Читать книгу Oh, Naughty Night! - Leslie Kelly - Страница 9

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“THERE’S NOTHING WORSE than having the hots for a sexy guy, and then finding out he has the personality of a turnip.”

Lucille Vandenberg—known to her friends and family as Lulu, which wasn’t great, but was certainly better than Lucille—didn’t try to keep the disappointment out of her voice as she griped to her friends, Viv and Amelia. Honestly, a guy who looked as good as the man holding the guitar at the crowded bar should have boatloads of brains and charm to go with his amazing body. But this one? Ugh. She’d had more scintillating conversations with her houseplants.

“Sorry he turned out to be a disappointment,” said Amelia, her pretty, gentle face full of commiseration and support.

Viv wasn’t as comforting. “If the turnip’s hung like a porn star, you can handle a root vegetable, Lulu. I mean, it’s not as if you want a life partner here.”

Lulu wasn’t convinced, mainly because, once again, she’d set herself up for disappointment. For the past month, since she’d moved to Washington, D.C., she’d been on the lookout for an interesting guy to help break her long romantic dry streak. For what seemed like forever, she had been so focused on getting through grad school, and then on her internship in Rwanda, and then on her new job with a local NGO. She hadn’t allowed herself a single date in ages. Of course, that also could have been because her last serious relationship had been with someone who’d been so self-absorbed and career-focused, he hadn’t even known her middle name, her favorite color, or much of anything else about her a year after they’d been together.

But now she needed sex. Badly. Needed to have it with somebody who would make her forget she hadn’t had it for so long...or at least make her believe the wait had really been worthwhile. She could deal with him not caring about her middle name or favorite colors, at least for one night.

“I just wanted to meet somebody nice, sexy and smart, and have a welcome-to-Washington adventure,” she mused.

And when she’d come into this Dupont Circle bar earlier in the week and met the super-hot guitar player, she’d thought she might have found the perfect person with whom to do it.

But when they’d talked tonight, he’d turned out to be as adventurous as a trip to the dentist. Not even a trip for a filling, or a root canal, just a plain old check-up. Yawn. The monosyllabic conversation they’d shared when she arrived tonight had crushed her fantasies completely.

“Who cares about his IQ?” Viv added. “It’s his looks and size that matter.”

“Maybe to you,” said Amelia, her tone a bit disapproving.

Really, the two former college roommates couldn’t be more dissimilar, and Lulu wondered how they’d survived. They were like Oscar and Felix, only female. One was sexually conservative while the other was a bit of a slut. A definite odd couple.

“I wish I could be as brutally shallow as you, Viv,” Lulu said. “But I need conversation to go with the pecs and schlong.”

Viv grinned, impossible to insult. She was the queen of mean. “Fine, forget him. But don’t give up. The night is young.”

Maybe. But she didn’t want merely smarts, she also wanted a guy who was honest and direct, who didn’t play games with his intentions. Someone who knew what he wanted and went after it...not a wishy-washy dude who couldn’t even speak unless the subject was his favorite band.

Why the hell was it so hard to find somebody like that?

Amelia raised her voice to be heard over the crowd, which was growing louder with every costumed body that crammed into the trendy bar. “There will be lots of guys here tonight. You’ll find somebody better.”

“I doubt it.”

“Have another drink. They’ll all start to look better after three of those things,” said Viv, gesturing toward Lulu’s glass.

Lulu was already feeling the effects of two. Unfortunately, they were making her more choosy, not less. “I’m not the one-night-stand-with-a-stranger type.”

Viv raised a brow and gestured toward the guitarist.

“He wasn’t a stranger,” Lulu insisted. “I sorta knew him.”

“You exchanged five words with him before tonight,” Viv said with a smirk.

“But I knew his name.”

“Only his last one.”

“Yeah, what’s up with that?”

Viv shrugged. “Schaefer’s all mysterious about his first name. I bet it’s something stupid like Fred or Homer or Ralph.”

Amelia, smiling sweetly, said, “Maybe he’s just trying to keep some things private, since he’s in the spotlight.”

Perhaps. But she suspected the broodiness and first-name mystery were intended to heighten interest in an otherwise pretty uninteresting guy. It had certainly worked on her, at least until she’d heard him say more than “Got a request?”

Sighing, she swirled her Devil’s Brew—the drink on special for tonight’s big Halloween bash—and sipped it. She was careful not to splash any of the red liquid onto the half-mask that covered her face from mid-forehead down to the tip of her nose. Lulu had gone to a lot of trouble with this costume, having fully intended to look as sexy and wicked as she could in hopes of stirring some naughty thoughts in the guitarist. She was a witch, but her green mask wasn’t the least bit scary—no long nose or warts. She’d gone instead for a Mardi Gras type facial covering, with sequins and cat-shaped eye openings. Beneath her pointy hat, her hair was curled and teased, wild and untamed. She’d also sprayed a coating of glittery red hairspray onto it, making herself even more unrecognizable.

Schaefer had noticed. She’d seen appreciation and heat in his eyes. His brain might be all vegetable, but his body apparently had some blood flowing through its roots. Er, veins.

That probably would have been enough for most sex-starved twenty-six-year-old women. Maybe it would have been enough for grad-school Lulu. But she’d changed since she’d returned from her internship in Rwanda. Working in a country filled with people who had so little, and then for a nonprofit group that gave microloans to similar, desperately-hopeful populations, would do that to a person.

She supposed she really had grown up. But that didn’t mean she didn’t still have the desire to go out and cut loose, if only to escape the sadness and deprivation she often witnessed in her job. But not with a turnip.

“Whoa, striptease at eleven o’clock,” Viv said, her dark eyes widening.

“Wow, I thought this place was more upscale than that. Maybe we should go someplace else before then,” said Amelia, sounding a little shocked.

“I wasn’t talking about the time, Miss Literal.” Viv pointed. “I mean at my eleven o’clock.”

Lulu and Amelia both turned, peering through the crowd, trying to see what had caught Viv’s attention. At first, Lulu merely spied a sea of devils, vampires, sexy nurses and construction workers. Then she spotted a figure standing alone near the dance floor, facing away from her. And she simply couldn’t look away.

The guy had donned a white sheet for the event, going for the age-old ghost outfit that had gone out of style before Lulu was in elementary school. But even a single sheet was apparently too much. As if he’d felt he’d done his holiday duty by appearing in a requisite costume for a little while, he’d begun to pull the sheet up to remove it. He’d already revealed long legs covered in soft, loose-fitting jeans that draped across powerful, muscular thighs. Not to mention an utterly delish male ass lovingly cupped by that faded denim.

As he stretched his arms up, he caught the bottom hem of his shirt, which was now rising with the sheet—perhaps by design, but more likely by accident. Whatever the reason, she, Viv, Amelia and, she noted, every woman around them, watched him with avid attention as he bared smooth, supple skin, golden and slick with sweat from the hot, crowded bar. His jeans hung low on lean hips; his waist was slim, every inch of him hard.

Lulu reached blindly for her drink, sipping, but she didn’t take her eyes off the ghost. The sheet and shirt went higher—oh, God, that back. It rippled with muscle, every bit of him powerful and sexy. In that body, strength wasn’t just implied, it was promised, and though she wasn’t a petite woman, she suddenly felt very feminine and fragile in comparison.

Catching a glimpse of ink on the back of his shoulder, she waited for more of it to be revealed. She held her breath, dying to see the broad shoulders and bare, flexing arms.

Unfortunately, he appeared to realize he’d been putting on a show. The man yanked the shirt back into place with one hand, and whipped the sheet the rest of the way off with the other. She almost heard a universal sigh of disappointment from every double-Y chromosome in the joint.

“A blond,” Amelia said with a pleased little sigh.

“I like blonds,” Viv purred.

Lulu never had before, but she was definitely seeing the appeal. “I’m quickly developing an appreciation for them.”

Viv tried to stake her claim. “If he has a face to go with the rest of the package, I’ll be poisoning your drinks so I can get to him first.”

Lulu waited, sending mental signals for the guy to turn around so she could judge if the front was as amazing as the back. He didn’t accommodate her fully, but he did glance toward the guitarist, nodding hello to Schaefer. Lulu got just a brief glimpse of his profile, but it was enough to make her gasp in shock.

Lurching from her chair, she said, “It can’t be.”

“Can’t be who?” asked Amelia.

“Chaz.”

Viv frowned. “A guy who looks like that is named Jazz?”

“Chaz,” Lulu insisted, shaking the confusion out of her head and slowly lowering herself back down as her two friends eyed her curiously. “No, I’m wrong. I have to be. No way is that Chaz Browning.”

“Hmm,” Amelia mused, “that name sounds familiar.”

“He’s a journalist—some of his stuff has been in Time magazine and now I think he works for the Associated Press, or maybe Reuters,” Lulu said, still trying to get the crazy thought that the Chaz she’d known as a kid could possibly have grown up to be the stud she’d just been ogling.

“Who are we talking about, the guy over there?” asked Viv.

“No, it’s just a resemblance.” She sipped again, willing her heart to stop thudding. “Chaz Browning was a boy from my hometown in western Maryland, literally the boy next door. Our parents are best friends, but we always tormented each other.”

Well, mostly she’d tormented him. She smiled, thinking how silly she’d been to equate Chaz Browning with the red-hot dude across the bar.

“I’ve barely seen him since he graduated from high school nine years ago. But our families are still close. My mother told his mother that I was moving here, and he emailed me with info about his Realtor. That’s how I got my apartment.”

“And Chaz is definitely not Mr. Sexy Ghost?” Viv said, still focused on the handsome stranger, now ringed by a trio of costumed women. Lulu frowned, seeing the way they leaned against him, brushing body parts against his thick arms and strong legs.

None of your business, she reminded herself, turning in her chair to face her friend, and not the walking sexsicle.

“No way. Chaz was a total nerd. Skinny, awkward.”

He definitely didn’t have tons of muscles or an ass that could make a wolf-whistler of a nun. Sweet, quiet Chaz had as much in common with ghost-guy as Brad Pitt did with Elmer Fudd.

“Well, Mr. Ghost is definitely not a wimp,” Viv said.

Chaz hadn’t been a wimp, either, exactly. Memories flashed through her mind and she felt the same pang of guilt she always felt when she remembered the boy she’d known. She’d harassed him mercilessly—like the time Chaz had gone up onto the roof of the garage to retrieve a football. She’d waited until he was up there, and had then taken the ladder away. Chaz, not wanting to admit defeat to a mere girl, had jumped, landing hard enough on the ground that he fell and cracked his tailbone.

Her mom had accused Lulu of picking on Chaz only because she had a crush on him. She’d denied it, though she’d always thought he was kind of cute when he blushed. Which was often.

Suddenly, Viv’s eyes went even rounder, and her mouth fell open. “Oh, my God, the front half is even better than the rear.”

Lulu spun around on her seat again, wanting a better look. The hot stranger had turned toward them. She saw his face, noted the features—the green eyes with laugh lines beside them, the dimple in one cheek, the small cleft in his chin.

Confusion raced through her. The square, slightly grizzled jaw did not compute, nor did the wide, oh-so-kissable mouth, the flashing green eyes, the utter, rugged handsomeness of the man.

All unfamiliar...yet very familiar indeed.

“No way,” she mumbled. “It just can’t be.”

She stared and stared. And gradually, the truth forced its way into her consciousness.

She might not recognize the body, but she knew that face, that smile, that dimple. She could no longer deny that the sexy ghost was, indeed, Chaz, the boy-next-door. The one she’d tormented, the one who’d ignored her until she’d been as rotten as possible to get his attention, the one she’d hoped to meet again here in D.C. if only so she could make up for being such a little snot when they were kids. But she needed to work up to it and wasn’t prepared to start tonight. Unfortunately the mask probably didn’t hide enough of her face that he wouldn’t recognize her.

It was like some kind of morality play or Aesop’s fable. She’d been the mean girl to a rather forgettable boy, and Chaz Browning had grown up to be the hottest, most unforgettable man she’d ever laid eyes on.

“It’s him. It’s really him.”

“Your old friend?” asked Amelia.

“Something like that.” Friend wasn’t the word she’d use.

“He’s totally checking you out.”

Lulu shook off her shock and paid attention again, realizing that Viv was right. Chaz was eyeing her, a smile tugging at the corners of that incredible mouth. So maybe he had a short memory and didn’t recall that he had reason to hate her guts. Or maybe he’d just grown up and looked back at their childhood days through a softer lens, as she had.

She gave him a bright, sunny smile back, shoving away her sexual interest, forcing herself to remember this was an old frenemy. No way did she want him to know she’d been drooling over him.

He started to come over, probably to say hello, ask how she was settling in to city life, maybe make small talk about the old days. She glanced away, focusing on her drink, running her fingertips over the condensation on the glass, feigning a nonchalance she definitely did not feel.

“Hi,” a man’s voice said a moment later. It was Chaz’s voice, with many years’ worth of maturity added on. He stood behind her, and she felt the warmth of his big, broad body.

Willing her cheeks not to pinken and her voice not to quiver, she glanced up at him. “Hi, yourself.”

“Happy Halloween.”

“Same to you.”

He gestured toward her glass. “I’d offer to buy you a drink, but it seems you’re full-up. How’s the special?”

“Remember the taste of kids’ cherry-flavored cough syrup?”

“Uh-huh.”

“That tasted better.”

“Think I’ll stick to beer.”

“Good choice,” she said. “I like your costume.”

He glanced down at his loose cotton T-shirt and those wickedly worn jeans. “Guy next door?”

Huh. Funny. “I meant the ghost. Why’d you take it off?”

“I’m not so great with scissors. I cut the eye holes too small and couldn’t see where the hell I was going.”

She laughed. Chaz had never had much hand-eye coordination. But she’d bet he could do some utterly amazing things with those hands now, and the heavily-lashed green eyes were enough to make a girl melt.

“Still a fan of the homemade costume, huh?”

“My mother would kill me if I got a store-bought one.”

Yeah. She remembered. Their moms had coordinated outfits every holiday, though they couldn’t always please everybody. One year, when she’d wanted to be Sailor Moon, she’d had to go as a stupid Power Ranger instead because it was Chaz’s favorite show. She’d even had to be the yellow ranger, since his spoiled sister had called dibs on the pink one.

She’d repaid him by stealing every one of the chocolate bars from his trick-or-treat bag and replacing them with raisins.

Lord, she’d been such a little terror.

Chaz hadn’t been the only one with a pesky younger sibling—her brother was his sister’s age. The four of them had grown up together, squabbling, competing. It hadn’t been all-out war, though, until their siblings started dating in high school—and then had a messy breakup. She wasn’t sure Lawrence had ever got over Sarah dumping him. But that had happened after Chaz had left home. He might not even realize that his sister was a heartbreaking butthead.

“I had no time to figure out something more elaborate,” he explained. “I only decided to come here about an hour ago.”

“That’s some serious last-minute costume design,” she said.

“Hey, cut me some slack. I just got back into town this morning after a long overseas trip. I hadn’t even remembered it was Halloween until I got home and saw the decorations. Good thing I had a clean sheet in my linen closet.”

“And good thing it was plain white and didn’t have Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles all over it.”

He barked a laugh, raising a brow, as if surprised she’d remembered those sheets or those turtles he’d been so obsessed with.

“I think I’ve outgrown my mutant turtle days.”

“Strictly into human ninjas now, huh?”

His eyes twinkled. “Yeah, that’s it. Unfortunately, I haven’t found a California-king sheet set with little black-cloaked ninja dudes on them.”

Mmm. Big bed. For a big guy. With big hands. And a big...

“I’m afraid I’m stuck with boring, non-decorative sheets.”

She swallowed and forced her mind back to light small talk and away from thoughts of his sheets. Or his bed. Him in his bed... “I’ll keep an eye out for ninjas for you. Unless you’d prefer Transformers.”

“Nah, I’m good.” He grinned and the earth rocked a bit. “Though, if you see black satin, let me know. I might be tempted to play ninja.”

She gulped, wondering when on earth he’d gotten so damned confident. He was easygoing, sexy, masculine and totally comfortable in a room full of people. No longer the male wallflower, the kid whose shoelaces were tied together by bullies, or who got picked last for the baseball team because he’d dropped a fly ball and lost the big game in fourth grade.

No. He was all sexy, powerful, enticing, grown-up man. And she just had no idea what to think about that.

“You must be awfully tired,” Viv said, interjecting herself into the playful conversation. “After traveling all day.”

Funny, Lulu had almost forgotten she was there. Amelia, too. Chaz, while offering the other two women a polite smile, hadn’t paid a moment of attention to either of them. That made Lulu feel better—her old childhood nemesis/friend hadn’t come over merely to get Lulu to introduce him to Viv, who usually cast other females in the shade. Lulu wasn’t sure whether it was because Viv was so beautiful, or because she was such a stone-cold bitch to most men that they felt challenged to break through the ice. Her costume, a sexy devil, seemed more than a little appropriate. As did Amelia’s, who was dressed as a cute rag doll, complete with a yarn wig she’d made herself using supplies from her craft shop.

Hmm. She wondered if Chaz would say she, too, was appropriately costumed for her personality.

“I guess I am tired,” he admitted.

“I’ll say. Sounds like all you can think of is your bed,” Viv said, her smile still knowing, a wicked gleam in her eyes.

Chaz didn’t nibble at the bait. In fact, he didn’t even seem to notice he was being flirted with. “I probably shoulda crashed, but I was in need of some American holiday fun. There’s not a single piece of candy corn in Pakistan. So I decided to come out to combat the jet lag.”

“And eat candy corn?” Lulu asked, unhappy Viv was working her vixen magic on her old friend. Well, her old something.

“Exactly. Have any on you?”

“I’m all out. I guess you’ll have to trick-or-treat through the neighborhood on your way home.”

“I forgot my sack.”

“Then you’re just out of luck.”

He sighed. “Day late and a treat short. Story of my life.”

Yeah. Because of mean girls who stole his candy bars.

She didn’t bring that up, though. No point reminding him of her antics if there was any chance in hell he’d forgotten them.

As if. That’d be like Batman forgetting the Joker’s antics. Once an arch nemesis, always an arch nemesis.

Not that she’d ever really considered Chaz her nemesis, arch or otherwise. But he might have one or two reasons to think she was. Including a crooked tailbone.

“Well, pull up a chair and join us,” said Viv, scooting over to make room for him. She cast Lulu a piercing look, waiting for her to officially introduce them.

She was about to, but he cut her off.

“Actually, I just wanted to see if you’d like to dance,” he said, staring down at Lulu, his gaze wavering between friendly and intense. She had to wonder if he, too, had been shocked by the changes nine years had wrought. She didn’t much resemble the stringy-haired, braces-wearing seventeen-year-old he probably remembered from his high school graduation party. The one when she’d pushed him into the swimming pool, fully clothed, because he’d called her flat-chested.

To be fair, she had been a late bloomer. Of course, he hadn’t really needed to point that out in front of all their friends and family.

She sat up a little straighter and thrust that no-longer-flat chest out the tiniest bit.

His gaze shifted. He noticed. She noticed him noticing.

“Well?” he asked, his voice dropping to a more intimate tone. “What do you say?”

“Uh...you really want to dance? With me?”

She was pretty sure the only time they’d ever danced together was when they’d had to be square-dancing partners in gym class in middle school. It hadn’t gone well. Holding hands with Chaz had been way too weird for her twelve-year-old self. Her hands had gotten sweaty, her breath short, and she’d had the strangest fluttering in her stomach.

She now suspected what the sweating and fluttering had been all about. She had liked Chaz’s blushes, despite what she’d said to her mother. But back then, never wanting to admit such a thing, she’d convinced herself that holding hands with Chaz Browning was enough to make her want to throw up.

So she’d done what any bratty twelve-year-old would do. She’d stuck out her foot and tripped him during their do-si-do.

Little bitch.

“You know how to dance, right?” Another green twinkle—how had she never noticed he had the most interesting golden streaks that cut through the irises, looking like starbursts? “I mean, it’s pretty easy—you just try to find the beat in the music and move around to it.”

She licked her lips, hearing the band finishing “Time Warp,” which immediately made her think of pelvic thrusts—not something she should be thinking about when it came to Chaz. Luckily the musicians segued right into a torchy version of “Witchcraft.” That somehow seemed appropriate, given her costume, and the fact that she felt as if someone had cast a spell on her. The song was slower, jazzier, and would necessitate close-up dancing, with hands and bodies in direct contact. And though her mind decided that was even riskier than pelvic thrusts, her legs launched her out of her chair immediately.

“Sure.”

She let him take her hand and pull her toward the crowded dance floor. When he grabbed her hips and pulled her close, she swallowed hard, trying to maintain her smile. Could he feel her crazily-beating heart or see the way her pulse thrummed in her throat? And was there any way in hell he didn’t know that some of her most female parts were standing at attention as their bodies brushed together?

Lulu waited for him to say something—Welcome to D.C., How’s the new place?, How are your folks? But he remained silent, merely moving his thigh between her legs as they swayed.

Lord have mercy. Though she’d often imagined having Chaz’s throat between her hands so she could strangle him for saying something that totally pissed her off, she’d never fantasized about having any part of him between her thighs.

He’d been gone from her life before she’d realized stomach flutters and thigh clenching were definite signs of lust.

But now her body was reacting to him in a way she’d never allowed her mind to. There was no mistaking her reaction for anything except excitement. Her palms were sweating and her whole body felt hot and sticky, as though if she didn’t get her clothes off, she would melt right into a puddle of want in the middle of the dance floor.

God, he was so big and strong compared to the boy she’d known. Powerful, male, appealing enough to stop hearts. His chest was so broad it could be used as a life raft. She couldn’t help twining her fingers in his longish hair, tousled from the sheet, shaggy from a few months’ travel.

The truth slammed into her, hard and life-changing.

She wanted him. Badly. Lulu wanted to go to bed with Chaz Browning and see if all the years of angry tension between them could be erased by erotic tension.

If only he were some random guy she’d just met, and the baggage of an entire childhood of fighting and competing, not to mention family drama, didn’t stand between them. If only he were just a sexy stranger like Schaefer, albeit one with charm, easy wit and personality.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t a stranger. Despite how closely he held her, Chaz couldn’t possibly have forgotten her childhood shenanigans and his own disdain toward her. There was no way he’d look at her as anything but the bane of his youth and the scorn of his adulthood. Plus there was the family-connection burden of looking after her. His email had said he’d promised his mom he’d do exactly that once he was back in the country, like she was some high schooler on a field trip to the big bad city. An inconvenience. A brat.

No, anything remotely resembling a sexual connection between her and Chaz was simply out of the question. She was just going to have to go home and get cozy with her vibrator, or say to hell with it and bang the boring guitar player. Anything to avoid letting Chaz realize he’d affected her so deeply. That would be worse than the sweaty hands/square dancing incident.

“The music’s good tonight,” he finally said. “Schaefer and his band have improved since the last time I heard them play.”

“You know him?”

“Yeah, he’s sort of a regular in the neighborhood and he was a soloist for a while. But he was a bit of a hippie. He’d get into trouble, sneaking out of upbeat background music and into some depressing, sixties, psychedelic-mushroom ballad once in a while. Talk about a mood killer. The bar owners threatened to ban him.”

“Do you know his first name?”

Chaz grinned. “I do.”

“What is it?”

“If I told you, I’d have to kill you. He made me promise.”

“Must be a doozy.”

He nodded slowly. “Let’s just say...it’s appropriate.”

“Can’t I bribe it out of you?”

“What’ll you give me?”

“All the Tootsie Rolls from my goodie bag?”

“I’m not interested in candy,” he told her, that half smile lingering on a mouth so kissable it made her own go dry.

“I thought you were jonesing for candy corn.”

“Maybe I’d rather taste something else sweet.”

Whoa. The twinkle in his eye and the flash of that dimple took the light comment and brought it up to flirtatious—maybe even suggestive—level. It was totally unlike anything he’d ever said to her. She had to wonder how many drinks he’d had, or if he’d been drinking them on an empty, jet-lagged stomach. She just didn’t believe a sober Chaz would’ve made that kind of comment—not to her, anyway.

“Like what?” she asked, her tone just as flirty and suggestive, calling his bluff. She knew he’d put a stop to the conversation any second, but couldn’t deny she was having fun while it lasted.

“That drink left your lips looking very red and delicious.”

Good God, was he going to kiss her? The way his gaze focused in on her face said he was considering it, and her heart pounded in her chest. It was crazy. They hadn’t even played doctor as kids, much less snuck even the most innocent of kisses. But he was eyeing her mouth as if he was parched and needed to positively drink from her.

“I have to admit, this conversation is taking me by surprise,” she said, hearing the breathiness in her own voice and wondering what he would make of it.

“You can’t be surprised that I think you’re beautiful.”

“I most certainly am,” she said with a forced smile. Chaz, the boy who’d once called her a soul-sucking leech, thought she was beautiful?

Yeah. He had to be drunk.

“Every man here thinks it,” he said, sounding totally serious. “I saw you the minute I walked in and couldn’t take my eyes off you.” Glancing down at her body, he smiled wickedly. “You surprised me. I always assumed witches were old and ugly.”

“Only bad witches are ugly,” she pointed out, catching his Wizard of Oz reference.

“And you’re a very good witch?”

“Some would debate that. Maybe I’m a little of both.”

“Which witch are you tonight?”

“Which witch do you hope I am?”

His green eyes glittered under the dance floor lights. “Maybe a little of both.”

Hmm.

“Just remind me not to drop a house on you.”

“Or douse me with water,” she said with a grin, liking how easy they were with each other. Old friends flirting a little, reminiscing a little. Because they were both exploring a shared memory.

It had been her eleventh Halloween. She’d wanted to be a Spice Girl, but in a repetition of the Sailor Moon fiasco, of course the boys wouldn’t go for what she wanted, so they’d all done a Wizard of Oz thing. Chaz had been the Scarecrow, Lawrence, her brother, the Tin Man, her dog was Toto, and Chaz’s dog was the Cowardly Lion. Only, as if he understood his role and wasn’t happy about being labeled a coward, the ornery beagle had wriggled out of his lion mane and hidden it in his doghouse before they’d even started trick-or-treating.

As for the rest...well, of course Sarah had been Dorothy and Lulu had been the Wicked Witch of the West. Complete with green flour paste all over her face, a scraggly wig, horrific hat and butt-ugly dress. Not exactly the Posh Spice she’d pictured.

She was pretty sure Sarah was the one who’d gotten raisins in place of chocolate bars that year. Hell, maybe all of them had.

“One thing’s for sure, I don’t ever remember witches wearing black leather bustiers,” he said.

“Or spider-web patterned tights?” she said with an eyebrow wag. She so loved the tights.

“The skirt and those heels don’t hurt, either.”

Yeah, most witches probably didn’t wear flouncy, lacy black miniskirts, or screw-me shoes with silver chains around the ankles. All of which she’d donned to attract a guy who now held absolutely no interest for her, and which had instead drawn the eye of one she’d known forever, but had never really allowed herself to see until now. Strange, strange world.

“Back to the point. I noticed you, and then you smiled at me.”

Yes, she had. A big, friendly, please-don’t-figure-out-what-I’ve-been-thinking smile. “So I did.”

“You have an amazing smile. Welcoming and uninhibited.”

His tone was sincere, his eyes gleaming with something she couldn’t quite place. Tenderness? Maybe that. Chaz had always had a nice, tender streak, which other kids had tried to crush. Her included, on occasion.

“When I saw that gorgeous smile, and realized it was directed at me, I figured you felt it, too.”

“Felt what?” Right now all she felt was dazed by words she’d never expected to hear from him of all people.

He lifted a hand and dragged it through a long strand of her glittery, red-dyed hair, rubbing it lightly, then twining it in his fingers. “Attraction. Heat.”

His bluntness shocked her. “Are you serious?”

“Completely.”

She couldn’t speak, honestly could not find a word to say.

“I’ve surprised you again?”

Nodding slowly, she admitted, “Just a bit.”

“Sorry. I’ve been out of the country too long. I’ve lost my manners and forgotten how this game’s supposed to be played.”

“Are we playing a game?”

“Oh, yeah.”

He breathed deeply to inhale the scent of her hair, and lightly, oh, so lightly, kissed her temple, just above the edge of the mask.

She managed to stay upright at this first-ever kiss between them, even though worlds rocked and tides changed and planets skipped out of orbit at the brush of his lips on her skin.

Every instinct she owned was telling her that this wasn’t Chaz, that he’d been replaced by a doppelgänger who didn’t hate her, who saw her as the sensual woman she’d become and not the mean-spirited kid he’d once known. What other explanation was there? A dream?

This is really happening, isn’t it?

“What kind of game?” she finally asked.

Another brush of soft lips on her pulse point, then he inhaled deeply, as if imprinting her scent on his memory. “The kind that ends with us in bed.”

“Holy shit.”

He laughed. “Shocked you that time, huh?”

“Oh, hell yes.”

“Sorry. It’s just been a long while since I’ve been with anyone. A long time since I’ve wanted to, to be perfectly honest. And the minute I saw that smile, I just...wanted you.”

How on earth could this sexy, forthright, demanding guy have been born out of the shy, nerdy boy she’d known?

“I know it’s quick, and it’s crazy. I don’t usually do this. Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever moved so fast with a woman in my life. But the truth is, I want to take you out of here and have sex with you like the sun’s not gonna come up tomorrow.”

Whoa.

This time, she couldn’t keep her feet steady. Her ankle twisted and she stumbled in the attractive-but-miserably-uncomfortable high heels. If he hadn’t had his arms wrapped around her, she would have fallen right at his feet.

“Okay, point taken. I’m going too fast,” he said as he held her tightly against him, so she could feel every rope of muscle, each ounce of masculinity. Including a ridge in his pants that said he was not in any way, shape, or form a boy. He was all, total, 100 percent powerful man.

“Fast? You could be in a car commercial about going from zero to one-twenty in ten seconds flat.”

“Sorry,” he said with an I’m-not-really-sorry shrug. “Let’s back up, play this the normal way, with introductions. I’m not mysterious like the guitarist. My name’s Chaz. What’s yours?”

Gasping, she stumbled over her own feet again. Chaz tightened his grip on her hips, preventing her weak, suddenly trembling legs from giving out on her. Her head spun, her thoughts pinging around like a ball in a pinball machine until the reality settled in and became something she believed.

Son of a bitch.

“My...my name?”

“Yeah. You have one, don’t you?”

She nodded, her brain still scrambling.

He didn’t recognize her. Chaz Browning had no idea who she was. That’s why he could make those suggestive comments to her—he had no clue he’d been making them to the girl he’d grown up with!

The truth of it settled in, and she went over the past several minutes in her mind. He’d seen her, noting the costume, and of course the mask that covered two-thirds of her face. But he hadn’t recognized her, Lulu, the bane of his childhood.

Actually, it did make sense. It was stupid of her to think he would have recognized her at a glance, across a crowded bar, after nine years. He’d remember her as a kid, and right now she was wearing a very sexy costume, and her hair was red and curly. Why on earth would he have known her?

She should have realized that. In her own defense, she could only say she hadn’t been thinking clearly, she’d been too affected by the grown-up version of the boy she’d known. She was still affected by him, in fact, and growing more so by the minute.

“How potent are those red drinks?” he asked, laughter in his voice. “If they induce amnesia, they should come with a warning label.”

“Pretty potent.”

She smiled weakly as the truth of the situation continued to settle in to all the most adventurous parts of her brain. A world of possibilities opened up like a long road at the start of an exciting journey. She was a stranger to him. Just a sexy stranger, a hot woman Chaz Browning was trying to pick up.

And, although an hour ago she’d never have dreamed it possible, she was seriously considering letting him.

“Umm...let’s hold off on the name thing for a while.”

His eyes widened as if he thought she was kidding. When he realized she wasn’t, he shrugged. “If you say so.”

She did say so, because she was still trying to figure things out. Things like how much she wanted him. Whether she could have him.

Despite the obstacles—their careers, her bratty past that had to have left him hating her, their siblings’ angry relationship, their parents’ lifelong friendship, and all the stolen candy bars and broken tailbones history that said they could never make a relationship work—she found herself wanting him more than she’d ever wanted a man in her life.

Her curiosity ate at her, of course, and the attraction had been instantaneous. But it was more than that. She had known him as a child, and she greatly wanted to know him as a man. Would the sparks they’d shot off each other throughout their lives transition into a different kind of heat altogether?

Just once, for one wild night, could she have him? Take him, be with him, get the longing and the ache out of her system and then go back to being his friend/enemy without hurting anyone or letting things get complicated? Was that possible?

Catwoman and Batman managed it.

Sure. Nemeses to lovers worked sometimes, if only in the short run. Maybe it wasn’t smart, but it was at least possible.

It also sounded very exciting.

There was just one problem. It had to be in the short run. There was no way they could have any kind of future, not with all the baggage and the family issues. Besides, he was an internationally traveling reporter—and she intended to stay right here and change the world in other ways.

Meaning if something happened between them, it had to be a one-shot deal. Something with no drama, no angsting, no questions even.

Which meant Chaz could never know the truth.

If she slept with him tonight, she had to make damn sure he never found out who she actually was. And that meant she had to stay in control.