TOO HOT TO HANDLE

by Robin Kaye

  "Really? So does this girl have a name?"

  "Annabelle Ronaldi. I had dinner with her tonight." Mike dug into his coffee cake and washed it down with his tea. The cups were small, two good gulps and his was empty. He stared into his cup and watched as the tea leaves settled to the bottom.

  "It didn't go well?"

  "No. It was fine. Why?"

  "It's early yet. If it went so well, why are you here?

  "Her brother came by, and three was a crowd."

  "So, are you seeing her again?" She wiped the crumbs off the table with the side of her hand, caught them, and tossed them back on her plate.

  Pictures of Annabelle in that sexy little dress she wore flashed like a slideshow through his mind. "I sure hope so."

  "Well, you best do something more than hope." She picked up her teacup and took the last sip before stacking the plates and adding his cup to the pile. "Maybe you should call her and make a date before it gets much later."

  "I don't want to look too anxious."

  She laughed. "You don't have enough time to look too anxious. Call her and make another date. Oh, and it would help if you actually showed up for the date you make."

  Mike stood and carried the teapot into the kitchen and felt as if he got the bum's rush. She gave him a kiss. "You go now, call that girl of yours, and then get some sleep." She practically pushed him to the door and outside her apartment.

  He stuck his hands in his pocket and thought about what she'd said. Maybe Mum did know best.

  Annabelle took a five-mile run around the park until she was thoroughly exhausted. As she pulled her keys from the hidden pocket of her shorts, the streetlights flickered on. She was thankful the days were getting longer.

  In the shower, she replayed her quasi-date with Mike for the hundredth time. She couldn't help but wonder what would have happened if Rich hadn't shown up and ruined everything. Though, to be honest, it hadn't looked as if Mike was interested in a repeat of the previous night minus the wedding, the champagne, and her drunkenness. Sheesh, she was a complete washout as a woman.

  She wrapped her hair in a towel, smoothed lotion on her legs and arms, and tried to get her mind on anything other than Mike Flynn. She'd heard that wearing sexy lingerie made women feel better about themselves and their sexuality. She didn't hold out much hope, but gave it a try. Anything would be better than feeling like a washout, so she slipped into a sexy, new red baby-doll nightie and matching lace itty-bitty boy shorts.

  She couldn't remember if she'd drawn the curtains, so she pulled on her short silk batik robe and enjoyed the tingle caused by the cool silk sliding over her sensitized skin. She'd probably stayed under the shower massage too long since she was daydreaming about Mike and the little she remembered about making love with him. Not that they made love. They had sex. It sure didn't resemble what she and Chip had done together, which in her mind, wasn't a bad thing. But her emotions weren't involved. Not that they couldn't be in the future, but really, for right now anyway, she just wanted the sex. A totally new thing for her.

  Deciding to take her mind out of the gutter, she left her bedroom and poured herself a glass of wine before she curled up on the couch. She surfed through three hundred channels without finding one thing to watch.

  Frustrated, she stomped to the den to check her email. She clicked on the email with "proofs" in the subject line. Great, since she'd planned the wedding and signed all the contracts, the photographer had her email address and sent her the link and password to the site where she could download the proofs. Annabelle forwarded the link to Nick and Rosalie, and since she had nothing better to do, she downloaded the pictures. There was a great picture of Nick and Mike. They could have been a couple of models with Nick in his tux and Mike in a beautiful suit. He had the air of a man who was just as comfortable in a suit as he was out of it. And from what she knew of him, it was true enough. There was a picture of him kneeling in front of her, sliding the garter up her thigh. The look in his eyes was the same he'd given her when he'd kissed her that afternoon. A picture of the two of them on the dance floor. They fit together so perfectly. And another of them dancing together with her looking up at him, laughing.

  She closed down the website and stared blankly at her computer's desktop. She couldn't remember ever dancing with Chip. Annabelle lost herself in memories, something she had avoided the last two years. The screen saver of all the photos she'd stored on her computer ran like a slideshow of her life. She watched and wondered what would have been. A photo of Becca taken at the beach filled the screen. She was tall, thin, with long legs and a body most people have to spend a lifetime at the gym to achieve. Not Becca; she was active but never really worked out. It should be illegal to look that way without even trying. Annabelle shook her head. Becca's short platinum blonde hair was perfectly wind-whipped. If Annabelle hadn't taken the picture herself, she'd have sworn a photographer had set up a fan to give Becca the perfect look. Becca's almost white hair along with the gorgeous tan she'd acquired in the two days they'd spent on the beach only highlighted her deep green eyes. She flashed her crooked smile, and Annabelle remembered them laughing at the antics of one of the Bethany Beach lifeguards who had been trying to catch Becca's attention.

  A picture of Becca and Chip taken before his cancer had returned appeared on the screen, and that's when it hit her.

  Mike's smile seemed familiar because she'd seen the very same smile a thousand times. Mike's smile matched Becca's.

  Oh, shit.

  Chapter 4

  Annabelle shook the image of Mike's smile out of her head and told herself Mike could not be related to Becca. Chip's death had been hard on Becca—probably more so because of the twin thing. Becca felt lost and alone with her psychotic mother and her father, who since his divorce, was more distant than ever. Mike had said his father was a doctor, a cardiologist no less. Talk about an eerie coincidence. Dr. Larsen was a cardiologist, too. Still, was it fair to get Becca's hopes up when the chance of any relation was so minuscule? No. Stuff like that only happened in soap operas or really bad TV movies. Annabelle had never heard of one person discovering a long lost brother, cousin, or even second cousin twice removed. Unfortunately, that annoying little voice in her head—the one she was sure was implanted by Sister John Claire—wouldn't let it go.

  Just the thought of Sister John Claire made a shiver run though Annabelle's body, and not in a good way. After thirteen years under the tutelage of nuns, she'd learned a healthy—or unhealthy, depending on how you looked at it—respect for them, bordering on fear. Unfortunately, though she got away from the school, she'd never been able to get away from Sister John Claire's voice. The same voice that kept nudging her to tell Becca everything.

  Annabelle grabbed the phone from the sofa table and dialed. "Becca, it's me."

  "Gee, I didn't expect to hear from you until tomorrow. How was it?"

  "How was what?"

  "Oh, that bad, huh?"

  "What the hell are you talking about?"

  "Sex with Mike. What else would I be talking about? Last week on As Annabelle's World Turns…" Becca lowered her voice to sound like a TV announcer. "…Annabelle was going to seduce hot, hot, hot Dr. Mike Flynn and see if he's as good in bed when she's sober as he was when she was drunk."

  "That didn't work out. Richie dropped by and joined us for dinner."

  "Your brother? Why would he drop by?"

  "He knew I had a date, thanks to Mama, and he decided I needed protection. Then, after Mike gave him a free ride in helping with the dishes, Richie planted himself on my couch, took control of the remote, and I couldn't get him to leave without the aid of an incendiary device."

  "Poor you. All horny and no one to—"

  "Becca!"

  "What? You're not horny? Have you given BOB a trial run? Did you have fun? I mean, I know it's not like the real thing, but in a pinch—"

  "No." Annabelle could swear she blushed right down to her toes, which was nothing compared to the
way she'd blushed when she'd opened Becca's Christmas present. Thank God they'd been alone. Who gives their best friend a battery-operated boyfriend—Becca's way of saying vibrator—for a Christmas present? Annabelle was certain she'd have died of embarrassment if anyone else had seen it. And BOB was so huge. She didn't think the real things were that big—well, until she saw Mike's, and that's only if she'd remembered correctly. She almost hoped it had been the champagne talking, but she'd never heard that alcohol messed with a person's vision. Their reflexes—sure. Their judgment—obviously. But their vision? She doubted it.

  "Don't tell me you actually believe that you'll go blind if you have a self-induced orgasm?"

  "Bec, I don't need that."

  "Honey, everyone needs that."

  "You know what I mean. It's like tickling yourself—it doesn't work."

  Earlier, for about three seconds, she'd considered trying out her Christmas present but hadn't been able to get up the nerve. She'd never been that good at pretending. No way would she ever be able to think of Mike while holding a pearl-filled fluorescent purple vibrator in the shape of—well, what they're usually in the shape of. What the pearls were for, she had no idea, but she couldn't help thinking they'd be better off on a necklace than in a mechanical version of a silicone penis. Becca had even put the batteries in it after Annabelle had opened her "gift." Four batteries. What it did with all that amperage she couldn't imagine. Did it dance around and sing karaoke? She'd been tempted to rev it up just to see what the dang thing did and probably would have if the slightest chance existed of getting rid of the itchy feeling she'd been unable to ignore since she'd awoken with Mike.

  "Has anyone ever told you that you're repressed?"

  "Other than you? No. Can we please change the subject?"

  "Sure. No more talk of vibrators. Check. So, how do you plan to get laid?"

  All Annabelle could do was groan.

  Becca smiled as she hung up the phone. Annabelle was just too predictable. Becca stretched out on the window seat and pulled a throw over her legs. The only reason she had the air-conditioning running was to make the humidity bearable. After Mommy Dearest had threatened to have Annabelle evicted from the apartment she'd shared with Chip, Becca helped pack the apartment, and Annabelle had given her all of Chip's sweatshirts. Becca rubbed the soft fleece on her rolled-up sleeve and cursed her brother. As much as she loved Chip, she hated the way he had taken advantage of Annabelle. He'd used her in his battle against their parents. He hadn't protected her from them before he got sick, and he hadn't arranged to protect her from them after his death.

  Chip had loved Annabelle as much as he knew how. But it hadn't been enough, and at the time, Annabelle had such a low self-esteem, she didn't think she deserved more.

  Becca let out a frustrated breath and kicked the throw off her legs. In the two years since Chip's death, she'd worried that the Annabelle she knew and loved was lost forever. Annabelle was like a living, breathing zombie. She couldn't deal with the pain, so she buried it. She walked through her life numb and so detached, she allowed her mother to run her life and railroad her into an engagement to the pig, Johnny.

  The best thing that ever happened to Annabelle was catching Johnny boinking the help. But it wasn't until this morning when Becca spoke to Annabelle that she knew something had changed. Whoever Mike Flynn was, he'd been the only one to reach Annabelle. It sounded as if she could very well have met her own Prince Charming. One night with Mike, and she seemed to have stopped sleepwalking though life.

  Thank God.

  Less than two hours after Mike had said good-bye to Annabelle, he was outside her apartment, ringing the intercom.

  "Yes?"

  Good, she was home. Now what? "Annabelle, it's Mike. Do you have a minute?"

  "Mike? Um … sure."

  The door buzzed, and he opened it. He wasn't sure what he was thinking, showing up unannounced, except that he needed to see her alone. Mum had been right. It was time to start living.

  Mike heard the locks disengage as he stepped up to her door. She met him wearing a short silk robe. Her hand held the top closed, and the tie at her waist was so tight, it looked as if it might cut off her circulation. He could well imagine what the robe covered. Her hair hung in damp ringlets down her back, and she smelled like orange and vanilla mixed. His own personal dreamsicle.

  She stepped aside to let him in and continued to back away until she hit the chair. She was nervous, if the white knuckles of her hand holding the top of her robe together meant anything. "Is something wrong?"

  "No. Nothing's wrong."

  Still holding her robe in a death grip with one hand, she pushed her hair back with the other. "Do you want some wine? There's plenty left over from dinner. I just poured myself a glass."

  She stared at his mouth, but not in a way that made him think she wanted to kiss him—more curious than sexual. He smiled, and her eyes widened. "What, do I have something in my teeth? You're looking at me funny."

  "Oh, sorry. No. I didn't expect to see you. I actually wondered if I'd ever see you again after that dinner, or should I say, the Italian inquisition. I'm sorry about Rich. He can be such a pain."

  "I didn't mind. I know if I had a sister, I'd check out all the guys she dated and threaten them too."

  Annabelle blanched, just like the first time he'd seen her. He took her cold hand in his. "Are you okay?"

  "Yes." She shook her head, her body language belying her words, and then shook it again. He waited for her to tell him what was bothering her. She said nothing, just bit her lip, and stared with those fathomless blue eyes. Whatever the problem was, Mike wanted to solve it, or at least alleviate the burden. Barring that, he thought he'd take her mind off whatever it was. He bent his head and kissed her, tasting the rich Cabernet she drank, the unease surrounding her, and then he tasted surrender. What started out as an innocent comforting kiss missed the mark entirely. He didn't know when he'd lost control. It started out fine as a couple of soft whisper kisses, a touch of the lips, the tentative swipe of his tongue for a taste, but once she opened for him, everything went haywire. In the space of two heartbeats, his arms enveloped her, her sexy little silk-robed body molded to his, and her scent engulfed him. His hands traveled down to her perfect ass clad in clingy lace, and when she wrapped one of her mile-long legs around his, pulling his thigh between hers, he was lost.

  Annabelle could happily spend years kissing Mike. She loved the way he teased her lips before asking permission to enter. When he entered, he was not in a race to examine her tonsils. As his tongue touched hers, she didn't know quite what happened.

  Afraid that he'd stop, she did the only thing she could think of: she jumped him. Literally. Luckily, his hand was already on her ass, so when she jumped up and wrapped her legs around him, both his hands cupped her butt and held her tight against him. She couldn't help but wiggle. The hard ridge of his erection rubbed against her. His jeans and her panties together caused enough friction to send tremors strong enough to be picked up on a seismograph.

  Mike was on the move, and she was happy he went no farther than the couch because she really wanted to wiggle some more. When he sat, she wiggled around a whole lot while she unhooked her legs from around his waist and brought them to either side of his, their clothes the only things separating them from doing what Annabelle had been dreaming of all day. She took a deep breath and uttered the only word that could improve the situation. "Condoms?"

  "Sure, where are they?" Mike pulled her closer and lifted his hips, increasing the pressure against her and in her.

  "How do I know? You're the guy."

  "I left mine at home. You don't have any here?"

  "Why would I have condoms? I never wanted to have sex before, and it's not like I wear them."

  "You don't like sex?"

  Why had she opened her big mouth? Oh, shit. How was she going to get out of this one? Should she tell him that she'd often been referred to as an ice queen or, her personal f
avorite, a prick tease? Should she tell him the word "frigid" had been mentioned more than once when she and Johnny had been fighting? Even Chip had been known to mumble that particular F-word under his breath.

  She'd been mortified since she'd thought she'd done okay faking it. She'd never turned him down when he wanted to make love—she just never initiated it. Sex was never good between them, and it was all her fault. She couldn't help she wasn't easy to arouse. That's just the way she was, or so she'd thought until she'd awoken with Mike. It was as if being with him had flipped a switch, and all of a sudden, she spent 90 percent of her time thinking about having sex with Mike. The other 10 percent thinking about taking BOB out for a test drive because she was so desperate.

  Mike took a deep breath and blew it out. Annabelle winced. He was pissed, and she couldn't blame him. She sure threw water on scorching coals with that stupid comment. Why was it she had no filter around him? "I'm sorry. Don't be mad…"

  Mike smiled, a pained smile, but still a smile. He had an amazing crooked smile.

  "Belle, I'm not mad, honey, but I think we need to talk about this—"

  She arched her back and pressed her hot body against his. He was still hard. "Can't we talk later?" She couldn't tell if the strangled sound he made was a yes, but she chose to take it that way. "Please?"

  Something wet and cold pressed against her butt. She glanced over her shoulder and cringed when Dave's nose nudged her again.

  "No, Dave!"

  Dave jumped on the couch and sat next to them, his head as high as Mike's, and his doggy breath washed over them. Talk about three being a crowd.

  Mike held her and stood. She clung to his neck, and once he cleared the couch, she wrapped her legs around his waist. Mike's walk toward the bedroom was the most pleasurable trip she'd ever taken. The friction made her catch her breath and arch her back. She never knew anything could feel that good. When they got into the bedroom, Mike kicked the door shut, but instead of heading toward the bed, he turned into the bathroom.