He reached for the can of marine grease. Maybe she could slake the ache inside him, provide a few hours of distraction, a few minutes of release.
Mistake or not, he would be there.
*
*
*
This bar was a mistake, Lara thought. The Galaxy was four blocks from the waterfront, off the tourist path, in a rundown neighborhood of shaded windows, sagging porches, and chain fences.
She perched in one of the dingy booths, trying to watch the room without making eye contact with the sailors and construction types straddling the stools at the bar.
Or maybe not.
At least in these seedy surroundings, no one would question if she and Gideon helped one slurring, stumbling patron out to their car later that night.
Over the bottles, a TV flickered, competing with the glow of the neon signs. mil er. bud. pabst blue ribbon.
The air stank of bodies and beer, a trace of heavy cologne, a whiff from the men’s room down the hal . She folded her hands in her lap, her untouched Diet Coke leaving another ring on the cloudy table.
“Is it hot in here, or is it you?”
F o r g o t t e n s e a 1 1
She looked up to find two sailors flanking her table.
“Excuse me?”
The larger sailor shifted closer, trapping her into the booth.
“You’re too pretty to be sitting here alone. Mind if we join you?”
She wasn’t alone. Gideon watched from an il -lit corner, his attention divided between her and the door.
She straightened on the sticky vinyl seat. “I’m waiting for someone.”
“I don’t see anybody.” The sailor—hovering drunkenly between cheerful and offensive—nudged his companion.
“You see anybody, T.J.?”
T.J.’s blurred gaze remained focused on Lara’s breasts.
“Nope.”
“Let me buy you a drink,” the first guy said.
“No, thanks,” Lara said firmly.
“There you are.” A male voice, deep and smooth, broke through the noise of the bar and the wail of the jukebox.
Somehow the sailors shifted, and there
It was him. Her quarry from the boat.
Her heart, her breath, her whole body reacted. Her fingertips tingled. Wel , they would. She was attuned to him, to his energy.
He grinned at her. “Miss me?”
“You’re late,” she said.
Twelve minutes. Not enough to abandon her mission, but Twelve minutes. Not enough to abandon her mission, but enough to pinch her ego.
“Come on, baby, don’t be mad. You know I had to work.”
The newcomer’s eyes danced, and she realized abruptly he was acting, playing a part for the sailors who stil hemmed her into the booth. He lowered his voice confidingly.
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V i r g i n i a K a n t r a
“Thanks for keeping an eye on her. She gets . . . restless if I leave her alone too long. If you know what I mean.”
Lara kept her mouth shut with an effort. The shorter sailor guffawed. His companion shifted his weight like a bul , hunching his shoulders.
“I should pay you back,” the newcomer continued easily.
Man-to-man, she thought, making them like him, make them side with him, diffusing the tension. He moved again, angling his body so smoothly she almost didn’t see him slide his wal et from his front pocket.
Feet shuffled. Something passed hands. The sailors nodded to her and then ambled back to the bar.
Lara narrowed her eyes. “Did you just give them money?”
“I bought them a round.” His grin flashed. “Why not?”
“You
“Think of it as supporting our troops.” He met her gaze, his own wickedly amused. “Unless you’d rather we pound each other for the privilege of plying you with alcohol.”
“Of course not. Anyway, I already have a drink, thank you.”
He eyed her glass and shook his head. “Place like this, you order beer. In a bottle. Unless you want to wake up with something a hel of a lot worse than a headache.”
He turned to signal the waitress.
Lara appreciated his concern. But his caution would make her task more difficult. Her fingers curled around the handle of her bag on the seat beside her. Maybe it wouldn’t be necessary to drug his drink, she thought. Explanations were out of the question. He wouldn’t believe her, and they might be overheard. But surely she could rouse something in him, a response, a spark, a memory.
F o r g o t t e n s e a 1 3
Assuming he was one of them.
Perhaps she should offer to feel his muscles after al .
The thought made her flush. “I don’t even know your name.”
“Justin.” No last name.
“Lara. Lara Rho.”
She started to extend her hand, but at that moment he caught the waitress’s eye and the opportunity to touch him was lost.
Lara swal owed her disappointment.
The waitress, a hard-edged, hard-eyed blonde who looked like she’d rather be somewhere else, left the knot of locals absorbed by the game on TV. “What can I get you?”
“Two Buds,” Justin said.
The waitress looked at Lara. “ID?”
“Of course,” she said, reaching for her purse.
