The Bare Facts

by Karen Anders

  He deepened the kiss, his sensuous lips flexing over hers in an urgent fierceness that left her breathless. He was breaking the very bonds of reality delving into fantasy. She felt him spread those heavily muscled thighs to give him better balance, jerking her hips against him by sliding his big hands over her buttocks.

  The pulsing heat from his groin reached out to her even through the thick fabric of his trousers and made her groan into his soft lips.

  The groan tightened his body. Even as he cursed himself for his lack of control, something inside him cried out with aching clarity that she was so exquisitely right for him it was criminal. She fit to him like a perfectly fashioned suit, like a woman was supposed to fit a man.

  Suddenly, the weekend seemed too far away. He wanted her right now. Kissing her wasn’t enough. He wanted to torture himself with her nakedness, press his mouth to all the soft intimate parts of her that would make her gasp and cry out. He wanted to bury himself into her so deeply he would be lost. He didn’t know why he was so attracted to her, why only she could ignite these wild, primal urges.

  But ever since Haley Lawton had walked into English 449, he’d wanted her.

  He broke the kiss and stared down into her face, memorizing the sweet angles and planes, the soft, dewy lips, her warm, sparkling eyes. Haley wasn’t for him and never had been, but he wanted her anyway.

  In fact, he shouldn’t be doing this at all in a public place where anyone he knew could come along and spot them, maybe even a wholesome NAPTA member.

  HALEY STEPPED AWAY from him. Something changed in his eyes and it made her suddenly self-conscious. “I can’t imagine what you’d think was an improper goodbye,” she said airily, backing away. “I’ll just hail a cab.” Keep it light, she told herself.

  “Haley…”

  She whirled and blew him a kiss and emitted what she hoped was a sultry laugh. When she turned around for one last look at him, he’d come into the glow of the streetlight. He pantomimed a phone to his ear. She nodded and waved as if they were two friends saying goodbye. But he looked so sexy standing in the soft halo of light. His dark hair gleamed like the shimmering night sky. She had to catch her breath.

  All the way home in the cab, Haley kept repeating to herself over and over, “It’s just sex. It’s only sex. Sex and fun.”

  Maybe, just maybe, she could convince herself she didn’t want anything else from gorgeous Dylan Malone.

  Maybe, just maybe, the sky would open up and it’d rain fat pink pigs, curly tails and all.

  2

  “RASPBERRY SAUCE.”

  “What?” Dylan would know that voice anywhere. The husky tone seduced him as if her warmth could be transmitted through the phone lines. He wondered what she was wearing.

  “Warm raspberry sauce, to be exact,” she said succinctly.

  She sounded so smug and confident. He liked that about her. Because of Haley’s beauty, her intelligence was something a lot of men overlooked. It was the first thing, well, almost the first thing that he’d thought was fascinating about her.

  “You hungry?” He teased. “Haley, it’s not even time for lunch.”

  “What?”

  “Lunch.”

  “No. The fantasy. Dylan, focus,” she scolded.

  He wondered if she was home.

  “Picture this. Warm raspberry sauce, a hot, crackling fire, bearskin rug, me and you stretched out on that rug.”

  He needed a distraction. He had an ad meeting in ten minutes and he didn’t need a hard-on. “Don’t tell me you want a rustic cabin.”

  “That would be nice but not essential. Besides, I could write that in if I wanted to. Hey, that might work.”

  “I can provide the rustic cabin.”

  “You can?”

  The pleasure in her voice made the bulge in his pants tighten. “My parents have a place in the Sourland Mountains.”

  “In Jersey?” Haley said, taking a bite of something crunchy.

  “What’s wrong with Jersey?” Dylan could imagine that delectable mouth, those provocative lips.

  “I’m worried about the travel time. How far would we have to go?”

  “Just an hour.” He assured her.

  “That’s doable.”

  “The only problem is, I don’t know where I’m going to find a bearskin rug.” An edgy, prickling heat scorched his nerve endings.

  “Don’t you have one to seduce all your hot babes?”

  “Very funny. Doing stand-up now?”

  “I’ll provide the rug. Jeez, for an ad exec you don’t have much of an imagination.”

  His voice lowered an octave. “Haley, I have a great imagination. I can imagine what you’re wearing right now.”

  “Is that so? Go ahead.”

  “I’d say you just got out of the shower, your skin is dewy and fresh, your hair wrapped in a hot-pink bath towel. You’re wearing one of those silky red Chinese robes with a pair of those very sexy bedroom slippers with fuzzy feathers on them.”

  He could hear her pour the coffee. “You’re at a breakfast bar. The silky robe has fallen aside to reveal your shapely calf and just a hint of mouthwatering thigh.”

  “And beneath the robe?”

  “Just sweet-smelling Haley.”

  He liked the way her voice sounded—breathless. “You really do have a good imagination, Dylan. I’m sorry I ever doubted you. Now it’s my turn. Let me guess what you’re wearing.”

  “Go ahead if you dare.”

  “Mmm, let me see. A suit.” She laughed and her laughter was so infectious he joined in.

  “I did want to mention that since I’ve begun on this NAPTA campaign, I’d need to be discreet.”

  “That’s fine, Dylan. I’ll make sure I don’t come up with any public fantasies, like making love in an elevator.”

  Dylan had to swallow hard, quickly changing the subject. “What time do you want to begin your first tutoring lesson?” Dylan asked.

  “How about one?”

  “Good, you can stay for dinner.” The thought of having Haley all to himself in a cozy cabin in the woods held great appeal. He wanted to explore her body for hours and hours.

  “No. I could be back on the road by three and home by four. The tutoring is all I’ll need.”

  “I thought we could drive together. I’ll rent a car.” Dylan’s stomach dropped. She had been serious when she’d stated that the fantasy was all that she was interested in. Dylan found himself pushing back his disappointment, realizing that her lack of interest in starting a relationship with him actually stung. But it brought him back to reality.

  “Only if you’re sure you don’t want to stay overnight and relax.”

  “No, but I would like to reimburse you for the cost of the rental.”

  Damn. Her attempt to make this more businesslike irked him. “Don’t worry about it. How about meeting me for lunch.” The invitation just came out of his mouth. He hadn’t meant to ask her, but he wanted to see her, if only for an hour.

  “I have a lunch meeting with my editor.”

  “All right, but if you change your mind, I’ll be at Figaro’s in the Village. Give me directions to your apartment.” He jotted down the directions. “Haley, before you go, was I right about what you’re wearing?”

  “No. Not quite. The towel around my head is hot orange. I’m wearing a black lace robe with a matching black lace teddy.” Her voice dropped to a sexy purr. “Oh, and Dylan. You got the leg part just right, but I don’t wear slippers. I’m barefoot.”

  Dylan groaned softly, cutting it off when his assistant poked her head in the office.

  “Hey, boss. Shake a leg. You’ve got a meeting right now in the conference room and Deborah Donovan is on the other line.”

  “Haley. I’ve got to go. I’ve got another call. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Dylan swallowed hard and closed his eyes. Conjuring up Haley’s dainty feet. That long swath of leg. He slipped his index finger into the collar of his shirt and tried to release
the pressure on his throat. Looked as if he was going to the meeting with his coat buttoned.

  HALEY HUNG UP the phone, picked up her toast and bit into the flaky crust. Her skin tingled. The man made her skin tingle first thing in the morning. She pulled down the oversize T-shirt she was wearing and unwound the orange towel from her head, freeing her heavy hair.

  She hadn’t the heart to tell him that she wasn’t wearing something sexy.

  She wondered who Deborah Donovan was. Probably one of his women. She finished off her toast. Suddenly, Haley felt very fragile and very shaky inside. She closed her eyes, clenching her jaw against her own emotions. She knew in her heart that she couldn’t accept a man who was not faithful. It was a tough, ingrained part of her personality, formed by two loving parents who had taught her well. It wouldn’t be smart to start anything with him.

  But she was such a fool. How many times had she relived that kiss last night? The way his mouth had moved over hers was like heaven. His hair had been so soft beneath her fingers, the skin of his nape hot and smooth. She wanted to take Deborah Donovan apart inch by inch.

  She looked up at the clock on the wall. She had no more time for daydreaming. Finishing off the rest of the toast on her plate, she rushed to her bedroom to get dressed. She had a thousand things to do today and at the top of her list were raspberry sauce and a bearskin rug.

  HOURS LATER with a large faux white bearskin rug she’d found at FAO Schwarz, Haley got into the back seat of a cab as her stomach rumbled. Glancing down at her watch, she discovered it was noon.

  She leaned forward and told the cabbie, “Figaro’s in the Village, please.” With a slashing motion he started the meter and they pulled recklessly into traffic. Being a seasoned New Yorker, Haley didn’t even notice. She was wondering if she’d lost her mind. Hadn’t she just told herself that she couldn’t get involved with Dylan on a personal level?

  Lunch wasn’t that personal. It was just food and conversation. Friends and acquaintances did it all the time. When the cab pulled up in front of Figaro’s, Haley looked out the window into the renowned restaurant that was frequented by many high-level executives. Her breath stopped in her lungs when she recognized Dylan sitting at a cozy table for two with a striking redhead, who leaned forward and touched Dylan’s arm intimately.

  Something tightened painfully around her heart. Something sharp and burning. Her anticipation drained out of her like water from a tub. And she knew what that something was. It was hope. Hope that she would find him alone and waiting for her. Only her.

  In defense, her anger flared for allowing herself to care, for the hot rush of her pulse, for being so stupidly stupid. It was none of her business what Dylan did for lunch or with whom he did it. It couldn’t matter to her.

  It seemed that he had someone waiting in the wings after she’d turned him down. Well, it showed her she was right about his skirt-chasing ways.

  She had lied about lunch with her editor for a reason. She didn’t want any datelike ties with him. This had to be about sex and only sex or Haley would lose her objectivity and fall in love with the rogue. That could not happen.

  Haley sighed when it began to sleet. The chunks of ice made a hollow thumping sound against the cab’s windshield. She thought that might be what loneliness sounded like.

  “Could you pull over here? I have to pick up something at the store.”

  “Sure, lady. It’s your dime.”

  Haley got out, turning her coat collar up against the biting wind. She carefully made her way into the store. When she found the raspberry sauce, she picked up the jar.

  What she envisioned for this seemingly benign jar of sauce was wicked. So wicked. She had to keep her goal in mind. Make a success out of her columns and Kate would have to let her write articles.

  As her father would always say to her, “Honey, always keep your eye on the ball.” She could do that. She’d make herself do that.

  As she placed the sauce on the counter and dug around in her purse for her wallet, she wondered sadly if Dylan had inscribed her name in his little black book under L.

  THE MAJESTIC SNOW-COVERED mountains loomed over them, creating an intimate, sizzling tension in the car. Trees filled the landscape, boxing them in. Devoid of leaves, their limbs reached to the sky, standing mute and waiting for spring. When she and Dylan arrived at his rustic cabin in New Jersey’s Sourland Mountains, the word rustic did not describe the structure at all. Although it was built of seasoned wood and resembled a cabin, the place was a beautiful wood and glass structure that screamed money.

  “Nice place, Dylan. I can see we’re going to have to rough it.”

  Haley picked up the bag with the sauce and the small Crock-Pot to warm it, throwing the outrageous white bearskin rug over her shoulder.

  “Hey.” He pulled the rug off her shoulder. “That’s a great rug. I’ll carry it for you.”

  “Dylan, didn’t you see it when I put it in the car after you picked me up?” Haley smiled warmly, taken in by his boyish interest over the rug.

  “I wasn’t looking at the rug, Haley.”

  The soft tone of his voice and the obvious interest in his eyes caused nerves to unfold in her midriff. She drew an uneven breath, trying to control her emotions. It was going to be so hard to keep them separate from the sex.

  Her tongue darted out to lick her sensitive and tingling lips. She had to keep reminding herself that it was just sex.

  They climbed the short flight of stairs to the door. On the porch, next to the door, were a couple of boxes filled with groceries.

  Haley frowned, shooting him a suspicious sidelong glance. “Where did the food come from?”

  “I have it delivered whenever I come up here.”

  He looked totally innocent, but Haley had a sneaking suspicion that Dylan was very good at that I’m-not-up-to-anything look. He’d probably perfected it with his mother.

  “Dylan, I said I couldn’t stay for dinner.”

  “I know, but you never know about the weather in the mountains and it pays to be prepared.”

  “You are such the conscientious Boy Scout.”

  “I might be very conscientious, but I’m no Boy Scout.”

  Slow heat bloomed low in her abdomen. There was no mistaking the look in Dylan’s eyes. It certainly wasn’t boyish at all. Dylan was one hundred percent man.

  She waited while he opened the door and she had to remind herself to breathe. He was dressed in a baby-blue Henley that heightened the dark color of his skin, a navy fleece vest, a pair of tight hip-hugging jeans and rugged hiking boots. He looked so different in these clothes. Less corporate, more approachable. She wished he would put that suit back on. But she guessed that wouldn’t help with the fantasy.

  She followed him into the cozy living room. The fire in the hearth was already laid and ready to set ablaze.

  He arranged the rug and a bunch of plump jewel-tone pillows. Taking the sauce and the Crock-Pot from her, he plugged in the appliance, unscrewed the top of the jar and dumped the sauce in to warm. Then he lit the fire. The kindling caught and flames flared up, both beautiful and deadly. He set the screen in front of the fire and turned toward her, preparing to rise.

  She unbuttoned her coat and pulled it off. Dylan hesitated in midrise. She’d chosen a ribbed black turtleneck and a pair of black stretch jeans. Like him, she thought hiking boots were smart footwear, especially since it looked as if it might snow.

  Rising slowly, he didn’t take his eyes away from her. She got distracted at the way his thighs bunched. The way his powerful forearms looked.

  Suddenly uneasy, she pulled her eyes away from him and walked to the bank of windows that overlooked the breathtaking view of the mountains.

  “It’s beautiful here.” She didn’t think she could go through with this. It seemed too clinical, not the kind of experience she wanted.

  He came over to her. “Would you like to go hiking?”

  She released a breath, so thankful for the suggestion.
It had been difficult for her to plan this out, but executing a fantasy with a man you’d die for without some kind of personal connection was a little bit too much for her.

  Relief rushed through her. “I’d love to.”

  He smiled, cupping her face, his thumbs caressing her temples. “Harder than you thought to jump into bed with me?”

  Her eyes squeezed closed. “Yes,” she said in a shaky voice.

  “My guess is that a little romance won’t affect your article. It’ll probably make it better because that’s really what a woman is looking for. The sex is just icing.”

  “Aren’t you just the perfect guy.”

  “I’m real, Haley. Flesh, bones and heart.”

  He placed her palm over his heart and the steady, sure beat calmed her tight nerves.

  He was real, all right. As his soft, hot mouth touched hers, Haley thought he was as real as he could be.

  THE HIKE WAS INVIGORATING and fun. The scenery was gorgeous, but not as gorgeous a sight as watching Dylan’s tight backside navigate rocks and climb over fallen logs. It was late afternoon when they returned to the cabin.

  Dylan insisted on cooking, delaying their fantasy even longer. Haley didn’t argue because as soon as they got back to the cabin, butterflies assaulted her stomach. Food might help to quell them and would delay the actual lovemaking just a while longer.

  Dylan started to prepare the steak he’d pulled from the freezer before they had left on their hike. When he started slicing potatoes for an au gratin, Haley said, “Doesn’t quite fit with your corporate image.”

  “What? Cooking?”

  “Yeah. I’ve got a feeling that in your firm, image is very important.”

  Dylan finished assembling the au gratin and put the glass pan in the oven. “It’s certainly part of climbing the ladder. Why would you say that I was worried about image?”

  “The perfect haircut, the power suits, just the right amount of muscle to make you look powerful, yet not too much to make you intimidating.” Haley picked up a zucchini and began to slice the green vegetable.