by Lori Foster
“Isn’t that one of those pre-sex courtship moves?” she asked in an offhand tone. He could tell she was affected, though, by the rise and fall of those delicious breasts.
“Is it? Does that mean we’re going to have sex if I do it right?” Her hand in his, he led her to the dance floor.
She laughed as she moved into his arms. He almost groaned when he realized how perfectly she fit. This was insane. Her, the book, Gary, all demanding emotion from him. And him, wanting to give it to them. Insane.
“I meant it was the kind of thing, if you believe that lust drives relationships, that would fall by the wayside after the first sexual encounter. Don’t you think?”
“I think I get turned-on when you talk all brainy like that.”
“Ahh, then lust is still driving this relationship,” she joked. Something flashed in her eyes, though, that made Nick drop his smile.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” he said, truly puzzled. “Why? I thought it was just my books you had an issue with. But now that we know each other, I can see it’s not that. Are you really so anti-lust?”
“Are you really so anti-emotion?”
“Emotions inevitably lead to pain,” he pointed out.
“Is that opinion based on personal experience?” she asked softly, her hand rubbing his shoulder comfortingly in what he figured was probably an unconscious gesture.
Deliberate or not, it did make him feel good. Safe was the word that came to mind, as stupid as that sounded. He tried to shrug off the weird feeling.
“Of course not,” he lied. “I told you, I don’t do emotions.”
“Ever?” The look she gave him pierced clear to his soul, making further lies impossible.
Nick puffed out a breath and gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Let’s just say I don’t do them anymore.”
She looked like she wanted to ask why. Nick steeled himself, not wanting to go there but not sure he wouldn’t answer any question she put to him.
But she just pursed her lips and nodded, then snuggled closer, her head on his chest as the music washed over them.
Good. Topic closed, with minimal poking into his wounded psyche. Wrapping his arm tighter around her waist, Nick still frowned. Why hadn’t she pushed the subject? Because she was perfectly satisfied with the sex—incredible sex—and didn’t care enough about him as a person to want to know more? He was going to ignore the fact that she’d put that incredible sex on hold. His fragile male ego proclaimed that was a maneuver to win the bet.
Or was she not pushing him because, despite his feeling closer to her than any other woman he’d known, she didn’t think he had the emotional depth of a mud puddle.
Nick rolled his eyes. Shit, look at him. Open the door to emotions and he was off, worrying like a teenage girl in the dramatic throes of her first crush. Stupid, pointless and, considering the sexy woman moving so seductively in his arms, completely crazy.
Through with it now, he focused instead on how Delaney felt, as her slender body molded against his. His fingers smoothed the filmy fabric of her dress where it fell in a pleated waterfall over her hips. He raised the hand he held in his to his mouth, brushing a series of soft kisses across her knuckles. When she pulled back to give him a smile, he slid his tongue between her fingers. She gasped, her eyes going wide, then blurring. The desire in those brown depths sent his up another notch.
Nick steered them over to the edge of the dance floor, where the lights were the most dim, pressing her close with one hand. The music changed, going darker, bluesier.
Still holding her hand to his mouth, he sucked one finger in, playing his tongue over the delicate length of it. At the same time, he loosened his hold on her so just a tiny bit of space was between their bodies. As they moved, they rubbed in counterpoint against each other. When her nipples, hard and pointed, slid over his chest, Nick wanted to groan. Yeah, she was as turned-on as he was.
Shifting just a little, he slid his leg between hers and gave thanks that she was so tall. Unable to help himself, he laid her hand on his shoulder, then wrapped both of his on her hips. He buried his face in her curls, nuzzling her hair until he reached the side of her throat and ear. Her scent, a subtle spice, filled his senses as he kissed her silken flesh.
*
DELANEY COULDN’T CATCH her breath. She knew she needed to be smart, to hold onto some semblance of control. But it was almost impossible with the way Nick was making her feel. The sensation of his body rubbing against hers, his chest pressed to her nipples, his leg causing such delicious friction against her damp core…
“Dating,” she gasped as he pressed moist, hot kisses to her ear.
“Huh?”
“We’re supposed to be dating. Getting to know each other. Proving…something.”
God help her, she could barely remember her name, let alone what point she was trying to make.
“Lust versus intimacy,” he responded. There was just enough humor in his voice to keep the frustration also in it from making her feel guilty.
Delaney swallowed, meeting his eyes when he lifted his head. She gave him a weak smile, relieved when Nick smiled back.
“Right,” she agreed. “In my defense, I’m definitely feeling passionate right now.”
He laughed and stepped away. As soon as he did, her body craved the heat of his like a drug addict craved a fix. With a desperate, biting need.
Breathless, almost thoughtless, she was glad of Nick’s hand guiding her back to their table. As soon as he’d tucked her into her chair, the waiter was there with dessert.
Needing some satisfaction, Delaney dipped her finger into the rich creamy mousse garnishing the chocolate cake and sucked it into her mouth. The taste exploded on her tongue, almost as delicious as Nick had been.
She glanced over and caught the look on his face. A bubble of laughter burst out.
“You look like you’re going to cry,” she teased. “Did you want a bite?”
“Of you, definitely. Of the cake, not so much.”
No longer frustrated for some reason, she giggled. Then she dug into the cake, this time with her fork. Delaney deliberately focused on the dessert, needing the time, to clear her mind. Or more correctly, to reclaim her senses. Not willing to think about what’d almost happened on the dance floor or figure out how that played into their bet—to say nothing of her personal belief system—Delaney looked around the restaurant.
Her gaze landed on a couple, probably a few years younger than she and Nick. They sat, holding hands with their heads together. Their joy in each other was clear. She’d bet they never considered a choice between lust and love. It was obvious they’d simply embraced both.
She sighed, sucking the chocolate off her fork as she watched the guy kiss the pretty blonde’s hand. It looked sweet when he did it, where as when Nick had kissed hers it had been an erotic hot button.
“Sweet,” Nick said, unconsciously echoing her thought. He’d followed her gaze. She frowned at him, not sure if he was being sarcastic or not, given his views on the finer emotions. But he looked genuine.
He caught her narrow-eyed speculation and laughed. “Hey, I can appreciate romance, even if I don’t choose to take part in it.”
Delaney scooped up another bite of chocolate to keep from pointing out that a date that encompassed dinner, dancing and no possibility of sex might be considered romance in some circles.
There was an excited shriek, then a burst of laughter. Delaney and Nick both turned to see the couple they’d been watching wrapped in each other’s arms. The blonde stared at her hand over the guy’s shoulder, tears streaming down her face.
“Awwww, they just got engaged,” Delaney gushed, stating the obvious. “Now that’s sweet.”
Nick snickered. With a flick of his finger, he summoned their waiter. Delaney couldn’t hear what he murmured, but the waiter smiled and nodded.
“Sweet. Crazy, but sweet,” Nick agreed.
“Are you really such a cynic?” she challenge
d. “Don’t you know of any couples who have a solid, lasting relationship?”
He rubbed his chin as he considered the question. Then he shook his head. “Nope, sorry. I can’t think of anyone I know personally who’s escaped the emotional minefield unscathed.”
“That’s not what I asked,” she pointed at, poking toward him with her fork to make her point. “Do you know anyone, at all, who is happy in a relationship?”
“Define happy.”
Delaney rolled her eyes. Before she could launch her lecture, though, their waiter approached the celebrating couple with a bottle of champagne. From the way the guy’s eyes went wide, it must have been very pricy champagne.
When the waiter gestured to their table, her suspicions were confirmed. The couple mouthed “thank you” to Nick, who just smiled and nodded before turning back to face Delaney.
His eyes went wide at the look on her face.
“What?” he asked, his tone defensive.
“You’re a fraud.” Joy bubbled in her like the champagne the couple was currently toasting their future with.
“I beg your pardon?”
“You fake. You claim to be anti-romance, yet you send perfect strangers a bottle of what I’m guessing is the best champagne in the house? A totally unsentimental person simply doesn’t do that,” she declared, pressing both hands to the table and leaning forward to make her point.
Nick crossed his arms over his chest, the move stretching his jacket across his broad shoulders. The look on his face matched the stubborn tilt of his chin.
“Bullshit.”
“Eloquent, Mr. Author.”
“Total bullshit,” he clarified.
“You don’t say.”
She could see him actually grind his teeth.
“Just because I’m a nice guy, and appreciate seeing other people excited even if it’s for a totally doomed reason, doesn’t mean I’m sentimental.”
“Okay,” she said agreeably.
He glared.
“Maybe I was just trying to impress you,” he offered.
She couldn’t hold back her laughter. Giggling, she just shook her head and raised both brows as if to say “yeah, right.”
After a few seconds, Nick’s stubborn look melted into laughter. “Okay, fine. Think what you like.”
“I will.”
“I could use it as a plot device, you know.”
As Delaney finished dessert, Nick spun a story based on a bottle of poisoned champagne sent to the wrong couple. The more he spoke, the more animated the story became. When he stopped for breath, he gave a sheepish smile.
“Did you want to write that down while it’s fresh?” she asked, fascinated to watch his off-the-cuff brainstorm.
“Nah, it’s all in my head.” He shot a glance over at the couple, their hands curled together as they gazed into each other’s eyes. Then he gave her a wink. “You were right, in a way. Even if I don’t personally open myself up to emotional land mines, I can still appreciate the beauty of the idea.”
Before she could reply, the newly engaged couple came over to introduce themselves and offer their gratitude.
The beauty of Nick’s actions shook Delaney. Not only his kind gesture, but how friendly and encouraging he was with the pair. He might disdain expressing emotion in his stories, but he had so much of it inside him. She pressed her lips together to hold back tears. Because inside was where he’d keep it.
There wasn’t anything beautiful about what she was feeling as she watched him accept the couple’s thanks and chitchat with them. For them, falling in love might be sweet and fun. For her, she realized as her heart gave a sharp twist, it was pure hell.
Delaney’s gaze traced Nick’s features. The firm line of his jaw, his devastating smile. The laser-blue intensity of his eyes. He was gorgeous. But it was the sound of his laughter that did her in.
Didn’t it just suck that the man she was falling for came with a bona fide guarantee to never fall—or accept—love himself?
CHAPTER TEN
“BUT…BUT, THAT CAN’T be right,” Delaney stuttered. She stared at the bank of computers, her eyes flying from one monitor to the next as if the results would be different on one of them.
“I’m blown away, to be honest,” Sean said. “I thought you’d win by a landslide. I mean, your review of The Michelangelo Effect snared you a seventy-percent approval rating. Your review of Magnolia Summer is at less than thirty percent.”
“I can’t believe it.” Delaney dropped to the chair and stared off into space. Oddly enough, this book was one that after she’d turned in her review she and Nick had discussed and both agreed on. Delaney had originally been delighted at his pick. From a hugely prolific author of Southern fiction, the book should have been guaranteed to offer emotional depth and an intriguing plotline. But when Delaney had gotten an advanced copy, she’d been sick with disappointment. The emotion had been there, sure. But it’d been rushed and artificial. And even though she hated giving negative reviews she had to be honest. Her review had gone up on Sunday, the day after the book had hit the shelves. Today was Friday and it was clear the author’s fans were rabidly loyal.
“Look, don’t take it so hard,” Sean consoled. “The powers that be are blown away with your segment, to tell you the truth. You’re pulling in viewers, getting tons of mail. I just heard yesterday that they are probably going to offer you the spot permanently.”
Her worry over the review’s failure fled at Sean’s words. Delaney burst into slightly hysterical laughter.
“No way?”
“Yup. It’s not even about the Nick Angel angle, either. I mean, that’s how you kept the job originally, based on the potential attention. But you’re doing great on your own, bet notwithstanding.”
Delaney gave a baffled shake of her head. TV? Her, full-time? Sure she was starting to enjoy the job. Why wouldn’t she? She was finally able to focus on her true passion—commercial fiction.
“That’s flattering, Sean, but I’m only here for the summer.”
“Why? If they offer, it’d be a great contract. The show has a solid shot at being picked up regionally next year.”
“I have to get back to my real life,” she said with a shrug. A pang of regret hit her, hard and unexpected. She’d really miss doing the segments.
Of course, before she could get to missing it, or back to her old job, she had to win this review.
She might consider her private wager with Nick a purely wild gamble, but their original bet? The reviews? She’d made that with total confidence in her abilities.
She recalled her initial opinion that Nick had issued that side bet to distract her from their televised wager. Whether he had or not, it had apparently worked. Had being the operative word. Not anymore.
She had too much on the line to lose. Even to the man she was falling in love with.
*
BLACK NIGHT CLOSED around them like a shroud. The only sounds were the crickets’ cheerful death knell and his labored breathing.
“But, I love you,” he said, his voice ringing with the emotions he’d finally allowed out of that deep dark vault in his heart.
“I know you do,” she said, flicking a strand of silken hair over her shoulder and giving him that smile that promised heaven. “But I can’t let that change things.”
“Change things? I opened up to you. I shared my world, my secrets.” My heart, his mind yelled. But he didn’t say it aloud. She already had too much power. Even as he reeled with the pain of realizing who—what—she was, his training kicked in.
Eyes flicked to the left. To the right. The forest closed around them. Escape was there, it was up to him to find it. To get himself out of the trap he’d walked into with open eyes.
“You were great, too,” she told him with a wicked sort of laugh. “I’d heard you were a great lay, but you actually exceeded your own press. And the secrets, well, that’s why I’m done with you. I’ve got all I need, and now we’re taking you down.”
>
“You’re the black widow?” At least if he was going down, it’d be to one of the most notorious criminals in the country. His boss’d appreciate that.
This time her laughter was pure joy. That husky giggle of pleasure he’d fallen for. Amusement and pleasure mixed in those doe brown eyes as she shook her head at him.
“Hardly. I’m just a woman.”
“I love you,” he told her.
“I know,” she said.
Then she shot him.
Nick slapped the laptop screen closed.
God, he’d been reduced to writing total crap. Garbage. He hated it. Hated the story, hated the pansy-assed emotional dreck spewing across his screen.
He got up and paced his office. The pewter-gray tones of the room failed to soothe him, as did the view from the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the woods. Usually the sight of the rich dense foliage comforted him. It was his sanctuary. Now it sucked.
He considered going down to the kitchen for a drink, a snack. One of the large, sharp butcher knives. But it’d just be an excuse to avoid dealing with the trash he’d tried to pass off as writing.
He threw himself on the black leather sofa and dropped one arm over his eyes.
What was he supposed to do? Gary was nagging him to carry the emotions he’d put into his sex scene throughout the story. The guy had sent it on to the new editor for a look-see and he’d loved it. Raved, even. Nick wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Praise was always good, but it meant he’d want more.
Could he do more? Not if that shit on his computer was any indication.
He’d never been as grateful to hear a phone ring as he was just then. He was even desperate enough to still answer after seeing the caller ID.
“Angel,” he answered.
“Nicky? Get a hold of your agent and let him know he can throw away Jeremy’s manuscript,” his mother ordered. “The wedding is off.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
It was like turning on a faucet full blast. She spewed tears, lamenting the callous indifference of her newest love, the ruin of her life, the horrendous future ahead of her because of the broken heart she’d probably die from.