Free At His Mercy by Alison Kent Page B

go. The amber liquid and ice cubes, dizzily
reflecting the colored logos, kept her there, as did an
inappropriate longing.
    For a reason she couldn’t put a name
to, staring into her scotch was easier than meeting the gaze of the
man on the stool beside her. He’d changed her tire, helped her
reload her belongings, been a complete gentleman every step of the
way.
    It was only when he looked at her
without speaking that the nape of her neck tingled, that gooseflesh
pebbled the skin of her arms. That her nipples
tightened.
    It had been forever since the quiet
lust in a man’s eyes had aroused her, and she feared having her
hunger used against her with calculating intent.
    She’d left because Mark had done so.
Weakened her with her own needs. Withheld the intimacy she longed
for. Worn her down until he’d shaken her confidence, stolen pieces
of her she wasn’t sure she’d ever get back.
    Ridiculous, really, to fear anything of
the sort. Her savior was a stranger. They weren’t involved. She was
here for a drink before they said their goodbyes. That was
all.
    She canted her head to the side, tucked
her hair behind her ear. "I thought you said your name was
Donovan."
    "It is." He laced his fingers around
his glass, the hair at his wrists dark. Dark, too, on the far edge
of his hands. Broad hands. Capable. "Nova’s a nickname."
    She thought for a minute. About his
name. About his hands. Wondered if they’d feel rough on her skin.
If he’d be clumsy, or if he’d know how to touch her. If he’d know
where. "Like a Christopher going by Topher?"
    "Someone would do that?"
    "There’s an actor …"
    He snorted. "That explains
it."
    So arrogant. So sure. She twisted on
her stool, crossed her legs, swung her foot as the music started up
again. Brushed the loose denim at his ankle with each pass of her
sandal to the beat. "And Nova? Explain that."
    He chuckled, a deep rusty sound. It
scraped her nerves, dangerous, damaging. "That would mean admitting
to behavior I’m not particularly proud of. And since it involves an
ex …"
    A nova. Exploding. Bursting. Shivering,
she found herself asking something unplanned yet … necessary. "Is
there a current?"
    His eyes on his drink, he shook his
head, and when she finally glanced over, she was in time to see the
corner of his mouth twitch with ... Regret? Sorrow? Anger? His
profile told only the edge of the story, but the tension was sharp
and made her want more.
    "I decided to keep things simple while
I’m here."
    While he was here? "By here you mean
…?"
    "Mississippi."
    Hmm. Rootless? Drifting? Like herself?
"So you don’t live in Danport?"
    "Just temporarily. The bar belongs to a
friend who found himself in a bind. I told him I’d hang out a
couple of years until he’s back on his feet."
    A couple of years? "That’s some kind of
generous."
    "I had the time."
    His comment raised all sorts of
questions, especially coming on the heels of the one about keeping
things simple. Two years without a lover? Was that what he’d
implied?
    "Lucky man, having you for a
friend."
    "So I keep telling him," he said,
lifting his drink. The ice cubes rattled when he returned the glass
empty to the bar, the lead crystal heavy as it struck the polished
wood. Lise took the sound as a sign.
    She was mobile again, though she wasn’t
leaving Danport without replacing the tire. Just her luck she’d hit
another nail on the bridge over Lake Ponchartrain if she drove the
rest of the way to New Orleans on her spare.
    Tempting fate more than she had already
wasn’t wise. It was time to find someplace to stay for the night.
She gathered her purse from the bar to her lap. "Thanks again for
the rescue."
    Still staring at his glass, he nodded,
his eyes hooded, his lashes long, dark paintbrush fans. Gorgeous.
Tempting. If she didn't get going …
    "What time do you open tomorrow? Maybe
I’ll swing by for lunch before getting back on the road."
Reluctance kept her pinned to her seat, as did his nearness,