A Different Kind of Man. Suzanne Cox
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the back of his shirt. Was that FBI? Yeah, right. Like that thug was ever in the FBI. More likely wanted by the FBI.
“You all right, Em?”
Emalea broke her gaze from the man’s back and focused on her friend. “Fine, Lana. Why?”
“You’re awfully quiet. That guy wasn’t rude, was he? Or I guess I should say, was he any more rude than you?”
Emalea’s mouth dropped open. “You think I’m rude?”
“You didn’t exactly sound as if you were applying to be Ms. Manners.”
“He should be more careful. He practically bounced me off the wall.”
“It highly resembled an accident to me. You could at least have accepted the soda he sent over.”
Rubbing at the sweat on the glass of soda, Emalea sat quietly for a moment not bothering to respond to her friend. Lana was right. What about this guy had set her off? Was it the hungry look he’d given her when she’d come in or was it that slow sexy smile? Maybe she just flat didn’t like him. She took a quick drink. Yep, that was it. She didn’t like him, no particular reason needed.
From the corner of her eye, she noticed Lana still watching her. “I’m not accepting the soda.” Emalea knew she sounded childish, but she couldn’t help that. “I don’t want to encourage him.”
“One day you’re going to run off the perfect guy.”
Em rolled her eyes. “Lana, there is no perfect guy.”
Lana reached beside her to pat her husband’s thigh. “Sure there is. I found mine. You’ll find yours.” Lana continued to run her hand farther along her husband’s thigh until he turned to look at her and raised his eyebrow, then winked.
Emalea snorted. “You know, you two have been married seven years. When are you going to stop all that? Anyway, I don’t expect I’ll find Mr. Perfect bashing me into the wall at Sal’s.”
Lana touched her arm lightly. “It could happen, Em.”
Emalea pretended to study the view of the Mississippi River through the French doors that lined the back wall. Who did it happen for? Maybe women like Lana. But did it happen for women like her mother? Like herself? Never. Em downed her drink to wash away the beginnings of the lump growing in her throat. Lana didn’t understand. She tried to, God bless her, but she just didn’t.
The waitress placed Emalea’s hamburger and French fries on the table. Grabbing the ketchup, she began shaking a large puddle onto her plate.
Not willing to be thwarted yet, Lana leaned closer. “You have to admit this guy has potential.”
The ketchup bottle banged as Emalea set it back on the table.
“Potential for what? To be arrested in the next five minutes?”
“Come on, Em, he’s practically sizzling.”
Emalea peered at the man. Jeans hugged massive thighs and a rear that could have been carved from stone. A well-trimmed goatee surrounded lips that weren’t too full, weren’t too thin, but were, well, inviting. The black bandanna tied around his head gave him a roguish pirate appeal. She shook her head, not a pirate—an ex-con or a mafioso hit man.
She squinted at Lana. “Are we talking about the same person? Lana, the guy’s a thug.” Best not to give Lana any ammunition by agreeing the man could be model material.
Lana picked up a fry, chewing thoughtfully. “You’re covering.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re covering. You think the guy’s attractive. I mean, who wouldn’t? So you’re pretending not to be interested.”
With a quick shake, Emalea dumped hot sauce into her ketchup and stirred the concoction with a fry. “Could we please move on?”
Lana grinned. “Whatever.”
Biting into her hamburger, Emalea ignored Lana. What else could she do? Her friend seldom let things go easily. Especially when it concerned Emalea and a man.
Muscles bunched under the tight, dark T-shirt. She shivered, realizing she had been staring at the thug again. It would be better for her to think of him that way, even though Lana was right. The guy had a look that wasn’t all bad. In fact she needed an extra amount of self-control to keep from staring at him constantly. She wondered briefly what color his hair was. His mustache and goatee were dark, so his hair was probably brown or black. He had chocolaty-brown eyes. She did love chocolate.
Dropping the burger onto her plate, she wanted to kick herself. Was she drooling over ex-cons now? So maybe he wasn’t an ex-con. In truth, there was a stiff, almost Dudley Do-Right aura about him. But in the middle of her chest—or maybe it could have been her stomach—she got the feeling he could be trouble. The image of him towering above her made her queasy. Not many men could look down on her five-feet-nine frame. But this one had, easily. He was a bull of a man. And he likely had the temperament to match. She shivered again and this time it wasn’t from admiring his physique.
She had spent a big part of her life learning the hard way about men like that. Her own father had given the very first lessons. They should be required by law to have Keep Away stamped on their foreheads. But since they didn’t, she’d learned how to spot them. Lately, the bad ones seemed to be everywhere. But for some reason, she couldn’t quite get a fix on this guy’s personality, something she could usually do in minutes. Perhaps that was why he kept drawing her attention, like she was searching for the missing piece to a jigsaw puzzle.
EMALEA PATIENTLY WATCHED the man as he stood next to his motorcycle on the edge of the old section of closed highway. Up and down the asphalt, bikes roared as people took their Saturday off to become the decadent bikers they secretly dreamed of being while sitting behind their desks. Her plan to embarrass this guy had formulated in her mind while she ate. It had become her quest for the day, even though she realized he might not deserve it. She felt driven to show him, to prove to him…something. She just wasn’t sure what. The need to prove anything to a stranger was ridiculous and she knew it. She tried to suppress the idea that she was actually attracted to him—better not to dwell on such things now.
With a toss of her head, Emalea slipped away from her friends and started down the path of a woman bent on revenge. She strolled toward him as seductively as she could in her dusty leather boots. He noticed her and visibly stiffened. She met his gaze head-on. Mmm, chocolate.
Giving herself a mental shake, she ran her hand across the seat of his bike. “So you’re the one riding this piece of junk.”
The chocolate became brown granite. “Lady, don’t start with me.”
Emalea heard footsteps on the gravel behind her, but chose to ignore them. She figured it was only Lana, who wouldn’t be too happy when she heard what was coming next. Emalea refocused on the man in front of her.
“What? You think you’ve got something special here?”
“I think it’s a lot better than that flashy girl bike you’re on.” He tried to look serious but couldn’t quite hold it, so he grinned instead.
She tried not to smile with him. She had a mission. She wanted to embarrass him a bit, and maybe show him what this “lady” was made of, all in the name of fun, naturally. “I imagine I could blow you and this piece of junk straight off the road with that girl bike.”
He paused in the middle of digging his key from his pocket and swiveled his head around, his mouth partially open in amazement.
“Are you trying to say you want to race me?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
“Em, for heaven’s sakes.” She heard Lana’s voice behind her but waved her hand.
Mr. Thug grabbed on to his handlebar and straddled his bike, his brawny thigh bumping into her.