Operation Sizzle

by Darcy Lundeen

  She yanked the pillow up behind her and leaned against it, folding her arms across her chest. “Right, okay, I didn’t really mean it.”

  “You lied to the teacher?”

  “Did not. I had my fingers crossed. When I was a kid, if you said something and had your fingers crossed, it wasn’t a lie.”

  Matt rolled his eyes. “Wonderful. I’m in bed with a woman who uses the if-my-fingers-are-crossed-when-I-say-it-it’s-not-a-lie defense.”

  She sat up straighter, ready to argue, but he pointed a finger to stop her.

  “Now quit being offended and get out of bed. Go on, walk for me and show me I’m wrong.”

  Betsy was sorely tempted to tell him where he could stuff his order and his pointing finger, but he’d been good enough to give her his time and his…uh…body, so she tamped down the reaction and just huffed with annoyance. “Is this part of the lesson?”

  He nodded and waved his hand at the room. “Better believe it. Go on, walk.”

  She shifted in bed and flinched at the delicious soreness in her thighs. “Walk? After what you just did to me, I can barely move,” she groused, even though it took all the effort she had to keep from grinning at the memory of what he’d just done to her. “But if you want me to walk, fine, I’ll walk.”

  Yanking the sheet away from him, she wrapped it around herself and rolled off the bed, leaving him completely uncovered. “Okay, you want me not only to walk, but to walk different, right?” She moved away from the bed and found a clear space in the middle of the room. “Well, how’s this, sport?”

  Holding the sheet up, bunched clumsily in her hand so she wouldn’t trip over the hem as it dragged on the floor, she swept grandly across the room, feeling sort of silly and highfalutin’ with her head held high, shoulders squared, and feet half-walking, half-gliding. But if that was what the man wanted, damn, she’d give it to him.

  “Yes!” Sitting up, he pumped his fist in the air. “Not so fast and a little more hip action, but baby, you’ve just about got it.”

  Betsy stopped in mid-glide and stared at him. “I have?”

  His smile gave her the answer. “Not bad, Betsy Kincaid. It needs more work, but the general outlines are spot-on. So since you’re doing so well, tell me again what the hell this whole Operation-Sizzle thing is about.”

  Betsy shrugged. “I already explained. I don’t sizzle. I’ve never sizzled, not with any of the men I’ve been with. I was born without a sizzle, and I want to develop one. That’s your job, to get me sizzling.”

  He stood and came toward her, apparently not the least bit embarrassed by his nakedness. Not that he had anything to be embarrassed about. His body was in prime condition—hard, muscular, and completely coordinated, unlike her body that was too short, too clunky, and definitely softening a little around the edges.

  She hugged the sheet tighter against her, prepared to fight him if he tried to remove it. True, he’d already tested her body, front, back, and every which way a body could be tested, but that had been in the forgiving semi-darkness. Now the light was on, and she didn’t do naked in the light when anyone else was around.

  “You were nearly sizzling with that walk.” He came close but, mercifully, didn’t try to snatch her sheet away. “And in the tests I gave, you showed remarkable sizzling potential. Best reactions I’ve ever seen.”

  She looked up at him, blinked, and swallowed hard as her throat went desert-dry. “You’re a very good teacher. And your tests are, uh, really stimulating.”

  “And you’re okay with that?”

  Betsy nodded. Okay? Oh God, yes, was she ever okay with it.

  “Good, because we still have more to do.”

  “Definitely.” She struggled to control her crazy breathing at the prospect of having more to do with him.

  “So until the next lesson, you’ll practice what we did today,” he said.

  “The stimulating part? You want me to, uh, stimulate myself?”

  He grinned. “No, the walk. You walk that way at work tomorrow. Slower, sexier, more hip action.”

  Betsy nodded. “Slower, sexier, more hip action.”

  He slid his hand under her chin, and she held her breath. Were they going to practice kissing again? But he only tilted her face toward him. Then his hand fell away, leaving her strangely disappointed.

  “And hold your head up as if you’re important.”

  “Right. Head up, slower walk, sexier, more hip action,” Betsy recited obediently.

  Later that night as she curled up alone in bed, she silently repeated his walking instructions. Head up, slower walk, sexier, more hip action. Then her mind veered to more exciting things, and she happily relived all the testing he’d put her through. Hugging her pillow, she finally fell asleep, smiling and thinking about lesson two. Truly a lesson to remember.

  ****

  The next morning, Betsy pushed open the heavy glass doors that led to the office where she worked and strode into the reception area, not only silently reciting Matt’s instructions but following them as well.

  Head up. Slower walk, sexier, more hip action.

  She felt strange doing it. Silly. Even fraudulent. After all, this wasn’t her. She was sizzle-less Betsy Kincaid, not someone who gave off the confidence of a sexy, unapologetic woman.

  “What happened? Have some great sex last night?” Flo, the receptionist, asked as Betsy sashayed past her desk.

  The question stopped Betsy cold, and she turned and frowned at the woman. “What makes you say that?”

  Flo shrugged, then gave a smirking grin. “The way you’re walking. I don’t know…sort of sexy. I mean, not as, you know, scrunched over and hesitant as you usually do.”

  Betsy nodded. Of course she knew. Matt had already pinpointed the problem for her. She was just stunned that other people in the office had seen it, too. And if Flo had noticed, no question about it, so had everyone else. “Not as apologetic, you mean?”

  Flo thought about that for a minute, then nodded. “That’s a strange way of putting it, but yeah, I guess so.”

  “Thank you, Flo. I appreciate your opinion.”

  Flo held out her hand. “Hey, you’re not mad, are you? I meant it as a compliment.”

  Betsy smiled at her. “No, I’m glad you told me. Thanks. And thanks for the compliment.”

  Turning away from the reception desk, she resumed her new walk, grinning as she passed a couple of copywriters, who stopped their conversation and looked at her. One of them even winked. On a sudden, devilish impulse, Betsy winked back.

  Okay, this was good. She rounded a corner and continued her sexy hip swing down the corridor leading to her office. Granted, the winker was old enough to be her dad, maybe even her granddad, judging by his balding pate and ballooning paunch. Still, it was more than she usually elicited from her male coworkers. And that was saying a lot.

  Lifting her chin a little higher, the way Matt had wanted her to hold it, she added another small wiggle to the hip action, feeling free, feminine, fabulous and…

  She stopped abruptly when she saw Tyler come out of the employee lounge, his arm draped around the shoulders of a new hire, April Something-or-other, a tall brunette with porcelain skin, a knockout figure, and a walk that didn’t have to swing like a pendulum to be sexy. He smiled at the woman, and Betsy shriveled.

  All right, forget it being good. It wasn’t. It was really totally dumb. She could never have that girl’s natural grace. Lowering her chin, she let her shoulders droop back to where they usually were…to where they probably belonged…and ducked into her office before Tyler saw her shimmying her ass like an incompetent streetwalker.

  “Damn,” she muttered as she dumped her bag on the floor beside her desk and slumped down in her chair.

  Self-delusion could be wonderful, but bumping up against cold reality when you were in the midst of deluding yourself was the pits. The only good thing about it was that it let you know the truth, and her truth was that she was a failure and a mess. Pick
ing up the phone, she punched in Matt’s number. And she needed another lesson. Soon.

  ****

  Matt switched off his phone and shoved it back in his pocket, shaking his head in amusement. So Betsy had seen her dumb ex-boyfriend with some foxy coworker and needed an emergency self-confidence upgrade. Okay, that was totally doable. Better than doable. From his perspective, completely enjoyable, and something he could easily do as often as she wanted it.

  After all, during yesterday’s lesson, he’d deliberately done all the work for her, and from her reactions, done a damn good job of it, too.

  So there, Sam! He thought about his last, completely unenjoyable relationship. Not a serious enough lover, was he? Ha! Maybe not for a woman so intent on snagging marriage and having kids now, now, now, that she couldn’t see past his sperm count or her own ovulation cycle. But for someone like Betsy Kincaid, who wanted sex without strings, he was perfect.

  He grinned.

  Frankly, so was she—a cuddly, potential dynamo of a sex partner, who’d somehow invaded his dreams last night. And that was really odd because he never saw specific women in his sex-dreams. It was always just a vague, amorphous vision of a woman. Female body parts without the need of an actual female to muddy up the works. Or his life.

  He looked around at his new office, listened to the random sounds of his new colleagues, thought about the new, needy lady he’d be with tonight, and decided that at the moment his life was pretty good and he’d been right to ditch St. Paul for a fresh stomping ground

  As soon as he found his own digs, he’d even be able to invite Betsy over for a continuation of their lessons. That way, he conveniently got to satisfy all of his basic male needs and in the process help a desperate woman satisfy her needs as well. It was the perfect arrangement. Altruism meets self-interest. Man, you couldn’t beat that combination.

  Then he remembered her idiot ex, Tyler, and stopped grinning. Damn, wasn’t it always like that? A wonderful woman chasing after a scumbag guy.

  Shaking his head, Matt pulled a new case file from the pile on his desk and went back to work. Not that he cared, of course. The only thing Betsy Kincaid meant to him was a little short-term fun-and-games, and that was all she’d ever mean.

  Chapter Ten

  By the time Betsy got home that evening, she was feeling better. Mainly because Matt had agreed to come by to give her some emergency pointers on becoming the woman she was determined to be.

  Two other tenants, hot young women with lithe bodies and the kind of natural sexiness she would have killed to possess, were in front of her as she walked up the steps to the building. She followed them inside, trying not to hate them for their God-given grace or to hate herself for her lack of it.

  So she’d tried being that way today and had lost her courage and her confidence too soon. Not to worry. She nodded, determined to be upbeat. She’d find a way to ace the technique—the hip swing, the sexiness, the attitude…hell, the whole flaming enchilada—if it was the last thing she did. All she needed were a few more lessons and a lot more practice.

  Even the sight of Evan Huffnagle coming toward her wasn’t enough to dampen her spirits.

  His gaze suddenly locked on the girls, taking them in as if he was sizing them up for immediate consumption. It was the same way he’d acted at the tenants’ meeting when another gorgeous babe had attracted his attention, his libido, and the secret lech that lurked inside of him.

  Then he looked at her, and good old, stiffer-than-starch Huffnagle immediately reemerged. He gave her a brisk nod as the lecherous heat in his eyes cooled down to its more characteristic ice-cube level.

  Betsy returned the nod and brushed past him. Fine, so she didn’t have what it took to turn his secret-lech heart into a heap of smoldering corpuscles. Well, no big loss. She’d already been winked at that day by one man, and even if he was father or grandfather material, he was still a lot better than the stiff who’d just ignored her.

  She had almost reached the elevator when the sounds of panic caught her attention and happily forced Evan Huffnagle’s existence from her mind.

  “Richie…Dougie…where are you?” a woman called from around the corner, where the tenant mailboxes were located.

  The voice was a wail of worry that rapidly rose to sheer terror. “Oh God, I think they went out the back door. Come on, sweetheart, we have to find them.”

  Betsy immediately rounded the corner to find out what was going on and saw Iris Donnelly standing at the mailboxes with her daughter at her side. Stress and fear literally vibrated from the other woman’s body as she stuffed some envelopes into her bag and grasped her daughter’s hand.

  Betsy looked from mother to daughter and back again. “What’s wrong? Are you all right?”

  Iris ran her free hand through her hair, churning up the baby-fine ends. “My twins. They ran into the back alley while I was getting the mail. I have to find them.” She tugged the little girl forward, then stopped and looked at Betsy, her expression apologetic but clearly also desperate. “Please, could you watch my daughter ’til I get back?” She nodded at the child.

  Well, of course she could. When confronted by a panic-stricken mother, only one response was acceptable, and Betsy gave it. “Definitely. Take your time. She’ll be safe with me.”

  Iris all but sighed with relief. “Thanks so much.” She nudged the child toward Betsy. “Sweetheart, stay with the nice lady. I’ll be right back.” Then she was off, racing through the backdoor and into the trash-strewn yard as she called out her sons’ names at the top of her lungs.

  As the door closed behind her, and her frantic voice faded away, Betsy looked down at the Donnelly sibling she strongly suspected of being an artistic vandal.

  The girl looked back at her, her face a miniature version of her mother’s, right down to the gently tapering chin, big, brown eyes, and silky, flyaway, dark hair. And like her mother, she looked soft and vulnerable.

  Betsy moved closer, figuring the nearness of an adult would be the best way to calm the child’s fears. Flashing a friendly, non-threatening smile, she softened her voice so that it oozed gentle reassurance. “Don’t worry. Your mother will find them.”

  The girl gave a bored shrug. “I know.”

  Betsy sighed. Okay, so much for the kid being vulnerable or disturbed at the thought of losing her brothers. Obviously, this wasn’t the first time Richie and Dougie had decided to go off exploring on their own. “Happened before, has it?” she asked.

  The girl nodded. “Lotta times.”

  “They like running away, huh?”

  “They’re boys,” the girl said bluntly as if to imply, What can you do? Boys are really dumb.

  Betsy nodded. “Well, that’s true, they are boys. So, since you’re not worried about it, maybe we should take a minute to get acquainted. You know, say hello and everything.”

  The girl seemed to consider that for a beat before nodding. “’Kay,” she said. “’Lo.”

  Which Betsy took to be “okay” and “hello.” Moving closer, she bent down so she could be at eye level with the child. “’Lo.” Her gaze suddenly hit on something that set her nerves on full alert. Uh-oh, there was a lone crayon in the girl’s hand. Even worse, there was a lone mark on the wall by the lone crayon in the girl’s hand.

  Not good. She took the only preventive measure she could think of. She slid down the wall to sit beside the girl, keeping her back strategically positioned over both the crayon mark and any nearby space the kid could use as a canvas. “I’m Betsy. I live here, too.” She smiled, hoping a smile and some friendly chatter would make the girl forget that her latest attempt at wall art was now being covered by a virtual stranger.

  The girl nodded. “I know. Saw you a couple times.”

  Betsy smiled wider. “I saw you, too, uh…sorry, but I don’t know your name.”

  “Evie.”

  “Pretty name.”

  Evie shrugged, her little rosebud mouth twisting with distaste. “Like my brother
’s name better.”

  Betsy leaned back more comfortably against the wall, praying the crayon wasn’t coming off on her coat. “Oh, which one? Richie or Dougie?”

  “Butch.”

  Betsy sighed. All right, not one of the twins. Which meant it had to be brother number three, who was obviously elsewhere at the moment. “Uh-huh, that’s nice too, but it’s a boy’s name.”

  Evie stared at her. “Why?”

  Betsy blinked. Good question. Unfortunately, she didn’t have a good answer to go with it. “Don’t know,” she admitted. “’Cause everybody says so, I guess.”

  Evie made the kind of face that wordlessly said, everybody is really dumb, just the way boys are. Then she raised her crayon and looked around as though searching for more wall to draw on since Betsy had usurped her space.

  Oh, joy. Betsy leaned forward, grinning to divert the girl’s attention. “Whatcha got in your hand?” She gestured to the crayon.

  Evie held it out so Betsy could get a better look. “Blue crayon. Mama took the others away.” She lowered her voice. “But I sneaked this one out first.”

  “Are you going to draw something?” Betsy tried to keep the panic from her voice. She couldn’t let Evie mess up the walls in her presence. But she also couldn’t physically keep her from doing it. After all, you couldn’t very well strong-arm someone else’s child to force her to give up her crayon. People had gone to jail for less.

  “Flowers.”

  The single word, said in Evie’s sweet, five-year-old voice confirmed Betsy’s worst fears. She swallowed hard as she tried to keep her own frazzled, twenty-six-year-old voice from cracking under the strain.

  “On a wall?”

  Evie nodded as though, of course on a wall. Walls were wonderful places to draw.

  “Know what’s a better place?” Betsy desperately tried to think of a better place.

  Evie lowered the crayon and gave her a wide-eyed look filled with awe at the thought of finding a better place to display her artistry. “Where?”

  Betsy took a breath. Her answer was going to go over like a lead balloon, but it was the only thing she could think of. “Paper.”