“You want to hear something totally honest?” he asked.
She turned to look at where he was leaned against the doorjamb, arms folded across his chest.
“Sure.”
“You’re gorgeous in the moonlight.”
A half smile played at her lips. “That sounded more like a strategic interest than total honesty.”
He straightened and took a couple of steps toward her. “You think?”
“I think.”
“Okay, I’ll play along. Tell me what my strategic interests are.”
She set the glass pot down in the coffeemaker and leaned back against the counter, bracing her hands on either side, bringing the dress up tight across her breasts. “That’s easy. What you’re always after. You forget, your reputation precedes you.”
Striker chuckled, drawing closer. “Good point. Did I mention that I never strike out?”
“So I hear.”
“There’s a reason for that, you know.”
“Do tell.”
Striker paused. So much for total honesty. Truth was, he had a really great jet, a Mustang convertible and several million dollars in his bank account. He’d never tried to pick up a woman without them.
“I’m a good-lookin’, smooth-talkin’ love machine,” he drawled, moving closer, trying to sound crude and classless.
“Please tell me that line doesn’t work on real women.”
“I don’t know. I’ve never tried it before.”
“Give me one of your real lines.”
Want to take a ride in my jet? Good lord, had he really used that so shamelessly?
After a moment, she tipped her head to one side. “Go on. Give me your best shot.”
Striker tried, but for the life of him, he couldn’t think of a pickup line that didn’t involve material goods. Out of desperation, he settled on the truth.
“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.”
“Not very original.”
He paused right in front of her, letting his fingertips brush lightly against hers. “But it’s a classic if you say it with total honesty.”
“Problem is, I’ve seen how well you lie.”
“Another good point.” He leaned in, gazing deep into her eyes. “But you truly are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.”
“It won’t work, Striker.”
“It won’t?”
“I’m onto you. So, unless you want to give up your nickname in abject defeat, you’d better not even try me.”
Striker backed off a few inches and folded his arms over his chest. He knew he should leave her alone, but her confidence challenged him on a visceral level. “Abject defeat?”
“You bet.” She turned slightly to open a foil bag of coffee, her elbow coming into contact with his chest.
He knew he was probably crowding her, but he liked being up close. “You sound pretty sure of yourself.”
“Totally.”
Striker shrugged. “Okay then. You win.”
She turned to look at him. “Just like that?”
“Disappointed?”
“Surprised.”
He lifted the coffee scoop out of her hand and chucked her gently under the chin. “Why don’t you sit down? You look tired. I can make this.”
“Really?”
“Sure.”
“Thanks.”
Erin padded across the kitchen and sat down on one of the chairs.
Striker started scooping the coffee grounds into the machine, trying not to smile smugly.
Give up on Erin that easily? He didn’t think so. One, he was dying to share another dynamite kiss with her. Two, they didn’t call him Striker for nothing. And, three, he refused to believe it was all about material goods.
At least not every time.
And here was his big chance to prove that.
First secret of all fail-safe seductions was to throw a woman off guard, make sure she wasn’t expecting it.
He finished scooping the coffee grounds and folded the top of the foil pouch. Then he closed the basket and flipped the switch. “What’s a tree’s favorite drink?”
Julie walked through the doorway wearing a white fluffy robe, her hair wrapped up in a towel. “What?” she asked.
“Don’t encourage him,” said Erin.
“Root beer,” said Striker.
Julie giggled as she sat down.
Erin groaned.
Leaving the coffee to brew, Striker pulled up a third chair. “So, you two happy with the way tonight went?”
“Allan said yes to dinner tomorrow,” said Erin.
“And you agreed to stay an extra day,” Julie said to Striker, eyes twinkling. “Reminds me of double dating in high school.”
“It’s not a date,” said Erin primly. “It’s a business dinner.”
“You going to tell Allan that?” asked Striker.
“I’ll tell him as soon as the opportunity presents itself,” she said.
“Don’t wait too long.”
Instead of responding, Erin turned to Julie. “I need to call Patrick tomorrow morning and tell him about the emeralds. You should give him the technical details.”
“I believe the technical term is holy crap!”
Erin smiled. “I’ll try to remember that.” She pushed her hair behind her shoulders. The motion dislodged one of the straps on her dress. It slipped down to loop along her arm.
Striker’s throat suddenly went dry and he jumped up from his chair. “Either of you want coffee?”
If he was going to take this seduction slow and subtle, he needed to keep his hands busy.
“Sounds great,” said Julie.
“Yes, please,” said Erin.
He forced himself to walk away from the table, focusing determinedly on the coffeemaker. He wanted to taste that shoulder—desperately wanted to taste that shoulder. But he couldn’t push it. He had to take his time, get it right, make sure she thought it was all her idea.
“Sugar and cream?” he asked as he located some stoneware mugs in a cupboard.
Both the women took it black, so he filled the mugs and carried them over to the table.
“Mmm,” Julie sighed. “I’m starting to feel more civilized again. Remind me never to hike down a beach in high heels.”
“Why didn’t you say something?” asked Striker. “I would have called a taxi.”
“And miss the extra time with Allan?” asked Erin. “Do you think we’re wimps?”
Julie reached down to rub her bare calf. “I am officially a wimp.”
“Sore feet?” asked Striker, willing her to say yes.
“I don’t know which was worse, walking in my heels or taking them off and exfoliating my feet to within an inch of their life.”
Striker held out his hand. “Here. Give me a foot.”
“You want my foot?”
“Yeah. I took a reflexology course. I’ll make a new woman of you.”
Julie brightened. “Really?”
Striker nodded.
She lifted a foot into his lap.
He could not have scripted this better. Once Julie had broken the ice, Erin’s feet were all but his.
He stroked up the center of her sole with his thumb and Julie moaned.
He silently thanked her for her support. “Relax ma’am, I’m a professional.”
He took a surreptitious glance at Erin, hoping to see a covetous look in her eyes.
No such luck.
She was focused on her coffee cup. “What are we going to cook for Allan tomorrow?”
“Can we microwave?” asked Julie.
Erin shook her head. “We want to impress him, remember?”
“What about a restaurant?” asked Striker.
Again, Erin shook her head. “We need privacy.”
“Hire a cook?” asked Julie.
“No time,” said Erin.
“I make a great salmon in dill sauce,” said Striker.
Erin shot him a surprised and impr
essed look. “You know how to cook?”
Truth was, salmon in dill sauce was the only thing he’d ever bothered to learn. But women liked a man who was handy in the kitchen, so he nodded. “Love to cook.”
“I vote for salmon in dill sauce,” said Julie on another moan. “By the way, if I hadn’t already proposed to Allan tonight, I’d be proposing to you right now.”
Striker switched feet. “What? You have a rule about two proposals in one night?”
Julie closed her eyes and sighed in bliss. “Tragically, yes.”
Again, Striker glanced at Erin, hoping to see some small reaction to his flirting with Julie. Maybe jealousy?
Nothing.
Ah, well. Flirting with another woman wasn’t a particularly highly recommended method of seduction anyway. The foot massage, however, had a near perfect record.
He redoubled his efforts on Julie and was rewarded with another moan.
Surely that got Erin’s attention.
Apparently not. She stood up, glancing around the kitchen. “If I find some paper for a list, will you tell me the salmon ingredients?”
Hmm. He’d never had a seduction victim make a grocery list before. Though there was that one woman who dashed out to buy whipped cream.
“Sure,” he answered, moving the massage up to Julie’s calves. He figured that way it wouldn’t look so suspicious when he went for Erin’s calves.
Erin headed for the living room.
“If I didn’t know better,” said Julie, from beneath her lashes, “I’d think you were trying to seduce me.”
Striker gave her a lazy smile. “What makes you think I’m not?”
“You don’t strike me as the ménage à trois type.”
“Excuse me?”
“You practically vibrate when Erin’s in the room.”
And here he thought he was being so subtle. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Hey, it’s okay by me. Personally, I think Erin could use a walk on the wild side.”
Striker quirked his eyebrows. He’d never been anyone’s wild side before.
“She’s way too focused on work,” said Julie.
“She is?”
“I’m here for the fun. She wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for the promotion opportunity.”
“Corporate climber?”
“It’s the respect she craves. Erin’s all about respect.”
Striker nodded. “What about you? You get a promotion out of this?”
“Mine’s a technical job. I’m not in the line of succession.”
“But Erin is?”
“You bet.” Julie wiggled her toes. “What about you?”
He glanced up.
Her smiled turned secretive. “What is it you really do?”
Striker’s hands slowed. “What do you mean?”
She nodded toward his necktie. “That’s a hell of a sharp Windsor knot. You knew a good year for Beaujolais. And you didn’t screw up the silverware once.”
“Erin’s a good teacher,” he said.
“And the tie?”
Striker glanced down. “Debate club.”
“Right,” she drawled.
Erin breezed back into the room. “Found some paper. I saw a nice fish market down by the coffee shop.” She dropped into the chair and started scribbling.
Striker glanced worriedly at Julie.
She smiled and made a zipping motion across her lips.
“OKAY.” ERIN looked up from the list to see Striker still working on Julie’s feet. She absently rubbed one sole against the inside of her calf. “Salad from the market. We can pick up some French bread and a cake from the bakery. Now, what’s in the salmon sauce?”
Julie slipped her foot from Striker’s lap. “I’m beat,” she said. “You two mind finishing?”
“No problem,” said Striker.
“Of course not,” said Erin.
He turned to look at her. “Your turn.”
“My turn for what?”
“Give me your foot.”
Her stomach contracted with a combination of apprehension and anticipation.
Julie stood up. “Go for it. He will make a new woman out of you.”
Striker’s mouth quirked for a split second.
Erin wanted to. She really did.
Striker reached forward and cupped his palm behind one of her knees. “Give me your foot or I won’t tell you the ingredients.”
“Why is everything an ultimatum with you?” But she didn’t fight him as he levered her bare foot into his lap.
“It’s because you’re so damn stubborn.”
Julie waggled her fingers in a little wave as she headed for the door. “Night kids.”
Striker started the massage with a firm stroke of his thumb up the center of Erin’s sole. The sensation was so exquisite, she had to bite back a moan.
He stroked again, and she quietly gasped. “First ingredient?”
“Butter,” he said mildly.
“Right.” She jotted it down.
“Cream,” he said, changing the motion of his thumb to draw small circles on the balls of her feet. She could feel the satisfying muscular throb pulsate all the way up her leg.
“Got it,” she muttered, her eyelids beginning to grow heavy.
“Dill weed.”
Her handwriting was getting shaky and she didn’t quite trust her voice. She nodded and scratched something down on the paper.
“White wine.”
She let her eyes flutter closed. “Hmm.”
He moved to her heel and did double strokes with both thumbs.
Erin felt herself slide down in her chair. “You ever do this professionally?”
“Nope.”
“You’d make a fortune.”
He hit a point just below her big toe and she twitched.
“Feel that?” he asked.
“Mmm, hmm.”
“You’ve got a headache, don’t you?”
How had he known that? “It’s just stress.”
He rubbed the same spot again, more gently this time.
Erin felt a warm tingle at the back of her neck.
“You’d be amazed at what reflexology can do. Do you mind if I move you?” His hands stilled.
Erin popped one eye open. She almost begged him to keep rubbing. “What do you mean?”
He set her foot down on the floor and stood up. “Come on.” He scooped one arm beneath her knees and wrapped the other around her back.
“Wha…” She clutched his neck as he started to lift her.
He straightened to full height. “This is going to work way better on the couch. You need a pillow under your neck so you can relax it.”
“Oh. Okay.” If it meant he was going to keep up the foot massage, she was game.
He crossed the living room and laid her down on a couch in front of the picture window.
“Can you see the stars?” he asked as he settled a pillow behind her head.
“Yes.”
“Good.” He dimmed the lights, then he lit a couple of candles. “You want music or quiet?”
“Quiet,” she said.
He moved to the other end of the couch, sat down and lifted her feet into his lap, gently picking up the massage where he left off. “It’s very important that you keep your neck relaxed, or this isn’t going to work.”
“Okay.” She wasn’t about to argue with Striker and his magic fingers.
As he worked the tension out of her muscles, Erin let her whole body relax into his touch. Her eyes lost focus until the stars above were blurry points of light in a purple haze.
Striker tirelessly massaged her feet, covering all points from her knees to her baby toes, but always coming back to the headache spot. Gradually, it subsided to a dull throb. She’d known it would go away eventually they always did. But it was still a huge relief.
“Is it gone?” he whispered.
“Almost.”
He slipped out from under her feet, crouching down
near her head. “Turn over.”
She opened her eyes and gazed into his face, only inches away in the flickering candlelight. He was an incredibly handsome man.
Of course, her opinion could be slightly skewed at the moment, since right now he was her favorite person on the planet. She could definitely understand why Julie had talked about proposing.
“What for?” she asked.
“I know a neck massage that will make you one hundred percent pain free.”
That sounded glorious to Erin. “Why are you doing this?”
He made a rolling motion with his index finger. “Turn over. Doing what?”
She struggled for the right words as she moved onto her stomach on the soft couch cushions. “You know…Taking care of me.”
He chuckled. “Why wouldn’t I?”
Her voice was muffled against the cushion. “I haven’t been the easiest person to get along with.”
“You’re under stress. Besides, I’m hoping you’ll be nicer once your headache’s gone.”
She couldn’t help but chuckle. “I wouldn’t count on that. I’ve only had the headache for a couple of hours.”
“I’m an optimist.” He pressed his fingertips into the corded muscles at the base of her skull.
“Ouch.”
“Relax.”
“I’m trying.”
“Your muscles have tightened up around your nerves and blood vessels. If we can get them to relax, the pain will go away.”
“Are you a doctor as well as a pilot?”
“Definitely not. But I’ve played doctor once or twice.”
“Once or twice? You’re far too modest.”
His low laugh vibrated right through her. “Busted,” he whispered. “Enough about me. Tell me how you ended up in diamonds.”
“I majored in economics, minored in geology.”
“Was it your plan to get into the jewelry business?”
Erin shook her head.
“Stay relaxed,” he admonished, moving his thumbs down her neck, working his way out toward her shoulders, drawing ever-widening circles over her tight muscles.
“There was a job ad in the classifieds, and I applied.”
“Simple as that?”
She started to nod, then stopped herself. “Simple as that. Who knew I’d love it so much?”
“What appeals to you about it?” he asked.
“What doesn’t? I get to travel, meet exciting people, make deals that help our designers create masterpieces. I help people celebrate the greatest joys of their lives.”
Flying High Page 7