Bargain in Bronze

“You’re gentle,” she muttered. Then flinched—she hadn’t meant to say that aloud!

He put a hand on her shoulder to keep her still but she could hear the smile in his voice as he answered. “I’ve had some practice playing the medic.”

“Tom.”

“And my little sister.”

She knew the story—the whole nation did. Tom’s amazing battle against cancer as a child and his subsequent rise to become a champion in such a grueling sport. And the family tragedy—he’d been raised by his elder brother—Jack, after their parents had died in an accident when Tom was a teenager. No wonder Jack was so protective of him.

“I’m giving you a ride home,” he broke in on her thoughts.

“That’s not necessary.” She stared at his shirt, refusing to look up into his face, so embarrassed. Had the guy known she’d thought he was going to kiss her? How much she’d wanted him to kiss her?

“It’s totally necessary. You could have a concussion.”

“It was a tiny knock.”

“That’s left you with a massive egg on your head.”

Great. Here she was with Mr. Handsome and she was Ms. Black-and-Blue.

“You shouldn’t be on your own tonight,” he added quietly. “You live alone in that small home of yours?”

She felt her blush rise again. Yeah, now she was reading hidden questions where there were none. “I’m fine.”

“What about family? Friends? A boyfriend?”

Okay, so now the question was explicit. She carefully shook her head.

“Is there no one who can stay with you?”

She didn’t answer.

It wasn’t the cotton wool he used to carefully treat her wound this time, but his lips. For a big guy he could do a tiny kiss beautifully. She closed her eyes. Bad idea—it empowered every other sense. It was as if she’d been injected with some kind of super strength sensitivity serum in a random past alien abduction and it had this second been activated. With one touch.

The sharpest sensorial hit came from the heat emanating from him. That warmth was so inviting, so was his solidity—both physical and intangible—as if his purpose was to be relied on. She’d never had the desire to be swept off her feet, quite the opposite. But Jack was so muscular, so much physically stronger than her. She yearned to curl closer—was drawn to his heady contradiction of restrained power and gentle touch.

She inclined her head, wanting his kiss to continue—to go further. But he brushed her bruise with the lightest sweep of cotton wool again and spoke very softly. “Maybe I’d better stay with you.”

Chapter Four

Jack snapped his mouth shut, mortified he’d done that and then said that aloud. Unfettered desire had slipped those words free from him, but Ms. Bruised Beauty here was the woman his kid brother wanted. Jack couldn’t encroach on Tom’s territory—even if Tom couldn’t have her right now. Even if she denied any interest in him. Even if she was playing along with Jack’s lapse into flirtation. What kind of brother was he to be hitting on her? A jerk. Not any kind of brother at all. He needed to get his personal—inappropriate—urges under control. All he’d had to do was get her out of the way until after the event and Tom was free to play with her. Showed how long it had been since he’d had any fun, if he was propositioning a woman so out of bounds. Maybe he’d better go out tonight and find someone pretty and willing and free. Play the game for once. Hell, it was Tom who’d told him that a while back. Jack had scoffed, but apparently Tom was right. He’d never been struck with this kind of instant lust—to see a woman and want her within seconds? The uncontrollable sensation was discomforting.

But he remained motionless—too close to her—immobile not just because of his burgeoning guilt, but because of her response. Her eyes had widened instantly, dilating, signaling reciprocal interest like a neon flare. Her color continued to deepen in both her eyes and cheeks. Her mouth parted—just enough to show how lush and soft her lips looked when freed from firm restraint.

Jack stared at those lips for too long. He imagined touching them with his finger, with his tongue, with his own lips…. He imagined what they’d feel like moving over his body—his chest, his abs, his co—

He slammed his thoughts to a stop, wrenched his gaze away and forced his feet to move a pace back before his body betrayed him completely. As it was he had to think horrible, cold, ardor-freezing thoughts to calm him—Tom’s hurt, Tom’s anger.

Unforgivable.

“I have a friend I can call.” She broke the silence with a cool voice.

Did she mean a male friend? It wasn’t his business to ask. It was Tom’s business. He flicked the quickest of glances back to her—but she trapped his focus again with her tilted chin and straight back and determined dignity despite the blush that had stained every inch of her smooth skin.

“So you won’t be alone?” he asked, his voice husky.

Her chin lifted. He recognized the sparkle in her eyes already, the gleam as she quickly thought up some answer. He was smiling before she even spoke.

“I live next to Serge from the circus—the World’s Strongest Man.”

She dared him to laugh, dared him to disbelieve.

“That’s good to know,” he murmured.

…

The drive took forever. The traffic moved less than a meter a minute. And there was no such thing as a quiet Sunday in London. While some lay laughing and sunbathing in the parks, others ran or strolled or rollerbladed. It seemed everyone shopped. The excitement was palpable—the energy building as the world’s biggest sporting event was merely days from beginning. But all that anticipation was nothing compared to the energy humming in the car.

She could see his muscles bunching as he sat unnaturally still, as if he were holding himself in check, gripping the steering wheel as if there were nothing but potholes ahead.

At last they got to the small block where her bedsit was. He parked right out front and exited the car.

“I can walk,” she backed away from him as he followed her. She didn’t want him helping her up the stairs again, thanks. She didn’t want him anywhere near her body for fear she’d reveal just how hot she thought he was. It was embarrassing.

“I’m sure you can, but I’m seeing you all the way,” he said calmly.

All the way? Libby clamped down the crazy thoughts, knowing damn well he hadn’t meant that as any kind of double entendre. Her hormones heard it though. All calm deserted her as he followed a half pace behind, all the way along the corridor and up the stairs to her tiny unit.

What was with the chivalry now? First he accused her of being a thief and a woman with designs on his brother. Then he followed that up with a few moments of flirting that he’d subsequently snatched away.

Why had he pulled back? His expression, his stance, his intensity had told her he’d wanted to kiss her. She didn’t think her radar was that off. But when she’d moved—that tiny involuntary move forward, okay yes, to invite—he’d changed his mind and pulled away faster than a hundred meter sprinter out of the blocks. Frankly, after the nightmare of the last few weeks she could have done with a kiss.

The man was a tease. Wasn’t being that good looking enough for him? Did the arrogant jerk have to have all women under the sun want him so obviously? His ego was clearly ravenous.

A tease wasn’t nice. Her ex-boyfriend had accused her of playing him, of being a tease. She’d never meant for him to get so serious. Hurting him had been hideous, but it had been better to do it sooner rather than later when it would have been so much worse. Marriage wasn’t for her. She was never running the risk of hurting her husband the way her mother’s death hurt her father. Or of being hurt herself. Not when she wasn’t sure her heart wouldn’t let her down the way her parents’ hearts had. Nor would she expose a child to that risk. Marriage wasn’t in her plan for a very real reason.