Baddest Bad Boys(9)

She let out a snort of startled laughter. “That’s so crass.”

“You bet it is. See why it’s not in your best interests?”

“No, I don’t, Jon. That’s literally what I was asking you to do!”

“Pop you and drop you? Are you f*cking nuts?” He stared into her eyes until her gaze dropped. “You know damn well I can’t do that.”

She stared down into her plate. “It just seemed so simple to me,” she muttered rebelliously.

“It’s not simple when sex is mixed into it. Not going to happen.”

“You don’t have to tell me a tenth time,” she snapped. “I heard you the first nine times. You don’t want me. Fine. So just let me leave!”

“Uh-uh, Robin.” His voice was flat and matter of fact. “The question is not ‘do I want to f*ck you.’ Of course I want to f*ck you. Any guy with a pulse would want to f*ck you.”

She blinked into his intense gaze for a startled moment. She jerked her eyes away and gulped her beer, starting to blush hotly. “Um. Really. That, uh, hasn’t really been my experience so far, but thanks.”

“The question is whether I want to deal with the catastrophe that will crash down on me afterwards,” he went on.

She let out a sharp sigh. “Well, then. No wonder I stayed untouched for so long. Men wilt before my catastrophic—”

“No,” he said. “Wilting is definitely not my problem.”

Excitement vibrated inside her. Um, wow. This was clearly the part where she should tease, seduce, or trick him into doing what she wanted. But she was so not a tricky girl. What-you-see-is-what-you-get Robin, that was her. She pushed her empty plate away, and blurted, “Does this mean you’re considering it? Or are you just torturing me?”

“Neither,” he said blandly. “I’m just telling you how it is. Nothing has changed.”

Her heart sank. That was disheartening, but she decided to be cautiously optimistic. After all, Danny hadn’t called back yet. She had til then to cajole Jon into changing his mind.

“Get enough to eat?” He polished off his steak juice with a hunk of bread, eyeing her emptied plate. “You need some more?”

“No, thanks, I’m good,” she said. “You’re a good cook.”

“If I keep it simple. Want to wash the dishes, or build the fire?”

Hah. No-brainer. She grinned at him. “I’ll make the fire.”

He looked hurt. “Hey! What the hell? I cooked!”

“I did the salad,” she pointed out.

“You juggled the salad,” he grumbled. “You mangled the salad. Before risking my life with the knife. That doesn’t count as helping.”

Robin ignored that, and lit another kerosene lamp. She carried it into the living room and got busy at the fireplace. The sound of clanking of pots floated in from the kitchen as she assembled kindling.

By the time Jon came in, she had a nice fire crackling in the grate, and he was drying his hands on the legs of his jeans, looking put upon. She stifled a giggle. Just like her brothers. Men and dishes.

“Jon?” she ventured. “What I said, about going to a club to pick up a guy? I just want you to know…that I wouldn’t. I just said it because I was angry. So there’s no need to get Danny and Mac all riled up. Mac’s short on sleep anyway, what with the twins. So I’ll just—”

“You’re not going anywhere. It’s pitch dark, on a washboard road with hairpin curves, and you’ve got a beer in you. You’re sleeping here.”

She stood, brushing bark dust off her hands. “Don’t muscle me around. I get enough from Mac and Danny. I don’t need it from you.”

“You picked out the wrong guy to throw yourself at, then,” he said curtly. “Sit your ass down. You’re not going anywhere tonight.”

She fell into the couch, twisting handfuls of the mildewed shirt. He sat next to her, bowing the springs into a deep well, hands resting on his thighs. His profile was so stark. Carved cheekbones, that grim, sexy mouth. God, she loved that bump on his nose. Always had.

“There’s something I want to know,” he said slowly.

“If it’s sexual in nature, I don’t want to tell you,” she said swiftly.

He slanted her a glance. “You’re the one who set the tone for the evening when you invited me to pop your cherry,” he observed.

“Don’t remind me. It’s indelicate,” she said tartly. “Besides, you turned me down flat. So you have no right to keep harping on it.”

“Exactly how much of a virgin are you?” he asked baldly.

She squinted at him, uncomprehending. “Huh? You mean, there are degrees? It’s not quantitative, Jon. You are or you aren’t.”

“There are always degrees,” he said. “How about oral? Done it?”

She pulled her knees to her chest, muscles clenching around the rush of startled arousal that the question had provoked. “Nope.”

“You mean, you’ve never given it, or you’ve never gotten it?”

“Neither one,” she said. “Strange, but true.”

He let out a low whistle. “Ever jerked a guy off?”

She covered her pinkening face. “Ah, no.”