Waiting for Wednesday Page 3

“Recruit me?”

  “To tend bar. We could use an extra server. If you help here, Ewan can go out and start taking orders.”

  “I don’t know anything about mixing drinks.”

  “You can fill the beer orders. Anybody can run the tap.” He lifted the hinged entry to the bar before she could refuse him.

  Ewan grinned when he realized help had arrived, kissing her on the cheek as she stepped up to relieve him.

  “You are a lifesaver,” Ewan exclaimed as he left her and Tris alone behind the bar. After a super-fast instruction on how to operate the tap, Tris began filling the mixed-drink orders. They worked together quickly and efficiently, and Lane tried to ignore the heat growing in her body from their proximity.

  More than a few times, Tris scooted behind her to retrieve a bottle of liquor. Each time, his chest pressed against her back. He constantly put his hands on her waist to steady her whenever he passed. Twice his arm had accidentally rubbed her breast as he wiped up a spill on the counter in front of her, her breath catching at the sensual rub.

  At one point, after watching her continually push her hair out of her face, he stopped to fasten it with a ponytail holder his sister Riley had brought at his request. He ran his fingers through her hair in such a provocative way her nipples went hard. The beer on her blouse, though starting to dry, did little to hide her body’s reaction to his touches.

  “Cold?” he whispered, his hot breath driving her arousal up another notch. She narrowed her eyes and shook her head.

  Oh yeah. Accident, her ass. He was deliberately trying to provoke a response, but why? He’d never touched her in a sexual way before. Of course, she’d never been divorced before.

  The realization hit her like a ton of bricks. Tristan was interested in her. The thought simultaneously thrilled and terrified her.

  Oh fuck. Definitely in over my head now.

  Unfortunately, she didn’t have time to ponder the situation as the orders continued to fly, the entire pub pulsating with the loud music from the stage.

  For nearly two hours, they served drinks as Sky and Teagan performed. The entire time, Lane fought her arousal as Tristan’s touches became more frequent, longer, less subtle. Her face was flushed, her breathing labored and, after yet another “accidental” touch from Tris—this time a squeeze to her rear-end—she considered murdering the man or throwing him on the floor and riding his hips—drunks be damned. She was horny and wet and her pussy was crying out for some serious stimulation.

  Finally, Teagan and Sky left the stage to very loud cheers, ushered by bodyguards out the front door to where a limo was waiting to take them back to their hotel. Once the couple left, the crowd quickly thinned and the orders slowed. During a lull, Lane took a moment to regain her composure, leaning against the counter behind her and trying to figure out what the hell she was supposed to do now.

  Tris watched Lane with quiet pleasure. He’d been annoyed as hell when he realized word of Teagan and Sky’s impromptu performance had gotten out. Half of freaking Baltimore had come knocking and he knew his quiet evening with Lane was ruined.

  Then he’d decided to use the show to his benefit. He’d spent the days since her reappearance trying to figure out what the hell to do about the woman. He wasn’t so thick he couldn’t admit she’d wounded his pride. Before Lane, Tris had never fallen for a woman who didn’t fall right back. He’d also never been dumped. Whether she realized it or not, Lane had done both. By returning and waving that “I’m free” flag in his face, she’d reopened the cut and he’d been determined to get back a bit of his own.

  He’d intended for his heated touches to make her regret what she’d so easily cast aside. It was petty and small, but he’d discovered with Lane, all his preconceived ideas of how a gentleman should behave were tossed out the window. He was reduced to a wounded beast, lashing out in any way he could.

  His plan had worked great. Until he realized the more aroused she became, the more ravenous he grew. Her nipples were so taut beneath her blouse it was all he could do not to strip the scrap of material off her and take them into his mouth. He’d witnessed her covertly pressing her legs together twice and the subtle movements had him convinced he could smell her sweet juices even over the potent odor of the alcohol. He imagined lifting that skirt she was wearing and dragging his fingers along her slit before pushing them deep inside her wet pussy.

  This was why revenge was never a good thing. In his quest for vengeance, he’d merely taken himself down as well. He’d untucked his shirt earlier because there was no other way to hide the raging erection being strangled by his jeans. He glanced at her again and noticed the rapid rise and fall of her chest. Oh, she was hot all right. Hot and horny. Problem was, so was he. Painfully so.

  As he studied her flushed face, another truth came crashing down on him. She wanted him. If she didn’t, his touches would have done nothing more than annoy her. She was currently staring at him like a starving woman presented with a thick, juicy steak.

  Jesus, what had he unleashed? The thought that she was physically attracted to him reignited the fire he’d been sure he’d smothered, sparking hope once more. She desired him sexually, and a new plan emerged in his mind. He smiled, silently enjoying the way his heated look was making her squirm.

  Seduction. It was so simple. He would seduce her into falling in love with him. Oh yeah, Lane Bryce’s days as a free woman were numbered.

  “You’re doing a great job,” he said, coming to stand beside her.

  She nodded, her smile nervous. He wanted to laugh, aware she was worried about him touching her again. Unable to resist, despite its impact on him, he put his arm around her shoulders and tugged her toward his chest. She fit him perfectly. She was a bit taller than most women he dated which, given his too-large frame, meant she was the ideal height in his mind. He wouldn’t have to bend down so far to capture those lush, plump lips when he kissed her.

  “You holding up okay?”

  “Great.” Her voice was too falsely bright, too tight to fool him.

  “You really saved the day.” Even as he spoke the words he realized they were the truth. She’d been a tremendous help.

  “I had no idea bartending could be so physically exhausting. My feet are killing me.”

  He glanced down, disgusted with himself when he realized she was wearing heels he hadn’t noticed before. She’d dressed for a quiet night sitting at the bar and he’d thrown her behind the counter, keeping her on her feet for hours. “Dammit, Lane. Why didn’t you say something?”

  He waved his hand, trying to get his brother’s attention.

  “Do me a favor,” he said when Ewan came over to the bar. “Take over for a few minutes.” There were only about thirty people left in the pub. His brothers and sisters could manage fine without him. He grasped Lane’s hand.

  “Where are we going?” she asked as he led her through the pub to a set of stairs.

  “Up to my family’s apartment.”

  “Why?”

  He pointed at her feet, frowning when he noticed her limping.

  “Hell’s bells.” He led her through the doorway. Before she could refuse him, he bent down and picked her up, carrying her upstairs and not stopping until he’d placed her on the couch.

  “Tris,” she said as he sat beside her. He reached down and grasped her feet. “What are you doing?”

  “Paying you for all your hard work.”

  “Isn’t payment usually in the form of money?”

  He grinned. “Do you want money?”

  “No.”

  “Good, then you’re getting a foot rub.” He quickly slipped her shoes off, gripping her right foot firmly in his palm, squeezing gently at first. He suspected she’d intended to refuse his offer, but when he increased the pressure on the ball of her foot, she groaned with relief and threw her head back.

  He reached behind her, placing a pillow against the arm of the couch. “Lie down,” he commanded, relieved when she did so without argum
ent.

  “I cannot believe how good that feels.”

  “Haven’t you ever had someone rub your feet before?”

  She shook her head.

  She wouldn’t have. Lane never asked anyone for anything, never wanted to put anyone out.

  They sat quietly for several minutes and he worked his hands along the sore muscles in her feet. She sighed and he grinned, wondering if she’d fallen asleep when her eyes drifted shut. How would she react if he moved his massage up her legs and under her skirt?

  She dispelled that thought by speaking. “Your sister and Sky Mitchell look happy together.”

  “They are. Sky’s a pretty decent guy. Actually, both my older sisters have been lucky in love.”

  “That’s right,” she added. “You said Keira is getting married in a couple of months.”

  “Yeah and it can’t come soon enough for me,” he grumbled.

  Lane laughed. “Wedding planning?”

  “It’s nuts. I’ve never seen grown women spend so much time debating such stupid shit. Pink or purple flowers in the bridesmaids’ bouquets. Chicken or beef for the rehearsal dinner. Band or deejay at the reception. Christ. You would think they were plotting out designs for world domination rather than a silly party that will be over in five hours.”

  “Tris, I had no idea you were such a romantic,” Lane teased and he laughed.

  “Yeah, well, when I get married, I can promise you right now, it will be no muss, no fuss.”

  “Good luck with that.” Her tone was rife with sarcasm and he knew she didn’t think he had a leg to stand on.

  Then he realized she was right about his unlikely “no frills” wedding. If he were marrying her, he’d give her pink and purple flowers, chicken and beef, a deejay and a band. He’d teased Keira’s fiancé about his concessions on the wedding, calling the man whipped, but now that he thought about it, Will was the luckiest man alive.

  He wondered what Lane’s wedding had been like. She’d never mentioned it and suddenly he found himself hoping she’d gotten the day of her dreams. The marriage and the man may have failed her, but he silently prayed that for one day, one moment in time, she’d felt cherished, adored. She deserved that.

  As if she could read his mind, she answered his unspoken question. “I suppose I shouldn’t joke about your no-muss-no-fuss wedding. That certainly described mine.”

  “Oh?”

  “James and I went to a justice of the peace. We coerced the couple getting married after us to stand in as our witnesses. After the ceremony, we went to an Italian restaurant and had spaghetti. Just the two of us.”

  “You didn’t mind that?”

  She shrugged. “It didn’t really matter where or how we did it. I don’t have any family and James is estranged from his. I would have liked to invite a few of the girls from work and some friends from high school, but James didn’t like the idea of spending a lot of money on ‘such foolishness’.” She punctuated the last two words with finger quotes, no doubt mimicking her prick of an ex. “Guess I should have seen the writing on the wall with that.” She laughed uneasily.

  His thoughts turned to her comment about family. She’d confided in him that she’d grown up in a long line of foster and group homes, a ward of the state for as long as she could remember. His heart had ached to hear her talk so nonchalantly about her childhood, spent drifting from one set of foster parents to another. He’d gotten the impression a couple of the places she’d lived had not only been uncaring, but unsafe. While she swore she was never molested or beaten, he had a strong sense there had been some verbal abuse.

  Until hearing her story, he’d never appreciated how truly blessed he’d been with his family. As the third child of seven, he probably should have felt lost in the shuffle, but he never had.

  His mother died when he and his twin brother Killian were fifteen, and not a day passed that he didn’t miss her. Sunday Collins had been his idea of the perfect female and, until he’d met Lane, he hadn’t expected to ever meet a woman like her. His mother had been compassionate, beautiful, patient and loving. As he looked down at Lane, he realized she shared the exact same traits.

  She caught him staring and offered a timid smile. “You’re deep in thought.”

  He nodded as she lowered her feet from his lap and pushed herself to a sitting position.

  “I suppose I should go—”

  Tris cut off her words with a kiss. He reached over and pulled her to him as she spoke, unable to bear the thought of her leaving without sampling a small taste of her sweetness. He’d expected her to fight him and was thrilled when she returned his kiss, wrapping her hands around his neck to hold him closer. Her response broke the chains on his restraint and he gripped her hips, dragging her leg over his lap. They both moaned when he shoved her skirt up and positioned her over his covered cock. The heat of her pussy penetrated the thick denim, and he pushed against her.

  “Want you,” he murmured when they broke away from the passionate kiss. Her reaction was detonating electrical impulses in every nerve ending in his body and he thought he would go mad with the intensity, the power of her touches.

  “God, Tris,” she breathed against his lips. “I—”

  Footsteps on the stairs halted her words and he felt an honest-to-God pain reverberate through his body when she quickly stood, her skirt falling back into place. He’d been a fool to start this on the living room couch and he felt guilty when he saw her flushed face. He rose and took her shaking hand in his.

  “Sorry,” he muttered as he turned toward the entrance of the apartment, surprised to find Sean and Ewan on either side of Pop.

  “What’s going on?” Tris asked as an anxious Riley and Keira followed them into the room.

  Their fiery interlude was forgotten in a moment and Lane rushed to help as his brothers put Pop on the couch. His father tried to speak, but his words sounded like gibberish.

  “Riley.” Lane bent over to look into Pop’s eyes. “Call 9-1-1. Right now.” Her anxious tone alarmed his sister.

  “What’s wrong with him? What is it?” Riley asked, her voice trembling.

  “Just do what Lane said.” Tris realized of all of them, Lane was probably the best equipped to deal with this situation.

  “Mr. Collins?” Lane tried to capture Pop’s wavering attention. His father, always sharp as a hawk, looked dazed, confused. “Mr. Collins,” she repeated louder. “Can you tell me how many fingers I’m holding up?” She held two fingers in front of his face.

  Pop tried to answer, but his word was garbled, unrecognizable.

  “I called,” Riley said. “The ambulance is on the way.”

  Lane nodded as Ewan—visibly shaken—stepped forward. “He said his leg was numb. I figured he’d been on his feet too long. It was a helluva busy night. I told him he should come upstairs and lie down. He took two steps and almost fell. Thank God Sean was right there and caught him or he would have hit the floor. Pop told us to get him upstairs, but then his talking turned…well, we could barely make out what he was saying after that.”

  Lane looked back down at Pop, her gaze betraying how worried she was.

  “What is it?” Tris asked, repeating Riley’s questions. “What’s wrong with him?”

  Lane glanced at him, distress written on her face. “I’m not a doctor, Tris. I can’t—”

  “You suspect something. What is it?” he demanded. When she hesitated, his temper flared. “Dammit, Lane. I’m not going to sue you for malpractice. Just tell me what you think is wrong with Pop.”

  “I think he’s had a stroke.” Her answer was punctuated by the sound of sirens wailing in the distance.

  “A stroke?” Keira asked, tears forming in her eyes. “No.”

  “I need to call Teagan,” Ewan said. “She and Sky will be back at the hotel by now.” He reached into his pocked for his cell.

  “Keira.” Riley handed her cell phone to her distraught older sister. “Call Will. Tell him to meet us at the hospital.”r />
  “Who’s downstairs?” Tris was surprised he could ask the question so calmly with his insides churning like an angry ocean.

  “The crowd is all but gone,” Riley replied. “Joyce started shooing the rest out when Pop nearly fell.” Tris was grateful for Joyce’s help. A family friend, she’d been waitressing at the restaurant since before his mom died.

  The sound of sirens outside the building alerted them to the arrival of the rescue squad. “Sean,” Tris said. “Go down and show them the way up. Might be a tight fit for the gurney.”

  Sean left the room and Tris turned to see Lane sitting beside his pop. She was holding his hand and murmuring something to him. Her calm manner appeared to be comforting his confused father.

  “Will you ride with me to the hospital?” he asked. She looked up and for a moment, he feared she would refuse. Knowing her, she’d be worried about being in the way.

  Something in his face must have betrayed his need and she nodded. “Of course I will.”

  When the EMTs entered the room, Tris and his siblings stepped back as Lane calmly described Pop’s symptoms and her suspicions. He could see the rescue workers agreed with her assessment. They loaded Pop into the ambulance as Lane led Tris to her car.

  “I’ll drive,” she said. He was too numb, too worried to deny her. He merely nodded as she followed the rescue squad. They didn’t speak during the trip and Tris was grateful for the silence. He needed time to get himself together. As the oldest son, his siblings would look to him for reassurance. Keira and Riley had ridden in the ambulance and, given their worried tears, he knew they were on the verge of falling apart. His younger brothers were in the car behind them and remembering the terrified look on Sean’s face when they loaded Pop on the gurney was almost more than Tris could bear. Memories of the day his mother died assaulted him. He couldn’t lose Pop. He just couldn’t.

  When they drove into the hospital parking lot, Lane grabbed a spot close to the emergency room entrance. She stopped him when he turned to open the door, her hand reaching to grasp his.

  “Tris.” She halted his retreat. “Your pop will be fine. He’s a strong man and he’ll make it through this. You just need to hold on to that thought and forget about everything else. Okay?”