She shifted so that all Frankie could see was her profile. He hadn’t seemed to recognize her yet and she prayed that he wouldn’t. Back in high school, Frankie had been a jerk, the first person to taunt her and Carrie about their mother. He’d once humiliated the sisters in front of the entire school, when he’d called them trash in the cafeteria and thrown his lunch at them.
“Who’s the fox?” Frankie teased, stepping toward Rachel.
With reluctance, she turned to face the man who’d once made her life miserable.
His eyes widened, his jaw looked about to hit the floor. “Rachel Foster?”
She shrugged a shoulder. “It’s me,” she said lightly, hoping the conversation would end there.
But it didn’t.
“No kidding. Fast Foster! I didn’t even recognize you.”
Fast Foster. The awful nickname hit her like a spray of bullets, causing her eyes to sting. No, she would not cry. She would not give this jerk the satisfaction.
“Apologize to the lady,” Travis ordered, his voice low and ominous.
Rachel forced herself not to look at Travis, fearing the pity and disgust she’d see in his eyes. He had to remember the Fast Foster days. And a part of him had to wonder if any of the rumors were true.
Frankie guffawed. “What lady? All I see is the easy daughter of the town slut.” He reached out and pinched Rachel’s bottom, still laughing.
The tears spilled out of Rachel’s eyes at the same time Frankie went flying across the room. She blinked. Saw that Travis had pushed the man against the wall and was holding him by the collar. No matter how much she despised Frankie, she despised violence more. Rushing over to the two men, she touched Travis’s arm. “Travis, stop.”
He didn’t even glance at her. She saw the tight line of his mouth, the hardness of his jaw, and couldn’t decide if he looked attractive or menacing. She knew better than to throw herself in the middle of two brawling men, so she took a step back.
“I can have you thrown in jail for sexual assault, you hear that, Delacorte?” Travis spat out. He reached inside his coat and pulled out his badge. “See this, you slime? This badge means you don’t get to put your hands on any woman. Now you can either apologize to Rachel or spend the night behind bars. The choice is yours.”
Face red, Frankie’s fearful eyes darted toward Rachel. “I’m sorry,” he muttered.
Travis slammed him against the wall. “She didn’t hear you,” he snapped.
“I’m sorry!” Frankie cried.
Travis released his hold and pushed the man away. “Now get out of here. I don’t want to see your face.”
With hurried steps, Frankie nodded and dashed out of the bar, disappearing through the front doors.
Rachel stayed quiet as she watched Travis return his badge to his pocket. He raked his fingers through his dark hair before turning to look at her. Sheer, unadulterated fury glimmered in his whiskey-colored eyes, and she could almost see his pulse thudding against his corded neck, almost feel the tension bunching in his powerful biceps and clenched fists. He still looked ready to pounce, angry, alert, but worse than that, he appeared sympathetic. No, not sympathy. Pity. Of course, he only pitied her. That’s why he’d come to the defense of pathetic Rachel Foster.
She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, banishing all the wet tears still splotched across her cheeks. “You shouldn’t have done that,” she murmured before spinning on her heel and walking back to their table.
Travis trailed after her. “All right, I may have overreacted. But seeing that creep touch you was just too much.”
She slung her purse over her shoulder and gave him a calm, even stare. “I meant you shouldn’t have tried to defend me.”
He wrinkled his forehead and that iron control of his faltered slightly. “What?”
She fought the tears struggling to erupt from her eyes. “He’s right. My mother is…she’s promiscuous, despicable. And I’m her daughter. You can’t defend her. You can’t defend me.”
“Rachel—”
“No, just stop looking at me with that damn sympathy in your eyes. I don’t need you to protect me. I don’t need you to pity me.” A tear trickled down her cheek. “This was stupid, coming here, dancing with you. You don’t want to be with someone like me, someone so…tainted.”
His features grew pained. “You’re not tainted, Rachel.”
She laughed harshly. “I won’t delude myself anymore. I’m never going to escape my mother’s reputation. Tonight proved it. And all I want right now is to leave this goddamn bar and pretend all this never happened. So please, Travis, take me home.”
Chapter Six
Travis slid into the driver’s seat of his SUV, turned the ignition, and pulled away from the curb. He hadn’t said a single word since he’d thrown a handful of bills on their table and ushered her out of the pub. His impatient strides told her he was angry with her, though for the life of her she didn’t know why. He was the one who’d made her feel as if she were a pitiful damsel whose honor needed to be defended.
“So, is this what you always do when you run into a jerk? Stick your head in the sand and hide?”
Rachel’s mouth fell open at the harshness of his words. “Excuse me?”
“I just pegged you as someone stronger than that.”
He sat behind the wheel, looking as though he was utterly disgusted, and Rachel couldn’t comprehend his gall. He was the one who took a stupid situation and made it entirely humiliating, turning every head in the bar so that all eyes were on her. He was the one who popped in and played Sir Galahad before she had the slightest chance to defend herself. Now he had colossal nerve to sit here and call her a coward?
Okay, fine. So she’d had a momentary spate of self-pity. If anyone deserved to feel sorry for herself, it was Rachel “Fast” Foster.
She folded her arms in a tight twist across her chest and huffed. “Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you.”
He turned and glanced at her, his subtle grin popping out that delicious dimple in his cheek. She tried to ignore it. She wasn’t going to stoop to being attracted to a man with such audacity.
“Oh, I’m not disappointed. I’m just a little confused. I mean, if you’re going to let people get to you like that, why didn’t you just move away?”
Through tight lips, she replied, “I’m not going to be run out of my home.”
“Well, that doesn’t make any sense at all. I mean, what is it? Are you a fighter or a coward?”
Oh, now he was going to resort to mockery. And to think she’d nearly kissed the man on the dance floor. “I usually stick up for myself, thank you, and I manage to do it without making a production out of it.”
His cocky grin faded. “You’re right, I probably took that a little farther than was necessary.”
“A little?”
“Okay, so I took the macho cop thing too far. I’ve just always wanted an excuse to nail Delacorte ever since he lined my jock with Ben Gay back in high school.”
The anger that had been squeezing in her palms suddenly faded to confusion. She’d always thought Travis and Frankie were friends, but the look on Travis’s face told her she was mistaken. “Why did he do that?”
“Some people don’t need a reason.” He reached down and tugged at his jeans, as if the memory of the mentholated ointment was still fresh in his mind. “His father’s in prison, you know.”
“No, I didn’t. What did he do?”
“He had a temper he liked to take out on the wife and kids.”
Frankie Delacorte had a father in prison? She’d never heard a peep about any trouble in his family, and at Jefferson High, everyone knew everyone’s business. How had Frankie escaped the rumor mill?
As if Travis had read her thoughts, he added, “I’m no shrink, but I suspect Frank used to pick on you and Carrie to draw attention away from himself.”
Once again, her shoulders slumped in regret. Why was it Travis always made her seem foolish whenever she tried to
feel sorry for herself? “I guess Carrie and I didn’t corner the market on problems, did we?”
He flashed a wink that sputtered light tingles around her chest. “Sweetheart, you look behind closed doors and just about every family has a skeleton or two in the closet.”
He pulled up to the no-parking zone in front of her house and shut off the ignition, quickly exiting the car and rounding the front to open her door. Travis was the only man ever to treat her like a lady, and the thought kept tugging at her resolve. She wanted so desperately to keep him at a distance, to protect her heart from damage, but she couldn’t seem to spend time with him and not feel that sense of elation every time he spoke a kind word, flashed a sexy wink, or caressed her with a heated touch.
She stepped from the car and leaned against the door. “I’m sorry, Travis. I acted like a spoiled brat.”
A smile crossed his face that should have looked arrogant, but it just came across as warm. “I suppose we both did,” he said. “And we seem to spend a lot of time apologizing to each other, don’t we?”
Her eyes shot to the ground. “I’m afraid so.”
He crooked a finger under her chin and raised her gaze to his. “Why is that?”
She shrugged. “I tend to be a little touchy at times.”
A gregarious laugh erupted from his chest. “You think?”
She tried to hold her smile at bay. He was teasing her and she didn’t like it, but she couldn’t help the sincerity behind it all. “I didn’t exactly come from a very stable environment.”
“And how long are you going to ride that wave of an excuse?” His strong hands gently grasped her shoulder then began caressing down her arms. “Come on, Rachel, what do you really want out of life?”
“I want to be left alone,” she said.
“Liar.”
“What?”
“No one wants to be left alone. Well, I take that back. Some people do, but most of them live in some forest in the middle of Montana.” He tapped a finger to her nose. “You, on the other hand, want more than that. I can see it in your eyes.”
She tried to look away, hoping to hide her reaction to the truth in his words, but her eyes wouldn’t stray from his.
“I saw the way you looked at Layla the other day,” he continued. “Her fancy house, white picket fence, cute little kid.” His hands brushed back up from her elbows to her shoulders, leaving sparks of electricity shooting in their wake. “I think underneath everything, you’d love to have a nice home with a happy family.”
It was true. As if everything she truly desired was tattooed on her forehead, Travis read her like a book.
“That’s not in the cards for me,” she said, trying not to sound pitiful, but failing miserably.
One warm hand moved from her shoulder to caress her cheek. “Why? Because it would involve opening your heart and trusting a man?”
His touch was like being kissed by an angel. As hard as she tried to hold on to that wall, Travis kept creeping inside.
“What’s it to you?” she asked, trying to direct the conversation to someone other than herself.
In a voice filled with quiet thoughtfulness, he replied, “Maybe I want to be that man.”
His words filled her ears as if they were spoken in her dreams. She couldn’t imagine any man wanting more from her than sex, and as much as she tried to discount his intentions, every part of her soul told her Travis Gage was different from all the others.
But could she trust her soul?
“Why would you want someone like me when you can have practically any woman in Chicago?”
He paused, tilting his head in a seriously cute way. “Yeah, I could hook up with one of the thousands of women in this city, but honestly, I haven’t been interested in anyone since Jess died.”
Until now.
He didn’t say the words, but she heard them, loud and clear.
And then she couldn’t hear anything except for the thud of her pulse in her ears, because Travis leaned down and kissed her. Unlike their last kiss, this one was anything but gentle. His mouth latched on hers, his tongue thrusting in her mouth quickly, as if he wanted to make the extent of his need clearly known. And boy, did she feel that need. Felt it right down to her toes, as his tongue devoured her mouth and his groin rubbed urgently against hers. He was hard, the thick bulge of his erection pressing into her belly and eliciting a thrilling wave of desire inside her.
Before she could stop herself, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back with fervor. She swirled her tongue over his, while her heart pounded against her ribs and moisture pooled between her legs. Oh God. Why was she doing this? Why did she want this man so badly when her entire life she’d avoided this kind of contact?
Without thinking, she pulled back slightly, hearing herself say, “Come inside.”
His chuckle tickled her swollen lips. “No.”
Her eyes blinked in confusion. “What?”
He took a step back. “Rachel, as much as I want you right now, I want more than your body.”
“What do you want from me then?” She met his gaze, questioning, searching, suddenly knowing she should have asked him this before she’d ever thought to invite him inside.
She watched as he drew his brows together in a frown. He appeared as baffled as she felt, as if he too had never stopped to think about what was happening between them. He swallowed visibly then said, “More than a roll in the hay. You need to believe that.”
“I do,” she said, inwardly flinching at the desperation she heard in her voice.
“Maybe, but I’d rather wait and prove it to you.”
He pressed a hard kiss against her cheek and slid a hand in his pocket. With his other, he led her to the front entrance of her building. “I’m trying to get a listing of staff who worked at Chicago General when Carrie volunteered there.”
For a moment, she stood, confused as to what he was talking about, then the kiss slowly drained from her thoughts. Her sister. The investigation. How on earth did he do that, go from sensual to professional like the flip of a light switch?
“It’s not an official case, so I’m trying to get one without a warrant, or at least find someone who will talk to us. I’ll call you tomorrow and let you know what I find out.”
She blinked, trying to clear the fog from her mind. “Okay,” she heard herself say.
He bent and kissed her again, lightly, briefly.
“Tomorrow,” he said.
She punched in the code on the keypad, allowing Travis to open the door. After she stepped inside the lobby, she turned. “Tomorrow.”
“So, what’s up?” Suzanna hovered over Rachel as she attempted to sketch some new designs.
“Nothing’s up,” she replied absently, dragging her pencil over the paper.
“Oh, really?” Suzanna pulled the sketches from Rachel’s drafting table. “Since when do you design lingerie like this?” She held up a sketch of a sheer lace bustier.
“I’m just…expanding my market,” Rachel defended, snatching the sketch from her hand. She felt the heat rise in her cheeks. She wasn’t typically modest about her new designs, but Suzanna had never turned them personal, until today.
“Come on. And you’ve been whistling all morning. I didn’t even know you knew how to whistle.”
The burning continued to torment Rachel’s cheeks, and now she was growing embarrassed at her own embarrassment. “I’m just in a good mood. Can’t I be in a good mood?”
Suzanna began tapping her fingers on the tilted white laminate. “Not without a reason.” A small smile crept across her gloss-covered lips. “So, how is Travis Gage?”
Dropping the sketch on the table, Rachel stood and began pacing. She hated being questioned, it made her feel uneasy, as if she’d done something wrong. Probably another annoying remnant from the past. Too many times she’d been called into the principal’s office to be questioned about her poor grades and the black circles under her eyes from staying up all night t
aking care of her mother.
The adults in her childhood had always tried to get the truth out of her, pried and prodded into her life to figure out if she and her sister needed to be carted off to foster homes. As much as Rachel had despised her mother, the thought of being separated from her older sister had been terrifying. Carrie was the only person she could rely on, and to Rachel, that had always meant sucking up the pain of her home life and pretending everything was just plain peachy.
Now, at thirty-one years old, she still turned to denial when someone applied pressure on her. No matter how much she loved and trusted Suzanna, talking about Travis and analyzing her own growing feelings for him only scared her to death.
Her assistant, however, was never one to back off.
“I know you met up with him last night, the least you can do is give me some details.” Suzanna grinned mischievously.
Details? God, she didn’t even know how to begin examining the details of last night. The kiss that had set her blood on fire. Travis’s assertion that he didn’t just want her body. It was the latter that seriously troubled her.
Of course he wanted her body. That’s all men ever wanted. She was a child when she’d reached that conclusion, but as an adult it had only been reaffirmed. Once she’d made a name for herself as a designer, going on casual dates had been necessary to keep up appearances. Nobody wanted to buy lingerie from a spinster. They wanted to know the person who’d designed their sexy items knew what she was doing, that she knew what it took to tempt a man and used her experiences to come up with designs guaranteed to drive the male gender wild.
The men she’d dated, however, had proved to her why she needed to protect her heart. The ones who tried to paw her in their cars were no better than those who’d accused her of being a prude. And then, of course, there was Paul. The only man she’d ever given her body to. The only man she’d ever considered giving access to her heart. But he hadn’t wanted that, had he? They’d spent six months together, six months in which she’d opened herself up, allowed herself to trust—and what had he given her in return?