Scandalized!: Risqué Business

by Lori Foster

  Three and a half hours later, she typed up the last of her notes and read the review. Was it enough to win readers’ votes?

  Nick had chosen a classic as his third book. Probably banking on the average genre reader shunning Jane Austen’s work. Too many would read it and fall back on their high school English analysis, rather than really see the story’s intricate message.

  Her review challenged them to dig deeper. It was more than an opinion piece, it was the culmination of everything she was as a teacher. An ode to the work, written in such a way as to encourage the reader to decide for themselves what the story was about.

  But was it enough? For the first time, she was beset with doubts about her ability as a reviewer. And as a teacher.

  Finally, unable to stand doubt in the one area of her life where she’d always felt confident, Delaney closed her eyes and hit the Send button. There. Third review submitted. And she’d have to win this one to win the bet.

  Exhausted, Delaney stared at the computer screen. She wasn’t any closer to winning her private bet with Nick than she was to winning the public one.

  Time to change that. With a determined jut of her chin, she booted up the Internet for research. It was time to figure out how to convince Nick that emotion, that intimacy—was vital.

  After all, she had everything riding on winning.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “A PICNIC,” NICK repeated blankly. He had to have misheard Delaney. The point of her insistence on dating was to prove that emotions were more satisfying than lust. What would a picnic prove? How to intensify his frustration at not getting any? “You’re kidding, right?”

  Delaney shot him a wry look and kept on gathering stuff. Wicker basket, blanket, bag of what looked like…toys? Nick squinted, but couldn’t tell. She really meant it. His incredulous gaze shot back to meet her laughing brown eyes.

  “A picnic will be great,” she assured him as she headed for the door of her apartment, blatantly ignoring his dismay. “Fresh air, relaxing atmosphere. C’mon, it’s going to be fun.”

  The door open now, she cast a glance back over her shoulder and rolled her eyes. “What? You hate picnics or something?”

  Nick searched his brain for picnic-related opinions, but didn’t find any so he just shrugged.

  “Have you ever been on a picnic before?” she asked.

  “No,” he answered, not sure why he sounded—or felt—so sheepish.

  “Then come on, it’s a new experience. I thought you were all about those.”

  “Sure. When they deal with sex or adventure. Not sitting on the damp grass battling bugs for my lunch.”

  Her eyes flashed at the mention of sex. Nick was glad to see the smoldering heat there, assuring him he wasn’t the only one suffering through these stupid dates so she could try to prove her point. A point she’d been much closer to making with the dinner and dancing torture than with this picnic idea.

  Then the heat banked and she gave him a friendly smile. Nick wanted to growl. Even more, he wanted to toss her on the couch and relive the incredible memories they’d created there just a couple weeks before.

  Following her rules was killing him.

  “I’ll protect you,” she promised, oblivious to his turmoil. She reached back to grab his wrist and pulled him through the door to the nebulous safety of their picnic.

  An hour later Nick admitted, “This is nice. I wouldn’t call it fun, but it doesn’t suck.”

  He reclined on the blanket, the thick grass creating a cushy mattress beneath his back. A large mulberry tree offered shade as well as an intriguing pattern of dappled light playing over Delaney’s hair.

  Damn, she was gorgeous.

  “Doesn’t suck, huh? High praise, indeed,” Delaney retorted with a laugh.

  The sounds of the park, birds and children’s laughter filled the air with a carefree happiness. Weird, how it made him feel lighter. Not passionate, though, so he still didn’t see how this was working into her argument. Then it hit him. Maybe this was just what it appeared. A relaxing, comfortable outing between two people who were… What?

  Nick frowned as he watched her gather the food containers and restack them in the basket. Were they friends? He could talk to her about anything, actually looked forward to their discussions since she made him think beyond his comfort zone. They laughed together, had mutual interests, similar tastes. All friend-type things. How about lovers? That implied an intimacy that went beyond lusty sex, didn’t it? But, as much as he’d like to claim otherwise, he wished they were. One night of incredible, mind-blowing sex hadn’t been enough.

  Nick’s gaze traced the sharp line of her jaw, the sweet curve of her lips. He wanted her. More than he could remember ever wanting another woman. He’d suggested the bet be a month-long fling partially because a month was about his limit for relationships. While she’d definitely put a crimp in his timeline, Nick knew he wanted to be with her long after the month was up. He could have her every night for the next year and still not do all the things he’d been dreaming of with her.

  Delaney pulled out a tub of cookies, distracting him from the other hunger gnawing at him. He groaned and pressed a hand to his stomach. Since this was the only appetite of his she was agreeing to feed right now, he promised himself he’d add another mile to his morning run and reached for three.

  “Do you eat like this at every picnic?” he asked.

  Her look was both shy and sad. He wanted to drop the cookies and give her a hug, but the tilt of her chin defied pity.

  “Honestly? This is my first picnic, too.” She shrugged at his look of shock. “I usually walk in this park for exercise, you know? I always see people picnicking. Families, couples. It seemed…special.”

  Ignoring her “don’t feel sorry for me” air, he reached over and took her hand. “If you wanted to eat in the park before, why didn’t you just do it? You strike me as a woman who always goes after what she wants, even if it’s as simple as eating on the grass.”

  She started to say something, then shook her head. “When I was a kid, my father was always too busy. Even if he’d had time to do things, the dean… I mean, Dad was definitely not the kind of guy for outdoorsy activities. He was more into a trip to the library.”

  The dean. Nice nickname for her father. Nick wondered what kind of uptight guy ended up being coined that by his only daughter.

  “My family wasn’t the picnicking type, either,” Nick admitted, watching the play of their fingers instead of looking at Delaney’s face as he confessed his deep dark secret. “My dad took off before I was born, and Mom…? Well, she wasn’t into spending time with me at all unless there was a purpose in it. You know, impress the potential husband with her mommy skills. But she always picked things like ice cream parlors or pizza joints. Stuff that would keep my mouth filled so I wouldn’t out her. This actually might be my first foray into a public park.”

  He met her eyes, searching for pity, but only seeing acceptance. She really was different than other women. Tension he hadn’t even realized was there poured off his shoulders. Blaming the unwholesome fresh air for his urge to share, for the first time ever, Nick opened up. They talked about his childhood and hers. Compared growing up with absentee parents, meeting expectations, and their own forms of rebellion.

  “So writing was your way of getting back at your mom?” she asked, her eyes huge with surprise. “How? I mean, I think of rebelling as running wild, breaking rules, doing things that bring embarrassment to the parent….”

  Her voice trailed off and she frowned. Her gaze dropped to the blanket and she blinked a few times, then met his eyes again.

  Nick wasn’t sure why the thought had hit her so hard. He didn’t know if it was that sad look in her eyes, or the odd serenity of the park setting, but he heard himself being alarmingly honest.

  “It’s a little hard to embarrass someone who doesn’t realize you’re there,” he explained. “Writing was more of an escape. A way to step outside the constant emot
ional drama that my mother thrived on. Once I’d sold, it became a badge, in a way. You know, that I was…well, special.”

  Nick winced. What a pansy-assed thing to say. He waited for Delaney’s laugh, but it didn’t come. Instead she curved her fingers through his and lifted his hand to her mouth. A soft kiss over his knuckles and his insides melted.

  “I’m so glad you found that affirmation,” she told him. Her eyes made it clear she hadn’t. “You’re incredibly gifted and deserve to know it.”

  He wanted to tell her she was gifted and special, too. To show her how incredible he thought she was. Nick had no idea how to deal with the emotions slamming through him, demanding he share. They scared the shit out of him. It was all he could do not to get up and run.

  “Did you want to write?” he asked, changing the subject in typical fashion.

  “Definitely not. I’m a reader,” she said, her tone adamant. “I admire, even revere the written word and am blown away by the creativity it takes to bring a story from imagination to paper. But my father views commercial fiction as the equivalent of crack for the brain.”

  “He must be ecstatic that you review it for a living then,” Nick laughed.

  The look on her face, guilt mixed with stubborn rebellion, assured him her father didn’t have a clue. Nick laughed again. Good for her. Her moxie was part of what made her so fascinating.

  “Just like I don’t write my reviews looking for approval, I don’t pick my reading material based on what he, or anyone else, thinks is appropriate. I’m just as likely to read Nick Angel erotic suspense as I am Homer, Jane Austen or J. K. Rowling.”

  “I’m honored you’d even categorize me with those authors,” he said truthfully. The image of one of his books stacked on the bookstore checkout counter with their works was humbling.

  “Well,” she said with brutal honestly, “I wouldn’t say you’re at the same level that they are. After all, their works all focus on that one thing you’re so determined to avoid.”

  “Emotion,” they said together.

  She giggled, the sadness gone from her eyes. Relief surged through Nick.

  “Your stories provide an escape,” she assured him. “They definitely fill a niche. But—” she shrugged one silken shoulder and gave him a smile that made him want to leap tall buildings and carry trains over his head “—you’re so much more than that. Your talent is amazing, why wouldn’t you harness it?”

  “Why push for emotions, since they are such a part of the real world crap most people are looking to hide from?”

  “But that’s just it, I don’t believe people are reading to escape emotions, they are reading to see emotions triumph. At least,” she corrected, leaning forward to take a bite of his cookie, “positive emotions.”

  As he considered, Nick broke off another piece of the cookie and fed it to her. Her lips closed on the tip of his fingers. There was a crumb, a tiny one, in the corner of her mouth he wanted to lick away. But he wouldn’t. Not because he was being some good boy following her rules. But because he figured the kids in the sandbox didn’t need a graphic lesson on how to pleasure a woman. Realizing Delaney was still speaking he forced himself to listen to her words.

  “Romance might focus on love, but other genres pull at emotions just as much. Read a war novel, they focus on the terrors, the triumphs. Horror focuses on fear, but the best ones use our emotions to heighten that fear, to build on it.”

  True. For the first time, Nick considered—really considered—her pitch to add emotion to his work. He’d always equated that to adding ketchup to a porterhouse steak. Pointless. But maybe, just maybe, there were ways to bring emotions into his writing that wouldn’t be a sellout. Or pure fluff.

  Not realizing she’d already made a breakthrough, Delaney reached over to tap his hip. He followed the thrust of her chin to see an elderly couple strolling along, hand in hand.

  He looked back at her, sure he was focusing on the wrong thing. Nope. She was looking at the old people, a sappy look on her face.

  Catching his skepticism, she rolled her eyes. “I’m not suggesting you write octogenarian love. I’m just pointing out how enduring emotions are.”

  He cast another doubtful look at the white-haired couple, who were now seated on a bench a few feet away. Gotta give the old guy credit, Nick thought as the aged hunk leaned over and kissed his lady.

  “A point for intimacy,” Delaney said with a laugh. “There’s no way you can write them off to lust. I’ll bet they’ve kissed at least a thousand times, but he still slips her the tongue.”

  Delaney snickered when he averted his eyes.

  “You go to fantasy clubs and watch strangers do it against the wall,” she pointed out. “You’ve probably watched more depraved acts than I can even imagine in the name of research. Yet proof that intimacy—emotion—is enduring and sweet, and you look away?”

  She gave him a long look under arched brows and asked, “Why?”

  Good question. Instead of trying to answer it, Nick did what he did best. Took the opportunity.

  Holding her gaze captive with his, he leaned closer, until he could smell the chocolate on her breath, see her eyes go wide. Heat, edgy and intense, flashed in those dark depths. Her eyes flew past his shoulder and she frowned.

  “Trust me,” he said as he slid his hand into her hair, lifting her mouth to his. Teasing them both, he kept the kiss light and easy. A soft brush of his lips over hers, the gentlest stroke of his fingers. The taste of her tempted him to delve deeper, to take her mouth with all the passion coursing through his body. But Nick forced himself to hold back. He only traced her lips with the tip of his tongue instead of plunging it deep into her mouth. He only rubbed his fingers over her silken hair instead of gripping it in his fists. It almost killed him, but he held back.

  With a shuddering sigh, he pulled his mouth away and, with his forehead leaning against hers, stared into her eyes. Emotions, unfamiliar and not really welcome, wound through his system. All he wanted to do was hug her close while he tried to figure out what they meant.

  She blinked, three slow flutters of those thick lashes. Then she pursed her lips.

  “I’d say you have a pretty solid handle on passion,” she said softly. “Even if you can’t admit it yet, you’ve already proven intimacy’s power over lust.”

  Pleasure fled as Nick’s stomach knotted. Well, hell. Was she right? Nick looked into the laughing depths of Delaney’s eyes. He’d have to hang out for just a little while longer and see.

  *

  DELANEY’S QUESTION POUNDED at Nick later that night as he sat down to write. He could recite, song and verse, all his reasons for avoiding that emotional claptrap in his writing.

  But were they reasons, or excuses?

  Did it matter? Whether he liked it or not, Delaney had pushed open a door. Now, the story that had been so solid and workable in his head was spinning in a million directions, and he knew the only way to regain control was to simply sit down and write.

  As his fingers flew over the keyboard, the scene solidified in his mind. It looked like he was about to see, once and for all, if her pushing for emotions in his work would enhance his writing.

  Or ruin him, once and for all.

  *

  “I THINK I’M IN TROUBLE,” Delaney said as she shoved her chocolate cake around the plate with her fork.

  “If you don’t quit playing with that cake and eat it, the chef is probably going to come over and really show you what trouble is,” Mindy warned with a gesture to the counter of the dessert-only restaurant.

  Delaney looked over and caught the glower on the owner’s face. Oops. She gave a wave with her fork and scooped up a mouthful of the decadently rich dessert. But halfway to her mouth, she sighed and set it back on her plate.

  “So Nick’s hot and sweet and beyond sexy in bed,” Mindy said impatiently. “These aren’t evil traits to have in a guy.”

  “They may as well be,” Delaney said. She stared at the swirls and line
s she’d made in her mushed-up cake, then met Mindy’s gaze. “I think I’m falling for him.”

  “Shit.”

  “Eloquently put,” Delaney said.

  “But that’s crazy.”

  “Hence the trouble I spoke of.”

  Mindy grimaced. Unlike Delaney, she dealt with worries in the time-honored way—she ate the chocolate. In big, contemplative bites. Delaney knew well enough to let her finish her mousse-filled éclair without interrupting. She went back to making food art out of her cake while she waited.

  “Okay, maybe it’s just great sex,” Mindy said around her last bite.

  “Better than great, but that’s not it.”

  Mindy shook her head and, shoving her so-clean-she-could-have-licked-it plate aside, leaned her elbows on the table. “No, you’ve never had ‘Oh, my god’ sex before. It messes with your brain. Gets you thinking crazy, wishing on rainbows and crap.”

  Delaney paused in the act of forming her frosting into a flower to gape at her friend. “Rainbows and crap?”

  “You know what I mean. Great sex, the kind that keeps you awake at night remembering how it felt, reliving it, that’s the stuff that makes you think of happily-ever-after.”

  “Or maybe just about doing it again with upgrades.”

  “You could have upgraded that sex?” Mindy’s mouth formed an O, her blue eyes bright and glittery with shock. “But… But, you said he was incredible. How do you upgrade that?”

  “I meant upgrades on my part,” Delaney admitted. “You know, toys, accessories, kinky fetish things.”

  Mindy’s mouth opened and closed a couple of times, but nothing but squeaks came out. It amused Delaney enough to finally scoop up a bite of fudge frosting.

  “Well, then,” Mindy finally said. She puffed out a breath, then shrugged. “If that’s what you want, what’s keeping you from it? The bet?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe at first, the bet was to prove my point. Now, my career depends on it.” With a curl of her lip, Delaney gave the frosting a vicious jab with her fork.