Under Fire. Jamie Denton Ann

you win or lose?” he asked her.

      She tilted her head. A stray wisp of light-blond hair slid from the clawlike contraption holding her hair in place and brushed against her cheek. “Excuse me?”

      “The bet with your friends,” he added with an inclination of his head in their direction. “Am I the prize or the parting gift?”

      Her wide, kissable-looking mouth split into a full grin and she laughed, the sound warm and inviting. “You would definitely be the prize. Except it wasn’t exactly a bet.”

      “No?” Damn, she intrigued him. Not a good sign.

      “How about I buy you that drink and tell you about it?” she suggested.

      He had nowhere in particular to go besides home, where he’d sit in the quiet, mulling the incident over and over in his mind, dissecting each and every move he and the others had made once they’d arrived on the scene. Nothing would change. The end result would remain the same, and he’d still have to come to terms with the probability that he could very well be the one solely responsible for the death of Ivan “Fitz” Fitzpatrick.

      Suddenly, being alone held about as much appeal as a root canal. “Sure,” he heard himself saying. “Why not?”

      Her eyes brightened considerably, as did her smile. “Jana,” she offered by way of introduction, then extended her right hand.

      He clasped her small hand in his, impressed by the confident strength in her grip. “Ben.” No last names, he thought. Nothing too personal, which managed to convince him she wanted nothing more than to satisfy whatever wager she’d made or lost to her friends.

      Her high-voltage smile faltered for a brief instant, and she pulled her hand away. “We’re in luck,” she said, indicating an empty booth.

      Thankfully they’d be far enough away from his pals so she couldn’t discern their ribald comments or witness their raucous behavior. Not that he could blame them. It wasn’t every day he fell victim to a come-on by a beautiful woman.

      He’d always had plenty of offers, he’d just never been all that good at lasting relationships. He dated, if a woman interested him enough to ask her out, but eventually they all moved on once they realized he wasn’t looking for emotional intimacy.

      He had his reasons, and in his opinion, they were valid. After his mother had died when he was only ten years old, Ben had witnessed his father’s slow deterioration. Assuming the care of his younger brothers and attempting to shield them from the old man’s self-destruction had been tough, but he had learned a valuable lesson and had sworn he wouldn’t be like his father. Ben had been in his teens when he’d realized he had more in common with his mother, a woman who hadn’t allowed anything to interfere with what was really important to her. Something his father had resented so deeply he’d let it destroy him.

      Physical intimacy, however, was another matter altogether, and had never been a problem in his opinion. In his experience with women, most of them wanted what he refused to give them—a commitment. His last girlfriend had accused him of being emotionally bankrupt because he hadn’t allowed her to clutter up his home with her personal things.

      He caught the waitress’s attention as Jana slid into the booth. One drink, he told himself, then he’d thank her and leave. Granted, his body might be responding to the awareness starting to take hold, but just because she’d approached him didn’t necessarily translate to her wanting more.

      More male laughter rose above the din, causing him to glance over his shoulder to the round table in the corner. Sure enough, his brother and friends were roaring with laughter. Ben didn’t care much one way or the other if they’d made him the butt of one of their jokes. They needed to blow off steam after the day they’d had. If he was the punch line, then he figured that was the least he could do for them.

      JANA TOOK a slow, even breath in a vain attempt to convince her insides to stop jumping with nervousness. The hard part was over, and she had nothing to worry about—she hoped.

      She smoothed her moist palms down her skirt again. All she had to do was get through one drink without making a total fool of herself. After a little inane, meaningless conversation, she’d hightail it to the relative safety of Chloe and Lauren and lie through her teeth that Mr. Wonderful was either too dull or gay.

      So then why could she still feel the touch of Ben’s hand over hers? And what was with the electrifying warmth uncurling in her belly? All because she’d shaken his hand? Ridiculous. And tempting beyond belief.

      “What about your friends?” she asked him as he slid into the booth opposite her.

      He smiled, and the corners of his eyes crinkled slightly. “They’re big boys,” he said with a chuckle. “I think they can figure it out for themselves, don’t you?”

      Another round of raucous male laughter drifted toward them. Her mind took a definite left turn down a treacherous path as she imagined exactly what had been so uproariously funny. To her dismay, she felt heat creep up her neck and settle in her cheeks. “Yes, I imagine they can.”

      Oh yes. She most definitely could imagine what they’d said, and couldn’t help the wave of embarrassment rising to the surface and nearly strangling her with dread. Dare or no dare, she couldn’t go through with it.

      She inched toward the edge of the booth, preparing to make her escape before she humiliated herself further. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea,” she said, trying to keep the edge of panic from her voice. “I’m sorry.”

      “Wait!” The urgent tone of his voice stopped her, but he still reached over the table and grabbed her arm before she slipped away.

      “Don’t go,” he said, gentling his tone as he released her. “It’s okay. You don’t normally do this sort of thing, do you?”

      She wanted to ignore the sparks skittering along the surface of her skin from his touch, but failed miserably. Her insides tingled, too, with acute awareness. When was the last time something like that had happened to her? Not in recent memory, of that she was dead certain.

      “You mean pick up men in bars?” The laugh she managed sounded more caustic than casual, but she slid back to the center of the booth anyway. Apparently women were as ruled by their hormones as men were. “That obvious, huh?”

      “A little,” he said with a confirming nod and a smile that reached his eyes, yet failed to chase away the shadows she suddenly sensed lurking there. “So why did you?”

      A waitress appeared to take their order. Since Jana had bucked tradition enough for one night, she decided on a safe glass of chardonnay. “A dare,” she said, once Ben placed his order for a beer.

      He settled back against the imitation leather booth. The laugh lines bracketing his eyes deepened, as did his smile. “A dare?”

      “Yes,” she admitted sheepishly. “A triple, double-dog dare.”

      His robust laughter salved her badly dented pride. “I haven’t heard that one since I was a kid.”

      “Yes, well, no one ever said grown women had to behave rationally or exhibit maturity at all times.”

      “That’s still tough, though, even at the ripe old age of…”

      “Twenty-seven,” she told him, wishing she had as smooth a method for him to reveal his age. She figured he couldn’t be much older than thirty-two or three.

      He leaned forward and folded his arms on the table-top, the smile still lingering on his handsome face. “Everybody knows you can’t back off from a triple, double-dog dare.”

      “Exactly,” she said, relaxing somewhat. “Chloe and Lauren weren’t playing fair, but I had no choice.”

      “Of course you didn’t. Your reputation was under fire.”

      Jana reached into her purse for her wallet when their drink order arrived. “I’m