by Nancy Warren
She glanced at her watch. If she could get rid of Luke, she could drop to the carpet and do some abdominal crunches and push-ups right away. With only a month to prepare, she didn’t have a moment to lose.
The sad truth was, she’d never entirely recovered from the humiliation of losing Randy to B.J. back in their senior year. She hadn’t exactly been shy about wearing her broken heart on her sleeve, either. All her old college friends probably still thought of her as the girl who couldn’t hang on to her boyfriend.
B.J. wanted to go another round? Shari was more than ready. She was older, smarter, and a lot better at handling her emotions. She had a good job and a life she liked.
This was her chance to prove it. She needed a fabulous dress, new accessories. She groaned mentally. The most important accessory she needed wasn’t a new purse or high heels. It was a gorgeous chunk of testosterone hanging off her arm. Where was she going to find one of those?
With only a month to go, she couldn’t afford to waste a minute. She snapped her attention back to Luke. The quicker she got rid of him and started on her master plan, the better. “You wanted to talk to me about something?”
“Shari, I need your help.”
She paused, while she tried to forget about B.J., the boyfriend thief.
“You need my help with what?”
“You know that book you saw? Sex for Total Morons?”
“Yes.” Blushing was childish and embarrassing. She would not blush.
“It’s kind of for couples.”
She forgot all about the heat creeping into her cheeks and felt her eyes widen. “You mean, total morons pair up?”
He grinned. “It’s not that, exactly. The book is separated into chapters, and there are lessons and, um, exercises. I need someone to practice with. Since you’re the only woman who knows about the book, I wondered if you’d do them with me.”
She jumped to her feet, all thoughts of B.J., orange blossoms and “Ave Maria” flying out of her head. She could not believe this man. “You’re asking me to have sex with you? Maybe you should grab yourself a copy of Polite Conversation for Total Morons. I’ll give you a hint. We are not having one.”
She stalked to the door. What kind of sick game was this creep playing with her? No wonder he couldn’t get laid.
“No, wait.” He rose and followed her. “You misunderstood me. I’m not asking for sex. Just some compassion. You seem like a person with a good heart.”
“I also have a brain bigger than a pea.” With a jerk, she opened the door and glared at him. “Out.”
“There’s nothing but kissing until Chapter Four.”
“Tell someone who cares.”
“I didn’t put that well. I’m sorry. Look–” He ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, looking little-boy lost and adorable. “The women I meet, they have preconceived notions about me. They expect certain things. But you, you’re different. You don’t see me that way at all. I thought maybe you’d help me. Just to get started. The first few chapters. I promise we wouldn’t do anything you didn’t feel completely comfortable with.”
Once again she wondered how someone so gorgeous could be such a dud under the blankets. One of life’s unsolved mysteries. “You’re asking me to sleep with you out of pity? There’s a term for that, you know.”
He made a gesture of dismissal with his hand. “Forget about sex. I just want to see if the book works. If you’d practice the first couple of chapters with me, say, every Friday night, I’d be really grateful.”
She was ready with an unqualified no. A “Hell, no” so firm he’d never darken her doorway again. But her attention was caught by the invitation still clutched in her hand. Instead of no she stared at Luke as a brilliant, fully formed notion popped into her head.
She narrowed her eyes at him. Apart from the little problem no one else needed to know about, he was better-looking than anybody else she was likely to dig up in one short month. If she kept him on a tight rein and didn’t let him talk much, he could pass as a major find in the boyfriend department.
“You said there was nothing but kissing until chapter four, right?”
A grin of pure hope lit his face. “Right.”
“I’ll make you a deal. I’ll go to chapter four with you if you go to B.J. and Randy’s wedding with me.”
The grin vanished, replaced by an expression of revulsion. “You want me to go to this cheesy wedding as your date?”
“No. I want you to go to this cheesy wedding as my devoted love slave.”
3
“LOVE SLAVE?” Luke couldn’t believe she’d just used that term. Was she a kinky, black-leather dominatrix once the lights went down?
Oh, man. He didn’t mind a woman dominating him once in a while—in fact, it was a total turn-on when a lady called the shots. But he liked his turn in control, too.
If she was of the leather and whips persuasion, he respected her right to her pleasure. He just didn’t share that particular taste.
She must have caught some of his thoughts, for she pinkened. “I didn’t mean love slave in any kind of pervy way. I mean, I want you to act like that at the wedding. As if I’m the most fascinating, intelligent, gorgeous woman around.”
“Sexy, too,” he added, thinking that was one of her greatest charms.
“Well, yes, of course. Sexy, too. While we’re at the wedding you won’t even look at another woman, you’ll pretend to be completely smitten with me.”
He could see her enthusiasm building as she outlined his role for him. Her sparkly chocolate-brown eyes lit up with excitement, her whole body radiated purpose and energy—he could easily imagine himself crazy about her. “Shouldn’t be too tough to pull off,” he assured her, grinning when the pink in her cheeks deepened at the compliment.
When he’d first met her, he hadn’t pegged her for the blushing type, but those cheeks bloomed roses at the slightest provocation. He wondered if they pinkened when she was aroused. He wondered if he’d ever get the chance to find out.
“Well, thanks,” she said.
“So we’ve got four weeks to get me in shape for the big day.”
“That’s right. I’m talking expensive suit, hairstyle, the full deal.”
Luke hated weddings. Usually, he attended to witness another walk down the aisle for dear old dad. Still, if sticking himself in a suit and tossing rice around was the price to pay for Shari’s cooperation with his book, he’d pay it—and make sure she followed through on her part of the bargain.
“And a month means we can do a chapter a week. We’ll learn about each other. Four weeks from now, we’ll be able to fool anyone that I’m your devoted love slave.”
“A week for every chapter, huh?” She stepped back and crossed her arms under her breasts. “I don’t know. I think I’m having second thoughts.” She stared at his mouth as though trying to decide how she felt about kissing him. If she stared at his lips much longer, she was going to find out.
“Well, I’m not thrilled about putting on a tie to watch a couple who dissed you in college get hitched.” He shrugged, knowing this was his moment of truth. “Your call.”
She glared at him, then down at the invitation clutched in her hand. “Oh, all right. But just to chapter four. Kissing is my limit.” Then she opened the door and made scooting motions with her hands. “I have to do some sit-ups.”
He stopped at the doorway and gazed into eyes already sparkling with the light of battle. Look out B.J. and look out Luke. “I don’t think you need sit-ups. Your body looks perfect to me.”
Their gazes caught and held and her lips parted in an unconscious offering. He had to restrain himself from leaning in to kiss her. She was adorable, sexy and delicious. Why was she stressing about co-ed heartbreak? “I think you had a lucky escape. Any dork who’d dump you deserves to spend the rest of his life with B.J.”
She laughed shakily. “I think there’s a compliment in there somewhere.”
“Sure is. Night.”
/> He waited until Shari’s door shut behind him and he was back in the deserted corridor before he leaped in the air and pumped his fist. Yes, yes, yes!
She’d gone for it. Shari, the babe of his apartment block, had agreed to work through the first four chapters of Sex for Total Morons. And he hadn’t lied to get her help. He hadn’t even stretched the truth. All he’d done was ask her to work through the exercises in the book with him. He hadn’t said he needed the lessons. If she made assumptions, that was her problem.
Of course there was a price to be paid. He wasn’t a big fan of weddings at the best of times. Having attended all four of his father’s—although admittedly he’d attended the first in utero, so he couldn’t be expected to remember it—he’d developed a cynic’s aversion to the whole ceremony.
On one point he was determined—no woman was dragging him up the aisle. No rice showers for Luke. Free and single suited him fine.
If his dad had kept his brain in his head instead of his pants, he might have figured out the same thing. Some men weren’t cut out for commitment or settling down with one woman. Some men needed the excitement of new partners and the adventure of the chase.
His father was one of those men. He never should have married.
Luke was his father’s son in that regard. But he was smart enough not to fall into the velvet trap of marriage and then spend the next few years gnawing off his own foot to escape, littering bitter ex-wives and lonely children in his wake.
Luke liked and respected women too much to ever commit to one. He was always up-front about that, so there were few tears and tantrums in his love life. Not a lot of deep meaning, either, but about that he was philosophical: you can’t have everything.
There were twelve chapters in Lance’s masterpiece. Shari had committed to a month, one chapter a week. Of course, if the book was worth the paper it was printed on, four weeks of seduction ought to ease her into chapter five as smoothly as a man eases an eager woman onto silk sheets.
Yep, he foresaw twelve passion-filled weeks stretching ahead of him. That was almost three months. A nice run of time, about the time it usually took for him to start feeling the first twinges of boredom.
As long as he was clear, there’d be no hard feelings. She’d get a date for the wedding from hell, he’d find out if the book really worked, and they’d both have some healthy adult fun.
It was a terrific plan.
What could possibly go wrong?
“ARE YOU COMPLETELY insane?” Therese’s forehead was creased, her eyes bugged and her mouth gaped.
They’d ducked into the female staff washroom for a hurried conversation between classes. Shari’d been so eager to spill her news she couldn’t wait until after school.
“You look surprised. I thought you’d be thrilled.”
“Thrilled about you playing love doctor with some guy you don’t even know?”
Therese checked her reflection in the scratched mirror and hauled out her cosmetic bag. She dipped a finger into a little plastic pot, smearing glossy pink goo onto her full lips. A hint of strawberry scented the air, and Shari shook her head. It was the kind of cosmetic the students used. Somehow it worked on Therese—the hip, young clothes, funky hair and strawberry-scented lip gloss.
“Does that stuff taste like strawberries, too?”
Therese touched her pink tongue to her full upper lip and nodded. “Yeah, it does. Want some?”
“No, thanks. I want to know why you don’t think this is a good idea. He’s willing to learn. If I help him get started on the path to becoming a great lover, I’ll have helped all woman-kind.”
Therese just rolled her eyes and pulled out a pink plastic brush. As she dragged it through her glossy black hair, she glared at Shari from the mirror. “First, how old is he?”
She shrugged. “Maybe thirty?”
“When did he first start having sex?”
“I don’t know.”
“I’ll bet he’s had ten to fifteen years of practice, and he still can’t get it right. I mean, come on. I’ve been playing the saxophone for that long. Do you ever hear me play a wrong note?”
Not only was Therese a talented amateur, but she’d earned her living as a musician in Montreal and Paris before deciding to become a teacher. “No. You never play a wrong note. But you had to learn how.”
“Hon, some kids have a tin ear. They are never going to play an instrument without making you cringe. Some people can’t dance. Some can’t play sports.” She shrugged.
“And some are never going to be good lovers. Is that your point?”
Therese put her brush away and zipped her bag. “I’m saying, he’s had a lot of years to get it right.”
“My mother went back to university at sixty to earn the history degree she always wanted.” The school bell shrilled, echoing off the dull green tiles on the wall, letting them know they had to hustle to class. “She’s carrying a four-point average,” Shari said as she pulled open the door and held it for her friend.
“We aren’t talking history.”
“I think you can improve at anything if you’re willing to work at it.”
“Fifty bucks says you don’t last out the month.”
As they joined the milling crowd of teens headed for classes, Shari whispered, “Done. Fifty it is.”
Of course, Therese didn’t know this was a side bet. Shari already had one major deal going with Luke. If she didn’t need a spectacular specimen of manhood—at least on the outside—as her date for B.J.’s wedding, well, maybe she wouldn’t have jumped at the opportunity to take on some one-on-one tutoring at night.
Although, she thought as she entered her classroom, it was kind of flattering that Luke had chosen her to be his teacher. He must see her as a sensual woman of experience.
She grinned smugly to herself. Maybe she wasn’t a virtuoso of the saxophone, but she had hidden talents. Luke could have chosen a lot worse.
The usual start-of-class shuffling and noise greeted her. She stowed her bag in the drawer of the scarred oak desk, took a deep breath and intoned in a strong, clear voice, “‘Death be not proud!’”
Silence fell with gratifying speed. All butts found their assigned seats and thirty teenagers faced her with varying degrees of enthusiasm.
She let her gaze scan the class. “‘Death be not proud!’” She pointed to a figure slouched in one of the back seats, staring at the floor. Somebody hadn’t done his homework. “Dylan, give me the rest of the first stanza of Donne’s poem, please.”
John Donne would not have been proud had he been privileged to hear the way his poetry was butchered. Still, it was something to have youngsters learning your verses centuries after you wrote them. Perhaps he would be proud.
Shari loved poetry, but she was ready to take a break from hearing it punctuated by ums and aahs, read in voices cracking with adolescence, stuttered over, mispronounced. Still, bless their hearts, they tried. Her next unit would be a relief for everybody. The curriculum specified a short stint on journalism. Maybe she’d even dig up a working reporter as a guest.
She was still thinking about that when she arrived home, a bag of groceries in each hand and a backpack heavy with marking on her back.
Her phone rang. She struggled with her key, the grocery bag banging against her legs as she let herself into her apartment. She dropped the groceries, swung her pack down her arm and pulled out her cell. It was Luke. “Hello?”
“Did I catch you in the middle of something?” The deep, rich voice, lightly threaded with humor, got her heart pounding.
“No, I just got home.”
“I’m calling to make a date,” he said.
“Date?”
“For chapter one.”
“Chapter one. Right.” Her breathlessness didn’t abate. If anything, it worsened. “I, um, didn’t realize we’d be starting so soon.” Therese’s reaction was fresh in her mind. What was she doing?
“I’m eager to begin. I thought maybe this Friday
night, if you’re not already busy.”
“Friday night? Um.” She wasn’t busy Friday night. Still, was she ready for Sex for Total Morons? She was probably as ready as she’d ever be. Might as well get on with it. “Sure. Friday’s fine.”
“Wonderful.” His voice was warm and full of implied goodies. She pictured him talking to her from a floor below and smiled at the floor on the left hand side of the living room, where, she assumed, they shared a wall. “Why don’t you come down around seven?”
“Oh, we’re doing this at your place?” Suddenly she wasn’t so sure. “I thought maybe we’d do it at my apartment.”
“Well, why don’t we take turns? This week my apartment, next week yours?”
“I guess so. That sounds fair.” In fact, the whole thing sounded horrendous and she couldn’t help thinking that this was all B.J. McLaren’s fault. Shari had left college and its bad memories. Why was the woman still messing with her love life?
“Great. I’ll see you Friday.”
A thought struck her. “Luke?”
“Yes?”
“What’s in chapter one?”
He laughed softly. “You’ll find out Friday.”
Even though he couldn’t see her, she narrowed her eyes in a don’t-mess-with-me-mister expression. “Nothing beyond kissing, right?”
“That’s right. There’s nothing but kissing until chapter five.”
“All right. See you Friday.”
LUKE CONTEMPLATED the candles he’d purchased. In his experience, women liked them. Candlelight helped camouflage figure faults he could never see but his women friends so often swore they had. Whatever.
Would that be cheating, though? He was trying to see if his book worked. He didn’t want to jeopardize the pure science of his findings by adding a lot of seductive extras. Candlelight, wine, flowers; all the usual seduction aids might be considered cheating.
And yet, no man could be expected to seduce a woman over milk and cookies with all the lights on. Well, come to think of it, he’d done that in high school with his first girlfriend. For a long time after that, just the sight of cinnamon-swirl cookies gave him a hard-on.