His Little Black Book

by Heather MacAllister

  “Great. Remember that. It’ll make good ad copy. So why did you start your own program?”

  “My sister.”

  “Because…?”

  “Because she’s a pain in the ass.”

  “Not good copy.”

  He grinned, feeling calmer for the first time in days. Weeks, if he was honest. There was something about Sophie that just…there was something about Sophie. Something unexpected and it appealed to him in a big way.

  “Megan’s a geriatric specialist,” he told her. “She’s always complaining that a lot of the health issues she sees in her patients could have been prevented if they’d made modest lifestyle changes when they were younger. It makes her insane. And really obnoxious because she lectures people.”

  “Good to know. We’ll keep her off camera.”

  Adrian nodded. “Don’t get me wrong—I love her, but she has no people skills except with her patients. She’s been that way ever since she did her rotation in geriatrics. She came home and literally pulled Dad off the sofa and told him to jog around the block. Then she force fed Mom calcium.”

  Sophie laughed. “So what did she do to you?”

  “Made me a believer.” Adrian rinsed the broiler and handed it to her. “I was working as a sports trainer. She asked if I would develop a simple exercise routine for her patients. I did, but it was more appropriate for an athlete coming off an injury because that’s what I knew. So she made me come with her when she visited her retirement-home patients—kind of a crash course in geriatrics. All day long, she pointed out stuff like the guy with the bad knees who’d worked on the third floor of a building. If all he’d done was take the stairs every day instead of the elevator, he would have weighed less and his muscles would have been stronger and his joints wouldn’t have taken such a beating and so on.”

  Sophie nodded as she put away the broiler and beckoned him to the dining table.

  “It was the same with practically every patient. By the end of the day, I was totally onboard. It’s amazing how just little changes in the way we live now make a big difference later in our quality of life.”

  Sophie grabbed his arm. “That’s your message!”

  Adrian was jolted out of his story by the excited expression on her face and the warmth of her hand on his arm.

  “It is, isn’t it?” She still gripped his arm and gave it a little tug when he didn’t answer right away.

  And he didn’t answer because he was fighting the urge to lean in and kiss her. She looked so bright and happy and she was touching him and there wasn’t room in his head for both Sophie and whatever he’d been talking about.

  “Little changes now, big results later—something like that, right?” She seemed to realize that she was gripping his arm and released it.

  He could still feel the imprint of her hand. “Um, yeah.”

  “So then what?” She was honestly interested, not faking it out of politeness or professional necessity.

  Genuine interest was incredibly attractive, Adrian discovered as he told her about his sister’s frustration when she couldn’t get through to patients’ families. “And you know, she’s right, but she alienates people when she goes on and on. In her mind, she’s showing them living proof that they’re headed in the same direction unless they make some changes, but people either don’t believe her or make excuses.”

  “Giving up food for powdered chemicals is not a modest lifestyle adjustment.” They were sitting at the dining table with the ad-presentation folders spread open around them and Sophie pointed to a page showing different versions of labels for his protein powder.

  Adrian exhaled. “I got a little side-tracked. You know, the personal training pays the bills, but you’re right. I should stick to my core goals. Simple. Accessible. Appealing. And online support.”

  “Okay.” Sophie flipped over the piece of paper and began writing on the back. “Let’s start there.”

  Adrian didn’t know how long he and Sophie strategized before he got the idea that she should put together the exercise equipment so she could see how easy it was to assemble.

  “People say they can’t get to the gym—I’m bringing the gym to them. They don’t have room? It fits in a duffel bag. Too complicated, too time consuming to put together? Try it. I’ll time you.”

  “And then you’re going to make me use it, aren’t you?” Sophie grumbled.

  “Oh, you’ll want to use it,” he assured her. “Exercise is good for you. How could you not want your body to feel great?”

  “I can think of many other ways my body can feel great,” she muttered.

  “I can help you with those, too.” His offer was totally sincere. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this much sincerity. They might be ignoring it, but the attraction was definitely there, simmering just below the surface. They were so in sync mentally. Didn’t she wonder how it would be physically?

  Sophie didn’t even glance at him. “That’s the steak talking.” Sinking to the floor, she read the directions printed on the inside of the storage bag.

  “Hey, don’t bother with those. Assembly is so simple you don’t need any instructions.”

  Without looking away, Sophie said, “I am not mechanically adept. Trust me, this is not false modesty.” She held out her hand. “I require wine.”

  SOPHIE HOPED HE remembered her help when he discussed the campaign with Jonathan. I want Sophie on the team. We work really well together. She so gets me and what I’m trying to do. You know, she even—“Ow!”—pinched the skin between her thumb and finger right in the most painful spot and acted as though it was nothing. She barely noticed because she was concentrating so hard on learning how to assemble my stupid home gym. Or words to that effect.

  “Ow-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow!”

  “Let me see it.” Adrian sat next to her and held out his hand.

  “No.” He’d think she was being a big baby, even though it did hurt.

  “Sophie…” He reached for her hand, but Sophie just wanted to get on with assembling the stupid machine.

  “You’re bleeding.”

  “What?” Surprised, she stopped struggling before Adrian could react and he pulled her hand into his chest, leaving a smear of blood on his white shirt.

  It was a duplicate of the one he’d worn before, white knit with the Adrian Dean logo embroidered on the breast in navy. Yeah, whatever worked for him. And it did, actually. Or it did without the blood.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “I should apologize to you.” He lifted the hem of his shirt and pressed it against the base of her thumb. “Obviously, the bolt has got to be redesigned.”

  His hands were warm and he seemed genuinely concerned. And he was using his shirt to stop her bleeding. What a guy.

  Actually, yes. What a guy.

  Ever since she’d tripped and landed on top of him—because he’d deliberately positioned himself to take the fall—Sophie had tried to remain detached.

  The man was seriously hot. The problem with seriously hot guys was that they were aware of it. And the problem with that was some men felt it was enough when they and their hotness decided to favor a woman with their attention. Sort of an “I’ve noticed you. Aren’t you lucky?” attitude.

  Sophie had gone for the hot guy with the sense of entitlement before. Okay, several times. But not this time. Adrian was a client. He was off-limits. How could he take her seriously if she fell into bed with him as easily as any other woman? How was he supposed to know that at some point during the hours they’d been talking, she’d become attracted to more than his body? Just her luck that Adrian had brains and brawn all tied together with a big off-limits bow.

  While all this was going through her mind, he was regarding her questioningly, as he held her hand and looked hot. The nerve.

  “I’ll live.” She tugged her hand away. “You need to rinse out your shirt or it’ll stain.”

  “Forget the shirt. Let me see the damage.”

  “I ca
n’t forget the shirt. My blood is on the shirt.”

  “So I’ll ditch the shirt.” He pulled it over his head. “Let’s go clean the cut.”

  “It’s more of a mangle than a cut.”

  He stood and helped her up. “Are you trying to make me feel worse?”

  “No.” She was trying to avoid looking at his chest again. She just could not keep clothes on the man. Maybe it was a sign.

  The lights suddenly dimmed, blinked and then went out altogether. Without Sophie’s candles, the place would have been completely dark. Instead, the room had become cozily intimate.

  Talk about a sign. She was with a total hunk who owned a successful business and seemed like a genuinely good guy. They were alone in a luxurious beach house during a storm, which meant nobody was going anywhere for hours. The lights were out, candles were lit, and, oh yes, the hunk was already half-undressed. Yeah. She didn’t need a neon arrow, here.

  No, she needed a neon sign that blinked Client.

  Too bad the electricity was out.

  Now that the air conditioning and the refrigerator motors were off, the moaning howl of the wind filled the house.

  “Listen to that,” Adrian said. “Wind is always described as roaring or howling, and it really does sound that way.”

  “I hear a little shrieking mixed in, too.” How could Sophie have missed the passing time and the worsening weather? Talking with Adrian, that’s how.

  Wind gusts stressed the windows to the breaking point and the whole house creaked. “We should lower the storm shutters,” Sophie said.

  Adrian headed toward the kitchen. “There’s a list of instructions taped to the inside of one of the cabinets.”

  Picking up her wineglass, Sophie followed him. His torso gleamed, gleamed by candlelight. She sighed and the candle on the bar wavered.

  “Uh oh. The storm shutters are electrically powered.”

  “I was afraid of that.” While Adrian read the storm-prep instructions, Sophie lit the propane lantern she’d found with the emergency supplies in the laundry-room closet.

  “The shutters can be disconnected and manually lowered, but we’ll have to go outside to do it,” Adrian told her.

  Sophie groaned. “The upstairs windows will be okay, but we should protect the windows on this level for sure. The danger is from all the debris blowing around. Plastic lounge chairs, sand toys, barbeque implements—that kind of thing will go flying. I’d rather lower the shutters now than deal with broken windows later.”

  “Then let’s get to it. Grab the lantern.” Adrian strode to the door.

  Wind and rain slapped at them as they yanked out the shutters and lowered them. Even with the lantern, Sophie couldn’t see and struggled with the locks.

  Adrian finished the two on his side of the veranda and stood sheltering her from the worst of the needlelike rain as he fastened hers, as well. And then he continued to shield her as they made their way around to the back of the house and finished lowering shutters.

  Sophie expected to be annoyed with herself for not pulling her own weight. Instead, she felt girlie and protected.

  And turned on.

  Yes. There was that. Being outside with Adrian while Mother Nature threw a temper tantrum was exciting and raw and primal. Man and woman working together against the elements. Man, brave and strong. Woman, good for holding a flashlight.

  Once they were back inside and had secured the glass door against the wind and rain, they both leaned with their backs against it, breathing heavily. Sophie’s skin tingled from the stinging rain.

  “Wow,” Adrian exhaled.

  “Wow is right.” Sophie closed her eyes.

  Behind them, the wind roared and the rain scraped against the shuttered windows. The sound was muted now. Except for the candles and the lantern, they might have been in a cave.

  Sophie could hear their breathing slow, at least until Adrian turned his head. She kept her eyes closed, but imagined his gaze on her shoulders and chest, dipping along the severely tailored and fitted neckline of her suit, the one that was meant to suggest, rather than reveal.

  Sophie thought of a few suggestions, and as she did, inhaled and opened her eyes and met Adrian’s burning stare. She was pretty sure her stare was burning right back. And there went her heart, thudding heavily.

  She shouldn’t look at a man that way unless she planned on following through. Part of her wanted to follow through right now.

  Adrian raised his hand toward her face. The part of Sophie that remembered her career goals and how hard she’d worked toward them caused her to flinch the tiniest bit.

  Adrian lowered his hand and looked away. “We’re dripping all over the floor. I’ll get the mop,” he said roughly.

  The mop was propped by the back kitchen entrance where she’d left it. When he returned, he swiped at the puddle by the door, and then very slowly, and very deliberately, set the mop against the wall.

  Drawing his hands to his hips, he said, “I don’t think anyone else is going to show up tonight.”

  Sophie’s mouth was dry—the only thing about her that was. “I don’t think so, either.”

  “And I’m not driving anywhere in that mess out there.”

  “Me, either.” Sophie tried to swallow. Tried to put distance between them.

  But not very hard.

  “It’s just you and me. Here. Together. Alone.” He took the tiniest of steps toward her. Testing.

  Sophie wanted to step back or to the side or anywhere that would let him know she wasn’t that kind of girl. But all she managed was an unconvincing sway.

  “No power. Nothing to do.” Another step. “Except listen to the wind and the rain for hours and hours…”

  He’d moved into Sophie’s personal space.

  Now was the time to step away from the client. Truthfully, the time was a few seconds ago, but now would work, too.

  Adrian lifted his hand and Sophie swayed, this time toward him. “I’m not that kind of girl.”

  Adrian traced his fingers down a strand of wet hair. There were a lot of strands. He had his choice, but he selected the one closest to her ear. The one that trailed across her collar bone. “Good. Since I’m not that kind of guy.” He slowly tucked the strands behind her ear and kept his fingers going all the way around her neck where they lightly stroked her nape.

  Fueled by echoes of her goals and dreams—and they were really faint now—Sophie clamped her hand around his wrist. “Not that kind of girl.” She struggled to pull his hand away from her neck, not because he fought her, but because he didn’t.

  He didn’t step back, but he did smile. “Sorry, but it looks like I am that kind of guy.” He wrapped his arm around her waist and slid her across the damp floor until she was pressed against him, wet swimsuit and all.

  And then he lowered his mouth until it was an inch above hers and held.

  Sophie’s eyes had drifted shut in response to the inevitable. Except it wasn’t so inevitable after all. Her eyes opened and she saw him watching her. “I’m not the begging kind of girl, either.”

  “We’ll see about that,” he murmured and lowered his mouth.

  5

  IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE one kiss. Together, they’d fought the elements and emerged victorious. Their hearts pounded. Adrenaline heightened their emotions. Juices were flowing. Urges were urging. What could be more natural than a kiss celebrating life?

  Nothing. Which was why one kiss easily melted into another, and then another, and so on, until it became one long kiss that showed no sign of ending. And Adrian was perfectly happy to hold a warm, wet Sophie in his arms and kiss her until they were both senseless. He’d been in trouble since those pink flip-flops had first stood in front of him.

  Look what she’d done to him. He was supposed to be driving home to Tulsa but within minutes of meeting her, she’d been lying on top of him and he’d forgotten Tulsa existed. He barely remembered Oklahoma. She’d fed him steak and fruit and a little wine and he’d started
thinking clearly again. She’d solved his advertising issues. And she’d done it all while maintaining a strictly professional, matter-of-fact demeanor that, perversely, had driven him insane with good old-fashioned lust. Or bad old-fashioned lust.

  Lust made people reckless. Lust made people, Adrian in particular, grab the nearest female—that would be Sophie—and kiss her in the way a man kisses a woman he intends to take to bed. Soon.

  Luckily for him, Sophie was kissing him back with more enthusiasm than he’d expected from someone who’d insisted that she wasn’t “that kind of girl.” He didn’t want “that kind of girl.” He liked this kind of girl, especially the way she pressed her body against him. There wasn’t much between them except some thin stretchy fabric and his shorts. Which was too much. Which he could remedy by unfastening her swimsuit at the neck and peeling it off her. She’d be much more comfortable without that wet suit on.

  It was a brilliant idea. Sophie wasn’t the only one who could think of brilliant ideas.

  As though she read his mind, her arms wound around his neck giving him easier access to the suit’s sliding fastener. Adrian stroked his way up her bare back and tangled his fingers in the wet seaweed that was her ruined ponytail, prompting a gasp that broke them apart.

  Her eyes were huge and her chest heaved.

  Was she shocked? Surprised? Frightened? She sure wasn’t the picture of lust, old-fashioned or otherwise. And why should she be? This was their first kiss. A really long, really great kiss, but, jeez Louise, he’d been seconds away from stripping off her suit and pushing her up against the wall. Slowly, gently and very reluctantly, he lowered his arms. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

  Sophie stilled. “For what?”

  “For…”

  Raising an eyebrow, she tugged at the elastic in her hair. “For?”

  This was a test. Adrian hated these types of tests. There was no way to pass these types of tests because only women knew the right answers and they weren’t sharing. “For pulling your hair. For hurting you.”

  “And?”

  There was no “and.” He wasn’t going to pretend there was. “I’m sorry we’re not kissing anymore. I’m not sorry I kissed you and I intend to kiss you again. Longer. Harder. And wearing fewer clothes.”