by Rita Herron
Rory pulled her into his arms, but the scent of his cologne hung as heavy in the air as his testosterone. The man must be part ape. Sweat beaded on his forehead, dark hair escaped through the opening in the top of his Floridian shirt, and he had been salivating for the last hour. She should toss him a bone, but didn't want to lead the man on.
"Sophie, thanks for giving me the opportunity to share this trip with you."
He really was being nice, Sophie reasoned. It wasn't his fault she had been stupid enough to want Lance. Maybe she was being overly cynical.
"You're welcome; you won fair and square, Rory."
"I'm totally taken with you; you know that, don't you?"
She feigned laughter, playing along. "Where did you go to charm school?"
He pressed his body into hers, the force of his arousal punctuating the fact that he was all male, and that she might have misjudged his charm for a come-on. His hands slipped from her waist to cup her butt, and she tensed, another smile tightening her mouth as she offered a fake smile to the camera.
"This is the most exotic place I've even been," she said, hoping to turn the conversation to tourist mode. "The waves crashing in the background, the scents of flowers floating around us, the balmy air..."
He licked her neck, his pointed tongue circling her breastbone as he dipped lower. "If you think this is erotic, let's go back to my room."
Oh, gracious, he thought she'd said erotic?
"Er, Rory—"
"I can do things to you, baby, you've only dreamed about."
With another man. "I do believe you're working the camera." Sophie swayed as he spun her around, brushing his fingertips across the tips of her breasts in the process. He was nothing if not a smooth mover.
His sultry gaze lingered on her cleavage. "Will they join us later or will we be alone?"
His cocky boldness amazed her. "Excuse me?"
"If you want the cameras along, that's fine. If not, well... that's all right, too." His finger snaked out to trace a sensual line over her lip. "Either way, I promise to satisfy."
Sophie fought the urge to bite his finger. "We have a long weekend, Rory; let's not rush things."
His smile faltered slightly, but he recovered quickly. The man was accustomed to playing the game and winning. "All right. For now, I'll have to be content to hold you in my arms. But tonight I'll dream about finally getting you alone."
Sophie remembered Maddie's rules for trapping a man and wished she had brought flannel instead of this strapless red sundress. Worse, so far Maddie's rules were working with Rory—the more she dangled the bait in front of Rory and yanked it back, the more Rory chased it.
* * *
First thing the next morning, Lance had ordered a roofing crew over to check out Sophie's house. The sooner he finished with this place, the sooner he could get some shut-eye.
He had not slept a wink the night before.
And for a man who'd always been able to fall asleep standing up, that was criminal. He'd counted sheep until dawn, then made coffee, met the plumber at six, and had ripped up all the cracked tiles from both bathroom floors by noon. By two o'clock, he had replaced the subflooring, by three he was sweating bullets and irritable as hell. Then Maddie burst through the doorway, chattering and making his head spin as he tried to keep up with her.
"What are you doing here?" he finally asked between breaths.
"I came to feed Jazzy. I promised Sophie I'd check on her while she was gone."
The cat glared at him, tail swishing like a windshield wiper blade. "Uh, I guess I could do that, since I'm staying here anyway."
"You're sweet to offer, Lance, but I didn't think you liked cats."
"I like 'em fine." Except this one didn't like him. "Where did you find it, anyway?"
Maddie frowned, then stooped and picked up the black furball. "Poor baby was scrounging for food near one of the unfinished houses on Skidaway."
And Maddie couldn't resist bringing her home.
Maddie glanced at her watch. "Oh, my gosh, look at the time. Sophie Knows airs any second. They're doing a special Saturday show just so we can watch Sophie's date."
As if he'd forgotten. "I guess you'd better run along then."
Maddie's eyes veered toward the TV mischievously. "But I don't want to miss it." She grabbed one of Sophie's diet Cokes from the refrigerator, then teetered toward the television set as if she owned the room, and plopped into the faded recliner with the cat purring in her lap. "Actually, I'll watch it here. My next appointment isn't for an hour, and it's around the corner. It'll be faster than driving all the way home and backtracking."
"Of course." Lance grunted, wondering what exactly Maddie was up to. Did she plan to tease him by making him watch Sophie's date on TV?
He stormed into the kitchen to begin repairs, refusing to give her the pleasure. But seconds later the head of the roofing crew called for him, so he ambled back to advise the workers on the job. He couldn't help but glance over at the television. And then he couldn't look away.
Sophie, decked out in a bright silver string bikini that left little to the imagination, was running along the most beautiful beach he'd ever seen, the sun kissing her silky porcelain skin, the wind tossing that short black hair around her face, while Rory Dalton chased her across the white sand.
Laughter spilled through the speakers as Rory tackled her from behind. His big hairy hands slid down Sophie's bare back as he cradled her in his arms and they hit the ground. Sophie squealed and pretended to battle for air, her cries for him to stop tickling her causing Lance's stomach to knot.
The camera skimmed past them for a second to feast on a distant beach as the newscaster commented, "Right now, Mr. Dalton is trying to persuade our own Sophie Lane to stroll down to the nude beach, folks. Will she give in and shed that bikini, or will modesty convince her to bask in the sun, where our cameras can capture her every movement?"
Lance silently cursed. While the thought of Sophie on the nude beach with the hulk sent him into fits, the thought of watching her every movement scantily clad and teasing Dalton to undress her with her racy laughter and flirty smile was just as painful.
Modesty was not a problem for Sophie Lane. Hell, no. Hadn't Sophie dragged his innocent little sister off to a nudist colony for the weekend before she'd married Chase? Hadn't she fixed Maddie up with the producer of an S-and-M show?
The woman definitely wasn't modest. If so, she'd cover up her near nakedness with a beach wrap.
"They look like they're having so much fun," Maddie commented. "He's such a hottie."
Lance flexed his muscles beneath his dirt-covered jeans and water-splattered workshirt. He wasn't exactly out of shape himself. But maybe he should work out more.
"When I get home, I'm going to vote on whether or not they'll make it."
He cleared his throat to speak, but the cat quirked beady eyes toward him.
"Do you think Sophie and Rory will wind up tying the knot?"
He shrugged. His stomach was in knots; that's what he thought. "I've got work to do." The camera flashed back to Rory, who was plucking at the tie to Sophie's string top.
"Just think, Lance," Maddie said, smiling up at him, "if you'd won the date, you could have been there, sunning and dancing with a beautiful woman, instead of here digging up the floor and replacing pipes."
He cast her an evil look and left the room. He didn't need her derisive comments; the sewage smell reeking from his clothes and his lack of sleep were perfect reminders. And if he were chasing Sophie, he'd catch her and they'd make love, which would be fantastic—but then she'd want marriage and that would be fatal.
"Tune in Monday to see just how far Sophie and Rory take their relationship," the announcer said.
Lance cursed beneath his breath. It was going to be a long damned weekend.
* * *
If Rory Dalton didn't peel his hairy, sweaty body off of her, Sophie was going to scream.
"Smile for the camera."
<
br /> How could she smile when she was running for her life? Besides, her lips felt glued to her teeth in misery.
"Come on, Soph, let's go to the nude beach. You don't want tan lines, do you?"
Sophie feigned innocence. "I can't, Rory. I have my audience to think about."
"Your audience will love you for it."
"I don't think so." She jabbed where she thought it might hit home. "You make concessions for your fans, don't you?"
He nodded, then cupped her chin in his hand. "Sure, I understand. But when this weekend is over, I want us to really be alone. Then we won't have to worry about a cameraman or your fans."
But I still have to live with myself.
He lowered his mouth and kissed her, not giving her time to protest. Sophie tried to relax. She wasn't betraying Lance by being with another man. In fact, she should give Rory a chance, because Lance didn't want her. But nothing about Rory's kiss aroused her.
Maddie's rules flitted through her head—Give him a nibble; then yank the line.
She eased back and he draped his arm over her shoulder. She wasn't playing games with him, but still, her refusal to climb in bed with him so readily seemed to spike his interest.
Would her distance from Lance entice him to come around?
She and Rory walked back toward their neighboring hotel rooms. Music and laughter floated around them; two lovers lay cuddled inside a hammock by the pool, laughing softly.
Sophie's heart ached to have that connection with a man. But as she said good-night to Rory, she knew that it wouldn't happen with him.
Maybe it never would with anyone.
* * *
Lucy Lane was well aware her sister worried about her, but what the heck was all the fuss? Lucy and Sophie had managed fine on their own since they were teenagers, had shared an apartment in one of the most exciting cities in the nation, dated constantly, and had nightly tips literally coming out of their ears, er, their bras.
Then Sophie had gotten this bug up her butt that their dancing act wasn't respectable, that she wanted to have a "real" career, to get married one day, and she had run out on the show and their life in Las Vegas.
If Lucy had her way, she'd convince Sophie to return to the Vegas show. She didn't particularly want Sophie to get married either; then Lucy wouldn't see her much, and things would never be the same between them. Lucy would be alone—more alone than she was now.
She hated being alone. Hated the dark at night. Had even brought her nightlight with her.
Granted, their Diva act was thriving, and Lucy had brought down the house a few times, but she missed her sister desperately. Although she was proud of Sophie's TV show, some of her guests were a tad too conservative. She had enjoyed the "Marry Me or Move On" segment with Sophie's friend, Maddie, though, and when Chase Holloway had proposed to Maddie onstage, Lucy had bawled like a baby. The "Dating Game" episode was great, too, all those yumlicious hunks to choose from. How in the world had Sophie picked just one?
The flight attendant sailed by, indicating for people to buckle their seat belts and return their seats to the upright positions. Lucy did so reluctantly, patting the arm of the man beside her. On a plane, her nerves normally bounced like a rubber ball, but this time she'd tied a lucky charm around her neck, so she felt assured they wouldn't have problems.
"Thanks for letting me nap on your shoulder."
He gave her the once-over. "Anytime."
Honestly, she loved men. They could be so... easy. And this one was handsome, tall, dark skinned, and blond. Norwegian-looking.
He slid a business card toward her. "I'm Ray, here on business for a few days. I'm staying at the Hamilton-Turner mansion. Call me if you get lonely."
Lucy smiled, fluffing her wild strawberry blond curls. "Thanks, sugar. I'm here on business, too, but I intend to explore Savannah's nightlife while I'm in town."
The plane hit the runway, jerking them slightly, and they both laughed. Lucy stuffed the card into the front of her silk blouse, grinning when his eyes followed the movement. The plane ground to a halt and everyone stood, gathering their overhead luggage.
The man retrieved his briefcase, then gestured toward the silver suitcase. "This one yours?"
"Yes, my work. I didn't want to take a chance on it not making it."
"I know what you mean. I'd lose a big deal if I showed up at my meeting without the papers in my briefcase."
Lucy laughed, wondering whether to reveal her job to the man and try to make a sale. If she did show him the contents of her case, he might think she was coming on to him, and get the wrong idea.
Then again, Lucy could handle herself. Besides, it wasn't like Sophie was at home waiting on her tonight. The house would be empty. She'd let herself in when she arrived and Sophie would never know how late she'd stayed out.
Businessmen/bachelors were an untapped market for her Sleepover, Inc., parties—the perfect gift for a wife, girlfriend, lover.... Maybe she and Ray could see the town; then she could show him some of her products and end the night by closing a sale.
"You know, Ray, I'm staying at my sister's, but she's not home tonight. If you want, we could get a drink somewhere."
Ray raked a hand over his chin. "Sounds great. Let's grab a cab and go down to River Street. I've heard there's great food and blues and jazz music."
Lucy latched onto his arm and they headed toward baggage claim, her body thrumming with excitement. Maybe while she was here, she'd shake up Sophie and make her realize singlehood was much better than getting married.
* * *
"Check out that knockout strawberry blonde with the tight ass," Reid said. "Wow, does she have some moves."
Lance grabbed the beer mug and glanced up, his eyes widening at the sight of the voluptuous woman writhing and gyrating to the music. Her spandex top and tight jeans would have to be peeled off of her. "Not my type, but go for it, brother."
"I would, but she came with that blond guy." Reid leaned back against the bar and scouted out the rest of the room. "Man, think what Chase is missing. I can't imagine giving up all this."
Lance nodded, although his head was pounding from the loud music, and the smoke was clogging his nose.
He must be getting old. The dating scene felt odd, too, as if he'd gotten trapped in a wind tunnel that kept hurling him around and around in a circle. He was getting nowhere, still at the same place in his personal life as he had been at twenty.
"I'm going to check out that brunette in the red dress." Reid gestured toward a corner table, where two women sat sipping Cosmopolitans. "You interested in the one beside her?"
Lance shook his head. He'd heard her nasally voice when she'd passed him coming in. She must have a permanent sinus infection.
In fact, they'd been here for two hours, and he hadn't spotted one female yet in the entire room who appealed to him.
The strawberry blonde with the wild curly hair flitted past with her Norwegian-looking partner and Lance frowned, thinking she reminded him of someone, though he couldn't place who. He studied her as she and the man claimed a back booth. The man said something; then her peal of laughter floated over the sound of the music. She was Reid's type—flirty, fun-loving, and fancy-free.
He sipped the rest of the beer, hoping the alcohol would help him sleep tonight. He'd get an early start tomorrow, and install Sophie's new back door before she arrived home. Deciding to call it a night, he flicked a hand at Reid to wish him good luck, then headed out the door, but a commotion in the back drew his attention, and he hesitated. The security guard was standing over that strawberry blonde's table. She stood with her hands splayed on her hips, giving him hell. Some kind of silver case lay on the table.
He chuckled, grateful again that Maddie was safe and out of trouble. If that girl had an older brother or sister, they had their hands full.
Three hours later he lay on the sofa in Sophie's den again, counting the cracks in the ceiling in the dark, once again straining for sleep, but every time h
e closed his eyes he imagined Sophie in that string bikini with Rory Dalton's hand taking it off. He had already heated warm milk and tried that remedy, but he'd nearly gagged on the stuff. Then he'd tried some herbal tea he'd found in Sophie's too-orderly pantry—she really was an organizer, he realized when he'd noticed she shelved the items alphabetically—but he scalded his tongue and now it was numb.
A screeching sound erupted into the silence and he jerked up, scanning the interior. The cat? No, Jazzy was upstairs, staked out on Sophie's bed again as if to dare him to enter her private territory.
Another sound, more like something sliding across wood, echoed from outside. The rocking chair being moved on the porch? Footsteps clattered next. He tiptoed to the sitting room and noticed the window sliding up. Shit. Sophie had a burglar.
He glanced around for the phone and something to use for protection. The phone was in the other room, but a two-by-four lay in the corner. He grabbed it, poised to fight, when suddenly the person pitched a silver suitcase through the window. It hit the floor with a thud, the latch sprang open, the contents spilled and rolled across the hardwood. Next, a body dove headfirst through the window, a hand raked around empty air for a place to land, and the person toppled onto the floor in a tangle of arms and legs, squeals flying from her. One high-heeled shoe sailed through the air and barely missed his nose.
"What the hell?" He hit the light, the piece of wood at the ready, and gaped at the leggy strawberry blonde with the wild hair—it was the same strawberry blonde he'd noticed earlier at the bar causing trouble. Had she followed him here to rob him?
She saw him and screamed at the top of her lungs. Swinging her fists at his legs to take him down, she caught his ankle. He yelped, dropped the wooden beam, and collapsed onto the floor, cradling his aching shin. Good Lord, the woman had nearly broken his leg.
She was spitting and cursing and flailing her fists at him. "Help, burglar! Help!"
He winced as her claws dug into his ankle, then grabbed her arms and pinned them to her sides.