Kill the Competition (12 page)

A little shiver raced over her shoulders—that man's voice was utter magic.

"The car is riding smoother," Libby said.

"I got the tire replaced last night," Belinda said. Ninety-five smackeroos. "And Carole, I drove by your husband's cousin's auto repair place afterward, and he's going to call me with a quote. Thanks again for the referral." She didn't add that the man had hinted he knew someone who could arrange for her car to "disappear" if she needed quick cash.

"You're welcome." Carole sighed. "That's my quandary—I can't get a new car until I get rid of Gustav, but when I do, I'll lose my connection to a good mechanic."

"But if you stay married," Libby pointed out, "you'll get to keep the money
and
the connection."

"Yeah, but Gustav would probably want to use the money to buy a house or something." She sounded glum.

"And you'd rather have a car?" Belinda asked with a smile.

"Oh, yeah. A house ties you down. And heck, people in this town practically live in their cars anyway."

True enough.

"Incoming," Libby warned. They all zoomed down their windows, except for Rosemary, who was either dozing now or faking it. Regardless, her face would be slick with hair spray by the time they arrived at the office.

"Have the acquisition papers been signed yet?" Carole asked. "I delivered a package from Payton Manufacturing to Mr. Archer yesterday, and one to Margo."

Belinda squirmed, relatively sure that Carole shouldn't be talking about the mail even if she thought they all knew about the impending correspondence. "I could be wrong, but I suspect the contracts will come from Payton's attorneys by courier or guaranteed service."

"Woo-woo," Carole said. "Hunky Hank."

"Who?" Belinda asked.

"The APS delivery guy," Libby said, teasing the dark roots of her yellow hair with a tiny comb. "All the girls got it bad for him."

"Most of the guys, too," Carole added. "He really fills out those little shorts—oooh! Maybe he's the man Ricky said was right under my nose. Maybe Hunky Hank is my destiny."

"That's supposed to be the top female fantasy in America," Libby said. "Doing it with the APS guy in the back of his truck."

Belinda frowned. Did she have a fantasy? Besides the poor unsuspecting guy on the radio?

Libby patted and picked at her hair, preparing for the last coat of varnish. "I fantasize about a man who will mow the lawn."

Carole laughed. "Belinda, while you and Rosemary work out during lunch, Libby and I shop and ogle the landscapers."

"I don't ogle," Libby declared. "I... monitor. It might give me some material for the book."

"You are so full of crap," Carole said, poking the woman in the shoulder.

Belinda smiled at the interplay and took advantage of the opportunity to zone into her own thoughts. She was being fast-tracked at her new job, she was making friends, and that glint in Julian Hardeman's eye yesterday hadn't been a contact lens. She had every reason to be happy, to sleep like a newborn at night.

So why couldn't she put her finger on what was bothering her? Was her self-esteem so battered that she couldn't accept good fortune at face value? That she was suspicious of a man's interest in her? Of course, she might not have been suspicious at all if Lieutenant Alexander hadn't been compelled to issue a "warning" about Julian. As if she should trust
his
advice simply because he'd changed her tire, returned her pillow, and had that I'll-take-care-of-the-world chip on his big shoulder.

She pushed her cheek out with her tongue. For all he knew, she might be
looking
for a man with a "reputation." Not only had the abstinence route gotten her nowhere but it had also taken a long time to get there. Maybe she'd give the casual sex thing another try—maybe the logistics had improved since she was a coed.

Belinda was still nursing the idea midmorning when her phone rang. She shuffled papers until she found the phone, then jammed the receiver between her ear and shoulder. "Belinda Hennessey."

"Hi, Belinda, this is Julian Hardeman."

Her stomach flipped. "Hello."

"I was hoping we could have lunch today—something that requires utensils." His voice rumbled deep and full of promise. "What do you say?"

Desire struck her midsection—a nice surprise, since she was afraid she'd lost the ability to summon that particular response. Should she take a chance? Especially since she had the distinct feeling that his lunch invitation would lead to more than just a free meal.

Belinda crossed her legs and smiled. "I say yes."

Chapter 9

"Isn't this better than the food court?" Julian asked as they were seated at a Thai eatery a couple of blocks down Peachtree Street.

Belinda agreed, while wondering what on the flammable menu she'd be able to ingest on her jumpy stomach. Julian wore gray chinos and a plum-colored shirt that flattered his fair coloring. Carole would say he looked "hot," and Belinda would concur.

His gaze roamed over her white V-necked blouse and pale blue jacket with an appreciative gleam. "You look... great."

Had Vince ever looked at her like that? "Thanks."

"I'm sorry I took you away from your workout," he said with eye contact that belied his casual tone.

The man's green eyes were mesmerizing, but she made her tongue move. "My friend Rosemary says this is our day to rest and allow our muscles to recover, so I'm off the hook."

"I typically go to the gym in the evening." He leaned forward, sending the barest hint of musky cologne her way. "But if you're going to be there every day during lunch, maybe I'll change my schedule."

He lifted his eyebrow, waiting for her response. This was her cue—was she interested? A thrill zipped over her thighs. There was something very sexy about a man who made his intentions known right up front. He was attracted to her.

"Don't you want to see how lunch goes?" she asked mildly.

"I already know it's going to go well." His voice held no hint of cockiness, just quiet confidence. It suited him. And it made her feel daring.

The waitress brought ice water and said she'd be back to take their order. Belinda sipped the water gratefully to douse the sudden hike in her temperature. "Any suggestions?" she asked as she scanned the menu.

Julian grinned. "How adventurous are you?"

His playful mood was contagious. "I'm feeling rather brave today."

"Then let's share an order of spicy basil leaves and shrimp."

"That's not exactly Southern comfort food."

His knee bumped hers. "Comfort is highly overrated."

A very grown-up feeling traveled her spine. He wanted to have an affair. It was surreal, this mundane conversation resonating with sensuality. A hum of awareness traveled over her nerve endings. So this was how people did it—made the leap from acquaintance to lover without the bother of small talk and small encounters in between. What sounded lewd in the pages of women's magazines now seemed like a perfectly natural occurrence unfolding between two consenting adults.

"Or," he said lightly, "we could always play it safe and order chicken fried rice."

The waitress returned with her pad in hand. "Are you ready to order?"

One side of his mouth crept up as his gaze bore into hers. "Belinda?"

Her mouth watered, and it wasn't from the talk of food. She'd broken the rules once this week, and she was getting a promotion out of it. If she broke her "men are unnecessary" rule, who knew what exciting things might happen?

She spoke to the waitress but didn't take her eyes off Julian. "We're going to split the spicy basil leaves and shrimp."

"That's a very hot dish," the waitress warned.

"Yes, we know," Julian said, his smoldering gaze locked with Belinda's.

The waitress walked away, and he leaned forward on his elbows. "I'm pleased that you agreed to meet me. I was afraid that Lieutenant Alexander would talk about me behind my back."

She tried not to register surprise. "Why would you think that?"

He shrugged. "Alexander and I aren't the best of friends."

"How do you know each other?"

"Through our jobs. I've been involved in a couple of police matters. He and I clashed."

"I thought maybe that's what had happened. You'll have to forgive me—I'm too new in town to connect your name with a particular newspaper or television station."

His smile returned. "I work for a television station and a radio station, but I'm behind the scenes at the TV station."

"And on the radio?" She wracked her brains for the call letters to the all-news stations so she could sound halfway informed.

"Well, even if you heard me on the radio, you wouldn't connect my name—I use a different on-air name."

"What is it?"

"I'm a traffic reporter, Talkin' Tom Trainer on MIXX 100 FM."

She went completely still. "No."

He grinned. "Yes."

"I don't believe this—I know you!"

"No kidding?"

She nodded, her mouth half-open. "I listen to you every day." She laughed, unable to believe the coincidence. "But your accent... it sounds different."

His cheeks turned pink. "The on-air voice goes with the good-ole-boy on-air persona."

She nodded, noting the resemblance in his voice and the voice she was accustomed to hearing on the radio. No wonder when she'd first met him she'd had the feeling that she'd known him from somewhere—it wasn't his face she'd recognized but his voice. "This is amazing." She brought her hand to her mouth. "Oh, my God. No wonder you knew about my accident with Lieutenant Alexander—you watched it. I heard you announce it!"

He nodded, smiling. "I couldn't resist ribbing him, he's such a smug SOB. Unfortunately, he can't take a joke."

"He does seem a bit grim, although I can understand why he'd be angry with me."

"Don't take it personally. I hear he's going through a bad divorce."

Her heart dipped in empathy for the lieutenant.

"So," Julian said, brushing her hand with his. "Now that you know who I am, are you going to change your order?"

Under his pointed stare, her body strained toward him, her fantasy man from the radio. She wet her lips, gratified when he unconsciously mimicked her movement.

"Yes," she said, then flagged down the waitress. "Would you please bring us a side of Thai chili sauce for dipping?"

When she looked back to Julian, he had pushed out his cheek with his tongue and was nodding in approval.

* * *

Belinda wadded up a paper towel, stuffed it in her mouth, and dropped into her burnt orange office chair for a few seconds of blessed relief. She should have known she was in trouble when the food the waitress sat in front of her singed her nose hair. The first couple of bites of spicy basil leaves and shrimp hadn't been bad. And then the afterburn had set in.

The only way she could describe the experience was swallowing trick birthday candles that wouldn't go out. After the first couple of layers of skin had dissolved from her tongue, she had lost all sensation, including the ability to speak in full sentences. Thankfully, Julian was a practiced talker and had required little more than positive body language to keep him chatting about his unusual job. Just when she'd thought she might combust, he'd been called to cover a chemical spill on Georgia 400. He'd tossed money on the table, and they'd practically sprinted back to the Stratford building parking garage.

"Tomorrow," he'd said with a rakish smile. "Meet me in the gym, in front of the dry sauna at noon."

She'd nodded (because she couldn't speak). Watching him jog away, her chest had gotten this weird, welled-up feeling that he was dashing off to risk his life so that the rest of Atlanta could arrive home safely.

Or at least get home in time to watch the Braves play.

She sucked on the paper towel, trying to absorb some of the pepper oils lingering on her tongue. What did Julian have in mind—working out together? And eventually working
in and out
together? She closed her eyes and squeezed her knees tight. How amazing that their paths had actually crossed. It was fate, wasn't it?