Honor Bound(12)

Since he all but shoved her down, she had no choice. She didn't have a chance to inspect the cleanliness of the seat, but it was probably just as well. Greywolf slid into the booth after her and crammed her against the wall. "You're squashing me," she complained beneath her breath.

"That's the general idea."

He was gnawing on her neck when Ray waddled over carrying two beers in his hands, which looked like hams with dirty fingernails. The bottles of beer made solid thumps on the chipped Formica table when he set them down. "Three bucks. You pay as you go here."

"Pay the man, will ya, hon?" Lucas wheedled, sliding his hand over her shoulder in a circular, caressing motion. "I'm busy."

She ground her teeth together in an effort not to scream at him to take his hands off her, or to take her out of there, or to go to hell. But right then, she was glad he was there. He had known what he was talking about. Even if she could coax some sympathy out of Ray and the others, she doubted she would want to entrust herself into their care. At least Greywolf was a familiar villain.

She dug into her purse for three one-dollar bills and laid them on the table. Ray, still looking over his shoulder so he wouldn't miss a second of his soap opera, scooped them up and shuffled away.

"Good girl," Lucas spoke softly into her ear.

She wished Greywolf wouldn't be so earnest in his playacting now that Ray no longer posed a threat to him. He could at least remove his hand from inside her blouse, where his fingers were fiddling with her bra strap. "Now what?" she asked.

"Now we neck."

"You go—"

"Shh!" he hissed angrily. "You don't want to attract Ray's attention, do you? Or maybe those two cowboys are more to your liking. They'd just love rescuing a damsel in distress."

"Oh, stop," she said, when his lips slid down her neck. "I thought you came here to watch television."

"I did. But I don't want them to know that."

"So I'm supposed to sit here and let you paw me?" He made a humming sound of affirmation. "For how long?"

"For as long as it takes. Every half hour or so we'll order fresh beers so Ray won't get mad at us for taking up his valuable space."

How a man could talk so rationally while nibbling so dedicatedly, she didn't know. She squirmed away from his seeking lips. "I can't drink that much."

"When no one is looking, pour the beer on the floor. I doubt it will ever be noticed."

"So do I," she said with a shiver, lifting her foot off the floor. It was sticky with substances she thought it best not to identify. "Are you sure this is going to be worth it?"

"What's the matter, sweetheart? Ain't you having a good time?" His hand found the placket of her blouse and plucked at the buttons.

"No."

"Do you want to go through another roadblock? Or did you enjoy driving that poor cop a little crazy?"

"You're despicable." She leaned back against the hard, lumpy upholstery of the booth and tried to be passive under the gropings of his hands and mouth.

"I'm not convinced you're hot for it, sugar, and neither will they be. Put a little more into it," he growled, his lips very near her mouth.

"No. This is disgusting."

His head snapped up and he stared down at her coldly. "Why?"

He had taken offense. Why? Because he thought her comment was a racial slur, or because he thought she was maligning his lovemaking expertise? And either way, what the hell did she care if he was offended or not? "I'm not accustomed to making out in public places, Mr.—"

She never said his name. She never had a chance. He mashed his lips over hers and sealed his name inside. It was a functional kiss, impersonal, delivered only to keep her quiet. He kept his lips closed. Still, Aislinn's insides somersaulted and she couldn't utter a sound.

Which was the point, after all. When he finally lifted his mouth off hers he whispered, "Careful."

She merely nodded her head, wishing that her heart would cool. One thing she knew, she wouldn't provoke him with any more questions or conversation. She didn't want him to kiss her again.

She was ambivalent as to why, but she did not want him to kiss her again.

Thankfully no one took much notice of them. It seemed to be an unwritten rule that the patrons of the Tumbleweed minded their own business unless invited to do otherwise.

Though he gave every semblance of being absorbed in his lovemaking, Greywolf was fully aware of what went on. His eyes were never still, though he made them appear slumberous with arousal by keeping his eyelids at half-mast. From beneath the hood of his brows, he watched each face for signs of recognition, but no one paid them any attention. Ray—or his waitress when her nails had dried—carried beer to the booth when Greywolf drunkenly called out an order for it. Beyond that, no one paid them the slightest heed.

Customers drifted in and out. Most stayed only for a couple of drinks before leaving. Some drank alone. Others entered in groups of two or three. One played on the pinball machine until the pinging bells and flashing lights nearly drove Aislinn crazy. When he finally left, the television provided the only distraction. Situation comedy reruns now held Ray enthralled.

For Aislinn the time dragged by. Not because she was bored. Her nerve endings were sizzling. She kept telling herself it was because she was waiting for a potential savior to walk through the door. But honestly she thought her skittishness had more to do with Greywolf's foreplay.