Page 15 of Legacy of Danger
"Aw, you think I'm polite? That's so sweet." Her raised brows over sparkling green eyes threw an upper cut at his libido.
That foreign feeling in his face, like half-dried clay cracking apart? It was a real, honest-to-shit smile. "Most people would have told him off or decked him."
A pause. "Well, I didn't want to mess up the fancy manicure." She waved perfectly normal, buff and trimmed nails, devoid of all polish, in front of him. Great. Now he wanted to know how those fingers would feel trailing over the skin of his chest, his belly, and lower.... "Besides, I hate showing off." She brushed off imaginary dust from her shoulder.
"Wyatt wouldn't want to get his ass kicked by a five-foot-nothing woman," he said. Damned if the corners of his mouth continued to creak upward.
She tucked her hands into the coat pockets and frowned at the floor. "Well, that's a crappy start to the morning. No coffee plus jerk. Nowhere to go but up, right?" A brief grin transformed her pixie face from impish to radiant.
His tongue went dry, and it took him two attempts to form words. "Maybe I could make it up to you?" The second those words left his mouth, he wanted to take them back. On the one hand, hell yes, he wanted to spend some time with Mariah. What guy wouldn't? But on the other hand? Christ, he had only to review his entire body of work in the field of Mistakes With Women to know his request was a bad idea.
A red flush flew up her neck. "What?"
What a great look on her. Blush. He smiled even wider, despite his misgivings. "What if I took you out for coffee and a bagel sometime?"
"Out?"
He had committed. Wouldn't back out now. "You have to eat sometime, right?" Stupid silence filled the space between them.
She blinked and frowned.
That weenie smile of his dropped like a lead balloon.Mission abort. Pull the damn cord.
When the flush reached her cheeks, it made her beautiful emerald eyes glow. "Of course I have to eat. It's just that... it's generally not something I do with company." Then she cringed.
"Maybe it should be something you do more with company," he tried one more time, like a desperate pirate digging one more hole, hoping to find the treasure.
"Well." She chewed her lip. "Sure, I guess that would be okay."
The world started spinning again, and the invisible pirate did a jig. "Sounds good to me," he chuckled.
Sounds good to me?Since when did stick-in-the-mud Vaughn become Mr. Yuck-It-Up? And how un-cool did a guy have to be forsounds good to me?
"Any time in your schedule tomorrow?" he blurted out.Real smooth, man. Not desperate at all.
"Monday? Well, I have rounds in the morning then I'm off for the rest of the day because I was on call this weekend. Maybe a late breakfast?"
Warmth spread out from his chest and flowed into his limbs. Maybe he had a tiny chance to have a normal conversation over a meal with a normal woman and not make a mess of it. This wasn't a life decision. This meet-up could be a way to get back on the proverbial bike but with training wheels. So he wouldn't be hurt again. Simple enough. "Bring your appetite. We'll go to the Hungry Moose. Ten?"
"Sure."
"Good." He stood there like a real, live dope, watching her. For what? Praise? To see if she would spontaneously burst into flames?
God, man, say something. Quit staring. Too much silence.
A frown formed as she toyed with the stethoscope around her neck. "So, um, if you'd like to wait in Shelby's exam room, I'll check on Eric and then her. I can update you then if you like." She clamped her mouth shut, spun on her heel, and hustled down the hall, her white coat providing cruel cover as she disappeared into a work area.
As he dragged his sorry, un-suave ass down the hall to Shelby's room, he craned his neck to get another glimpse of Mariah, but she was deep in discussion with one of the nurses.
Back to business already.
And why not? She had a job to do, which didn't involve mooning over Vaughn.
He stretched his fingers, working his wrists in circles. Kerr had told him that Vaughn's old punching bag in the main barn had burned up in the fire several weeks ago. It had been three days since he last trained, an eternity for a routine-driven guy like himself. His muscles ached to get back to the gym, lift weights, and then pound the hell out of something. He needed to work out to keep those liquor demons at bay. Needed to punish his body to remind him of the pain he caused other people.
MMA training had been the only thing that saved his life, too. Without the discipline of his training, Vaughn would be permanently pickled. Or dead.
His love for MMA wasn't really about the fights. No one outside of the northeast had ever heard of him, and he preferred it that way. No, what he loved about MMA was the regulation of the activity, the way he could become stronger, how he could use the mind-numbing hours of punches and kicks to work through his baggage and come out better both mentally and physically on the other side.
