eyes. “Thank you.”

  He leaned forward and despite knowing what he was going to do and knowing it was entirely unnecessary, she closed her eyes and let him do it anyway. Soft musk, mixed with pine and fresh air obliterated the lingering smell of Scotch Breath and infused her with sexual yearning. His lips were possessive and masculine against hers, his tongue insistent and downright demanding.

  Answering his silent demand, Michelle kissed him back and matched his tongue thrust for thrust, tangling and catching, releasing and claiming. Excitement and disbelief thundered through her veins.

  Somewhere in the back of her mind, she was aware of her knees opening and him stepping between them. Her heart hitched and her body trembled. What the hell was she doing? His hand left the bar as he shifted closer. Knowing this was the first new step of many, Michelle reached up and gripped biceps as hard as iron. Her pussy heated and her nipples tightened.

  He moaned into her mouth, sending her arousal to fevered pitch. After far too short a time, he pulled away and she resisted the urge to grab the back of his neck and yank his mouth back to hers. She wanted more. Her eyes snapped open and she lifted her fingers to her swollen mouth. Her savior looked equally as shocked.

  “Hi, honey,” she said, her voice as natural as a woman who’d taken a puff of helium. She inwardly groaned as inexperience coiled inside her. She’d had sex but never with this heat. This heat was insanely hot.

  “Hi, yourself.” He smiled. “Do you want a drink?”

  Michelle glanced over his shoulder. Gazes came at them from every direction. She saw one guy slip his hand over the thigh of his girlfriend; two women in the corner smiled appreciatively and raised their glasses to her in a toast.

  Satisfaction and pride rose warm in Michelle’s stomach and she grinned at her “husband.” “Um…sure. Why not?”

  She swiveled around to the bar and tried to focus. His eyes were the color of a crisp winter sky with bursts of sunrays at the outer corners and shrouded with ebony black lashes. She pushed her hair back from her face, hoping he attributed the tremble in her hand to the fact that she’d nearly landed on her ass rather than the toe-curling kiss they’d just shared.

  “Well, that was all kinds of embarrassing. Thanks for saving me.”

  “You’re welcome. Nothing to be embarrassed about.” His gaze wandered languidly over her face, glancing to the vee of her T-shirt and back again.

  Michelle’s clit twitched as their eyes locked, her stomach executing a particularly fine flip on a wave of raw animal attraction. Clearing her throat, she looked at her hands where they gripped the bar.

  He smiled. “But I do think I made the twenty guys watching you jealous.”

  Michelle felt herself blush under the compliment. “Thanks.”

  He grinned. “What are you drinking?”

  She met those phenomenal eyes again. “White wine. Dry.”

  “Coming right up.” His gaze wandered over her face and hair again before lingering for a moment on her lips. He blinked and turned abruptly to the bartender.

  Michelle followed his gaze and her over-wrought libido descended into oblivion at the sight of the overweight, gut-protruding, glaring man positioned behind the bar. Not the best greeting to a new land by anyone’s standards.

  “A dry white wine and a beer, please,” her blue-eyed stranger said. The bartender grunted and turned his back to get their drinks. Her “husband” faced her once more. “So, are you coming or going?”

  “Coming.”

  “Thank God.”

  Satisfaction seeped into her blood. Obviously, their kiss had rattled him as much as it had her. Pulling back her shoulders, she smiled. “Excuse me?”

  He looked down at the floor at her carry-on bag and back again. “Um, nothing. Wow, you travel light.”

  He was avoiding looking at her. Michelle’s smile stretched to a grin. She could flirt like the rest of them. Who said a lady had to be sitting in a posh restaurant or dressed to the nines to impress a man? Look at her now. Look at him. He was one damn fine looking man and a seemingly nice one. Even if it was unlikely that he’d share more than a few more minutes of her life, it felt good. Real good.

  She shrugged. “I’ve got a case to pick up at baggage claim but thought I would grab a drink to celebrate the start of my new life first.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “New life?”

  She blew out a breath. “As you can probably tell from my accent, I’m from the UK.” She paused. “Wiltshire. Salisbury to be exact.”

  “Yeah? I’m from Wiltshire, too.”

  Her stomach tightened. Oh, lord, what were the chances? She wouldn’t tell him her surname. He didn’t need to know. “Wow. Whereabouts?”

/>   “Lacock.”

  She smiled, risking a saucy glance toward his crotch. “Figures.”

  He tipped his head back and laughed, the sound richer than a glass of cabernet sauvignon on a cold winter’s night. Deep, rich, and entirely delicious. Their drinks were placed on the bar in front of them, and he paid the bartender as Michelle took a sip of her wine. The golden liquid slid icy-cold and welcome down her throat.

  “So what about you?” She returned the glass to the bar. “Coming or going?”

  “I live here, actually. I had to put a client on a flight back to the UK. It was a stressful case and, when I saw the bar…” He took a drink. “I needed a beer.”

  Michelle stared. Oh, my God. Put someone on the plane? The way he said it sounded as though that person needed to be gone. As though they were dangerous. Had she just kissed a police officer?

  “You did say client right? You’re not a policeman?” Could she make any more of an idiot of herself? Policeman or not, he’d kissed her first, right? Right.

  He grinned, shaking his head. “No, but there are days when I feel like one. I’m a lawyer. Mainly pro bono.”

  Michelle’s shoulders relaxed a bit. “Phew.”

  He laughed, took slug of his beer. “I’m not going to handcuff you…unless you think I should?”

  She smiled. “Funny.”

  He turned to stare languidly around the bar. Michelle watched his profile from beneath lowered lashes. Handsome, sexy, and clearly a guy with integrity. She could’ve counted on one hand how many pro bono lawyers she knew back home. All the lawyers in her circle sought the biggest and best paying clients and circumstances. Correction, all the lawyers in her former circle. Her mother wasn’t the only person she was pressing the delete button on. It was a time for change. Stuck up social gatherings and friends were equally as high on her “no longer wanted” list.

  Why did she have to bump into someone like him now? He was exactly the kind of man her mother wanted for a son in law—well, minus the pro bono part. Handsome, charismatic, respected vocation. Which meant Michelle, in turn, would be forced to avoid him like the plague.

  She took another sip of wine. “Can I ask what happened with your client? Has he or she gone back to the UK for good?”

  “Yep.” He blew out a breath. “At least I hope so. With any luck, she’ll see sense and won’t be back.”

  She smiled. “And here I was thinking you were a nice guy.”

  “I am. I just put her boyfriend behind bars for business fraud. She needs to stay away and forget him.” His handsome brow creased. “Too often they come back, thinking their sexy Greek boyfriend or husband has changed. In my expert opinion, they don’t.”

  The atmosphere chilled and Michelle took another drink, unsure what to say or do, as he stared down at his beer bottle. The bar seemed to freeze into silence, eerily devoid of chatter, chair scraping, and glass clinking.

  “So tell me about you.” He looked into her eyes. “What does this new life entail? Do you have a job?”

  She heard the forced joviality in his voice and fought the sudden urge to stand up, nudge his legs open, and ease between them just to make him feel better. He looked handsome and strong but the vulnerability, the helplessness in his voice touched a spot in her she couldn’t ignore. He needed comfort. She sensed it as if she’d known him forever.

  Touching her itching fingers to the stem of her glass, Michelle resisted the urge to tell him that he was doing the best he could and he should take a moment to chill out—or heat up. With her. On her. Over her.

  Clearing her throat, she lifted her glass and drank. “Um, no. No job, no apartment, and a limited amount of cash. But before you think I’m totally out of my mind, my decision to come here wasn’t rash.”

  “No?”

  She shook her head. “It’s been a dream of mine for a long time but my mother gave me the final nudge to do it.”

  He smiled. “You don’t strike me as the type of person who needs her mother’s nudging.”

  She met his eyes, saw the teasing in those baby-blues, and felt her center pulse. “And what type of person do I strike you as, Mr. Lawyer Man?”

  For a long moment, he said nothing, his eyes darkening to such a feral shade of lust that Michelle’s heart hammered in her chest. His smile was slow and so damn sexy.

  “You strike me as the type of person who does what she wants, when she wants, and with whom she wants.”

  She stared wide-eyed at the success of her masquerade. “Do I?”

  “Uh-huh. Am I wrong?”

  Michelle heard the invitation in his voice, the innuendo, the suggestion scorching the air between them like a simmering fire. One more spark and the whole thing would burst into flame.

  She blew out a breath, knowing damn well she’d never maintain the pretense with him looking at her the way he was right then. “I wasn’t that person until now.”

  “What changed?”

  “My mother’s infidelity.” She lifted her hair off the back of her neck. “She’s been cheating on my father for a while, it turns out.”

  “Ah.” His gaze lingered at her bared neck.

  She raised her eyebrows. “From the sound of that ‘ah’, you’ve experienced it, too. Infidelity, I mean.”

  He moved his gaze from her neck to the bar, taking another slug on his bottle. “It hasn’t happened to me, but I’ve seen enough casualties of it to imagine what it’s like to be on the receiving end.”

  She looked into her glass. “Want to tell me about it?”

  “Maybe. But not right now.”

  Not right now? Her stomach tightened and panic rushed through her blood. “You say that as though you expect us to see each other again.”

  He met her eyes. “Don’t you?”

  “I…” She did. She completely did. “Yes.”

  He smiled and the silence stretched. Never before had she been so aware of another human being. Every inch of her skin screamed for his touch. The skin at his neck shifted and he finally broke eye contact to look at the bar. Clearly he was struggling with the intensity humming between them as much as she was.

  The question was, did either of them have the guts to act on it?

  “What sort of job are you looking for?” he asked.

  “Restaurant work. I’m a chef.”

  “Seriously?”

  She laughed. “Yes. Does that surprise you?”

  He shook his head. “Someone who looks like you should not be spending their time in a kitchen.”

  “Someone who looks like me?” she teased, loving the easy way he threw her compliments. Back home, things were just not done this way.

  His eyes zoomed in and locked on hers. “Blonde, beautiful, and eyes that scream ‘take me to bed.’ It’s not right…but if you’re serious, then I might just be able to fix your job situation.”

  She had no idea whether to respond to his compliments or just move on as he had. No one had spoken so blatantly to her in her entire twenty-six years. She didn’t know if he was simply forward or just self-assured and honest. Either way, she could definitely get used to it.

  She cleared her throat. “What do you mean?”

  He drained his beer. “I mean my sister has a restaurant in town, and she’s looking for a new chef. A chef she hopes can pretty much run the place when she leaves next month to have my niece.” His smile could’ve lit up a football stadium.

  She laughed, her heart twisting. A family man. “A niece, huh?”

  He pulled his face into a comical “little boy” expression. “Hey, what can I say? I love kids.”

  God, was this guy for real? “It’s great. You’re great. I’m sure you’re going to be a fantastic, if not naughty, uncle.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “Naughty?”

  Michelle’s cheeks burned. “Anyway…your sister’s restaurant. Why would she even consider me for a job? She doesn’t know me. You don’t know me.”

  He held out his hand. “Sam Clarke. Nice to meet you.�
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  She laughed, shook his hand. “Michelle Hutton.” Michelle froze, waiting for the reaction. Would he know the “Huttons of Wiltshire”?

  “Now we know each other.” He stood. “Shall we go and get your luggage?”

  Relief shoved the breath from her lungs as she stared. “You want to go to see your sister now?”

  He lifted his shoulders. “Why not?”

  As tempting as it was to follow him out of the bar—and to bed—Michelle reeled her emotions and gut-instincts into check. “Look, thanks for the offer but I was screwed over in my last job. Being used once was enough. I want to start things the right way here, not end up broke and forced to move back home.”

  “What happened?”

  She finished her drink. “They used me to train another chef they could keep for less money, and then let me go. I didn’t come all the way out here to get burned again.”

  “Fiona wouldn’t do that.”

  She stood and tipped her head back to meet his eyes. At five foot seven, Michelle had never considered herself short but, even in her two-inch heels, he towered above her. “Maybe not, but I can’t take that risk.”

  He stared. “Believe me, I appreciate your concern. I wish my clients shared the same human instinct but I’m being straight with you here. My sister and I came to Zante together because life back home was a pile of crap. We look out for each other and trust each other. She won’t do that to you, especially when I brought you to her.”

  Feeling the too raw pain of her mother’s recent betrayal, Michelle shook her head. “Thanks, but I’ll try my luck on my own.”

  “Look, at least come and see the place. What have you got to lose?”

  Her stomach turned over at the sincerity in his eyes. He was a lawyer, a pro bono lawyer. She should trust him. He seemed like a good man. Yet, with everything going on her life, her defenses rose, warning her…trapping her and preventing her from moving on.

  She shook her head. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

  His crystal-blue gaze moved lower and lingered on her lips in such a way that Michelle’s stomach trembled. She opened her mouth to say something, anything to break the tension, when he looked away and opened his jacket. Reaching inside, he pulled out a small wallet and extracted a business card.