Simply Sex (14 page)

“I need more photos…have more questions,” he mumbled, clearly cooking up an excuse. He lifted the plant. “I thought this would be good for the burned spot.” He moved the wastebasket and put the pot in its place.

“How nice of you.”

“And I thought you could use new flow—” He stopped when he noticed the fresh batch of white roses on the table. Cole had sent them. She figured it was a thank-you for getting Deborah to call him. “All stocked up, I see.”

“They’re from a client, Seth, not a man. Well, a man, but it’s a business thank-you. They don’t mean anything like—” She felt herself flush.

“Maybe take these home then.” He thrust them at her, embarrassed, too, his shaking hands making the paper crackle and the leaves flutter. She remembered the “hokey” gesture with his ex-girlfriend. Maybe he was hokey at heart. She liked that.

“You can never have too many roses,” she said, inhaling the fresh scent. “Mmm. I’ll put them in water.”

She hurried off for a vase from her office closet, then to the table to arrange the flowers, where she fumbled and trembled under his close attention.

“So, how are you?” he said, speaking low.

“I’m fine. You?” she said in the same tone.

“We’re okay about what happened, right?” he asked, as if they’d shared wild sex, not two brief kisses.

“Sure. It was just…spontaneous.”

“As in combustion? Then yeah.”

“Yeah,” she whispered and watched his pupils explode with desire. His throat worked over a swallow.

She ducked her gaze to the roses. “So beautiful.”

“Yeah.” But he was looking at her, not the flowers.

The heady scent of Seth’s leather-coconut-spice combined with the roses to make her feel dizzy. “You have questions?” she reminded them both.

“I do.” About what was going on between them, she could see on his face. He looked as though he’d awakened from hypnosis with everyone laughing at something he’d done while under the spell.

That made her want him desperately. Having a guy as restrained as Seth practically shaking with desire was incredibly thrilling. Oh, it was heaven.

And absolutely pointless. Because she knew how it would turn out—she’d get hooked and he’d leave.

“You need more photos? How about at my desk?” She moved, relieved to break the magnetic pull, and went to her chair.

He remained standing in a daze for a second, then joined her. This time he took his time with the shot, considering her entire body, his eyes taking a slow ride over her form so that she could hardly sit still. She crossed her legs to keep her aching sex in check.

He made the photograph feel as intimate as a kiss, which made her shiver. Then he suggested a different expression, a new angle, a tilt of her head, a lifted hand. Shot after shot after shot. More than he could possibly use. He photographed her pretending to talk on the phone, staring meditatively off in the distance. Each time, he arranged her body with tender care, crossing her hands, placing one at her cheek, clearly needing just to touch her. Their breath mingled in uneven waves, harsh and shaky.

There was sexual energy in what he was doing, but also close attention, the incredible, skillful focus of an artist. No quiver of her body or flicker of feeling in her face escaped his notice. It was so intimate—his soft touch, his breath and heat on her exposed skin, but also reaching her through her clothes, making her feel raw.

She was hyperaware of his body, the flex and release of his muscles, his strong fingers, the crinkles around his startling blue eyes, their intelligence and wit. And how blasted good he smelled. She almost moaned with frustration.

Finally, he quit with the camera and sat beside her desk for more questions. This time he didn’t sit back or act casual. He leaned forward, digging in, wanting to
know.
Everything. This time the questions weren’t so much about Personal Touch, but about her. As if he were her biographer. He asked about starting the business, her psychology background and her philosophy, but also about her family, her childhood, her hobbies, her favorite movies and music.

Overwhelmed and in self-defense, she asked about him and learned he was working for his uncle on the magazine for now, but hoped to move to the newspaper. He told her about a fishing trip with his uncle’s stepkids, their interest in journalism and his own love of the work. He talked about winning a Pulitzer for a story series in Florida, minimizing his role, and explained in murky terms his reasons for leaving the state. Which meant it had something to do with Ana, the woman who’d broken his heart.

He sounded restless, uncertain of where he wanted to be, but he never let his eyes waver from her face and that made him seem steady and dependable. And raised a dangerous hope in her heart.

“I can’t believe some guy hasn’t snapped you up,” he said finally.

She laughed. “When the time is right, I’ll look for someone.”

“And you’ll do the compatibility chart and all that? Probably chase the guy away.”

“Not if he’s the right guy,” she said slowly.

He searched her face. How had she ever thought he was laid-back? “I guess the right guy wouldn’t let anything stand in his way. He wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

And what if Seth were that guy?

“Come here,” he said, leaning toward her. He wanted to kiss her and she wanted to kiss him. Didn’t she owe it to herself? Maybe those kisses had been anomalies. She tilted her mouth, slid closer, closer, a breath a way, almost there, and—

“Deborah Ramsdale, line one!” Gail’s voice through the intercom smashed the moment like a glass flung against a wall.

Janie froze in place, her mouth close to Seth’s. “Can you take a message?” she said to Gail.

“She wants to renegotiate her membership fee, can you believe that?” Gail said, not picking up the tension. Seth’s eyes, so close, twinkled with amusement.

“No, I’m with someone now, Gail, and—”

“She hasn’t even met Cole and she wants six months off,” Gail continued in her chatty tone. “What does the woman expect?”

“Tell her I’ll call her back, Gail.”

“London, hon. Big bucks for the call.”

“It’ll be fine. Really.” She knew Deborah had been delighted by the phone call. That and the flowers from Cole convinced her that the match-up was on track.

“And can you watch the phones for a bit? My nail tech ditched her loser fiancé and I just happen to have snapped an acrylic… Prepare for a new client.”

“Just hurry back.” She rolled her eyes for Seth’s benefit. He sat back in his chair, giving up on the kiss, and grinned.

“Oh, and be warned. Harry Hand Job may call.”

“Harry Hand Jo—Gail!”

“Don’t worry. I’m talking him out of the habit. Byeee.”

“Bye.” Jane looked at Seth in the silence that followed. The urge to kiss had been whisked away by the silly conversation like smoke beneath a fan. This was a gift, she told herself. A chance to be smart, so she would explain it to Seth, keep it in perspective. “I know what’s going on here. For you, it’s the hunt factor—it’s a male drive. You see me as a challenge.”

“And how do you feel about that?”

Desperately aroused.
“I’m flattered.”

“That’s all?” His eyes flared.

“No. It’s not all. But it will pass.”

“What if we don’t want it to?”

“In your heart of hearts, you do. Remember the story you’re writing? That’s why we’re here.”

“Yeah.” A shadow crossed his face and settled into a frown. “And you shouldn’t have to remind me. Right.” He pushed himself slowly to his feet, looking down at her the whole time. “Guess I’ll leave you to your sex calls.”

She stood, too, forcing herself to think of Personal Touch and her own heart, which couldn’t take another blow. “Thanks for the flowers and the plant. And for doing so much work on my story. And if you have any more questions—”
Like, what am I doing for the rest of my life?
“—don’t hesitate to call.”

“I won’t.” He held her gaze. “Could you possibly be as good as you seem?”

“I hope so.”

“I believe you.” He looked at her as though that were a bad thing. A chill shivered down her spine again. What did he really think? There was something about him that didn’t add up.

Then he touched her cheek and gave her a last regretful look before he turned and left.

She sank into her chair, her eyes on the tattered banana plant he’d brought her. How sweet. And hokey.

She’d done the right thing, hadn’t she? Seth was probably a Stubborn Single—the dangerous kind who didn’t know he was one. Maybe she’d cured herself of her bad-boy fixation.

Except he didn’t quite match that profile. He seemed tender and sweet and steady. Or she could be fooling herself. How could she find out?

Maybe it was the hunt factor, as she’d said. Maybe he just wanted into her
Saturday
panties.

But it was more than physical. Her warmth, her relentless hope, her spunky tenderness drew him like the moon tugged the tide, made him want to promise things he didn’t dare promise.

Or did he? It wasn’t as if he never wanted to settle down. Hell, he’d tried to buy a house to live in with Ana. Did he want a lifetime with someone else? Someone like Janie?

Just write the freakin’ story.
He kept letting himself get sidetracked from the work at hand. Was she as good as she seemed? He felt as if he was waiting for a shoe to drop. Was it an innocent little marabou-lined glass slipper or a big, dirty boot?

The receptionist had said Deborah Ramsdale wanted to cancel her membership. Something about Cole Sullivan, who’d been strange on the phone when Seth had called him. Maybe something was amok. And he still hadn’t checked on the sex calls.

What he wanted to do was write something as sweet as Jane and be done with it. So he could see her? Figure out if they belonged together?

There was something wrong with his thinking, but he couldn’t quite figure out what. He’d have to come back… for more background, more questions, more something. He wasn’t even going to think about it.

Now her plan was to nab a power nap and work on the concept for a few hours before Janie arrived at five with Thai takeout so they could go over the new Personal Touch business plan Kylie had scored as a trade-out with a client.

At least things were settling down for Personal Touch. The magazine story would be out soon, the Web site was fixed, she’d already placed some promotions and made modest ad buys. Only the lawsuit loomed large and if the meeting with Marlon Brandon went well, even that would be resolved and Kylie could move to L.A. with a clear conscience and no lingering worries.

She waited for relief and excitement to hit—she was about to get her fondest wish. But instead, her stomach felt empty and her chest tight.

She was tired and hungry, right? And all she’d eaten this morning were a handful of peanuts on the plane.
I don’t want to leave.
She pushed away that thought. Just last-minute doubts.

She reached the carousel where her flight’s luggage circled and her cell phone sounded the unknown caller music. She grabbed it out of her purse. She didn’t recognize the number.

“Hello?” she said into the phone, watching her black traveler tumble down the chute, the red-checked ribbon she’d tied to recognize it by fluttering against the handle.

“Got your bag?”

“Cole?” Glorious warmth flowed through her, filling the emptiness in her stomach and relaxing the tension in her chest. “Almost. How did you…?”

“Roll it out to the north curb. Radar and I will drive you home.”

“Why did you come?” She laughed, so happy about the surprise. Their goodbye after the all-nighter had been brief—both were late for meetings—but they knew without saying the words that it would be the last sex. She’d expected they’d plan the Brandon meeting over the phone.

“Because cabs are pricey and SuperShuttle’s slow. Because we need to work out the Marlon Brandon strategy. Because Radar waits for you at the front door, glaring at me like it’s my fault you never arrive. And because I missed you.” He said the last low and soft.

“I missed you, too.” Blush burned her cheeks and she grabbed her bag and half ran toward the exit doors, the bag tilting, tipping and swinging behind her, not even on its wheels. She felt like dancing and singing and shouting with joy. She felt as if she’d come home for the first time ever.

She ran through the automatic doors to the curb, glanced to the left and there they were, Radar in the passenger window of Cole’s Acura, Cole on the driver’s side, grinning a huge grin. At the sight of her, Radar’s body seemed to throb with pleasure—a considerable amount of emotion for such a subtle little dog.

Her heart throbbed, too.

Cole came around the car and grabbed her into his arms. Her suitcase tipped over at her feet. “I don’t want to stop,” Cole said. “Not yet.”

“What about Deborah?”

“I know.” He got an agonized look on his face.

“We have two weeks, though, don’t we? Until she gets here?”

“Almost two weeks.”

“Why not enjoy the time that’s left?”

He looked into her face, considered the idea, struggled with it, then said, “Let’s say ten days.”

“Okay. Ten days it is.” She threw her arms around him.
Ten more days.
Why not? They’d given themselves a deadline, a time limit. That made sense.

Not exactly, but she didn’t want to stop and figure out why. Not while they were kissing like this, arms wrapped tight like long-lost lovers at last reunited. Cars swished by, people called to each other, someone whistled for a cab, carts and people moved past them.

“It’s, uh, pick up and drop off, not make out.” An airport security woman spoke near their ears and they broke apart, apologizing in a daze. “Take it indoors,” she said with a wink.

“We will.” They headed to Kylie’s house with a plan: make love, work, make love again if time allowed, then send Cole home before Janie arrived to work on her business plan. It was ten-thirty. Plenty of time to do it all. She might even have time to work on the Home Town Suites project. They were being so very sensible, Kylie was proud of them both. And Radar let her scratch his tummy all the way home.