“No problem. Now if you’ll excuse me,” she said, gesturing to the noisy avenue where cars and cabs and buses were slogging along through the end of rush hour. She stood on the curb, thrust her hand in the air, and snagged a taxi in ten seconds. She might have been unlucky in love, but she was remarkably successful at snagging a cab. As she shut the door behind her, she noticed the guy with dark hair was still standing outside her building, eyes narrowed and fixed on some unseen point straight ahead. Something about him bothered her.
Then he snapped his head down to look at his phone.
Perhaps he’d simply been staring off into space, figuring out what to say on a Facebook status update, or contemplating a reply to a last-minute email, as she’d been doing. Yes, either option seemed reasonable. There was no need for her to consider anything more of him. Especially not when she had a date with a beautiful man who wanted her, and when she’d been invited to keynote a conference in Paris.
Just twenty-four hours ago she’d still been concentrating on letting go of her last residual feelings for Clay. Tonight, she felt different.
The tide was beginning to turn. True, nothing like love would come from a man like Jack Sullivan, and she certainly didn’t expect it. He seemed tailor-made for a good time though, and she could use a little fun in her life. She’d take one more night with him and then she’d walk away. Because a man like that—no matter how stunning he was in bed, no matter how fascinating he was out of it—would never be good for this woman’s heart. Michelle had given her heart stupidly and foolishly to a man who’d never returned her feelings. She was going to protect her heart much better now. She was going to keep it encased in steel.
But her body? She might as well own stock in Joy Delivered, since she’d bought so many products from them over the years. There would be no harm in one more time with the man behind those magic toys.
CHAPTER FOUR
Proposal
M: On my way. Had a last minute session that ran late.
J: Better not have been with a devilishly handsome CEO of a lingerie company or something like that
M: Jealous already, Jack? I assure you, you’re the only devilishly handsome CEO I refuse to treat. If you know what I mean.
J: I do. Oh, I do. I’d like to make sure I’m the only one you refuse to treat.
M: That shouldn’t be a problem. Incidentally, do you know any devilishly handsome CEOs who sell sexy lingerie? I’m in the market for a matching pair of white lace panties and a demi-cup bra.
J: I’d like to take you lingerie shopping.
M: For the white lace panties? Or do you have something else in mind?
J: The dressing room.
J: By the way, what color panties are you wearing tonight?
M: I would expect a man such as yourself would simply find out.
J: Oh, I will, Michelle. I will.
* * *
The red ball rolled along the sand and Michelle waited, waited, waited as tension and competitive hope coiled tight inside her. The ball slowed, and she clenched her fingers into her palms, willing the ball to pass the blue one of Jack’s on the way to the small white ball. Closer, just a bit closer.
Then the red ball lazily turned once more until it nearly kissed the white one.
She raised her arms in the air victoriously, thrilled to have won this round of the lawn bowling game.
“You’re on a roll today. First, your paper is accepted. Then you crush me at bocce ball,” he said, flashing her a grin. She’d told him about the end-of-the-day email, and that had called for a celebratory round of drinks, which had then turned into a celebratory game of bocce ball, here on the makeshift court in the back of the restaurant. She was on some kind of high, and surely that had contributed to her victory. She’d called her brother, Davis, on the cab ride over to share the news, and he’d been thrilled. She’d also emailed Carla, her mentor, who’d replied with an all exclamation points email.
“It’s my lucky day,” she said, thinking it was more like a lucky night and day since it had started twenty-four hours ago when she’d met him.
Jack extended his hand as if they were gracious competitors and he was congratulating her winning game. But as he took her hand, he surprised her by tugging her in close, then planting a searing kiss on her lips. One that delivered a red-hot blast of lust right through her body, and sent all that winning glee whooshing out of her. In its place was a hot new wave of longing.
When he pulled away, she felt wobbly, and she was sure her lipstick had been erased by his lips. “Wow,” she said. “Does losing at bocce ball bring out the beast in you?”
“Maybe it does. Maybe bowling does too. Maybe arcade games as well.”
“In that case, I’m hiring a bocce ball tutor and a bowling expert so I can beat you every time,” she said, with a wink and a sashay of the hips.
“You can beat me at any game any time, as long as I can kiss you like this.”
“Does that mean you threw the game to get a little piece of me?”
“Never. But I’ll take it,” he said in a low, growly tone, then ran his hand along the back of her thigh, his fingertips darting near the hemline. She wore a simple, sleeveless black dress that fell to just above her knees. The material was soft cotton, and the skirt was flared, so the material allowed for easy access. Yes, Michelle was a planner, and this dress suggested possibilities. She wanted all those possibilities planted in his head.
“Purple?” he whispered in a question.
She shook her head. Every fifteen minutes or so he’d tried to guess the color of her lingerie. He’d been wrong. She loved that he kept guessing. She also loved that he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her, especially her legs. She’d worn her strappy black Louboutins. Four inches high, they made her legs look strong and toned. God bless heels and the natural enhancement they brought to a runner’s calves. Even a temporary runner, such as herself.
“Rest assured I won’t stop until I find out what color you have on,” he said.
“I have no doubt.”
“By the way, have I told you how sexy you look in this black dress?” He ran his hand along the small of her back. She arched into him, like a cat being pet. She might start purring any second. She wasn’t used to someone wanting to have his hands on her the whole time. Jack seemed incapable of keeping his hands off her. She didn’t mind that.
Not. One. Bit.
“No. Why don’t you tell me?”
He raked his eyes over her, from her face, to her neck, to her breasts, to her waist. “It’s perfect for you. For that whole sexy-librarian look you have going on.”