Riding the Thunder - Deborah MacGillivray [52]
“Don’t trust rich men. They don’t mind slumming about with trailer trash like me, but they aren’t the type to stick around.” She winked, saying Asha arrived at the crux of the problem.
“What’s that you said when you gave me advice?—not all pretty men are alike. Maybe you should give Liam a bit more credit. He chooses to live here not England. And you, Netta Reynolds, are anything but common.”
On the Wurlitzer Gene Pitney wailed, “—true love is worth all the pain, the heartache and tears . . .”
Netta shuddered. “We’re going to have to seriously do something about that jukebox. It’s sinister.”
“Guess we can put the help wanted sign in the window Monday morn.” Asha took the bottle back. “So, is that maybe a yes on the hostess job? I’m suddenly in urgent need of one.”
Jago had noticed Asha watching him from the shadows of the office, her eyes full of longing. Much to his vexation, that look of reservation was there as well. Asha simply didn’t trust easily. Fortunately, he was a patient man. Yeah, keep telling yourself that, his mind mocked. Only it wasn’t easy. He couldn’t think of anything but her. When he noticed how her bronze tresses shimmered under the recessed lighting, his brain conjured images of his hands fisted in those long strands. Or the way her eyes flashed fire when she was fearful he’d cheat Derek—it made him want to see them flash with another sort of flame—passion. And when she rocked her hips to the music, his besotted mind blanked his vision, leaving him seeing her over him moving in the same pagan rhythm. The past days were nothing but a montage of Asha. At night, alone in his bed, it played over and over in his head.
Never having loved anyone outside of his mother and brothers, Jago wasn’t entirely sure this was love. The words seemed too pale for what burned through him. Obsession. Compulsion. Fascination. Hell, he couldn’t think of another word to fit, so he guessed it must be love. The instant Jago looked into Asha’s amber-brown eyes he’d been lost.
He’d feel peculiar, befuddled by the enormity, if he hadn’t noticed the same sort of expression on the face of Asha’s brother. Possibly, there was something in the air. They say April in Paris is for lovers. He’d match October in Kentucky.
“The hairs on the back of my neck always stood up when my sisters were out of sight and it suddenly got quiet,” Liam commented, tossing in two dimes to the poker ante.
Jago pitched in two to match, and raised him three. “Only you don’t feel very brotherly toward Netta, eh?”
“Not the least.” Liam hesitated, glanced to the door, then threw down his cards with a frown. “Damn, I fold. I can’t concentrate on bloody cards with Netta on my brain. Let’s see what they’re up to.”
“Excuse us, gents.” Jago folded his hand and slid from the booth behind Liam. “It’s been a pleasure. Maybe we can do it again—soon?”
As he passed the jukebox, he glared. The thing was playing a hit by The Troggs, the singer crooning how he wanted to spend his life “. . . with a girl like you.”
“Now you play love songs, you menacing monster,” he grumbled.
He nearly bumped into Liam, who had stopped short. Nudging with his elbow, Liam pointed for Jago to look. The two women were sprawled on the sofa, laughing hysterically, a half-empty bottle of Scotch on the floor at their bare feet. The fat cat, draped over Asha’s lap, lifted his head and meowed a hello.
Jago leaned against the doorframe drinking in Asha. Her mass of auburn hair spilled over her shoulders; she looked deliciously rumpled. Hell, he was jealous of that damn feline. He’d like to go over there and curl up on her lap.
“You’re drunk.” Liam laughed.
“Me, too,” Asha chirped with a big smile.
Netta took a deep breath. “Not me. I’m just pleasantly mellow. We’ve been toasting Gene Pitney, men in kilts, various unnamed males—to protect the guilty—and trying to figure out what costumes we’ll wear for the Halloween bash.”
“Earthshaking events all, but I thought we had a date for the drive-in.” Liam sat on the arm of the sofa, grinning.
The blonde turned her head, rolling