Читать книгу The Sex Diet - Rhonda Nelson - Страница 10

SAMANTHA ABSENTLY LAUGHED at something one of the guys said and watched Hank from the corner of her eye. He wore an interesting expression, one she didn’t think she’d ever seen on his handsome, carefree face before—a glower.

Those sun-bleached brows were lowered in an intimidating scowl and his usually smiling lips were thinned into a mulish line. She could read irritation in every line of his glorious body, could practically feel his tension from across the pool. He’d been giving everyone around her the evil eye all afternoon, but thankfully none of her new friends/potential lovers had found him all that intimidating. They were, after all, paying customers so he couldn’t afford to be blatantly rude. That would hardly be hospitable.

To onlookers around the pool, Hank’s behavior might be construed as jealousy, but only she knew better. One had to be interested in order to be jealous, and he certainly wasn’t interested in her. A bubble of regret emerged among the irritation simmering in her stomach. No, Hank had seen the condoms, factored in the extreme effort behind her new appearance and had apparently reached a conclusion which had triggered a misplaced rush of belated brotherly protection.

Well, she didn’t need protecting, thank you very much—she needed an orgasm—and if he didn’t stop glaring at her posthaste, she’d undoubtedly be forced to enlighten him. She instinctively knew he’d be better off in the dark. Nevertheless, she’d put too much thought and work into making herself appealing to the opposite sex to let him come along with misguided, well-meaning intentions and screw it up. Time was of the essence, the clock was ticking and she couldn’t afford any distractions.

To her unending delight, this sex diet seemed to be working quite well. She popped another cocktail shrimp into her mouth and silently thanked the marvels of modern medicine which kept her from looking like a giant, blotchy blowfish.

Samantha had scarcely gotten to a table before a guy—Jeff, if memory served—had offered to buy her a drink. She’d opted for a soda. In addition to not mixing alcohol with the antihistamines—a big no-no, she was sure—she wanted all of her wits about her. She liked the warm sluggish pleasure of a buzz as much as anyone, but she’d been cocktailed the last time she’d chosen a lover and the end result had been disastrous, unremarkable and unfulfilling.

She wouldn’t make that mistake this time.

This time, she knew exactly what she was doing, and she firmly intended on picking the right guy. A consummate lover, a guy who not only possessed impressive equipment, but knew exactly how to use it. A guy who obviously wasn’t looking for anything more than a good time, a meaningless relationship based on mutual attraction and self-gratification. Anticipation sent a thrill rushing through her.

The kind of guy her mother had repeatedly warned her about…the kind that would normally scare her to death.

The idea made something hot and achy slither through her limbs, swirl through her abdomen and settle in her sex. Excitement swept her up in a rush of jitters.

Samantha covertly studied the group around her over the rim of her drink and she felt a smile tease her lips. She had several possible candidates around her right now. With the exception of Carlton, whose mother had called twice on his cell phone in the past hour and who seemed entirely too nice for her purposes, and Ted, whose ring finger bore a distinct white line where his wedding band should be, she still had quite a little pool of could-be lovers huddled gratifyingly around her.

Or she would so long as Hank stayed away, Samantha thought, mildly annoyed, as she watched him determinedly amble closer and closer to where she sat.

He currently strolled from table to table, tending to his duties as host, making sure that each of his guests enjoyed their stay, that accommodations and amenities were up to par. She’d seen him go through the motions on countless occasions, had always envied his natural confidence and charm, the way he never met a stranger and seemed to always know exactly what to say…but there was something distinctly different about the practiced routine this afternoon. There seemed to be a purpose behind that lazy charm and, for reasons which escaped her right now, she got the most overwhelming impression that it had something to do with her.

Samantha watched him, felt the old familiar rush of affection and longing well in her chest and a silent, wistful sigh slipped past her lips. Despite her current irritations, a dozen if-only’s skipped through her thoughts.

If only I’d been born beautiful.

If only it could have been you.

If only you could love me…

She blinked, forcing the useless thoughts aside. She didn’t have time for if-only’s anymore. She’d wasted enough of her life pining over something that was obviously never meant to be and she’d be damned if she’d spend this week mired in muddy regrets.

This week wasn’t going to be about what she couldn’t have, but what she could—which was a much needed, competent lover who could deliver her to release, with luck, repeatedly.

Her gaze slid to Jamie, a general contractor from Birmingham. He was tall, dark, handsome and dangerous, if that wicked little curl of his lips was any indication. He had an irreverent yet intense look about him that piqued her curiosity and put him as the lead contender for the moment. She wasn’t bowled over by her attraction for him, by any stretch of the imagination, but there was definitely a fizzle of…something. Her lips twitched. He looked fully capable of fanning her flame, that was for sure.

Samantha tuned back into the conversation, hoping to glean a little more information about him. Impatience drew a frown across her brow. If she could just ask him a few pertinent questions, they could skip all of the preliminaries and get to the good stuff. For a second, she imagined herself asking him for a private moment, then launching into a very personal interview.