Breaking The Rules

A sensual vision that had his blood pumping fast through his veins.

And a distraction he didn’t need or welcome.

He left the bedroom only to return a few minutes later with one of his T-shirts. Lifting her in his arms again, he pulled the shirt over her head and slipped her limp arms through the sleeves. Once he had her decently covered, he worked the back lacing of the corset, pulled it from around her and firmly tugged the shirt down.

A dreamy little sigh escaped her parted lips when he eased her back onto the bed. “Hmm,” she murmured, turning onto her side. Her hand landed in his lap, dangerously close to his fly.

Her slender fingers flexed.

A flash of heat flared in his gut and spread south.

He sat on the edge of the bed staring down at her, his gaze divided between the blissful expression on her face and the delicate fingers brushing his fly.

What the hell was he supposed to do with her now?

Absolutely nothing!

He had a business to salvage thanks to Hayden’s obsession with the opposite sex. He couldn’t afford a distraction, especially one with a body made for sin and a sassy glint in her turquoise gaze capable of sending his testosterone levels soaring.

“Nothing,” he muttered, and gently eased away from her.

He crossed the room and flipped off the overhead light, quietly closing the door behind him. He hoped his lapse into knight in shining armor was brief, praying it wouldn’t cost him any more than it already had: the unexpected need clawing his gut.

Too bad the only relief he suspected existed resided in the form of a buxom Princess sleeping off the effects of too much alcohol on an empty stomach.

3

Rule 3: A lady will never openly seek an invitation, but will wait until one has been extended to her.

CONSCIOUSNESS returned with a vengeance.

Carly eased her eyes open to mere slits, then quickly squeezed them closed against the blinding sunlight streaming through an open window. A series of jackhammers pounded on the street, or somewhere.

Her head?

Sweet Mary, what had she done?

Like a bad movie, the events of the previous day swam through her muddled and pounding head. Her panicked flee from the church. A hastily written note with virtually no explanation as to why she couldn’t go through with the wedding. The drive into Chicago. Her car breaking down in front of a bar, followed by far too many Scotch on the rocks for someone who’d never tasted anything stronger than sacramental wine.

She opened her eyes and groaned, grabbing her head in both hands, hoping to still the memories and lessen the pounding. She failed on both counts.

A flash of color caught her attention. Carefully, she opened one eye. Blue. Navy blue cotton?

She sat up quickly—too quickly—and heard the sound of a pitiful moan. Good grief, was that her?

One hand continued to hold on to her head, while the other shot to her rolling stomach. A few deep breaths later, she eased her eyes open again and looked down.

She was wearing a T-shirt.

A man’s T-shirt?

Frowning took too much energy, so she simply looked around the unfamiliar room. Where was she? Nothing snagged a memory. Worse, there just weren’t any memories, no clues as to how she ended up in a strange room dressed in a man’s T-shirt.

She spied her wedding gown laid carefully over a wooden ladder-back chair in front of an old student desk and gasped. Not only her wedding gown but her stockings, garter and corset, as well, all neatly folded and sitting on the corner of the desk. Had someone undressed her? Had she…?

“Oh, sweet Mary.”

Carefully, she eased her legs over the side of the twin bed and stood, the hem of the T-shirt reaching a few inches above her knees. Thankfully, the room didn’t spin. She vaguely recalled spinning, but not here, not in this room. It had been somewhere cool that smelled of bleach and disinfectant.

She shook her head, then groaned when a fresh flash of pain stabbed behind her light-sensitive eyes. She crossed an old braided rug to the door, then quietly stepped into a short hallway. The dulled hardwood floor was cool beneath her feet as she debated heading down the corridor toward the intoxicating aroma of fresh-brewed coffee or making use of the bathroom directly across the hall.

The bathroom won.

She took care of her immediate needs, then splashed cool water on her face. Studiously avoiding her reflection in the mirror, she opened the medicine chest in search of toothpaste. A tube with the cap snapped firmly in place sat on the lower shelf beside a single toothbrush, a container of floss and a bottle of inexpensive aftershave. Whomever had taken her home was neat, and single.

Since her own toothbrush and other toiletries were still in her car in the overnight bag she’d snagged before bolting from Homer, she made use of her unknown host’s toothpaste by spreading it on the tip of her finger. She snapped the medicine chest closed, then further invaded his privacy by liberating a comb and attempting to restore a bit of semblance to her hair.

Feeling about as refreshed as she could without the benefit of a hot shower and a change of clothes, she left the sanctity of the small tiled bathroom and slowly made her way down the corridor. To her immediate left, a door stood open. Ignoring everything she’d ever been taught about good manners, she peered inside, hoping to gain any amount of knowledge possible about the identity of her host. All she received was further confirmation of his cleanliness, which pretty much eliminated Benny or Joe, based solely on their scruffy attire.

Still clueless, she left the corridor and entered a comfortably and neatly furnished living room. No newspapers cluttered the old but shining surface of a square coffee table. Not a single magazine lay near the vinyl recliner or was tossed carelessly on the shelf of the wall unit, which doubled as an entertainment center and bookshelf. Even the CDs and videocassettes were arranged in neat rows and—she peered closer—in alphabetical order. The only occupant in the wood-paneled living room was an overweight white cat, stretched over the back of the sofa. His big, round green eyes shot her a look of disdain before the furry beast hopped off his perch and meowed his way into another room.

Hoping the cat would offer some sort of clue as to her whereabouts, she followed. She stilled at the sound of a deep, masculine voice chastising the cat affectionately.

She knew that voice from somewhere.

Before she had time to resurrect the memory, the owner of the voice, followed by the cat, rounded the corner and stopped. Carly stared at a wide chest. Her gaze dipped to faded denim hugging lean hips and long legs, to bare feet. She didn’t need him to turn around to know his backside was one incredible specimen of masculine perfection. She’d spent enough time last night admiring that view.

Dragging her gaze away from all that perfection, she tipped her head back and looked into eyes the color of dark chocolate. She stifled a groan. Of all the people in Chicago, she had to end up half-naked in the grumpy bar owner’s apartment.

Had he undressed her? Just the thought of those hands on her body, her unconscious body, made her skin heat.

The missing pieces of her memory fell rapidly into place, particularly how rudely she’d behaved to him. Even telling herself he deserved it considering he’d been equally rude, not to mention judgmental, did nothing to lessen her embarrassment.

Not knowing what else to do, she extended her hand. “How do you do,” she said, pushing her hair out of her eyes with her left hand. “I’m Carly Cassidy, and I don’t think I’ve ever been more embarrassed in my life.”

She wished he would at least smile. She vaguely remembered his was one of those breath-stealing types. Sweet and sexy enough to make her heart flutter in her chest. Unfortunately, he wasn’t in a smiling mood this morning. He just looked down at her with that intense gaze as if deciding what to do with her.

“Considering your life only consists of twenty-four years, that’s not saying much.” He shifted his coffee mug to his left hand, then grasped hers in a firm grip that sent a series of tingles shooting up her arm to settle in the tips of her breasts.

“Cooper Wilde.”

She slowly pulled her hand from his. The tingling didn’t stop. “I don’t know whether to say it’s been a pleasure or not.”

A half grin lifted one corner of his mouth. “No, I don’t suppose you would. Coffee?”

“Any chance you might have some tea handy?” she asked, telling herself she was not affected by his lopsided grin. She’d heard him laugh the night before and seemed to remember the sound had made her feel all warm and fuzzy inside. He really was quite attractive, frowns and all. If a girl went for all those angled lines and rough edges.

He shot her a look that said I think not.

“Coffee works for me.”

She followed him into a small, compact kitchen, tugging on the hem of the T-shirt. He pulled a mug from the cabinet and filled it. “Black?”

Why not? she thought, and nodded. After what she’d consumed previously, black coffee would be a definite improvement.

“I don’t mean to be rude,” she said, taking the mug from him before following him out of the room to a small square dining table beneath a pair of windows. “But, exactly where am I and how did I get here?”

He sat in a chair and leaned back. “I found you passed out in the ladies’ room after closing.”

She set her mug on the table and dropped into another vinyl padded chair. “Oh sweet Mary,” she muttered, dropping her head into her hands. Now she knew what had been cool and smelled of bleach and disinfectant. The bathroom floor!

He lifted his mug to his lips, his bittersweet gaze regarding her over the rim, revealing nothing other than perhaps mild interest. “It was either bring you up here or call the cops.”

“Thank you.” She could just imagine what her family would have to say about a visit on the wrong side of the divider at the local Gray Bar Hotel. Hi Dad, it’s Carly. Just calling you from my jail cell to tell you I’m fine.

She frowned and looked over at Cooper. “‘Up here?’” she asked, taking a sip of much-needed caffeine. The cat purred and dropped onto his side, stretching his large furry body beneath a sunbeam streaming through the open window.

“I live above the bar,” Cooper said.

Made sense, she thought. It was convenient. That thought made her frown deepen, wondering if he often brought home stray women. No, she decided. The single toothbrush told the truth. Cooper Wilde was extremely single and excessively neat. Even his hair was neat, cut in a short cropped style. No stray locks of sable brushing that forehead. Everything had a place and everything was in its place. No doubt he viewed her as a disruption to his neat and orderly lifestyle.

Well, now what was she going to do? She had no clothes since they were locked in her car, and she couldn’t very well prance around the city of Chicago in his T-shirt or her filthy wedding gown looking for a place to live.

Her car!

“Did the tow truck ever show up last night?” she asked him.

He turned to look out the window. “Either that or your car’s been stolen.”

“My purse. Do you have my purse?” If the driver had shown up, he would have given her a business card, or had her sign a receipt of some sort. Something to tell her the whereabouts of her vehicle, a change of clothes and her own toothbrush.

He stood and walked across the small dining area to a built-in cabinet. Opening a long center drawer, he pulled out her satin bag. “I found it when I went back down to finish closing the bar last night. You’re lucky it was there.”

She ignored the censure in his voice and opened the purse to riffle through the meager contents. Everything was there, except two twenties, which she’d no doubt spent last night in the bar. Unfortunately, no business card or receipt from the tow company. “Do you have a phone book?” she asked before he sat.

He retrieved the phone book and a cordless phone and set them in front of her, then disappeared into the kitchen. The cat promptly followed.

She scanned the pages until she found the name of the first tow company that sounded familiar. After a quick call to the dispatcher, she learned her car had indeed been towed to a local Ford dealership. The subsequent call was useless, however, since it was Sunday and the dealership was closed.

“You want to call someone to pick you up?” He placed a small plate with dry toast in front of her, and sat. Obviously he’d had experience with hangover remedies.

“Thank you,” she said, and nibbled on the toast. She could call any one of her sisters and they’d come to her rescue as quickly as humanly possible. She could even call her parents. Except Carly was tired of being rescued. And she was fed up with doing what everyone always expected of her.

As the youngest daughter, she’d been expected to stay close to home. She’d been expected to finish college and return to the family fold. She’d done that.

Everyone expected her to teach at the local high school, just like her older sister Wendy. She’d accepted a position. As expected.

Everyone—her family, friends, and the majority of the population of Homer, Illinois—had expected her to marry Dean Langley, the only guy she’d ever dated. They started going out in high school, so of course everyone just assumed they’d marry when they continued their courtship through her years at college. She’d even agreed, as expected, she thought with a hefty dose of cynicism, but as the wedding drew closer, she knew she couldn’t go through with it for one very simple reason—they weren’t in love.

The day before the wedding, she’d asked Dean if he was in love with her. His response hadn’t broken her heart, but had merely made her face the truth they’d both managed to avoid for months. Too many people had worked hard to make the wedding happen. Did she really want to disappoint them?

That was no reason to get married, as far as she was concerned, but Dean had countered her arguments with a diagnosis of prenuptial anxiety.

Anxiety about spending the rest of her life with a man she loved, rather than one she was in love with, she couldn’t argue.

Yesterday she’d taken the first step. A faulty one, considering she’d given in to her case of cold feet, ended up in a bar, passed out and woke up in the apartment of a strange but very sexy man with warm brown eyes and a body she couldn’t ignore without being a discredit to her gender.

She couldn’t go back. If she did, she’d no doubt end up married to a man she didn’t love, working in a job she didn’t want and living the rest of her life wondering what if.

She shifted her gaze back to Cooper. “There’s no one.”

He leaned forward and braced his tanned forearms on the table. “I probably shouldn’t bother, but considering you passed out in my bar and slept in my bed, I think that gives me some small right to ask…. Where are you from, Princess?”

Carly considered lying, but even if she was tired of following everyone else’s rules, she couldn’t forget twenty-four years of training and teaching by her minister father. Lying was one of the Top Ten, after all. “A small town about a hundred or so miles from here.”

“Family?”

She smiled. “Do six older sisters, five brothers-in-law, both parents, three grandparents and a great-grandmother count? Oh, and a couple of aunts, uncles and innumerable cousins, too.”

He leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “Go home, Princess,” he said gently. “You’ve got a lot of people who’re probably worried about you.”

She didn’t doubt that for a minute, considering how she’d left without anything more than a note that said she was fine but couldn’t go through with the wedding.

But how could she go home? She couldn’t. Not with the rest of her life at stake.

She looked across the table at her reluctant host. “I can’t.”

A deep frown pinched his eyebrows together. “Can’t? Or won’t?”

She sighed, wondering how she could make him understand. Someone like him no doubt lived exactly as he wanted, answering to no one and living by his own rules. How could he possibly understand what her life had been like up to this point?

“A little of both, I think,” she said, looking over at him. “If I go back now, I’ll slip right back into the pattern of doing exactly what everyone always expects of me. For once in my life, even if it’s only for a short while, I’d like to do things my way.”

“And you expect to accomplish this how?”

“By getting a job, finding a place to live.” She shrugged, wondering why she was even telling a total stranger her plans. It wasn’t as if she was seeking his approval, for goodness’ sake. Her days of seeking approval were over. “I haven’t quite worked out the details.”

He leaned forward and gave her a level stare. “You want some unsolicited advice?”

“Not really, but I expect you’ll give it to me anyway,” she muttered, reaching for the other slice of dry toast.

“Go home. As of right now, you have no car, no money, and—” his gaze slid over her, making her skin tingle as if he’d physically touched her “—no clothes.”

“I realize it isn’t exactly a stellar beginning,” she said, rubbing her hands over her arms to ward off the unexpected chill chasing over her skin. “But I have to start somewhere. And if I could impose upon you for just a while longer, would you mind terribly—”

“You can’t stay here,” he said abruptly, and stood.

She shook her head. “I wasn’t…” She’d planned on asking him if he’d mind finding a discount store open and picking up a few things for her so she’d at least have something besides his T-shirt to wear until she could get her bag. Until she had something decent to wear, she couldn’t very well leave his apartment.

She frowned as an idea took root.

A very dangerous idea, but one she couldn’t completely discard as inconceivable.

Why not? she wondered. If she was going to take control of her own life, why couldn’t she ask him if she could bunk in his spare room for an extra night? Because the rules said she shouldn’t? Because the rules said she couldn’t possibly do something so rude as to impose on him?

Carly’s Law: Don’t be afraid to ask for what you need or want.

“I won’t be any trouble,” she blurted, before she lost her nerve. “I’ll even share expenses until I can find my own place.”

Cooper stared down at her, having serious doubts about her statement of being no trouble. Little Miss Cute and Curvy had been trouble with an underscored and capital “T” since she’d walked into his life. No. Not his life, his uncle’s bar. The same bar he was close to losing if he didn’t find a way to turn it around.

“It’ll probably only be for a day. Two at the most,” she said, sincerity banked in her innocent gaze.

The night she’d already spent under his roof was one night too many. He’d tossed and turned until dawn. Every time he closed his eyes, she drifted across his mind, an unwanted visitor in his home and his thoughts. The feel of her smooth as satin skin, the light floral scent of her hair, the way her long sooty lashes fanned against her cheeks while she slept had haunted his dreams. His very racy dreams.

“I like living alone,” he lied, then walked back into the kitchen for more coffee. Truth be told, while he did enjoy his privacy, he’d never lived completely alone until recently, and reluctantly realized he missed having someone to talk to. Until he’d practically been forced by Hayden to join the service, he’d lived his life in this very apartment. After enlisting in the navy, he’d bunked with a bunch of other guys either in barracks, aboard a ship or in other places he’d rather not remember. There was Hercules, the cat his uncle had claimed kept a nonexistent rodent population under control, but Herc was a cat and didn’t exactly qualify as a roommate, or a conversationalist.

“I promise not to get in your way.”

He turned at the pleading note in Carly’s voice. She stood next to the counter with her arms crossed, which caused the hem of his T-shirt to lift and reveal more of her smooth, lightly tanned legs.

He let out a rough breath. “I’m too busy. I have a bar to run.” I can’t afford your kind of distraction.

He felt himself wavering under the force of her full and wide grin that had her eyes sparkling and the tempo of his heartbeat increasing.

“I won’t be any trouble,” she said. “Honest.”

He didn’t believe that for a minute. She was trouble of the worst kind, the kind that could easily drive him crazy…with need, if his physical reaction to her last night was any indication of his testosterone levels.

“I’ll even help you with the bar.”

He frowned. “I already have a waitress.”

“I didn’t see her last night.”

“Karen’s daughter is sick.” The little girl suffered with asthma, and considering Karen had taken the child to the emergency room the previous night, the chances of her making her shift tonight were slim. Still, Sunday wasn’t usually all that busy, except the Cubs were playing out of town and a few of his regulars would be in to watch the game on TV.

“What do you know about tending bar, anyway?” he asked, then quickly shook his head before he completely lost his sense, common or otherwise. “No. Forget it, Carly. Go home.”

He walked out of the kitchen and headed into the living room to the entertainment center. He had two hours until he opened the bar, and he had things to do. Things that didn’t include lusting after a tempting little distraction with a lethal body and a dangerous and determined glint in her ocean-blue gaze.

“I can’t go home,” she said from behind him. “At least not yet.”

His hand stilled above the power button to the small stereo system. “You ever been a waitress?” he asked, looking over his shoulder for his common sense and finding only Carly and those soft-as-silk legs tempting him beyond reason.

“No.” She crossed her arms again, drawing his attention to her breasts. “How hard can it be?”

He forced his mind out of the gutter. “The Wilde Side isn’t some trendy, upscale club in a nice, safe part of town. The tips are lousy and the customers aren’t looking for chitchat from some perky number like you. It’s a neighborhood tavern that serves hard drinks to hardworking men. You won’t fit in.”

“How do you know that unless you’re willing to give me a chance?”

He punched the button to the stereo and adjusted the volume low. “I just know.”

“That’s a cop-out.”

A grin he wasn’t really feeling tipped his lips. “It’s my bar, Princess.”

His uncle’s bar, but his responsibility. Carly was a distraction, plain and simple. The fact that he couldn’t get her out of his mind was more than enough reason for him to send her packing back to her safe world where people cared about her and were worrying where she’d gone.

With Karen off, he really could use the extra help, even if it was only to give him time to take care of other business matters regarding the bar. Matters that might allow the doors of The Wilde Side to remain open so he could keep his promise to Hayden, though it was a long shot.

“Why is this so important to you?” he asked before he could stop himself. Whatever happened to not caring?

She moved closer and trailed her finger along the entertainment center. “Before I go back home, I have to know I can make it on my own. I’ve never done anything important or even exciting my entire life. What everyone else wanted me to do, I did. I’ve always been the quintessential good girl. I’ve listened to and followed every single rule ever created. Boring and predictable. That’s me,” she said, then looked down at the dust-free pad of her finger with a frown before glancing up at him.

“All right,” he reluctantly relented. “I could use the help for a couple of days. But if you’re bored and looking for a vacation from staid and predictable, look elsewhere, Princess. The Wilde Side doesn’t have what you’re looking for.”