Almost Like Love

by Abigail Strom

  She was laughing at something Arthur had said. The bartender set a shot in front of her and she tossed it off, looking pretty damn sexy until a fit of coughing ruined the effect. Arthur got her a drink of water and patted her on the back.

  Kate didn’t usually drink—Ian knew that from seeing her at parties and red-carpet events. The alcohol she was downing now had to be hitting her like a ton of bricks.

  Arthur was looking ecstatic, as well he might. Heaven had answered his prayers. Kate Meredith was everything he’d ever dreamed of—a beautiful, sexy geek on her way to being drunk off her ass.

  Ian shoved his chair back and got to his feet. He couldn’t let this happen. It was his fault that Kate had temporarily lost her mind, his fault that she’d gone out to drown her troubles dressed like an extra from Showgirls.

  “Where are you going?”

  He glanced down at Gabe. “I know that woman. I’ve got to rescue her from Arthur.”

  “Rescue her from Arthur? There’s not a woman alive who needs to be rescued from Arthur. He’s harmless.”

  Compared with most men, maybe he was. But the bar for decent behavior among his gender was set pretty low. And no man alive would be able to resist the chance to go home with that woman.

  Which meant she did need rescuing. And in spite of the fact that he was probably the last man on earth Kate Meredith wanted to see right now, Ian was going to rescue her.

  Simone came off the dance floor looking sweaty and happy.

  “Who’s your friend?” she asked, noticing Comic Book Guy.

  “The man who just gave me the single greatest compliment I have ever received.”

  “Wow. What was it?”

  “He said I look like Red Sonja.”

  Simone looked perplexed for a moment. “Who—oh. She’s one of the superhero chicks you have framed on your wall, right? The one who fights with the guy whose name sounds like a late-night talk-show host?”

  “Conan the Barbarian.”

  “That’s it.” Simone cast the appraising glance of a costume designer over Kate. “You know, he has a point. All we have to do is dress you up with a sword and a barbed-wire bikini.”

  “I’d pay to see that,” Comic Book Guy said, looking a little dazed. He wasn’t at all what Kate was looking for tonight, but he was a nice guy and his flattery was a welcome balm after Chris’s betrayal.

  Simone waved the bartender over. “I’ll buy the next round. What are you drinking?”

  “The blood of my enemies,” Kate said, causing Comic Book Guy to burst out laughing.

  “Nothing for me,” he said to Simone. “I’m going to the men’s room. Do you promise you’ll still be here when I come back?” he asked Kate.

  “Sure.”

  Simone shook her head as he walked off towards the restrooms. “I can’t believe you managed to meld with the geek hive-mind here. I thought we were supposed to be visiting my world tonight. This is more like that time you made me go to Comic-Con.”

  Kate patted her shoulder. “Comic-Con wasn’t so bad. You said you got some great costume ideas there.”

  “I also got propositioned by some very weird people.”

  “You get propositioned everywhere.”

  Simone grinned at her. “Tonight I think you’re the one who’s going to get—”

  She stopped short, staring at something over Kate’s right shoulder. Wondering if Comic Book Guy had changed his mind about the bathroom break, Kate turned her head to look behind her.

  For a moment she thought she was seeing things. She didn’t usually drink hard liquor—maybe the alcohol in her system was making her hallucinate. Why else would she be seeing Ian Hart, the man responsible for cancelling her show? The universe couldn’t be so perverse as to put her face-to-face with her archnemesis tonight, could it?

  “Kate,” he said, and she was forced to acknowledge that this was reality.

  “I don’t like you,” she heard herself say.

  Damn. She should have gone with something much stronger. Something like, “I’m going to reach down your throat, pull out your beating heart, and feed it to my cat.” That’s what Red Sonja would say.

  Or would if she had cats, which she probably didn’t.

  Ian winced. “I know I’m not your favorite person right now.”

  “You should be her favorite person,” Simone said, sliding off her barstool. “You’re my favorite person, and I don’t even know you.”

  Kate glared at her. “Simone, this is Ian Hart.”

  Her friend’s eyes widened. “The evil bastard with no soul?”

  “In the flesh.”

  Simone looked him over. “I was picturing someone less . . . yummy.”

  “The devil comes disguised as a gorgeous man.”

  Ian’s eyebrows went up, and she could have kicked herself. She’d meant to insult him, and instead she’d called him gorgeous.

  Which he was, unfortunately. It was one of the most annoying things about him.

  She could still remember the first time she’d seen him, almost two years ago now. In the blissful minutes before she’d known who he was, she’d figured he had to be an actor, even though he was dressed like a corporate suit.

  He was too good-looking to be anything else. He was well over six feet tall and had a perfect body, but it was his face that made a woman struggle not to drool. Rugged features framed by dark hair, and a smile that—

  A smile that concealed a microscopic heart. Ian put a price tag on everything, and the only value he recognized was monetary. In Kate’s eyes, he was the very definition of evil.

  It wasn’t fair that a man she despised so much should be so damn hot.

  He looked even hotter than usual tonight, curse him. She’d never seen him dressed so casually before. He was wearing jeans and a worn leather jacket, and with his dark hair all tousled and a little rough stubble on his jaw, he looked good enough to eat.

  The smug, insufferable bastard.

  She folded her arms. “Go away, Hart. I’m trying to enjoy myself.”

  He sighed. “I know you’re not thrilled to see me, Kate. But I came over here with good intentions.”

  “Really.”

  “Yeah. I’m not going to let you make a stupid mistake just because you had a bad day.”

  For the first time since he’d come over here, his eyes dropped to her cleavage. It was only a second before his eyes were riveted to her face again, but a flash of heat went from her toes to the top of her head.

  She was more than a little tipsy, and she’d been concentrating on a) not punching Ian in the face and b) not letting him know she thought he was sexy. Because of that, she’d actually forgotten what she herself was wearing.

  What must Ian be thinking right now?

  Not that she gave a damn what he thought. Red Sonja never had any qualms about putting herself out there, did she? She used her unique fashion sense to say to the world, This is my body. I use it to crush my foes.

  Instead of hunching her shoulders or slouching down, Kate stood up straighter. In her heels she was almost eye to eye with this particular foe.

  “I didn’t have a bad day, Hart. I had an apocalyptic day. The kind of day that entitles a woman to make a stupid mistake.” She paused a moment. “Just to clarify, though—what stupid mistake are we talking about?”

  “Going home with Arthur.”

  “Arthur? Who’s Arthur?”

  “The guy you were just talking to.”

  Comic Book Guy?

  Kate shook her head vigorously. “No, no, no. I’m not going home with him. He’s great, but we have too much in common. And he’s too sweet.”

  Ian stared at her. “Too sweet?”

  “Absolutely. I’m here to find a bad boy. Trouble with a capital T. A sex god who’s great in bed and has no other redeeming qu
alities. Someone completely different from my—”

  She stopped. There was no need to let him in on the other half of her rotten day. The last thing she needed was whatever passed as pity or sympathy from Ian Hart.

  Unfortunately, Simone hadn’t gotten that memo.

  “Someone different from her fiancé,” she finished helpfully. “He broke off their engagement today, the asshole. Between that and losing her job, Kate needed a good time tonight. So here we are.”

  Kate steeled herself to meet Ian’s eyes, and there it was: pity. But for some reason, she wasn’t as irritated by the expression as she’d expected to be. It made him look almost human. Like his calcified heart was experiencing an actual emotion.

  “Jesus. I’m sorry, Kate. That really sucks.”

  He rubbed a hand across his jaw, which drew Kate’s attention to the stubble there. A woman who kissed that face would have whisker burn for days. Every time she looked in the mirror, she’d think of him.

  He slid his hands into his pockets. “Okay, so you didn’t have a run-of-the-mill bad day. I get that. But you still shouldn’t do something you’ll regret tonight. Especially when you’ve been drinking.”

  She forced herself to focus on his words and not his mouth. It was much easier to hate him that way. “Wow. How condescending, Hart. Maybe if you try really hard you could be even more paternalistic.”

  The sympathy in his eyes was replaced by irritation, an expression she was much more used to seeing when Ian looked at her.

  “You are the most annoying woman alive. You know that? For once, can’t you just—”

  “Hey, man, what are you doing here?”

  Comic Book Guy—Arthur—had come back from the bathroom. He didn’t look particularly pleased to see Ian.

  “He’s here to rescue me,” Kate told him. “He’s afraid you’re going to take advantage of me in my drunken state.”

  Ian glared at her before turning to Arthur. “I don’t think you’re going to take advantage of her. But I know this woman, and she’s not in great shape right now. She lost her job and her fiancé today. She’s vulnerable.”

  The son of a bitch. “I lost my job because of you.” She took a deep breath. “Okay, that’s it. I’m going to do it. I’ve always wanted to, and now I am.”

  Ian looked at her again. “Do what?”

  “Punch you in the face.”

  Of course she wouldn’t really hit him—probably. She just meant to threaten him with her Red Sonja fist of fury.

  But Simone grabbed her arm as she raised it. “Whoa there, cowgirl. I know we’re supposed to be cutting loose tonight, but let’s not get arrested for assault this early, okay? Let’s save that for the wee hours.”

  “Spoilsport,” Kate grumbled.

  Still, she supposed her friend had a point. Ian was just the kind of guy who’d call the cops on her for taking a swing at him.

  She folded her arms again. “Okay, fine. Here’s what’s going to happen. Arthur’s going to give me his number, because I’d like to get together with him sometime to talk about comic books. Then the two of you are going back to wherever you came from so I can get on with my mission.”

  Ian had his poker face on. “Finding a bad boy, you mean.”

  “That’s right.”

  Arthur looked from one of them to the other. “Kate may or may not be drunk, but I definitely am. Too drunk to follow this conversation, anyway. But I like the part about us getting together sometime,” he added with a quick grin, fishing a business card out of his wallet and handing it to her. “My cell number’s on the back. Call me anytime.”

  He clapped Ian on the shoulder. “See you back at the table, buddy.”

  Kate watched him go. “He seems like a real player,” she said sarcastically. “A seducer of thousands. Thank God you were here to save me.”

  The muscles in Ian’s jaw tightened, and he didn’t say anything for a moment. She wondered if he was counting to ten.

  “Just tell me this, Kate. What are you really looking for tonight?”

  “I told you. A bad boy.”

  Once again, Simone stepped into the breach. “Specifically, she wants a guy with tattoos and piercings and bad news written all over him. She’s going to use him for sex and then dump him ruthlessly. Also, she’s going to take him to this nightmare wedding we’re both in, so she can make her cheating ex eat his heart out. He’s going to be there with his new girlfriend.”

  “Her name is Anastasia,” Kate muttered.

  Ian looked at her for a moment, his expression hard to read. Then he shook his head. “What the hell kind of name is Anastasia?”

  She felt an unexpected rush of gratitude. “My thoughts exactly,” she said.

  One corner of Ian’s mouth—that sinfully mobile mouth—lifted in a smile.

  “I tell you what,” he said. “If I find you a bad boy who’ll go to this wedding with you, will that be enough?”

  She looked at him suspiciously. “Enough for what?”

  “Enough to . . . satisfy you. Without sex,” he added.

  Kate blinked. Ian Hart was going to find her a bad boy? A bad boy who would take her to Jessica’s wedding but wouldn’t have sex with her?

  “Is he gay?”

  “No.”

  “Then why wouldn’t he want to have sex? Are you saying a guy like that wouldn’t be attracted to me? Are you saying I’m so boring I can’t even—”

  Ian held up a hand. “Hold it right there. Believe me when I tell you that every straight man in this place is attracted to you, Kate. But this particular man . . .” He hesitated. “Let’s just say he’s got a chivalrous side. He doesn’t sleep with women under the influence. Not on the first date, anyway.”

  She frowned. “So he’s a safe bad boy.”

  “Well . . . yeah. Kind of.”

  If a guy was safe or chivalrous or whatever, could he still qualify as a bad boy?

  “Does he have tattoos? I’m not talking temporary.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Piercings?”

  “Not a lot, but yeah.”

  What other fantasy elements had she been imagining?

  “Does he drive a motorcycle?”

  Ian grinned. “Yeah.”

  Ian’s grin was rare, and, as always when she saw it, Kate’s stomach did a little flip.

  “I think you should take him up on the offer,” Simone said suddenly. “With the proviso that the guy he’s got in mind is sufficiently sexy,” she added. “If not, then the deal’s off.”

  “That’s right,” Kate agreed. “He’s got to be smoking.”

  Ian grinned again. “I don’t know what would qualify as smoking in your book, so how about this? If the guy doesn’t meet your standards of sexiness, you can go back to your original plan and find one on your own.”

  “And you’ll go away and stop bothering me?”

  “Cross my heart.”

  With an odd feeling that she was stepping off the edge of a cliff, Kate nodded her head. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to take a look at him.”

  “Great. Wait right here, and he’ll be over in a few minutes.”

  Kate and Simone watched him walk away, navigating through the crowd with his easy, loose-limbed stride.

  “A safe bad boy,” Kate said musingly. “Who do you think he has in mind? It’s got to be a friend of his, right?”

  “Maybe,” Simone said. Her smile, when Kate glanced at her, was more catlike than usual.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Nothing.”

  Ian disappeared into the crowd. “What do you think this guy will be like?”

  Simone shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said, hopping up on a barstool. “But personally, I can’t wait to find out.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  He had to be out of his mi
nd.

  As Ian headed back to his table, he wondered what the hell he was doing. He couldn’t blame the alcohol; it would take more than a few shots of Wild Turkey to affect his judgment this much.

  He decided it was Kate’s fault. She’d disabled half his brain cells with that damn outfit and exploded the rest by announcing her intention to find a bad boy to go home with.

  Imagining her with Arthur had been bad enough. But she seemed determined to go looking for trouble tonight, and he knew from experience that if you go looking for trouble you’ll usually find it.

  And he couldn’t let anything happen to Kate . . . not after the day she’d had.

  Which meant he was stuck. And since the only way he could save her from herself was to produce a bad boy for her, he’d produce one.

  Back at his table, he assessed the resources available to him.

  Other than him, Gabe was the tallest guy here—and he was wearing a short-sleeved black tee. Perfect.

  “I need to borrow your shirt,” he said, pulling off his jacket and slinging it over the back of his chair.

  Gabe stared at him. “Huh?”

  “Your shirt. I need it. You can wear mine instead,” he added.

  Gabe frowned. “I’m wearing short sleeves. You never wear short sleeves.”

  “Yeah, I know. Special circumstances.”

  He checked to make sure Simone and Kate weren’t looking this way and was relieved to see them engrossed in conversation at the bar.

  “This is very weird,” Gabe said, but he pulled off his shirt and handed it to Ian, who handed over his in exchange.

  Gabe was narrower in the chest and shoulders than Ian was, so the black cotton was stretched a little tight. But he’d accomplished his goal: his tattoos were on full display, from his biceps down to his forearms.

  Mick watched the wardrobe exchange with his eyebrows raised. “When did we take the time machine back to the nineties? I haven’t seen those tats since high school. Not outside of the gym, anyway.”

  “Long story,” Ian said, looking around for the next item on his list.

  He grabbed a kid walking by. “I’ll pay you a hundred bucks for”—he thought for a second—“three of your earrings.”