Читать книгу Whispers in the Dark - Kira Sinclair - Страница 10

“EVERYTHING’S SET?” Michael met Chris at the door, pushing back a throng of women to let him into Oxygen, a downtown Birmingham hotspot. These personal appearances were part of the job, but he really wished the marketing department would find someplace other than local clubs and bars. The place reeked of smoke, and the pounding music and flashing lights made it difficult to carry on a conversation. Although, sometimes that worked in his favor.

“We’re meeting for dinner Saturday night. I reserved a private room at Masquerade.”

“Private, huh? Please tell me you aren’t considering making a move. I know you’ve been off your dating game lately, but that’s low.”

Chris frowned. He was not off his game; he was out of it entirely. But that was by choice. He was tired of pasting on a smile and playing someone else, someone he no longer wanted to be.

“Of course not. I’m trying to keep a low profile. Somewhere I can get in and out without anyone noticing me.”

“Dr. Desire! Dr. Desire!” Two women slipped past the bruiser holding back the crowd and raced toward him, yelling at the top of their lungs. Chris took a bracing step backward and held his breath. Before they could reach him, another security guard provided by the club intercepted them.

With a wry twist of lips Michael said, “I wouldn’t count on it.”

“Those women knew I’d be here.” Shaking his head, he moved across the room. “I promised Katy no publicity. No pictures, no interviews. And no using her real name on the air.”

His producer shrugged. “Fine. Legal wanted as much, anyway.”

“Great. Make sure everyone knows. The last thing I need is for this meeting to leak out. Then Katy really would have something to complain about.”

Chris settled into the uncomfortable chair set behind a table at one end of the dark room. Glancing down at the stack of glossy black-and-whites, he suppressed a cringe. He hated autographing these pictures, but they were part of the personal-appearance contract he’d signed.

The man staring back was familiar, but not someone he recognized as himself. The concealing layers were visible, at least to him. Slicked-back, styled hair. False, white smile. Tailored suit, a carbon copy of the straining shoulder seams he now shrugged uncomfortably against.

He’d worked hard to develop Dr. Desire’s public persona. The fact that it didn’t quite fit hadn’t always bothered him. But it was starting to more and more.

“Dr. Desire.” A middle-aged woman stepped up to the table and leaned across to squeeze his neck like they were old friends. It was time to go to work.

He spent the next hour talking and laughing with his fans. His cheek muscles hurt from the perpetual smiling, and his throat could have used about five gallons of water.

Of all the things that came along with being Dr. Desire, the public appearances had become his least favorite.

Finally, just at the point he was seriously beginning to think his wrist would fall off, Michael spoke to the crowd. “Sorry, folks. Dr. Desire has to get back to the station. But be sure to check out the Web site for his next local appearance.”

With a smile he could no longer feel, Chris waved as he slipped back out the door. Several feet down the block, his shoulders rose and fell on a sigh of relief.

“Remind me not to agree to another one of these for at least six months.”

“Sorry, you’re doing another in two weeks.”

Rolling his stiff neck, Chris let out a groan.

“Publicity means money, for you and the station. Wait here for me. I need to check on something inside, then you can give me a ride back to the station.”

When had he become a damn taxi? Whatever. It gave him a few minutes of solitude to unwind. These things always drained him. It was weird, the difference between speaking on air and speaking in person. The people were often the same; at least, they all wanted to talk about the same things. But at night, after the show ended and he left the studio behind, he was never as exhausted as he was after these in-your-face appearances.

Chris walked farther away, knowing that the bouncers who’d held the crowd back would soon let them go. Late-summer heat waved up from the pavement at his feet. Even an hour after sunset it still held every ounce of the August sun. But there was a nice, unusual breeze. It slipped past him, carrying the smells of the city.

Birmingham was nothing like the little Alabama town he’d come from. Back home the smell on the breeze would have been cow manure, freshly mown grass or a mixture of both. It would have held the mouthwatering scents of barbecuing meat and roasting corn, though neither of those would ever have been coming from his own trailer. Here he just smelled money, concrete and the Chinese place down the block. Not necessarily bad, just different.

“Chris.”

He turned instinctively, realizing too late that the smooth voice was not Michael’s.

Every muscle in his body froze. His skin flushed hot before going clammy cold. He hadn’t seen his father for fourteen years. In fact, he’d only laid eyes on the man once in his life.

As far as he was concerned, that was once too many.

“How are you, son?” With a blinding smile that reminded Chris a little too much of the pictures he’d just signed, Darrell Odom cuffed him on the shoulder in greeting.

Shock quickly gave way to a bone-clenching anger. The one time he and his mother had needed the sorry son of a bitch, he had laughed in their faces and told his mother she was a stupid piece of ass for getting herself in trouble in the first place.

“What do you want?” He bit out each precise word. Every cell in his body screamed at him to take the shot he’d wanted to all his life, to pummel the perfect white teeth, golden tanned face and bright blue eyes until they were an unrecognizable mass. He wouldn’t, his mama had taught him better. And if he did he’d be no better than his father.

As far as Chris was concerned, he wanted nothing from the man, especially not the questionable moral compass he seemed to operate by.

“Can’t a father say hello to his son?”

“Not you. Let me guess, your latest mark wised up and threw you out on your ass.” Chris smiled. A small spot in the center of his chest warmed as his father’s jaw clenched, confirming his suspicions. “She catch you with another woman or just in your lies?”

Darrell’s smile vanished. The change was remarkable. The jovial, polished man he’d been two seconds ago was replaced by someone Chris never would have recognized in a crowd. For the first time he wondered just how old his father actually was. He’d never asked his mother.

Ripples of lines bracketed the man’s drawn lips. Deep furrows creased his forehead and the healthy glow he’d radiated vanished to a pale shadow of what it had been before.

“Fine. You’re an adult now—”

Like the man had ever known him as a child.

“The bitch I was with threw me out without a cent. No warning, no nothing, just changed the locks. I don’t even have a spare set of clothes. I just need enough to get back on my feet, to get a place to stay, some clothes to wear. Ten thousand should do it.”

Chris’s body flushed hot, and a shot of adrenaline coursed into his veins. He’d been waiting for this day all his life. He’d often railed at God and fate for what had happened to his mother. She’d worked so hard, spent every moment of her life paying for a mistake no one had loved her enough to forgive.

He’d carried the weight of knowing that mistake had been him. And that no matter how perfect a child he’d been, how excellent a student, he couldn’t save her. In the end he’d watched as cancer had eaten her from the inside out, knowing that if she’d had a better, easier life—some insurance—that life might have lasted longer.

Now the man who could have helped them and had refused was standing with his own hand out. Life was cruel. But fate had a sense of humor.

A harsh laugh that Chris didn’t recognize as his own echoed through the falling night. “Let me get this straight—I watched that night as you denied I was your son, as you told my mother she was an idiot for not aborting me and that any messes she’d made were hers to clean up. You refused to give us even $500 and here you are asking for twenty times that. You’re joking, right?”

Darrell’s face turned deep red beneath his too-perfect tan. “I know you have it. I didn’t have five hundred to spare.”

“You mean your sugar mama wouldn’t give money to the mother of your bastard son. You make me sick. You’re not getting a penny from me.”

Chris turned to leave, rubbing at his chest to ease the tight band there. Somehow that hadn’t felt as good as he’d always assumed it would.

Staccato steps on the empty sidewalk alerted Chris that the moment wasn’t over just yet.

“Don’t you walk away from me, boy.”

Darrell grabbed at his arm, but Chris was too quick. He spun around, stepping into the man to stop him short.

His father’s blue eyes glowed with an ominous heat. “Your mother should have taught you manners, son.”

“Don’t you mention her to me, you bastard. Ever. You don’t know anything about her, about what you sentenced her to that night you refused to help.”

The familiar anger and helpless fear rolled through Chris’s blood. His fists clenched against the hunger for retribution. It would be so easy to inflict a tiny slice of the pain his mother had experienced. The pull of vengeance was almost hypnotic. But the man before him wouldn’t pay the price; Chris would. Dr. Desire would. And it wouldn’t bring his mother back.

Taking a deliberate step back, Chris put enough space between them to make physical contact impossible.

“Let me give you some advice. Go back to whatever dimwitted divorcée you were conning this time, get down on your hands and knees and beg her for forgiveness. You have a better chance with her than you do with me.” Chris smiled, his muscles no longer numb, each and every one aching in protest. He kept the facade anyway.

“Aren’t we all high-and-mighty, Dr. Desire. You’re no better than I am.”

“The hell I’m not.”

“We both make our living off seducing women. The only difference is they pay me direct. You have that nice corporation cutting you the check. The end result’s the same, boy.” He smiled a perfect smile that sent ripples of unease across Chris’s body. “Sex sells.”

Chris stared, speechless. His brain swirled on the words, but he couldn’t form a coherent response.

“I’ll let you think about that awhile. See you around.”

His father was halfway down the block before Chris had his mouth open and a logical argument ready. Too late. People streamed from the club he’d just left as his father passed by the front door. Yelling at the man now would draw attention he’d rather not have.

Out of the crowd Michael appeared, grabbed his elbow and steered him across the street to his waiting Porsche.

“Who was that you were talking to?”

“No one important.”

It wasn’t true. He was nothing like his father.

DARRELL SAT IN HIS CAR and fought down the rage. The candy-apple-red Jag was about the only thing of value he owned, and he only owned that because he’d sweet-talked Virginia into putting the title in his name. It was amazing what women would do if you gave them a mind-blowing orgasm.

Selling the car wasn’t an option, he wasn’t ready to part with it just yet. It was sleek and red and young, and it reminded him of the youth he’d squandered bowing and scraping to women in order to get by.

He’d deserved so much more.

There was another way back to the lifestyle he’d grown accustomed to, the lifestyle he deserved. But it required start-up capital, something he didn’t have. But his son did.

Taking a deep breath, he unclenched his hands and laid them over the leather-wrapped steering wheel. He stroked the soft curve up and down. The feel of it always reminded him of a woman’s skin, that smooth, silky place just on the underside of a ripe breast.

It wasn’t just the money he missed. His sexual appetites were huge, which was why having only one woman never satisfied him. Or rather had never satisfied him. Just one more item on the list of things old age had taken…right along with his looks, his boyish charm, his charisma—everything he needed to function in the high society world of wealthy divorcées.

Damn it! He needed that money and he needed it fast.

Down the street he watched his son speed away in a sports car that strikingly resembled the one he sat in. A small smirk tugged at his lips. They were the same.

He wasn’t ready to give up just yet. He hadn’t spent almost forty years of his life manipulating people into giving him whatever he wanted for nothing. He’d find an in with his son.

Or a weakness he could exploit.

His parting shot had certainly hit home. Darrell hadn’t missed the disbelief and utter denial that had skated across Chris’s face. So the boy didn’t like the idea that he was the apple to his tree.

Well, it was certainly a start.

Maybe tomorrow he’d pay a visit to his famous son’s place of employment and see what he could shake out of those branches.

WHY HAD SHE AGREED to this?

Karyn’s foot tapped up and down against the polished hardwood floor beneath the table as she waited for Dr. Desire to show up. Her heel clicked in a rhythm that, coming from anyone else, would have annoyed the hell out of her.

She couldn’t stop.

At least there wasn’t anyone to bother. She sat alone in the quiet room he had reserved for them. Her eyes swept across the cozy space. The dim lighting, flickering candles and mood music all set her nerves on edge. Apparently Dr. Desire hadn’t told the restaurant this wasn’t a real date.

Karyn tried desperately not to fidget. Or admit that a part of her really wished it were a date. A mixture of anxiety and anticipation churned at the bottom of her stomach. She had no idea what to expect, from Dr. Desire or herself.

“Karyn.”

His voice reached her first as he entered the room, melting down her spine in that familiar trail, turning her bones to liquid mush.

He was tall and broad and his presence shrank the already-intimate space. The sheer force of him seemed to consume the excess oxygen in the room, to condense the surroundings to nothing more than a block of space too tiny for them both to occupy—without her brain going fuzzy and her skin flushing hot.

Those billboards did not do him justice.

Karyn knew she was staring, but couldn’t help it. Her first real life glimpse of Dr. Desire had her tongue seemingly glued to the roof of her mouth.

His lips curved into a crooked, charming grin, the same one she’d driven past almost every day for the past eighteen months. Candlelight reflected in his blue-gray eyes, catching the smallest glint of mischief lurking there. Maybe it was the flickering light, but she really thought they were more captivating in person.

He stopped by the table, towering over her.

She looked up and up into his sexy face and had to swallow hard to wet her suddenly dry mouth. Her foot kicked into double time beneath the tablecloth. Heat burst through her body and her nipples tingled in a primitive response she hadn’t experienced in longer than she could remember.

He packed one hell of a punch.

“Karyn?”

She shook off the daze, cringing at the impression she must be making. By nothing more than walking up beside her, Chris had started a chain reaction inside, awakening places on her body she’d thought long dead.

She stared up into his intense eyes and wanted to cry in frustration. Sure she’d made her share of stupid mistakes in life, but what had she done to deserve this cruel twist of fate? The one man who’d finally revved her engine and he’d already said no. Not just no, hell, no, wouldn’t touch her with a ten-foot-pole no.

“You’re not Karyn? I’m sorry. They told me…”

She still had to get through dinner, preferably without embarrassing herself more than she already had. “Yes. I am…Chris.” Standing, she tried hard not to bite her lower lip, a bad habit that tended to surface when she was overwhelmed, and motioned to the chair opposite her. Hopefully the table hid the humming energy that made her knees tremble. At least her foot had stopped tapping.

“I’m sorry I’m late. Business.” With his head cocked to the side, he offered a lopsided grin equal parts charm and remorse.

His heat reached out and touched her, mixing with the visceral response still bursting inside. Her entire body warmed, and moisture gathered beneath the unruly mass of hair she’d pulled tight at the nape of her neck.

His eyes snagged her own across the intimate space of their little table, making her feel…caught. Not like a butterfly with its wings pinned down for display. No. The sensation was more like the pull of gravity right before a plane took off. Like some force of nature was holding her back, gathering strength before letting go so she could fly.

She blinked, thinking herself completely insane. She tried to look away but found her gaze drawn back to the magnetic energy he radiated with seemingly little effort.

A shiver of awareness slid down her spine at the intensity of his study. His eyes roamed every inch of her face. Usually that kind of masculine stare would have set her nerves on edge. She was on edge all right. But it had nothing to do with nerves.

Reaching for her water glass, Karyn gulped a swallow, needing busywork for her hands and mind.

He must have taken her silence and hasty chug of water as signs of fear.

Laying his palms flat on the table in front of him, he said, “I want you to know you have nothing to worry about. No expectations. No pressure. We’ll have a nice dinner. That’s all.”

She realized his words and the look of studied sincerity were meant to put her at ease. And if she’d had her normal reaction to a man sitting intimately across from her, they might have been necessary. But Chris Faulkner would not hurt her. She knew this to the soles of her feet.

Fear. Anxiety. Calculating the risks. She thought of none of these normal things. It was the image of those tanned, large, roughened hands on her instead of on the snowy tablecloth that had blood whooshing in her ears.

And that surprised her. Yes, in the safety of her mind she had admitted she had a physical response to Chris, to his voice, to the sky-high images that seemed to pepper the city. What red-blooded woman wouldn’t? He was gorgeous and had the sort of lazy, husky bedroom voice that drove women crazy.

What she hadn’t anticipated was for those rumblings to be exponentially amplified by his actual presence. The reaction she’d had to his picture was safe. She’d never figured on having the opportunity to meet him in person. Now, all she could hear was Anne’s voice in the back of her head repeating over and over, “That man knows his way around a woman’s body. With him, fear wouldn’t be an option. He’d have you naked and panting before you could blink.”

She wasn’t naked, but the room had definitely become stuffy. She went to tug at her collar only to realize she wasn’t wearing her normal high-necked blouse but a low-cut, gauzy silk confection that rubbed deliciously against her skin.

“Karyn?”

His hesitation and low-pitched sound of concern pulled her focus up. Slowly she took in his charcoal-gray suit and white dress shirt, open at his strong throat. Sophisticated and urbane, there was no mistaking him for any man other than Dr. Desire.

She looked up into his dark-blue eyes, at the swirls of gray and flecks of the palest green, and knew this man had it all together. The core of her body clenched.

A smile, one she hadn’t seen slip since he’d walked in the door, tipped the corners of those breath-stealing eyes heavenward. Intelligence, laughter, reassurance. Anne was the only other person who’d given her this immediate sense of ease—if you discounted the hum of energy jingling her spine right now.

“Yes.” The word came out breathy, almost lost in the muted restaurant sounds from outside the room.

“Are you okay?”

No. She wasn’t. For the first time in five years, her body had flooded with heat. A heat she remembered, one she’d feared never feeling again. One she wanted to embrace, explore, capture.

“Yes. I’m…” surprised, excited, achy “…fine.”

“Why don’t we order some champagne? It’ll help settle your nerves.”

What nerves? Any nerves she’d felt had melted away the moment he’d walked through the door.

CHRIS WATCHED Karyn from across the table.

She wasn’t what he’d expected. When he’d pictured her in his mind she hadn’t been ugly—but she hadn’t been beautiful, either. Plain, average, unexciting. That’s what he’d expected.

What he’d gotten was nothing close to unexciting.

She was understated. But she was also…pretty. Fragile. Surprising.

Wisps of auburn hair, dark with only a hint of red, fluttered against her cheeks. A long, shining column spilled over one shoulder, a burst of color against her pale-green shirt. But it was her face that held his attention. Thin, her cheekbones high and sharp, her pale skin seemed to glow luminously in the candlelight.

He’d seen his share of beautiful women in candlelight. Karyn would never be classified as beautiful. She was something more…unique.

Her deep brown eyes flashed with golden glints he could see from half a table away. They were direct, and despite what he’d expected, calm. He fought the urge to breathe in her scent, to let it linger in his senses.

That would not be smart. The beginning tingle of attraction was already racing to the base of his spine. His body tightened. They were familiar signs, ones he’d recognized since he was fourteen and had his first sexual encounter with the older girl next door.

The fact that Karyn was the first woman to rev his engine in months meant nothing. Well, nothing other than the fact that it had been too long since he’d had sex.

It just hadn’t been satisfying lately. Oh, he and his partner had both enjoyed orgasms—Dr. Desire couldn’t provide anything less—but Chris hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that there was something missing. He was tired of playing a role, second-guessing every touch, taste and word against a list of expectations.

The kicker was they were expectations he’d built up himself. Dr. Desire was a prison of his own making. Women never seemed interested in spending an evening with Chris, they wanted his alter ego.

Karyn was no different. She’d called in to the show wanting something from Dr. Desire, something he wasn’t able to give. Looking across the table at her, he watched the sharp edge of her white teeth crease the flesh of her bottom lip, the first outward sign that she wasn’t as calm as she wanted him to believe.

One thing was certain: Karyn was not a candidate to break his dry spell. There were consequences, and he didn’t just mean for her. His job, his show, the responsibility he had to his listeners, it was all too important to throw away on a sexual whim.

Despite what his fath—Darrell seemed to think, he had standards. Somehow, over the past few years, Dr. Desire had gotten a reputation. Rumors abounded about his sexual prowess, his conquests. Women he’d never met claimed to have spent time in his bed. He hadn’t been a monk by any stretch of the imagination, but honestly, if he’d had sex with half the purported number, he would never have slept.

Mutually satisfying sexual gratification—that part of his reputation was all true. That’s what the women he did make love with wanted from him and, frankly, that’s all he had wanted from them.

Karyn. Karyn needed much more than that. Time. Patience. Understanding. He didn’t think he had any of those things.

Not to mention sleeping with her could kill his career. The last thing he needed was for a sensationalized news story to show up about how he’d taken advantage of a rape victim. His listeners wouldn’t appreciate that at all. And at the end of the day, the listeners were all that mattered. If he lost them, he lost the show.

Gwen Adair, a reporter for the local newspaper, had been dogging his every step lately, looking for something to make headlines with. She hadn’t taken his gentle decline of a rather obvious sexual offer several months ago very well. And while most of the things she’d printed about him so far had been insignificant, he didn’t intend to give her something real.

He might have simply fallen into his role as Dr. Desire, but no self-respecting trailer-trash kid would be stupid enough to throw his golden meal ticket away, especially not for sex.

Even sex that his body told him would be fantastic.

Grappling with his control, Chris thought charm, and smiled.

Their waiter approached the table and took his champagne order. Leaning over, the man also poured more water into Karyn’s glass. It hadn’t been anywhere close to empty; in fact, it looked like she’d taken maybe two sips. She glanced up, smiling slightly at the other man with those big, brown eyes.

A seed of something he couldn’t quite name lodged somewhere in his chest. His eyes narrowed as he watched the two interact.

He didn’t appreciate the other man’s blatant interest in his date. Or the way he crowded into Karyn’s space. But as Chris’s attention swung back to her, the seed dissolved. He couldn’t miss the way she slid back into her chair.

She chuckled at some inane comment, and understanding dawned. She was trying to project the image of a carefree woman. But Chris heard the strain in the delicate noise, and her wildly tapping foot beneath the table didn’t escape his notice, either. It brushed against his pant leg with each upswing.

As the man slid away to fill their request, Chris watched her chest rise and fall on a silent sigh of relief.

“Why didn’t you just tell him to leave you alone?”

“What?” She glanced up, her wide brown eyes looking directly at him, into him.

His breath caught and held while he studied her. Determination, acceptance and a tiny spark of fear clouded her gaze. But as he watched, the golden specks caught fire and flashed with something completely primitive and completely feminine.

Something deep inside him responded. His heart sped up and the blood quickened, rushing downward. He leaned forward, wanting to be sure it hadn’t been a trick of the light, but as he did she blinked and it was gone.

“Why didn’t you tell him to back off? You were obviously uncomfortable with him standing so close.”

She looked away for a moment before answering. “Because it isn’t his problem. He didn’t do anything wrong.”

“But neither did you.”

Her lips ghosted up in the faint beginnings of a smile before flatlining again.

He would have said more, but the man returned with their bottle at that moment. Through the uncorking ritual, Chris watched her.

Her delicate fingers grasped the stem of her glass flute, settling the rim between her lush lips, the bottom one slightly fuller than the top. Her disproportioned mouth was the one anomaly to her appearance. One he liked. Something that made her unique and delightfully imperfect. Her pale throat worked over a mouthful of the bubbling wine as her eyes scanned the oversize menu before her.

How this woman had gotten through the past five years without touching a man, let alone sleeping with one, he couldn’t figure out.

“I hope you’re not nervous or embarrassed.”

She laughed, the last thing he’d expected. But the sound rolled through him, reverberating inside his chest like the pounding bass in the classic rock he loved to listen to late at night, alone in the dark after his show.

“So it’s pretty common for your dates to proposition you before dinner even begins? That’s good to know.”

Her ability to laugh at herself and their unusual situation impressed him. And her strength astounded him. Unless you knew what signs to look for, you’d never guess that she was anything but relaxed.

“As a matter of fact, I’m pretty used to that.” He flashed her a smile meant to bring back that laugh. “But I don’t usually agree to dates with those women, so you’re a first.”

He regretted the words the moment they left his mouth as the spark in her eyes dulled and her cheeks bloomed red. “However, I have been on a ton of first dates and, as you can see, have lived to tell the tales. I promise this won’t hurt. You might even find you like me.”

“I already like you, Chris.”

“You like my public persona. That guy isn’t all I am.”

Now why had he said that? It didn’t matter. She could like whoever she wanted—Dr. Desire, Chris Faulkner, the waiter. After this night it wouldn’t make a damn bit of difference. No matter how appealing and beautiful she was, he wasn’t getting involved. End of story.

“I’d like to think I’m not that shallow. I realize your job isn’t all there is to know about you. But I’ve learned a lot, more than you probably think, by listening to the advice you give.”

“Like what?”

“I know that you have a wickedly sarcastic sense of humor.”

Chris rocked back into his chair, dropping the menu he hadn’t really been looking at anyway.

“Usually those comments are at the expense of someone’s pride, and afterward I feel horrible.”

“See, I knew it. Under that tough, man’s-man persona there’s a softy. You’re a nice guy.”

“No. A nice guy wouldn’t say the stuff in the first place. Or wouldn’t continue saying it. I said I feel guilty, but only for a second.”

“Well, that’s because the person on the other end usually needs some sense knocked into them.”

Maybe she did understand him. He’d often thought he’d carefully compartmentalized his true persona from the polished, charming Dr. Desire, the voice and personality that garnered ratings and multiyear contracts. Maybe not.

“That’s one reason I called the show. Not because you were soft and nice. But because you’re hard and tough and usually right. I trust you to tell me what I need to hear.”

“What do you need to hear?” His voice dipped lower than he’d intended. He hoped she hadn’t noticed. The last thing he wanted to do was make her uncomfortable.

She waved her hands between them. “This is not supposed to be a pop psych session. Just dinner.”

She was right. He’d walked into the restaurant intent on proving to Karyn she could enjoy a nice dinner out with a man, a stranger, without having to deal with the complicated issues. He’d specifically set out not to turn on Dr. Desire. He wanted to stay as far away as possible from that proposition she claimed had just slipped out. He didn’t want to give her another chance to mention what she needed from him, how he could help solve all her sexual problems.

He couldn’t solve anything. At the moment, however, his libido was sorely tempted to try.