Lovers and Liars by Brenda Joyce

smiled. “Do you always stare so pointedly?”
    He jerked his gaze up to her face from where it had strayed, saw the wicked light, and laughed roughly. “Never.” A muscle on the side of his face twitched. “Are you wearing anything under there?”
    Her gaze locked with his again. “You do tend to jump to conclusions,” she said huskily.
    “I can think of something better to jump,” he said, getting throaty.
    “So can I,” she said, her glance straying downward.
    He took her arm, his hand closing around it tightly, then loosening to slide up and down. Her skin was soft, smooth. Electric. “Let’s get out of here,” he said. “Is that your boyfriend?”
    “No, just a friend,” she said, staring into his eyes.
    He stepped close. His thigh and hip touched hers. His hand moved to her back. Silk. Her scent was stronger. “Should you tell him we’re leaving?”
    She shifted her body slightly, but enough. Pressing her hip into his hardness, one breast against his arm. For a moment they stared breathlessly at each other, nerves racing, burning. “I’ll have to meet you later.”
    “Okay,” he said, trying not to lose focus. He didn’t know what he said. He was aware only of her, her feel and smell—and his intense need to get her into bed.
    He swallowed. “In an hour? At Nicki Blair’s?”
    “An hour and a half,” she said, giving him a long look.
    He stared at her disappearing back. A gorgeous ass. A glimpse of strong, long legs through the slit. Oh, God. An hour and a half. He could barely wait.
    Then he rounded a corner, and there was Abe Glassman.
    With his wife.

19
    J ack and Abe Glassman stared at each other from across the room while Jack fought potent, painful memories.
    Jack clenched his jaw so hard he thought he might grind his teeth to the gums. But he didn’t look away. He recognized the challenge. And damn, he wasn’t afraid of that bastard. Glassman couldn’t touch him now. Right?
    Jack became aware of how tense he was, and he forced himself to relax, to smile and act cool. As if seeing this man again—who had almost had him killed, who had cost him six months in the hospital, who had then ruined his chances in New York—meant nothing to him.
    But the shock of being in the same room with a man he hated made his pulse pound and his brow sweat.
    Abe had his arm around Nancy and was pulling her with him as he approached. Jack looked at her for the first time and saw the horror in her eyes, which were riveted on him. She was as white as a ghost—as if she’d seen a ghost. Maybe she’d thought he’d died, after all. Had she once come to inquire about him when he’d been recovering in the hospital? Maybe they’d both thought he’d died—and then Jack immediately corrected himself. Abe Glassman didn’t deal in assumptions . He had known exactly what he was doing when he’d had Jack beaten up to within an inch of his life. Just as he knew exactly what he was doing now. The fear was just a stabbing, like the prick of a needle. He controlled his expression. He wasn’t about to give anything away. What did Glassman want?
    His heart was pumping erratically.
    “If it isn’t my old driver,” Glassman sneered.
    “If it isn’t Abe Glassman, Upright Citizen of the Year,” Jack said coolly. He couldn’t control the trickle of sweat at his temple. But he didn’t brush at it.
    “You remember my wife,” Abe said, holding Nancy tightly by the arm.
    Jack met Nancy’s eyes briefly and was shocked by the hatred he saw blazing there. For a moment he couldn’t look away, and neither could she. “Abe,” Nancy whispered weakly, but she didn’t take her gaze from Jack’s.
    “Maybe you two have some catching up to do,” Abe sneered.
    His cruelty appalled Jack and angered him. “What in the hell do you want?”
    “Still the tough punk.” Abe grinned. “Once a punk, always a punk.”
    If it had been anyone else, anyone other than this man, Jack might have been amused. But amusement was