Читать книгу Simply Sex - Dawn Atkins - Страница 10

“OF COURSE I’ll come out for the retreat,” Kylie said to Garrett McGrath, her future boss, swerving to miss a minivan. “And the account meetings are no problem.” Her heart pounded high and tight from the near-accident and the stress of easing the impact of her delayed start date in L.A. Plus, if she didn’t get the artwork on her front seat to the printer in ten minutes, her client’s grand opening would be ruined.

“Just think of me as a satellite office for these few extra weeks,” she said, wishing Garrett had waited just an hour to return her call. Who knows what other promises she’d make in her frantic effort to survive the drive and make him happy? She’d already promised two trips to L.A. and an entire weekend for the firm retreat.

“That sounds workable,” Garrett said in the melodic drawl that had been the voice of America’s cushiest toilet paper in the eighties. She’d mollified him, thank God, but how would she manage all he’d asked, along with closing out her own clients and rescuing Janie?

“We need your fresh voice in the room, Kylie.”

Hearing those glorious words from the genius of Simon, McGrath and Bellows, she knew she’d do it if it killed her. She honked at a woman applying mascara at a green light, then barreled after her on the yellow.

She’d come to Garrett’s attention by winning a national ad award for her campaign for an effective handgun-locking device. He’d searched her out and offered her the chance of a lifetime.

Saying yes had meant closing down her two-year-old agency, but the honor had been too great to reject. The professional validation was enormous and she hoped to learn tricks to compensate for her weaknesses. Besides, she told herself, with the prestige of a few years at S-Mickey-B, as the firm was affectionately known in the marketing world, she’d draw clients like flies when she reopened her practice later on. The month-to-month financial struggle had been more daunting than she’d expected. She wasn’t that sure of herself.

“Just clear your conflict fast,” Garrett said, “so we can have you all to ourselves.” His words made her heart swell with pride and squeeze with pressure. Her already-knotted stomach turned inside out with all she had to do.

At least she’d made progress promoting Personal Touch over the past week, including scoring a profile at a trendy rag with the right demographic, but neither she nor Janie had yet gotten the suit-happy client on the phone. Soon she’d have to look at hiring an attorney. Big bucks they didn’t have, dammit.

She shifted her gaze from the traffic to her dashboard clock. Seven minutes before Sun Print closed and her client, Dagwood Donuts, was out of luck.

“I’d like your thoughts on a campaign for Home Town Suites,” Garrett continued at the leisurely pace of someone not braving murderous traffic with a cell phone pressed to her ear and a client’s future on her passenger seat. “Maybe you can sketch some ideas when you have time.”

Time? Time? She had no time. A Crystal Water truck screeched to a stop in front of her. “Damn!” She slammed on her brakes.

“Excuse me? Is that a problem?” Garrett said.

“I was swearing at traffic, not you, Mr. McGrath.” A collision with the mountain of water before her seemed welcome at the moment. It was October, but the desert heat hung on like desperate fingertips on a ledge. Her suit was lightweight, but dark blue—chosen to reinforce her authority—and it was baking her alive.

She let Garrett rattle on about branding and niche marketing, while she wove through traffic like James Bond, praying any passing police would be too awed by her technique to ticket her. Wrapping up the conversation at last, leaving Garrett content and her overloaded, she scored a neighborhood shortcut and roared into a Sun Print parking spot just in time. She grabbed the artwork CD and raced inside.

Twenty minutes later, she exited, mission accomplished. Shaky with relief, she smiled at the dropping sun and slid behind the wheel, noticing she’d gotten ink on her fingers from admiring some freshly printed flyers—you had to compliment the pressmen. They were where the ink met the paper in her biz.

Glancing in the mirror, she saw her blouse collar had black fingerprints, too. Ruined. Along with the pricey panty hose she’d snagged along the way. Collateral damage was inevitable when you worked as hard as she did.

She was on the street headed home when her cell emitted the music she’d assigned Janie’s calls. Unwilling to risk another accident, she zipped into the closest parking lot to call her back. Fleetingly, she noticed the marquee above her head: Totally Nude. All You Can Eat Businessman’s Buffet. She’d parked at a strip club. Yuck. Middle-aged salesmen ogling boob jobs while they inhaled ambrosia salad and bean dip. Strip clubs seemed so desperate.

Of course, sexual frustration made her do strange things, too—pant over Cosmo’s naked chefs issue, devour erotic romance novels and think wicked thoughts about cucumbers. Masturbation was a pale second to the joys of a warm and willing man. Where was one when she needed him?

“I need your help ASAP,” Janie said when she answered, her voice thin with tension.

“Take a slow breath, Janie Marie.”

“I’m okay,” she said, but she sounded like someone had wrapped a rubber band around her vocal cords.

“Breathe, Janie. Consider it a personal favor.”

“Oh, for pity’s sake.” She huffed in a couple of irritated breaths. “There. Are you happy?”

“Yes, I am. Now what’s up?”

“I need you to fill in on a date.” Over the past few weeks, as problems mounted, Kylie had stood in for missing matches a number of times. There’d been a mistake on the Web site which had married couples appearing as available and Gail had double-booked a few people. Kylie’s job was to be polite and genial and noncommittal and keep the client around until the right match could be made.

“What happened this time?”

“Gail got overly enthusiastic. Turns out the client’s match is in London right now.”

“I love Gail, but she’s not much of a receptionist. She’s never at her desk, for one thing.”

“She’s my entire sales force. Everywhere she goes she pitches Personal Touch.”

“When the money turns around, hire a real receptionist, okay? Let Gail do what she’s good at full-time.”

“Will you do the date?”

“Just tell the guy there’s been a mistake.”

“He’s a lawyer. Unhappy lawyers file lawsuits. This is his first date with us and he’s barely squeezing in the time. I’m afraid he’ll bail. You’re so good at smoothing. The woman in London is his perfect match.”

Someone honked at her from behind. She looked in her rearview to see the guy motioning her forward. What the…? Then she spotted the low Jack-In-The-Box sign beside his car and realized she wasn’t parked in the strip club lot. She was blocking the fast-food drive-thru lane next door.

“Just a sec,” she said to Janie, then rolled forward to order a mint-chocolate-chip milkshake. Might as well get something out of the mistake, right? “Tell me about this guy,” she said on a sigh.

“Thank you, thank you, Kylie! His name’s Cole Sullivan and he’s smart and serious and handsome. You’ll love him.”

“I’m going to apologize to him, not marry him, Janie,” she said, reaching to take the milkshake from the clerk.

“You have twenty minutes to get there.”

“Twenty minutes? It’s tonight. Now?” In her alarm, she squeezed the cup and icy green sludge slid down her jacket and plopped onto her navy blue lap. “Shit, shit, shit.”

“Don’t swear at me. I won’t ask you again. Jeez.”

“I’m not swearing at you, Janie. I’m swearing at the mound of ice cream in my lap.”

“The what?”

“Never mind.” She dabbed at the mess with a wad of napkins and planned out her best route through rush-hour traffic. The things she did for love. Someone else’s love, that is.

DEBORAH RAMSDALE was twenty minutes late, Cole realized, glancing at his watch. Not a good sign on a first date. She was an attorney—international law—so she knew the value of a minute. He couldn’t help wondering if she’d seen his desperate video and changed her mind altogether.

He’d taken Gail’s word that this lawyer was perfect for him, since he’d been unable to check out her video at Personal Touch. Brunette with a breezy cut, medium height, a tad tense, but you’ll fix that, was how Gail had described the woman when she’d called him. Gail was a trip.

But the tense brunette with the breezy cut was getting later by the minute. Cole swallowed his disappointment. At noon he’d zipped out to buy a new casual shirt. The salesgirl at Neiman Marcus had declared it flattering against his skin, letting her fingers linger on his shoulders longer than was strictly necessary to check the fit.

He’d had hopes that Deborah would let her fingers linger, too. He’d cut out of the office an hour early to change into the shirt and black jeans and to do a quick pickup at his apartment, even changing his sheets, just in case they ended up at his place and things…progressed.

If she didn’t show, he’d go home and work, he reasoned. With no date, he’d get more sleep and head into the office early Saturday morning. Larry Langford, the non-golfing partner, was usually there by eight, so he’d score some dedication points. Not so bad, after all.

Except his neighbor Betsy was bringing her dog Radar over in the morning. So, he’d bring the dog to the office with him. Betsy had assured him that Radar was cheerfully self-sufficient, but he didn’t want to leave the poor thing alone in a strange apartment on the first day.

Convinced he’d been stood up, he rose to leave, then noticed a woman had just walked in. She searched the room, taking in each table, rejecting each in turn, until she caught sight of him and their gazes locked. For just a second, he thought he heard bells, but it was only a cash register ringing up a bar bill.

She shot him a relieved and radiant smile and headed his way, weaving quickly among the tables, catching all eyes—especially male—as she went. She looked…famous…important…and very pretty.

So this was Deborah. He hadn’t counted on beauty, but he wasn’t sorry. Wow.

She’d been held up at work, he concluded, since she wore a business suit over a great figure. Or maybe changing a tire, he amended when she got close enough for him to see black smudges on her cheek and collar. Then he noticed blotches of pale green on her jacket and skirt. A food fight perhaps?

“Cole?” Her smile overcame every shred of dishevelment. “So sorry I’m late. Traffic was bad and I was clear across town.” Her eyes, a sparkling green, were the shiniest he’d ever seen, and he thought he saw a flicker of attraction. Jane was good. Talk about “potential.”

“Deborah?” he said.

“No, but I’m here on her behalf.” She made as if to sit, so he pulled out a chair. She scooted in so fast he was left holding thin air. A take-charge woman. He liked that. Except—

“You’re not Deborah?” His soaring hope sank like a stone. He sat across from her.

“Let me explain. I’m Kylie Falls.”

“Falls? Are you related to—?”

“Janie? Yes. We’re sisters.”

“You don’t look alike.” Janie was tall and blond, while this woman was petite with short, dark hair. Not medium, not brunette, and more intense than tense. She seemed to have gathered the loose energy around them, like reining in wild horses, turning them into a team in her hands.

“Deborah was called away to London, Cole. Gail will reschedule when Deborah returns and I just want to apologize on Janie’s behalf for the mix-up and the delay.”

A cell phone tinkled. She lifted a finger, smiled apologetically, then whipped the phone out and to her ear. “Candee?” She turned slightly away for privacy. “I made it, but barely. Watched them load it myself. It’ll make the Sunday circulars and ValuPak drops… Mmm-hmm… That’s why I get the big bucks. Send four-dozen Dagwood glazed for the crew at Sun Print, please. Thanks.”

She smelled good, too, he noticed. Something light, not sweet. Sporty, he thought, was what the magazines called it. No wedding ring. She’s not Deborah, he reminded himself.

“Gotta run. I’m at dinner… No, as a matter of fact, I’m not alone.” She glanced at Cole, then dropped her gaze. “I do too have a life. Say goodbye, or I’ll ruin yours.”

She put the phone away and he couldn’t help watching her breasts move beneath her jacket. “Sorry. My secretary. I had a last-minute thing to take care of.” Catching him mid-ogle, she glanced down at herself. “I’m a mess.”

He cringed at getting caught drooling, though she’d had the grace to pretend he was noting her grooming. Classy lady.

“Never drink and drive. Or at least, not a mint milkshake.”

“You look fine,” he said. Good enough to eat. He changed the subject. “Sounded like your secretary was surprised you weren’t alone.”

“I’m more or less a workaholic and Candee cuts me no slack.”

“Me, too, but all attorneys are workaholics, so no one cuts anyone slack.”

“And we know you carved out time for this date, Cole. Janie deeply regrets the error and we’d like to treat you to dinner.”

“That’s not necessary.” He had a frozen pasta thing in his freezer and the Littlefield work in his briefcase.

“I insist.”

The stubborn flicker in her eyes intrigued him and made him say, “Only if you’ll join me.”

“Of course.” He could tell she’d half hoped he’d let her escape with just the bill. “Janie would never forgive me if I left and some beautiful woman snatched you up before Deborah gets back.”

“That’s not likely.”

“Sure it is. You’re a very attractive man.” Sexual interest flared again in her face, sparking a pointless heat in him that he enjoyed immensely.

She looked at his empty martini glass. “Gin, vodka or something more elaborate?”

“Gin, neat, olives.”

“Ah. A traditionalist.”

The waiter appeared on cue and she ordered another for him and one for her before Cole could object.

Not that he wanted to. He intended to work when he got home, but how could he pass up the sting of gin while looking over a frosted glass into this woman’s shiny eyes? “I’d arm wrestle you for the check, but something tells me I’d lose.”

She jammed her elbow onto the table, braced for forearm battle. “Want to try me?” Her tone held mischief and challenge. Go for it, big guy.

“Too many men watching you. My ego couldn’t take the hit if you beat me.”

“Come on.” She seemed to think he was just flattering her.

“I’m not kidding. Every man in the room is sneaking glances.”

She blushed, which had the effect of making her eyes look greener. “They can’t believe I haven’t been kicked out as a transient.” She brushed at her stained jacket.

“Trust me, that’s no problem. But you do have a little…” He brushed at his cheek to show her where a smudge remained.

She scrubbed the spot. “Gone?”

“Not quite.” He reached out a finger, then thought better of it and dampened his napkin in his water glass to wipe her cheek. Their eyes locked. Energy surged between them.

“Thanks.” She dried what remained of the water with a finger and they both took a shaky breath.

“So, Deborah’s in London,” he said, reminding himself why they were smiling and breathing at each other.

“She’ll be back in four weeks. On the fourth.”

“A month?”

“Sounds long, I know. Maybe Janie could connect you two by phone.”

“I can wait. This was a dry run on making time for a social life and it hasn’t exactly been easy.” He regretted leaving work to buy a new shirt and changing sheets for Deborah. Though he wasn’t quite sorry about meeting Kylie, even if it was a waste of time.

When their drinks arrived a second later, he raised his glass. “Here’s to a happy mistake.”

“Absolutely.” Her eyes gleamed more richly. She seemed relieved he wasn’t angry about the mix-up, but there was delight there, too. She wasn’t sorry, either.

He took a sip of the drink, relishing the chill, the burn, the smell of juniper and Kylie’s eyes. “So,” he said, setting down his glass, embarrassed that he couldn’t take his eyes off her. “You work for Personal Touch?”

“Oh, no.” She almost shuddered. “I have a PR and marketing business. I’m just helping Janie out with some promotions. And I want you to know this mistake is not typical.”

“No need to apologize again. I’m paid up through the year.” He touched her hand. The contact was electric and his entire being lit up. Ridiculous. He’d just met the woman. But he’d been celibate for a long time.

She took a harsh breath, so he knew the reaction had at least been mutual. “So, you enjoy the law?” she asked, clearly changing the subject.

“Very much. I’m in corporate law. Benjamin, Langford and Tuttleman. Mostly mergers and acquisitions.” Then he caught himself, remembering his video ordeal. “I’m sure you don’t want to hear about my work.”

“Oh, yes I do. Talk to me about it.” She wiggled into her chair, resituating herself as if she anticipated some thrilling tale of due-diligence derring-do.

Her breasts swelled under the ice cream–stained jacket, reminding him how hot she was, but he forced himself to talk about the all-important Littlefield case and was soon engrossed in the topic. She asked good questions and he found himself jotting down an idea or two she sparked in him.

Somewhere in there the waiter took their orders of steak and the restaurant’s signature Caesar salad. Kylie selected a terrific pinot noir—a prime selection in Wine Spectator, he recalled—proving she had taste as well as intelligence and beauty.

He hoped Deborah Ramsdale was like her. He’d love evenings spent this way, with time zipping by, words flying, warmth and connection growing. Maybe his time would have been better spent working at home, but he didn’t give a damn. It was more than the loosening effect of the second martini. He plain liked Kylie.

“So, you have your own PR firm,” he said. “How did that happen?” He settled in to listen to her describe with animation and energy how she’d come to start K. Falls PR, who her clients were, what campaigns she’d created.

Then she told him she was closing it down and moving to L.A. in a month. He felt a punch of regret. As though he’d caught the tail end of something wonderful about to tear out of his world. The woman was a stand-in, here to apologize and buy his dinner. They would never see each other again.

“What’s wrong?” Kylie stopped herself in the middle of gushing over the S-Mickey-B offer. Cole Sullivan was looking at her as if he’d lost his best friend all of a sudden.

“It’s stupid,” he said. “Just that you’re leaving town. And I’m enjoying this…the dinner…and you.”

He blushed the most adorable pink. The guy was a hottie, with a sturdy and graceful face, warm brown eyes ready to sparkle at the slightest pleasure and her favorite mouth—sensuous, but masculine. Lucky Deborah Ramsdale.

“Me, too,” she said, flattered by his reaction. “I’m enjoying you, too.” The thrill of attraction had every nerve tight and she liked the guy, felt as if she knew him far better than she actually did. He was a workaholic and a good listener, just like her. If she weren’t leaving town, she’d want more dinners like this. Hell, she’d want more than that. She wanted him. That sexy mouth, those strong hands, those amused eyes drinking in her naked body.

Stop, stop. She was simply crazed with sexual frustration. The first attractive man she’d met in a while had her wiggling in her chair ready to meet him under the table for some mad groping.

“Tell me about this award you won,” he said, sounding embarrassed by his admission. So, she told him about Lock-It and its success and how Garrett McGrath had searched her out and about why it made sense to put her company on hold while she built her success. She almost admitted her doubts about making it on her own, her sense that she lacked the brilliance required to really succeed.

He seemed deeply interested in her ideas. His comments were pertinent and insightful. He wasn’t just waiting for a chance to talk again. And he kept smiling as if she delighted him.

And that turned her on. In a way, her reaction was odd. She deliberately hooked up with guys who were different from her—laid-back, easygoing, with jobs, not careers. Cole was very much like her—ambitious and driven—so she would expect to feel kinship, not passion.

But she was feeling more than comradely. The warm tickle between her thighs had become a steady throb. She crossed her legs to control it, feeling like a girl in the throes of a crush.

“More wine?” Cole lifted the bottle.

She nodded and when they both reached for her glass, their fingers brushed. Heat shot through her and she took in a violent gasp. Lord, what a weakling she was. “Hiccups,” she lied, faking a second harsh intake of air. She watched him pour the last of the bottle into her glass, the light gleaming off the magenta liquid, and realized the sad truth: Dinner was over. They would part soon. Forever.

She sighed. She couldn’t help it.

“What’s up?” he asked, his tone as affectionate as a friend, his expression as attentive as a lover.

Lover. The word sent chills through her.

“Nothing,” she managed. “I just haven’t done this in a while. Gone to dinner with someone for fun.” She squeezed her crossed thighs tight, trying to quell the relentless throb. She couldn’t act on the feeling. Her purpose was to soothe Cole, not seduce him. It plainly wasn’t healthy to go so long without physical release. Now she’d latched onto the first wonderful, interesting, smart, funny man she’d met.

Cole Sullivan was a find, though, no question. Any woman would react to him. She was human. She had needs.

“I know exactly what you mean,” he said, his eyes twinkling with mischief, and she was pretty sure he shared the sexual frustration, too. “I’m Cole,” he said somberly, “and I’m a workaholic.”

“Hi, Cole,” she said, but then she thought she should be serious for a second. “I don’t think we should have to apologize for working hard. We have goals. You’re fighting for partner. I’m pushing for recognition. When we’re ready to kick back, we will, right?”

“Right.” He grinned with relief. “Exactly. I’m glad you said that.”

“Except you’re looking for a wife, so you must intend to make some changes.” She was curious why he’d paid a matchmaker when he was hot enough to attract plenty of women.

“Some changes, though I hope to find a woman at a point in her career that fits with where I am. Someone who’s willing to help with the social duties that come with being a partner.”

“Ah. You want a corporate wife.” She hoped he wasn’t expecting the adoring little woman, circa 1950, who would meet him at the door naked, wrapped in Saran Wrap, holding a Tom Collins mixed his way. Cole seemed better than that.

“You don’t approve?”

“Some women are okay with that, I guess. My mother gave up an architectural business to go with my dad wherever he got transferred. She never complained, but I think she has regrets about sacrificing her career.”

“I don’t want a woman to give up her work for me, just make room for mine.”

“That makes sense.” It did, she guessed, for the right woman. She hoped Cole found her. Maybe it was Deborah, whom Janie had declared a perfect match.

But here he was with Kylie now and they were sipping the last of their wine and staring at each other in a silence thick with arousal. Maybe just a kiss. The idea roller-coastered through her and her stomach plunged.

“Enough about my marriage plans,” Cole said softly, his flicking cheek muscle signaling the desire she read in his eyes. Her heart began to beat so fast she put a hand to her chest.

“Can I get you anything else?” the waiter asked wearily.

They both started at the interruption. They’d had dessert and coffee, paid their bill, and their table had been cleared long ago. They’d dragged this out impossibly long.

“No, no. We’re fine,” she said.

Cole sipped at his empty wineglass, putting up a pretense of still having something to consume. She was glad he seemed no more inclined to say goodbye than she was. Their connection felt condensed, as though they’d swallowed their friendship as a bullion cube instead of sipping cups and cups of broth.

“It’s hard to believe you need Personal Touch,” she said.

“I take it you don’t approve of dating services.”

She realized how he might take that. “It’s not that. And Janie’s the best. If you need help. But you don’t seem…”

“Like a loser who has to pay someone to get him a date?”

“That didn’t sound right.” She blushed. “I just hate the taste of shoe leather, even flavored with mint and chocolate.”

He chuckled lightly. “I figure I owed the love of my life the same energy I’d invest in a career search. I see Janie as my relationship headhunter. I don’t have time to hit bars or parties, so I see this as a practical answer to a time-consuming problem.”

“It’s efficient, I guess.” When he put it that way it made sense. “If I ever want to settle down, I might do the same thing.” Janie had offered her services many times.

“So, no boyfriend?” His face went from pink to bright red.

“Not right now. I’m too busy. And it gets too…”

“Complicated?” When she nodded, he said, “I’ve been out of circulation for going on two years. Gets lonely.”

“No kidding. I miss sex.” She swallowed hard.

Cole laughed. “That’s cutting to the chase.”

“Why be subtle?” She flamed with a blush all the same.

“Good point. Sex can be a problem for workaholics. The last woman I saw wasn’t happy that I only had time for, well, for—”

“Quickies?”

He grinned sheepishly.

“Boy, do I know what you mean. You have a nice evening—great sex—but you need sleep. Except the guy wants waffles and strawberries in the morning, then there’s more sex and before long the weekend’s lost. So you try to catch up working late all week, but he feels neglected.”

“Exactly. It’s a drag to disappoint someone.”

“I keep hooking up with guys with a lot of spare time and they want to hang out, go to games or concerts or camping or sailing. What little free time I have I like to spend—” she leaned closer and whispered “—watching TV.” She winked. “I’m a secret TV junkie.”

“Me, too. Comedy Central is my favorite.”

“Oh, I live on that station.” The cable network featured stand-up comics, quirky sketch shows and humorous talk shows.

Cole grinned, delighted, she could tell. “I hustle all week so I can watch Friday Night Stand-Up.”

“Bingo,” she said and laughed. He joined her, his eyes twinkling, then settling into something much hotter.

A silence fell. It was clear that neither wanted to leave, but the tables were all empty, the waiters were putting up chairs and somewhere someone vacuumed. Under the table, she felt as if her body were on fire.

“Why can’t sex be simple?” she said softly, wanting very much to take this heat between them somewhere they could quench it. “Why can’t it be a lovely physical encounter between two people who want each other?”

“And afterward they go about their lives,” Cole said, his voice husky with emotion, his gaze level.

“Exactly.”

“We should leave.” Cole nodded at the waiters standing at the bar, shooting them go-home-now looks.

“We could go to my place and…talk.”

“Yeah,” Cole said slowly. “Let’s talk.”

They would do more than that, she knew, by the gleam in Cole’s eye, her pulsing sex and the tension vibrating between them like a note held too long.

This was exactly what she needed—simple sex. A glorious hookup. For one night. Safe and easy. Except for one thing.

“What about Deborah?” she blurted. Would Cole’s perfect match mind sharing him with her?

“Deborah’s the future. This is now. Tonight.”

“I’m so glad you feel that way,” she said, relieved. And a little worried about herself.

It wasn’t like her to jump into something like this. She had a plan, every hour laid out, timed to the minute. Tonight she needed sleep. She had major work tomorrow.

But she didn’t care. Just like accidentally parking in the fast-food lane, she’d turn this mistake into a mint-chocolate shake. And not ruin a suit doing it.