Too Hot to Handle (Romancing the Clarksons #1)(12)
“Mmm.” He wouldn’t tell her he’d been twenty-one—and half in the bag—when he’d named the place. Yes, the trust fund bequeathed by his grandfather on Jasper’s twenty-first birthday had been used to buy a sawdust-floored, neon-signed dive. Not for college, as the old man had intended. And thus began his decade of debauchery from which he’d surfaced two years ago only to realize that no one in his life took him seriously. He was everyone’s good time. Not reliable or permanent to a single soul. So he’d set about changing it, starting with his livelihood. “That’s the name of the bar. I’m opening a separate eatery in four days’ time ’round back, though.”
Rita did a double take. “You’re the owner.”
“Guilty.” He blew out a breath that lifted the hair from her face. “Really, really guilty.”
“I can see that,” she murmured dryly, scrutinizing him. “Why don’t you want to bring me there?”
Jasper saw his chances with Rita fading before his very eyes. “What did you do for a living back in San Diego?”
A small hesitation. “I worked in a restaurant.”
“A restaurant.” On cue, his stomach growled, making her eyes sparkle and Jasper almost lose his train of thought. “Okay, Rita. Would you take me on a first date to the place you worked? Let me pal around with the waiters and line cooks?”
Her eyes quit smiling. “Hell no.”
“Why?”
She rolled a shoulder. “Because they’ve seen me at my worst.”
“Bingo. Same goes for me and the bar.” That revelation might have been too telling, because her demeanor turned polite, as though she might be considering that final brush-off. Jasper couldn’t allow that. Not when he’d finally come across someone who seemed willing to—meet him. Talk to him without a pillow beneath their heads.
Just a little flirtation to ensure I see her again. Just enough to make sure he could pick up where he left off—with a clean slate. Hoping it was the right decision, Jasper slipped an arm around Rita’s waist and tugged her up against him, barely stifling a groan. Lord. She might be buried under dark, shapeless clothes, but didn’t she just curve in all the right places? Her gaze was glued on his throat, so he dipped down until they were nose to nose, saw the rush of thought going on behind her eyes. It was pretty damn breathtaking up close. “Mind cluing me in as to what’s going on in there?”
“If—if—we need to stay overnight—”
“You will.”
“—then I might see you at the bar.” She wedged a hand between them and separated their bodies. “I’d rather see someone’s worst than their best. Saves time.”
Jasper heard the tow truck pulling into the garage parking lot and cursed. Not even remotely confident that his first attempt at polite conversation with an available woman had been successful, Jasper walked her backward until they were hidden behind a rusted pay phone. She’d broken away from his touch, so he was careful to respect that. He dropped his mouth to an inch above hers and said, low, “I didn’t get near enough time with you, Rita. If you don’t show up tonight, don’t be surprised if I come looking.” He laid his palms against the warm building, above her head, watched her gaze dip to his stomach. His lap. “And if I have to come looking, I’ll be twice as determined to get that kiss.”
Her head came up. “W-what kiss?”
Jasper lowered his mouth until their lips brushed. He listened to her breath accelerate, watched her wet her lips. “The one I want to give you right now.” He allowed himself to linger another few seconds, then, with the effort of ten oxen, Jasper stepped back. “Tonight, beautiful.”
On his way to his bike, Jasper tipped his hat at Rita’s gaping siblings.
Chapter Six
Ignoring her siblings and their huge personalities wasn’t easy, but Rita had been practicing for quite a while, so she’d grown adept at one-word answers and avoidance. It hadn’t occurred to her until recently that her methods had seeped into other aspects of her life, but that was neither here nor there. There being New York and here being New Mexico, where they were—as Jasper had foretold—holed up for the night in the Hurley Arms, a motel tucked into the center of town. They’d been assured by Stan, the mechanic, that the necessary part would be delivered by tomorrow, so the complaining had been minimal, at least for them.
Belmont and Aaron had taken one room, she and Peggy another. So when both brothers followed her and Peggy into their dim, stale-aired space, Rita turned around with a dark look, prepared for the worst. Apparently she hadn’t escaped the inquisition that had started at the garage.
“Let me see if I have this straight.” Aaron—of course—began the interrogation, big shit-eater grin on his face. “You won’t fly on an airplane, but you’ll basically dive onto the back of a stranger’s motorcycle.”
Rita threw her duffel bag onto the closest bed. “I’m not talking about this.”
“You know, I kind of picked up on that on the death march over.” Aaron carefully unbuttoned the sleeves of his dress shirt, rolling them to his elbows. “Thankfully, I can talk enough for the both of us. Probably all four parties present, if required.”