See Jane Score

Chapter 9

Rock Head Move: Dumb Move

Jane dried her hands with a paper towel and tossed it in the garbage. She looked in the mirror above the sink and hardly recognized herself. She wasn’t sure that was a good thing.

She opened the little purse she’d borrowed from Caroline and pulled out a tube of red lip gloss. Marie joined her at the sink, and Jane studied Luc’s sister as she washed her hands. Brother and sister looked nothing alike, except that their eyes were the same shade of blue.

Earlier, when she’d turned and seen Luc with such a young girl, she’d been shocked. Her first thought had been that he should be arrested, but then he’d shocked her further a moment later when he’d introduced his sister.

“I’m not good at this,” Jane confessed as she leaned forward and smeared the gloss on her mouth. Before the banquet, Caroline had put some sort of semipermanent color on her lips, and all Jane had to do was reapply the gloss. She thought she’d done a good job, but she had no experience and wasn’t certain. “Tell me the truth. Do my lips look messy?”

“No.”

“Huge?” She had to admit that getting this made up was kind of fun. Not something she would want to do every day, though. Or even very often.

“No.” Marie dropped the paper towel in the trash. “I like your dress.”

“I got it at Nordstrom.”

“Me too!”

She handed Marie the gloss. “My friend helped me pick it out. I’m not very good with color.”

“I picked mine out, but Luc bought it.”

If that was the case, she wondered why Luc let his sister buy a dress that was too small. Jane might not be a slave to fashion, but even she could see it. “That was very nice of him.” Through the mirror, she watched Marie coat her lips a bit too much. “Do you live in Seattle?”

“Yep, I live with Luc.”

Shock number three of the evening. “Really? That must be a flaming hell. Are you being punished for something?”

“No, my mom died a month and a half ago.”

“Oh, no.” Jane’s chest squeezed. “I’m so sorry. I was trying to be funny and I said something insensitive. I feel like such an ass.”

“It’s okay.” Marie gave Jane half a smile. “And living with Luc isn’t always a flaming hell.”

Jane took back her gloss and turned to face Marie. What was there to say? Nothing. She tried anyway. “My mother died when I was six. It’s been twenty-four years, but I know…” she paused, searching for the right word. There wasn’t one. “I know the hole it leaves in your heart.”

Marie nodded and she looked down at her shoes. “Sometimes I still can’t believe she’s gone.”

“I know how you feel.” Jane dropped the tube back in her purse and put her arm around Marie’s shoulders. “If you ever want to talk about it with someone, you can talk to me.”

“That might be okay.”

Tears filled the corners of Marie’s eyes and Jane gave her a little squeeze. It had been twenty-four years, but Jane clearly recalled the emotions that were so close to the surface. “But not tonight. Tonight we’re going to have fun. Earlier I met some of Hugh Miner’s nephews. They’re here from Minnesota and I think they’re your age.”

Marie dabbed at her eyes with her fingers. “Are they hot?”

Jane thought about that. If she were Marie’s age, she might think so, but she wasn’t, and thinking teenage boys were hot made her uncomfortable. She could almost hear the song “Mrs. Robinson” in her ears. “Well, they live on a farm,” she began as they left the bathroom. “I think they milk cows.”

“Yuck.”

“No, that means they’re buff, and as far as I could tell, they don’t smell like a barn.”

“That’s good.”

“Very good.” Jane looked across her shoulder at Marie. “I like your eye shadow. It’s very sparkly.”

“Thanks. You can borrow it sometime.”

“I think I’m a little old for eye glitter.” Jane dropped her arm as they wove their way through the crowd. She found Hugh Miner’s nephews looking out over the city and introduced Marie to the two teenage boys. Jack and Mac Miner were seventeen-year-old twins and were dressed in matching tuxedos with scarlet cummerbunds. They had spiky crew cuts and big brown eyes, and Jane had to admit that they were kind of cute.

“What grade are you in?” Mac, or perhaps Jack, asked Marie.

A blush stained her cheeks, and she hunched her shoulders. Looking at Marie brought it all back, the horrid insecurity of adolescence, and Jane thanked God she never had to go through it again.

“Tenth,” Marie answered.

“We were in tenth last year.”

“Yeah, everyone picks on the tenth-graders.”

Marie nodded. “They throw tenth-graders in Dumpsters.”

“We don’t. At least not the girls.”

“If we were at your school, we’d look out for you,” one of the twins said, impressing Jane with his gallantry. They were really nice young gentlemen, and their parents had raised them right and should be proud. “Tenth blows,” he added.

Maybe not. Maybe someone should inform him that he shouldn’t talk like that in front of girls.

“Yeah, it blows,” Marie agreed. “I can’t wait till next year.”

Okay, maybe Jane was just getting old. And she supposed, that when you got right down to it, saying something blew was the same as saying it sucked.

The more the teens talked, the more Marie seemed to relax. They talked about where they went to school, what sports they played, and what music they liked. All of them agreed that the jazz band playing at the opposite side of the room was lame.

While Marie and the twins talked about what “blew” and what was “lame,” Jane glanced about the room, searching for more adult conversation. Her gaze skimmed over Darby, who was in a deep conversation with General Manager Clark Gamache, and landed on Luc where he leaned against the end of the bar, talking to a tall blond woman in a white slip dress. The woman had her palm on his arm and his head was lowered over hers as she spoke. He brushed aside the edge of his jacket and shoved one hand in his pants pocket. Charcoal suspenders lay flat against the white pleats of his shirt, and Jane knew under those formal clothes the man had the body of a god and a horseshoe tattooed on his flat belly. Luc laughed at something the woman said, and Jane looked away. Something alarming that felt a lot like jealousy landed in the pit of her stomach and her hand tightened on her little purse. She couldn’t be jealous. She had no claim to him, and she didn’t even like him. Well, not that much. What she felt was anger, she reasoned. While she babysat Luc’s sister, he trolled for Vanna White look-alikes.

Rob Sutter asked her to dance and she left Marie in the care of the Miner twins. The Hammer led her to the middle of the floor and surprised her with how well he moved. His hand on her side, he led her around the dance floor. If it hadn’t been for his black eye, he would have looked utterly respectable in his black tux.

After Rob, she danced with the Stromster, who’d dyed his Mohawk a light blue to match his tuxedo. At first conversation with the young Swede was difficult, but the longer she listened to him, the better she understood his heavy accent. When the band paused between songs, she thanked Daniel and made her way to Darby, who waited for her on the edge of the dance floor.

“I’m sorry, Jane,” he began as she approached him, “but I have to take you home now. An acquisition we’ve been working on is finally taking place tonight. Clark has already left for the office. I have to meet him there.”

The Space Needle was a stone’s throw from the Key Arena and, depending on the time of day, about half an hour from her apartment. “Go ahead. I’ll take a taxi.”

He shook his head. “I want to make sure you get home.”

“I’ll make sure she gets home.” Jane turned at the sound of Luc’s voice. “Marie’s up on the observation deck with the Miner twins. When she comes back down, we’ll take you home.”

“That would help me out a lot,” Darby said.

Jane glanced behind Luc for the blonde, but he was alone. “Are you sure?”

“Sure.” He looked at the assistant general manager. “Who’s involved in the acquisition?”

“Keep it under your hat until morning.”

“Of course.”

“Dion.”

Luc smiled. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Darby turned to Jane. “Thanks for coming with me tonight.”

“Thank you for inviting me. The ride in the limo was wild.”

“See you two at the airport in the morning,” Darby said and headed for the elevator.

As Jane watched him go, she asked, “Who’s Dion?”

“Boy, you really don’t know much about the game.” Luc took her elbow and, without bothering to ask, pulled her out onto the crowded dance floor. Luc took her small purse and stuffed it in the pocket of his jacket. He folded one of her hands in his and placed his warm palm on her side.

In her new heels, her eyes were level with his mouth, and she set her hand on his shoulder. The light on the dance floor cast a diagonal shadow across his face, and she watched his lips while he spoke. “Pierre Dion is a veteran sniper,” he said. “He knows the ice. When he shoots from his sweet spot, the puck stings like a son of a bitch.”

Watching his mouth did funny things to Jane’s nerve endings, and she raised her gaze to his. It was probably best not to talk about sweet spots. “Your sister seems like a very nice girl.”

“Really?”

“You sound surprised.”

“No.” He looked over her head. “It’s just that she’s moody and unpredictable, and tonight hasn’t been a real good night for her. She was asked to a high school dance, but the boy decided to take someone else at the last minute.”

“That’s horrible. What a little bastard.”

His gaze returned to hers. “I offered to kick the kid’s ass, but Marie thought it would embarrass her.”

For some bizarre reason, Jane felt herself fall deeper into infatuation with him. She couldn’t help it, and all because he’d offered to kick some ass on his sister’s behalf. “You’re a good brother.”

“Actually, I’m not.” His thumb brushed the back of her hand and he pulled her a little closer. “She cries a lot, and I don’t know what to do about it.”

“She just lost her mother. There’s nothing you can do.”

His knee bumped hers. “She told you that?”

“Yes, and I know how she feels. I lost my mother too. I told her if she needed to talk to someone, to give me a call. I hope you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind at all. I think she really needs a woman to talk to. I’ve hired someone to stay with Marie while I’m on the road, but she doesn’t seem to like her.” He thought a moment, then said, “What she really needs is someone to take her clothes-shopping. Every time I give her my credit card, she comes back with a bag of candy and something two sizes too small.”

That would explain the tight dress. “I could hook her up with my friend Caroline. She’s really good at making people over.”

“That would be great, Jane. I don’t know anything about girls.”

Even if she hadn’t read up on him, she would have known within five seconds of meeting him that Luc knew a lot about girls. It was the look in his eye and the confident curve of his smile. “You mean you don’t know anything about sisters.”

“I don’t know anything about my little sister,” he said through a wicked grin. “But I did date twins once.”

“Yes.” She frowned. “You and Hef.”

He laughed, deeply amused with himself. “You’re so gullible,” he said as the music ended and she stepped back. Instead of releasing her, he pulled her against his chest. The band struck up another number. “What did you and Hogue do in the limo?” he asked next to her hair.

“What?”

“You thanked Darby for a wild limo ride.”

She and Darby had drunk champagne and played with the television, as the driver drove them around the city as if they were Bill and Melinda Gates. But she figured that wasn’t really what Luc wanted to know. His mind was in the gutter, and she decided to give him something to think about. “We got freaky.”

He stopped. “You got freaky with Hogue?”

She almost laughed, and looked up into his face. The only thing freaky about her was her imagination. “Beneath that hair gel, he’s a wild man.”

He started to move once more. “Tell me about it.” His breath whispered across her temple and her fingers curled into his shoulder.

“You want the details?”

“Yes, please.”

She did laugh then. He’d probably done things that even Honey Pie hadn’t thought up. She doubted she could shock him if she tried. “Unless I make something up, I’m afraid you’re doomed to disappointment.”

“Then make something up.”

Could she? Right here on the dance floor? If she closed her eyes, could she become Honey Pie? The woman who made men want her with a smile. Men like Luc.

“Something good,” he added. “No whips, though. I’m not into pain.”

It was tempting. Tempting to sink into his chest and pretend she was the kind of woman to satisfy a man like Luc. The kind who whispered naughty suggestions and made men beg. For her next article in Him, she’d been thinking of writing Honey into a co-ed fantasy. Men loved co-ed fantasies. “Do you like to watch?”

“I’m more of a doer,” he said close to her ear. “It’s more interesting that way.”

But she couldn’t do it. Alone in her own apartment was one thing, but standing within Luc’s arms in the SkyLine was entirely different. She couldn’t take it any further and the best she could come up with was, “Darby is an animal. Neither of us may ever recover. In fact, I better go sit down now. I’m exhausted.”

Luc pulled back and looked into her face. “Don’t tell me that’s the best you can do. You’re better at trash-talking. And you pretty much suck at that.”

“Let’s talk about something else.” Something safe.

He was quiet for a moment, then said, “You look good tonight.”

“Thank you. You’re looking pretty good yourself.” He pulled her close once more, and she brushed her fingers across his shoulder, feeling the texture of his jacket. If she leaned in just a fraction, the smell of his cologne and the starch of his shirt filled her nose. “Very nice.”

“I like your hair.”

“I got it cut this morning. It looks good now, but the real test will come in the morning when I have to wash it.”

When he spoke again, his voice was a smooth rumble next to her ear. “I just wash mine and go.”

She closed her eyes. Good, a nice safe boring subject. Hair care.

“I like your dress.”

Another safe subject. “Thanks. It’s not black.”

“I noticed.” He slid his hand from her side to the small of her back, his warm palm and fingers against her bare skin. “Do you think you might ever wear it backward?”

His touch seemed to warm her up from the inside out, and startled laughter escaped her lips. “No. I don’t think so.”

“Too bad. I wouldn’t mind seeing it on backward.”

The music flowed around Jane as everything within her stilled. Luc Martineau, with his wicked grin and horseshoe tattoo, wanted to see her naked. Impossible. Just beneath the surface, her skin tingled, hot and alive with sensation. Want and need pooled low in her abdomen and she wondered if he’d notice if she leaned into him. Just enough to smell the side of his neck. Right above the black band of his tie and starched collar.

“Jane?”

“Hmm?”

“Marie is back. We have an early flight and better get going.”

Jane looked up into the shadows caressing his face. While impure thoughts sullied her mind, he appeared unaffected. I wouldn’t mind seeing it on backward, he’d said. No doubt he was pulling her chain again. “I’ll get my coat.”

He removed his hand from her back, and cool air replaced his warm touch. He took her arm, and as they walked from the dance floor, he handed her Caroline’s little bag. “Give me your ticket. I’ll get your coat when I get Marie’s.”

Jane fished around in the purse and pulled out the piece of paper. While he retrieved the coats, she talked to Marie, but her mind was on Luc, and there was no denying it. She lusted after him. Bad. She wondered if he’d noticed. She sincerely hoped not. She hoped he would never find out. She could happily live her entire life without anyone knowing that Jane Alcott wanted to jump bad boy hockey player Luc Martineau. If he suspected, he’d no doubt run long and hard in the opposite direction.

When he returned, he helped her on with her black raincoat. His fingers brushed the back of her neck as he fixed the collar for her, and she wondered what it would be like to feel his arms slide around her as she leaned back into him. But even if she’d had the nerve to act on her impulse, she was too late; he stepped away and held his sister’s coat open for her.

While they waited at the bottom of the Space Needle for the valet to bring around Luc’s white Land Cruiser, he fastened the four buttons on his jacket and stuck his hands in the pockets, his broad shoulders hunched against the cold. They talked about the weather and about the early flight in the morning. Nothing important. Marie told them about the view from the observation deck, and Jane cast glances at Luc’s dark profile. Light from the Needle lit up one side of his face and wide shoulders and cast a long shadow across the concrete.

When the valet returned, Luc opened the front passenger door for Jane and the back for his sister. He climbed into the driver’s side and they headed for Bellevue. Within a few blocks, Luc broke the silence.

“Mrs. Jackson knows she’s to come over tomorrow before you get home from school,” he told his sister. “Do you need money for anything?”

Jane looked over at him through the corner of her eye. His profile was just a black outline within the dark interior. Golden light from the dash shone on his wristwatch and sent slivers of gold on to the front of his jacket. Jane turned and gazed out her window.

“I need lunch money and I haven’t paid for ceramics class.”

“How much do you need?”

Jane listened to their conversation, feeling like an intruder, sitting within the rich leather interior of Luc’s SUV while he talked to his sister about their everyday life. A life that did not include her. This was his life. Not hers. She had her own life. One she’d made for herself, and she did not belong in his.

When the vehicle pulled up to the curb in front of her apartment, Jane reached for the door. “Thanks so much for bringing me home,” she said.

Luc reached across the distance and grabbed her arm through her thin coat. “Don’t move.” He glanced in the backseat. “I’ll be right back, Marie,” he said as he got out of the vehicle.

The headlamps briefly spotlighted him as he walked in front of the Land Cruiser, then he opened her door. He helped her out and moved beside her up the short walkway. Beneath her illuminated porch, she opened her little bag and pulled out her keys, but just as he had the night he’d walked her to her hotel room in San Jose, he took the key from her and shoved it in the lock.

Inside, she’d left on a floor lamp, and the light spilled across the carpet and lit up the front door. “Thanks again,” she said as she stepped into the apartment. She held her hand out for her keys and he grasped her wrist and placed the keys in her palm. Instead of letting go, he followed her inside.

“This is not a good idea,” he said and brushed his thumb across her pulse.

“What? Bringing me home?”

“No.” He pulled her against him and lowered his face to hers. “You’ve been driving me crazy. With your hair that makes me wonder what it’d feel like tangled around my fingers.” His hand grasped the back of her raincoat, twisting the material in his fist and pulling it tight. “Your red lips and your little red dress give me all kinds of crazy ideas. Stuff I shouldn’t think about you, but I am. Questions that are better left alone.” His blue eyes stared into hers, hot and intense. “But I can’t leave them alone,” he whispered against her mouth. “So tell me, Jane, are you cold?” His lips brushed hers and he said through a hot breath, “Or turned on?” Then he kissed her, and the shock stunned her for several seconds. She could do nothing more that just stand there as he placed tender kisses on her lips.

What did he mean, was she cold or turned on? She definitely was not cold.

He pressed his warm mouth to hers and brought his free hand to the side of her face, cupping her cheek and running his fingers through the hair at her temples. A little moan stuck in her throat, the keys dropped from her hand, and she no longer cared what he meant about her being cold. She ran her palm up the front of his jacket to the side of his neck. This couldn’t be happening. Not to her. Not with him.

His lips teased and pressed harder until she opened her mouth. His tongue slipped inside and touched her, wet and oh so welcome.

For a man who spent his time hitting people and pucks with a hockey stick, his touch was surprisingly gentle. The little moan worked free, escaped into his mouth, and she let herself go. She let herself slide into the hot passion spreading across her skin, pounding in her chest, and aching between her thighs. She let herself fall face first into the lust she’d been trying to hold at bay. His big hand cupped her breast through the layers of her dress and coat, and she leaned into him. His thumb brushed her nipple and she raised onto her toes. There was no more thought of letting, just doing. Just kissing him as if she wanted to eat him up in one sitting. Her tongue sliding across his as if she wanted to binge on Luc Martineau.

He pulled back and looked into her face, his eyes dazed, his voice a bemused rasp. “You make me want to suck a bruise on you just to kiss it better.”

Jane licked her moist lips and nodded. She wanted that too.

“Damn,” he said through a harsh breath. Then he turned on his heels and was gone. Leaving Jane stunned and bewildered. Shocked for the fourth time that night.