One-Click Buy: February 2010 Harlequin Blaze

by Betina Krahn

  She…wasn’t. Amanda wasn’t dating material. She was sex material, oh, yes, she was good for flings and wild affairs, even if she’d had no time for any in recent months.

  But dating? Romance? Relationships?

  Uh-uh. She was the bitch who broke hearts. The one who panicked and took off whenever anybody got a little too serious or tried to tie her down in one place, instead of letting her live her life in flight, as she’d done for the past ten years.

  This isn’t a date. Just food so we can build up more energy to have lots more anonymous, no-strings sex.

  “Would you relax?” Reese murmured as they followed the hostess, a fiftyish brunette in a full-skirted dress who’d yelled something in Italian as they passed by the swinging door to the kitchen. “It’s just pizza, for God’s sake.”

  Amanda drew in a long, shaky breath, trying to force the stiffness from her spine. Although, that was hard to do when his fingers were branding her.

  “Is this all right?” the older woman asked as she reached a small, intimate table set for two.

  “Just fine,” Reese murmured.

  Thank heaven he didn’t say perfect. That word coming off his lips just had too many associations. Sometimes it made her incredibly horny, sometimes nervous as hell.

  With its red-checked tablecloth, and an old Chianti bottle plugged with a candle and dripping wax, their table looked like the one where Lady and the Tramp had shared a romantic plate of spaghetti. All they needed was a pair of Italian singers with an accordion and a violin to serenade them.

  God, this was so a date.

  She almost bolted. If he hadn’t already pulled out her chair and gently pushed her down into it, she probably would have done so.

  It wouldn’t have been the first time. One guy she’d been involved with had, despite all her warnings, told her he was in love with her. And she’d run to the airport, hopped on a flight to Paris and stayed away for two weeks.

  No wonder he still drunk-dialed her.

  But maybe this time could be different. Because he’s different.

  Reese was so different. So fun and sexy and playful. Daring and imaginative. He made her feel unlike any other man had before.

  She sighed heavily, forcing those thoughts away. The way he made her feel couldn’t possibly be a good thing. Not when it left her so confused, off-balance, unsure. Completely un-Amanda-like.

  “Thank you,” Reese said as he took the seat opposite her and smiled up at the hostess. Despite being at least twenty years his senior, she preened a little, as would any woman under the attention of a man as handsome as her companion.

  Companion. Not date.

  “So are you locals?” the woman asked.

  Reese shook his head. “Just visiting.”

  “Excellent! Contrary to what you might think, Cleveland is a wonderful vacation spot. Very romantic,” the woman said with a wag of her eyebrows. “Lots for a young couple in love to do.”

  Amanda opened her mouth to respond, lies and denials bubbling to her lips. They were just playing here…just two wildly compatible people playing naughty games. Nothing more to it.

  But before any could emerge, Reese reached for her hand and clasped it in his on top of the table. Their hostess nodded approvingly, then turned away to greet some newcomers standing in the entranceway.

  “You were going to make up some outrageous story, weren’t you?” he asked, casually releasing her hand, lifting a napkin and draping it over his lap.

  “How do you know?”

  “Are you denying it?”

  “Of course not. Just wondering how you know.”

  “Oh, believe me, I’m starting to understand how your mind works. Romance, love…those words aren’t in your vocabulary, right?”

  She nodded once. “Right.”

  The hostess had left a basket of bread sticks on their table, and Amanda took one, nibbling lightly on the end, not elaborating even though she knew he probably expected her to. That kind of talk was for dates. This was just a…nutrition break.

  “So what kind of story were you going to tell?” He sounded genuinely curious.

  “I don’t know.” Thinking about it, she tapped her finger on her chin. “You’re a witness against the mob in protective custody and I’m your bodyguard?”

  “You’re obviously not a very good bodyguard if you go around blabbing about me being a witness.”

  “I didn’t say I was a good one. Maybe I’m a too-stupid-to-live one, like in one of those really bad movies.”

  “Hmm, possible.” He looked around the restaurant, at the tables full of people who all looked much like their very-ethnic hostess, Rosalita. “But that might not be such a good idea in this place. I think half the diners in here are one generation out of Sicily. You might get me whacked.”

  “Got any better ideas?”

  “Playboy bunny and mogul?”

  “Keep dreaming.” Giving him an impish look, she added, “Besides, I don’t think you’d look very good in bunny ears.”

  He laughed out loud. Before he could reply, though, a busboy came over and filled two glasses of water, leaving them beside their untouched menus. A not-uncomfortable silence fell once the bored-looking teen had walked away.

  Finally, Reese broke that silence. “So, why don’t we just go with a pilot from Chicago hooking up with a businessman from Pittsburgh?”

  She snorted, forcing herself to remain casual when her first reaction to the idea of just being who they really were more resembled panic. “Boring.”

  “You keep using that word…I do not think it means what you think it means.”

  Delighted that he’d quoted one of her favorite movies, The Princess Bride, complete with Spanish accent, she said, “Well done.”

  “Wow, we have something in common? A movie we’ve both seen?”

  She gestured toward the table and the candle. “If we had the same taste in movies, you’d know just how terrified I am that some Italian dude is going to come up and start singing ‘Bella Notte.’”

  “At least tell me I’d get to be the Tramp in that one.”

  Something about his put-upon tone, plus the fact that he knew exactly what she was talking about, made her relax and offer him her first genuine smile since they’d arrived. “I’m a pain in the ass, I know. I doubt you’d understand.”

  “I might. Why don’t you try me?”

  She thought about it. But how could she? How, exactly, did you go about telling your lover—no, not lover, sex partner—that you had a reputation as a bitch, that men faked suicide attempts because you couldn’t love them, that you’d rather just not be bothered with the whole romance thing anymore? It wasn’t exactly ladylike to admit you didn’t want a guy who’d bring you chocolate and flowers and had long ago realized you were much more the fuck-buddy than the girlfriend type.

  She couldn’t say those things. And suddenly, she didn’t want to. Not to him.

  Why the very thought of it bothered her so much, though, she honestly didn’t know.

  When she didn’t respond, he finally prompted, “Some times it’s just easier to pretend than to be who you really are?”

  “Yeah, something like that.”

  He shook his head ever so slightly, either disapproval or disappointment visible in the tightness of his mouth.

  “Hey, you agreed to the terms.”

  “I agreed to a one-night stand.” His eyes sparkled as he added, “You changed those terms with your e-mail.”

  He had a point.

  “So maybe it’s time to renegotiate.”

  Wary, she asked, “How so?”

  “Maybe we should agree to at least one open, honest conversation, without any, uh, embellishments.”

  Figuring great sex would make him forget that idea, she licked her lips. “I don’t see why you’re complaining. I thought you were pretty happy about how things turned out this afternoon.”

  “As I recall, so were you. At least three times.”

  She lic
ked the tip of her bread stick. “Mmm…six.”

  Reese crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair, eyeing her steadily. “I’m not counting the ones I wasn’t involved in.”

  “Oh, honey, you were most definitely involved.”

  A brow arched over one blue eye. “Oh?”

  “Mmm-hmm. And you’ve been involved every other time I’ve played with that little toy in the past two weeks.”

  He dropped his crossed arms onto the table, leaning over it, closer to her. Close enough that she saw the way his pulse pounded in his throat. “Is that so?” “Yes.”

  He reached for his water, bringing the slick glass to his mouth. As he sipped, the muscles in his neck flexed. And when he lowered the glass, his lips were moist, parted. “Did that happen often?”

  “Probably more than it had in the past year.”

  A masculine expression of self-satisfaction appeared on his incredibly handsome face. “You thought about…”

  “Everything,” she purred. “I thought about it a lot.”

  “Ditto.”

  She swallowed, immediately knowing what he was admitting. “I don’t suppose you had any toys to play with?”

  “’Fraid not. Had to go the old-fashioned route.”

  Squirming a little in her chair as she thought of him needing to gain some relief because he’d been thinking about her, she echoed his question. “Did that happen often?”

  He lowered his eyes, gazing at her throat and the soft swell of cleavage rising above her V-necked sweater. “What do you think?”

  Realizing she’d bit off a little more than she could chew, and that images of Reese pumping that long, thick shaft into his own tight fist were going to intrude on the rest of her meal, she cleared her throat and bit hard on the bread stick.

  Reese didn’t let it go, however, going right back to where he’d been headed before that detour into Lustville. “So what happened, your little toy was no longer enough so you decided to break your own rules and come back to order something else off the menu?”

  She opened her mouth to answer, but before she could, a chirpy voice intruded. “Something else? Wait, has somebody already taken your order? Gosh darn it, I told her I was coming right over!”

  Amanda bit her lip in amusement at the realization that a young waitress, whose name tag said Brittani, had overheard part of their conversation. Of course, she’d obviously misinterpreted it. Thank God.

  The girl was probably only about seventeen, and she looked extremely annoyed that someone else had been poaching on her table. She apparently feared losing her tip. Considering they’d been left sitting here unattended for a good ten minutes, she was apparently the optimistic type.

  “It’s okay,” Reese said, “we were talking about something else.”

  Amanda couldn’t resist being a little mischievous. “Oh, yes. Definitely something else. Just reminiscing about something we ordered off a menu in Milan last week.”

  The girl’s jaw opened far enough to display the chewing gum resting on her tongue. “You been to Australia? For real? Did you see any koala bears?”

  Amanda managed to hide either a laugh or a sigh at Brittani’s less-than-impressive geography skills.

  “No koalas,” Reese interjected smoothly. “Just a few dingoes. Now, if you don’t mind, I think we’re ready to order.”

  They did so, asking for the pepperoni pizza she’d been craving since they’d first talked about food back in the hotel room. Their perky waitress, whose mood had picked up once she realized nobody was horning in on her table, nodded and sauntered away, not even asking if they wanted anything other than ice water to drink.

  The ice water that was just about gone.

  When they were alone again, Reese said, “To be sure I’ve got it, let’s clarify. Honest conversation is just as forbidden on your planet as actual dinner dates, right?”

  Damn, the guy was tenacious. “Depends on the conversation.”

  “Can we talk about sports?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Movies?”

  “Sure. Though I haven’t seen a new one in a theater in at least two years.”

  He shrugged. “Me, either. Moving on. Politics?”

  “Only if you’re a right-down-the-middle moderate like me.”

  “Progress. We have one thing in common.”

  Grinning impishly, she said, “I think we have more than one.”

  “Touché.”

  She lifted her glass and drained the last few drops of water from it, then sucked a small piece of ice into her mouth. “I think there’s another thing we can safely agree on. Brittani’s tip is getting smaller by the minute.”

  “I think we can also agree that world geography should be a required course in high schools.”

  She snickered, liking his deadpan sense of humor. Liking so much about him. Too much. Maybe…

  No. She wasn’t going to go there, not even in her own head. She wasn’t going to evaluate the possibility that this thing between them might be about anything more than having fun and incredible sex.

  She’d take fun and incredible sex over angsty emotional dramas and minefields of feelings any day.

  Despite her best efforts, for a few minutes Amanda let herself actually converse with the man. Nothing too heavy, definitely no sharing of past relationships or deepest fears. He got her to admit she’d once had a mad crush on every member of the Backstreet Boys, and he’d come clean about his secret desire to be a drummer for a rock band, even though he’d never held a drumstick.

  “Backstreet Boys never had a drummer,” she pointed out.

  “Too bad. To think we could have started all this fun fifteen years ago.”

  “Fifteen years ago, we would both have been seriously underage.”

  “But think of all the interesting things we could have learned together.”

  Frankly, she was learning lots of interesting things from the man, right here and now. At fourteen, still the rebel trying to survive in good-girl wonderland, she didn’t think her heart could have taken meeting someone who excited her like Reese Campbell.

  Well, her heart probably could have. Her parents, however, would have lost their minds.

  Their light chatting seemed to satisfy Reese, at least for now, and he didn’t try to steer her toward any more personal subjects. That was fortunate. Amanda honestly didn’t know if she’d have been able to explain her aversion to such things. Not without giving him all the information he was looking for in the process. Her past heartbreaks, her rigid upbringing, her bad reputation for being a little too footloose and coldhearted…all explained who she was today. But none were topics she particularly cared to talk about. Teenage fantasy was about as intimate as she wanted to get.

  “Okay, here you go. Enjoy!”

  Brittani had returned with their pizza right on time—before Reese could slip through any conversational back doors she might have inadvertently left open. She was so anxious that it remain that way, she grabbed a slice and bit into it right away. Bad move.

  “Ow!” she snapped when the gooey cheese burned the roof of her mouth.

  Reese immediately scooped a piece of ice out of his own water glass and lifted it toward her. Dropping the pizza, Amanda gratefully parted her lips, sucking the cube he offered into her mouth. Her tongue swiped across his fingertips as she did so, and suddenly the pain wasn’t so bad. Seeing the way his eyes flared at the brush of her tongue against his skin, she had to acknowledge it wasn’t so bad at all.

  “Watch it. Don’t want any injuries that could cut short our two-night stand,” he teased. Then, looking at his own pizza, he added, “I think I’ll wait a while for this to cool off. I have definite plans for my mouth tonight.”

  She quivered in her seat at the very thought of it. Because oh, the man did know how to use his mouth. And there were such wonderful things he could do with it that did not involve the conversation she suspected he would want to get back to as soon as they finished eating.


  She thought about it. Stick around here and deal with lots more talking? Or just seduce the man back to their hotel room? No-freaking-brainer.

  “Reese?” she said, speaking carefully, the ice now just a small sliver on her tongue. “Yeah?”

  “Can we please take this to go?”

  He stared at her, as if gauging the request, and her motivation for making it. She didn’t have to feign her interest in getting back to where they’d been a couple of hours ago: in a hotel room bed. But she did have to hide the fact that her motivation was at least partly to get out of having to talk anymore.

  Something that looked like understanding crossed his face, though she would swear she saw a hint of frustration there, too. “You’re sure?”

  “I think you need to kiss this better,” she said, pushing him just a little more. She swiped her tongue across her lips to punctuate the point.

  He shook his head, smiling ruefully. “I guess I should be thankful just to have found out you’re a political moderate who doesn’t go to the movies. That’s more than I knew two hours ago.”

  “And don’t forget—not a sports fan.”

  “We’re really getting somewhere.”

  “Now let’s get somewhere else,” she insisted, leaning across the table. This back-and-forth conversation was reminding her of how much she liked his quick wit, his easygoing personality. Physically, she’d been attracted from the get-go. Now she knew there was so much more about him that interested her.

  But only until tomorrow.

  Unless…

  Only until tomorrow!

  “Please,” she whispered. “We only have until morning and I really don’t want to waste it sitting here waiting for the pizza to cool off.”

  Apparently hearing her sincerity, he no longer hesitated. He waved to their waitress, then murmured, “But I do reserve the right to ask you if you’ve read any good books lately on the ride back to the hotel.”

  “Books. Okay, I can do that.”

  And she could. Books were fine. So were movies and politics and sports and anything else that didn’t really require intimate conversation.

  He just couldn’t ask her about her past relationships, her family background or her footloose lifestyle. She wouldn’t share details of her aversion to small towns, home, hearth, wholesome values or anything else resembling the world in which she’d grown up.