“Listen.” Murphy leaned closer, offended for her. “I know how you play it. You sweet-talked her on the phone, got her hopes up, and now you’ll drop her without another care. She’s probably going to be crushed that you stood her up.”
“You feel sorry for her.”
Hell, yeah, he did. But it was more than that. It was disappointment in Kyle’s lack of maturity. A twinge of jealousy, because Kyle always seemed to get what Murphy wanted with such relaxed ease—and took it all for granted.
Freedom. Careless immunity from accountability.
Murphy got angrier just thinking about it. Angry with himself for wanting the same thing.
But there was also something else—something much more disturbing about leaving Tamara Clarkson alone in the lounge. She’d seen Murphy, brightened at the sight of him. Based on how alike the cousins looked, she’d thought he was Kyle, didn’t she? Murphy might as well be the one ditching her for all she knew, and that didn’t sit right with him. Not at all.
Ironic, huh? He would love to go back in there, to talk with her and see where things led, to be Kyle for just one night, but he couldn’t.
“If she’d been my date…” Murphy said, trailing off.
“You’d what?” Kyle said, challenging him.
Images ran through his head: boots, skin-on-skin, sighs…
But the good guy in Murphy shut the fantasy machine down in the face of taking care of business. As usual.
Still, his body throbbed, unrelenting in its desire.
“I’d do the right thing,” Murphy finished, the words flavorless and drab, not halfway near what he would really like to say. “Tell me, what’s so wrong with spending an hour with her? Just one goddamned hour?”
“It’s not that. It’s…” Kyle ran a hand through his short dark hair. “I hate seeing the look on their faces when things don’t go the way they want them to, you know? The disappointment. I don’t like making them feel that way.”
“How sensitive. Why don’t you just forget about this and go on to another bar where you can meet a girl who suits your discriminating appetites? In the meantime, I’ll go back inside and make some excuse to Tamara Clarkson. I’ll buy her that drink you owe her.”
“You don’t need—”
“I think I do.” He detailed how Tamara had seen him and how that made Murphy feel responsible. “I’m not going to stand by and watch while you make this woman’s night a disaster.”
“Murphy…”
Kyle seemed devastated by his cousin’s disgust. Murphy knew the look: it was that of a little brother who’d disappointed the older sibling he idolized. But Murphy was hurting, too, because he’d always hoped that his younger cousin was better than this. Yet every time Murphy realized it wasn’t true, it pained him that much more.
“Are you really going to take over my date?” Kyle asked, seeming half relieved, half chastised.
“Damn straight. In fact, Kyle, maybe I’ll just go in there and pretend I’m you, just like you suggested,” he said, not meaning it. “Because you primed her for that wild man she talked to on the phone and I’m not him. Wouldn’t it be ironic if I got dumped because I wasn’t what she wanted?”
When Kyle raised his eyebrows, Murphy made a dismissive gesture, fighting off a strange thrust of yearning. He’d meant to be ridiculous, to mock his cousin, but the words were still hanging in the air.
She wanted a wild man. She wanted Kyle.
A flame licked at the inside of his belly. Murphy had thought about how great it would be to assume Kyle’s identity, just for the night. To walk freely and shove aside all his hang-ups. To play out the fantasies he’d entertained while watching her inside that lounge.
Stupid idea, Murphy thought. Crazy.
“Just…God, get out of here,” Murphy said, pissed off at Kyle. At himself.
“But—”
“Go.”
At Murphy’s derisive command, Kyle started to walk away, glancing back over his shoulder at his cousin. He looked like a stray dog who’d been kicked to the curb by the owner he adored. Then he disappeared around the corner, shoulders slumped.
Murphy fisted his hands, battling an urge to catch up to Kyle and take back his harsh words. But he couldn’t. Not when the ego of that woman was at stake. Not when it was up to Murphy to take care of her now.
Take care of her….
As he stood there, excitement took root, even as he told himself that usurping Kyle’s place didn’t mean anything more than buying a beautiful, desirable woman one drink…even as he fought the feeling that she would be disappointed with getting a mild man instead of a wild man.
IT WAS 7:20.
Tam wanted to go home, but she also wanted to wait for Kyle Sullivan—if that’s who the guy had been—to come back into the bar. If he was her blind date, had he run as far away and as fast as he could after getting one look at her?
Middle-school-bred insecurities rushed back to her—long face, long nose…horse face.
She didn’t want to think about it. But he’d booked out of the lounge pretty quickly with that cell phone to his ear and hadn’t returned.
The reminder made her feel lonelier than ever, kicking her into departure mode. A hole numbed her stomach, an empty place where she could hide the ugly truth: he’d thought she wasn’t pretty. Her clothes, her determination to look approachable, hadn’t worked.
Stinging, she reached for her small shoulder bag. Then she headed for the door, telling herself that she was fine, chalking the night up to just another crummy day in the jungle. A day that would probably set her back another year in the dating department but—what the hell—she’d get over it.
Eventually.
But as she threaded her way to the door, she stopped in her tracks.
Because there he was, standing not five feet away, gazing at the table she’d deserted. Three college girls had already claimed the space, giggling and offering each other cheers at their good fortune.
He put his hands on his hips, turning around, surveying the room, and…
Oh. My. God.
Tam’s heartbeat thundered in her head. If this was her date, he’d lived up to the advertisement, with those blue-gray eyes that were more gorgeous than she could’ve ever imagined. Dark eyebrows winged above them, lending him a wry edge. He also had the promised black hair, cut short, conservative, although she did sense a hint of wildness where the strands had grown out, showing a bit of curl. He was tall and well built. A T-shirt covered a wide chest, muscles roping through his arms.
Very, very hot. So hot she wondered how long he would talk to her before realizing he was too hot to be talking to her.
Should she go to him and find out if he was her guy?
She heard a group of voices in the back of her mind. The Sisters of the Booty Call, their chant rising in power: Do it, do it, do it…
If not now, when? She was here to take control, right?
Sucking in a breath, she forced her body in his direction, walking with determination.
All too soon she was standing in front of him, her heart jittering against her ribs.
“Looking for this?” she said, flashing her