Terms of Surrender (18 page)

Hearing the quiver in her voice, he said, “Honey, as long as you don’t tell me you’re married or a transvestite, I really don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

She managed a faint smile. “Neither of those.” Then she pushed the bag toward him. “I am, however, sort of, um…famous.”

Taken completely by surprise, he ignored the bag, staring into her wide eyes. “Excuse me?”

“Well, not movie-star famous. But I, uh…well, you know I just finished getting my doctorate.”

“What, did you discover the cure for cancer?”

That got a slight laugh. “Hardly. The thing is, I paid my way through school by writing.”

That didn’t come as too much of a shock. He’d read her article, and knew she had a gift for words.

“These are copies of my two published books.”

“Seriously?” he said, his admiration for her going up even higher. “You’re a published author?”

She nodded, snagged her bottom lip between her teeth, and nudged the bag closer. As he reached for the tissue at the top, more of that beautiful, kissable lip disappeared. He realized she was not just a little nervous, she was actually worried about this.

Unable to imagine why, unless she was some infamous pornographer—and, damn, with her sexual prowess, she probably could be—he reached into the bag and retrieved the two oversize paperbacks. His gaze first went to the author’s name. “Mad-Mari?”

“That’s me.”

Huh. It fit. He hadn’t seen her angry very often, but a mad Mari was pretty formidable. At the very least, she was pretty damned sarcastic.

Then he saw the titles. And began to cough into his fist.

Mari—his sexy, romantic, irresistible Mari—had written books called
Why Do Men Suck?
and
Thanks, But I’ll Just Keep My Vibrator?
Was that even possible?

“I know what you’re thinking,” she said.

“Oh, yeah?” he asked, wondering how she could know, when he, himself, hadn’t decided yet.

“You’re thinking I’m a man-bashing feminist or something.”

No, he wasn’t thinking that. He hadn’t been thinking that at all. Quite the opposite, in fact. The first coherent thought that had crossed his mind was that somebody had really broken her heart. Which just pissed him off. “Who was he?”

“Huh?”

“The guy who hurt you enough to make you write these books?”

She shook her head slowly. “There was no guy. Well, no specific guy.”

Meaning there were a bunch of them? He couldn’t deny a twinge of discomfort at that thought. He was no saint, but, damn, he didn’t want to think of Mari having been involved with a whole boatload of men before him.

“And no,” she said, as if reading his mind, “I was not some tramp who let herself get used by a bunch of guys.”

He breathed a sigh of relief, then waited for her explanation.

“The truth is, I dated a normal amount, never considered myself in love and never had my heart broken.”

He gestured toward the titles. And so she told him the whole story. How she’d started a blog during college. How she’d made kvetching about bad dates a regular feature of that blog. About how it had exploded in popularity, catching the eye of an agent, who’d suggested she try writing a humorous self-help book.

And that was it. End of story. She’d done it, made a lot of women laugh, achieved some success, made some money. A bona fide success story. And he was incredibly proud of her for it.

But none of that explained why she’d been nervous about telling him. “That’s fantastic,” he said, meaning it. “And I can’t wait to read them.”

“They’re meant to be funny,” she reminded him, “not insulting.”

He knew her well enough to know they were meant to be a
little
insulting. But hell, her wicked sense of humor was one of the things he liked best about her.

“I can take it,” he told her. Then, reaching for his drink, pretending he wasn’t keenly interested in hearing the rest of the story, he added, “So what haven’t you told me yet?”

“Pardon?”

That was about as guilty an expression as he’d ever seen on her face. “Come on, spill it. I know there’s more. We haven’t gotten to the good part yet.”

She closed her eyes briefly, took a deep breath, then gave him the rest of it in one long, rushed explanation. “I still have my blog. I still write as Mad-Mari every day. It’s fun and it’s silly and I have a lot of loyal followers. But you wouldn’t be interested. You’d hate it in fact, so please, I want you to promise me that you won’t visit it.”

He looked at her face, flushing redder by the minute, and the truth exploded into his brain like a lightning bolt.

“Oh, shit.”

She dropped her eyes.

“I’m on there, aren’t I?”

“Not by name, description, rank or address,” she whispered. “There’s absolutely nothing that would give away your identity, Danny, I promise. Nobody who read it would ever know I was talking about you.”

“Except me,” he replied.

She nodded weakly.

“Uh, dare I guess when these particular blog posts went up?”

Her silence was answer enough.

Mari had obviously sounded off about her anger when she thought she’d been used and ditched. The cyber world must have gotten an earful during those two weeks after their first amazing night together. She’d probably taken the girl-bitch-session to a whole new level and undoubtedly made him the target of disdain for a whole lot of single women.

“I guess I should be glad they can’t identify me,” he mumbled. “I’d hate to think I have to constantly be looking over my shoulder, worried a feminist hit squad is on my tail.”

“I’m so sorry.”

He nodded, believing her, trying to analyze his feelings about this. On the surface of it, he was a little concerned, embarrassed. On a deeper level, he could only wonder how very upset she must have been to take her anger public.

He hated that he’d hurt her that way. And he never wanted to do it again.

Seeing her trepidation, knowing she was waiting for him to react, he reached across the table and twined his fingers in hers. “It’s okay, I’m not upset.”

She made no effort to hide her relief. “Really?”

“Really.” Then, realizing something, he added, “You know, you could have just deleted those entries, but you didn’t.”

“That’s cowardly.”

“True, but understandable, now that we’re…” He didn’t say dating, or lovers, or crazy about each other. Honestly, he didn’t know how to describe what they were. So he simply said, “Together. I might never have known about them, but you came clean. I appreciate that.”

“Thank you for being so understanding. I promise, I won’t do it again. I’ve already instituted a much more close-mouthed policy on the blog.”

He reached for a bread stick, offering her a sly look. “You mean you haven’t gone back on there and told them you’ve been shagged to within an inch of your life this week?”

She gave him that look—that warm, sensual look that told him where her mind had gone. “You mean, I still have an inch left?”

He gave as good as he got. “You can have as many inches as you want.”

Her eyes closed and her lips parted on a breath. She shifted a little in her chair, and he’d guarantee she’d been just as instantly hit with desire as he’d been.

“I could use a lot,” she whispered. “I could use them right now, as a matter of fact. Damn, I should have worn panties tonight.”

His hand tightened reflexively, and the bread stick snapped in half. “Don’t,” he warned her.

She didn’t reply in words. Instead she shifted her leg under the table, until it brushed against his, her soft calf pressing against his firm one. Blood and heat roared through him at the thought of how beautiful those thighs were, how much he loved having them wrapped around his hips. At the idea that, once again, she was wearing absolutely nothing underneath her pretty green sundress.

“You’re evil,” he told her.

“Oh, no, I’m not. Give me a chance and I’ll show you how nice I can be.”

He glanced at the table, holding only their empty glasses and a bread basket. They hadn’t even placed their dinner order yet. “What kind of date would I be if I suggested ditching this place and grabbing a pizza on the way home?”

“How about you dine on me, instead?”

That was it. The end. Any hunger for food disappeared, as did worries about whether this had been enough of a real date for her. Without a word, he rose from his chair, pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and peeled a fifty out of it, figuring that ought to cover two drinks, even in a place this swanky.

She shoved the books back in the gift bag, swooped it up and put her hand in his outstretched one. They walked quickly out of the restaurant, straight to his car, which was parked in a small lot behind the building. It was dark, crowded with vehicles, but, as far as he could see, no people.

“I can’t wait. I’ve got to kiss you,” he told her as soon as they both got in and shut the doors.

She did him one better, sliding over from the passenger seat onto his lap. Danny reached for the seat release and slid it back as far as it would go, making room for her to straddle his thighs. At the feel of that womanly warmth pressed against the seam of his pants, he jerked up, watching her mouth fall open in a pleased little cry.

Then that beautiful mouth was on his, kissing him deeply. She tasted sweet and fruity—like the drink—and their tongues swirled and tangled together as if they couldn’t drink enough. Every thrust of their tongues was matched by one of their bodies as they mimicked the deep, sultry sex they both craved, and could be having, if not for a couple of layers of material.

Oh, and the possibility of an arrest for indecent exposure.

“We shouldn’t…”

“Yes, we should,” she insisted. Then, like Eve the temptress herself, she reached down and pulled her dress up to her waist, leaning back a little so he could see.

Panties.

“You
lied
to me?” he asked, pretending to be offended.

Her wicked smile told him she had a secret, and when she guided his hand to the seam of her silky white underwear, he realized what it was. A tiny metal tab at the top told him there was a zipper holding the undergarment together between her luscious thighs. When unzipped, it would offer complete access to all the lovely secrets between them.

“It’s not even my birthday and I get to unwrap
two
presents tonight?” he whispered, unable to resist tugging that zipper down, slowly, carefully. He just wanted a tiny sample, a brief touch. He’d find that sweet little clit of hers, pleasure her, which would pleasure him, then get them out of here.

But when he moved the tab all the way down and slid his fingers into the slit, he realized he needn’t have worried about catching her pretty curls with the zipper’s teeth. Because there weren’t many of them left, just a tiny tuft right above her pubis.

Heat and lust exploded in him when he felt the bare lips of her sex, creamy, plump and swollen. “You gotta be kidding me…”

Her eyes gleamed with wantonness as she stared down at him, licking her lips. “I hear oral sex is amazing like this.”

Oh, man, did he want to find out. He’d love to drop his seat all the way back into a reclining position, sit her on his face, and feast on her for an hour. But that was crazy, risky, dangerous. It was wild enough to have her on his lap, with her dress covering most of what was going on below the waist. No way could he devour her the way he wanted to.

“Please,” she whispered, riding him a little harder.

“This is nuts.”

“There is nobody around,” she insisted, casting another glance around the lot, dark with shadows and utterly devoid of sound.

“Just an appetizer before the drive home,” he insisted, knowing he couldn’t possibly resist her.

She appeared triumphant as she reached for his pants, unzipping and releasing him. He jerked into her palm, thrilled by the coolness of her skin against his hot, rock-hard dick. Then she moved over it, rubbing all that slick bareness over him, wetting him with her body’s arousal.