He forced a smile. “I guess we’ll see.”
* * *
“I MEAN, can you even believe him?” Serena demanded as she angrily paced her living room.
“Um…no?” Alyson offered from where she sat, wide-eyed, with her knees tucked up against her on the couch.
That damn couch. Serena should’ve replaced the purple monstrosity months ago!
As soon as she’d arrived home, Serena had called her friend over for a session of meditative yoga. But when Alyson had arrived, asking what had happened to throw Serena so off balance, everything had bubbled to the surface. Remnants of desire, shards of fear and a truckload of being ticked. Somehow, Serena doubted that focused breathing and the Tree Pose would be enough to restore her calm.
Pacing hadn’t done anything to soothe her, either. She dropped into the minifuton chair with a sigh. She realized she held some blame in the situation—she’d ignored caution in favor of indulging her primal desires, and David had been the one to suffer her regret. He had every right to be unhappy with her yo-yo impression, but sheesh…he’d actually threatened her!
“Have sex with me in the next three weeks,” she mimicked sarcastically, “or lose conjugal rights forever. I don’t even want those rights. He’s not getting the point!”
Aly tilted her head to the side, toying with the thick rope of auburn hair that fell over her shoulder. “I think conjugal only applies to married people.”
Serena raised an eyebrow. “Also missing the point.”
“Sorry.” Her friend smiled. “Just thought it would be fun to set you off again. Are you feeling any better after getting all that out?”
“No.” That was the absolute worst part. She felt awful. Not at all relaxed and in harmony with herself, the way one would expect to feel after sex that had affected every muscle in her body and touched her very soul.
Alyson shrugged. “I know you’re upset, and I’m not saying he handled the situation with sensitivity, but he’s a man. We have to make allowances. Bear in mind that however graceless his words, you’re actually getting your way. He’s backing off, isn’t he? Keeping his hands to himself?”
“You’re not going to spoil my righteous outrage by making sense, are you? Maybe I should have called Craig for sympathy instead.”
“Are you kidding?” Alyson laughed. “He’d be of no use to you. He and his girlfriend are still in that nauseating deliriously happy phase.”
Serena bit her lip. “I haven’t met her yet.” Actually, she hadn’t even realized the woman Craig had mentioned asking out had progressed to girlfriend status. Bad sign—she’d been so preoccupied with David that she’d ignored her friends.
“Well, it’s hard to arrange an introduction when the two of them barely come up for air,” Alyson said. “But you’ll meet her at my birthday party Saturday.”
Damn, Serena had practically forgotten Aly’s surprise party, as well. “Yeah, I…wait a minute! I—I don’t know what you’re talking about. Saturday? Your birthday’s not even until next week.”
“You people are sad,” Alyson chided with a shake of her head. “But at least you’re more convincing than Craig and that convoluted story he tried to feed me to keep me from making alternate plans this weekend.”
“He was supposed to tell you he had a showing he’d love for you to attend!” How difficult could that be?
“He did, but I got so excited for him that he started backpedaling so I wouldn’t be disappointed when I found out the truth. Don’t worry, I’ll practice feigning shock beforehand.”
“Thank you.” Serena said. What kind of events coordinator was she, anyway, unable to pull off one simple surprise party in a gallery an acquaintance of Craig’s was letting them rent for the evening?
Alyson sat forward, propping her chin on her fists. “I suppose you won’t be bringing David?”
“Did you hear anything I said tonight?”
“Yeah, but I’ve always wanted to meet him. Besides, I thought your whole rationale for not having sex with him was that you didn’t want to spoil the friendship. Friends do stuff like go to the same parties. It would be a smart move on your part to invite him, show him you enjoy his company but are immune to his charms.”
“There you go making sense again.” A sound plan, really…or it would’ve been, if Serena had a chance in hell at immunity.
CHAPTER 8
WHEN SERENA finally forced herself to call David’s office on Wednesday to give him some price estimates and ask when he could squeeze in a meeting at the hotel hosting the banquet and auction, she was almost childishly relieved to learn from his new receptionist that he was unavailable and would be for the rest of the day.
“You could try catching him on his cell phone between his visits to prospective clients,” Jasmine suggested, “but the best you’ll probably do is voice mail.”
“Thanks,” Serena said as she hung up. Voice mail worked for her. Much as she had once enjoyed talking to David, she wasn’t entirely sure what to say to him yet. Price estimates, she reminded herself. Keep it professional.
She took a deep breath and dialed, prepared to sound proficient and detached when she left her message.
“David Grant speaking.”
Ack! Was it too late to hang up, or did his cell phone have caller identification?
“Hello?” he prompted.
“H-hi. It’s Serena, I wasn’t expecting to talk to you.”
“Ah, you meant to call another man?”
She leaned back in her desk chair. “Jasmine said I would have a tough time getting through to you.”
He muttered something that sounded like “Ironic,” but added in a clearer voice, “Well, whether you intended to or not, you got me.”
Refusing to read anything into his words, she said crisply, “Great. Then we can discuss meeting times. Although I can easily messenger over the program samples and—”
“That’s a pointless business expense when we’ll need to get together to discuss other issues anyway.”
Scowling into the phone, she thought that one little across-town mailing wouldn’t break the bank. She hoped. “All right. I gather today’s out of the question. What about to—”
“I have a conference call with our contracts department in the morning, and those boys who only speak legalese can be long-winded. Then I have lunch with Nate Filcher, the CEO of Digi-Dial, a company we’re trying to partner with. I have a callback interview in the afternoon for someone to help our HR department. And Friday’s even worse. It’ll be tough to fit you in.”
Well, don’t do me any favors, she thought, grinding her teeth. This was his project, after all, the event he’d hired her for at the last minute, insisting he be part of the planning.
“Look, David, if it’s too much trouble for you—”
“Any chance we could have dinner?” he asked. “I could pick you up—”
“That won’t be necessary,” she interjected quickly, having learned her lesson yesterday. “As it happens, I have an appointment downtown late tomorrow afternoon.” He wasn’t the only one with a schedule. “Why don’t I just meet you somewhere?”
“Great.” The background noise suddenly dulled some, and his tone became brisker. “I’m here, so I have to run. I’ll have Jasmine call you to finalize the details.”
He hung up before she had a chance to respond, and she blinked at the dismissal. And the irrational hurt over feeling insignificant, bumped down from David’s busy and important priority list to something his receptionist could follow up on. What was wrong with her? She was accustomed to working around a client’s schedule. To some extent, they paid her to be available at their convenience. It wasn’t something she took personally.
Of course, she’d never slept with a client before. Good thing she wouldn’t be doing it again.
No more confusing business and pleasure, she told herself as she slid into a restaurant booth the following the evening to wait for David. Mixing the two was as volatile as crossing
friendship with sex. They didn’t necessarily blend, and as great as the sex was, the possibility of losing one of the few people she’d been able to depend on for years was too great a price to pay.
She watched the entrance, not really sure what to expect from today’s meeting. They’d both been highly annoyed when they’d parted ways two days ago…but the annoyance had come after both being highly aroused. Had he meant what he said about not even mentioning sex? That should make him easier to resist then, right?
Wrong. The second she spotted David enter the restaurant and start threading his way toward where she sat, her heartbeat started to race and her insides quivered. Every single cell in her body was attuned to his presence and clamoring for his attention.
Nothing’s changed. He wasn’t the man for her, she wasn’t the woman for him. But her warning went unheeded. Stupid cells.
“Hey,” David said as he dropped onto his side of the booth. “Been waiting long?”
She shook her head, unable to find her voice. Surprisingly, even more than she wanted to kiss him hello, she wanted to apologize—tell him she didn’t mean to keep leading him on and pushing him away. But they’d laid the sexual issue to rest, and digging it back up seemed like the textbook explanation of dumb.
A waiter bustled by, taking their drink orders and asking if they wanted an appetizer.
“Artichoke dip okay with you?” David asked.
The cheesy dip, actually baked inside a loaf of bread, was one of her favorites. Hardly low cal, but why not take this opportunity to add on a few pounds? No one was going to be seeing her naked anytime soon.
“Bring it on,” she told the waiter, who raised his eyebrows at her glum tone.
“Rough day?” David asked once they were alone.
His blue eyes held genuine concern, and she knew that he was ready and willing to listen to any problems she had. He’d be so much easier to resist if he was grouchy with her, or smug in the you-don’t-know-what-you’re-missing-baby kind of way. The trouble of course was that she knew exactly what she was missing.
“No, it’s just been a long week.” That was a nice, nonspecific way to encapsulate the turmoil of the last few days.
He nodded, his expression sympathetic. “You know what’s great for tension? A massage. I know some people are shy about it, but the reward for letting go of your hangups is definitely worth it. Nothing melts your problems away like the right person’s hands on your body.”
The right person’s hands on her body was what had caused her problems in the first place. “I don’t think so,” she said, reminding herself that this was business. Picturing her customer naked was inappropriate.
“What about just indulging in a weekend spent in bed, then?”
She bit back a groan. “I, um, have plans this weekend. In fact…” She hoped Alyson had been right about inviting David. Serena had to do something to get them back on track as friends. “Are you busy Saturday?”
His eyes got so wide she was glad no food had arrived yet. Judging by the apparent shock her question had caused, he undoubtedly would have choked, and performing the Heimlich would have necessitated her touching him. Which couldn’t possibly be a good idea.
“Why do you ask?” he wanted to know. “Business or pl—”
“Neither. I mean, pleasure, I guess. There’s a birthday party for my friend Alyson. I’ve told you about her.”
“The yoga instructor, sure. And you want me to come along?”
“Not as my date!” That really couldn’t be stressed enough. “But you’re new to Atlanta, and we’re friends, so I thought…But I completely understand if you’re too busy.” After all, the man’s belongings were still locked in storage while he worked too hard to find a place to live, and he’d just barely been able to make time for Serena this evening.
His jaw had tightened somewhere between “not as my date” and “we’re friends,” but he managed to smile anyway. The result was grim. “I wouldn’t miss it.”
Figured.
“Oh.” She forced a smile of her own. “Well, great. I know Aly really wants to meet you.”
The waiter returned with their appetizer and David’s frosty lager. Serena barely waited until the bread bowl was on the table before ripping off a piece and plunking it in the hot dip. Bread and cheese were comfort food, right?
David watched her silently, gallant enough not to comment on her uncharacteristic feeding frenzy. A moment later, she acknowledged that appetizers weren’t what she was hungry for and pushed the plate closer to him. She lifted a navy-blue folder from her seat. This was a business meeting, after all, and discussing the fund-raiser was the safest thing for her to do. Both in terms of her emotional state and staving off possible future cellulite.
“I got your e-mail with the final list of bachelors,” she told him, flipping over the printout where she’d jotted down the combined number of men available in all the participating companies and her suggestions for time periods. “I’ll give you my ideas and let the guys decide amongst themselves which they want. They can choose from my selections or brainstorm their own, but I need an answer fast if they need me to track down costumes. Here are three sample programs for the event.”
He lifted the one in the center, with fiery orange text on slate-blue paper. The words Time to Find A Cure were centered, encircled by from the dawn of time to a limitless tomorrow in a smaller font.
“I like where you’re going with this one,” he told her. “I’ll take a quick majority vote tomorrow morning, get you the specific information for the inside, and hopefully you can send the order to the printers before the weekend.”
With so many tiny details that had to be ironed out, Serena had plenty to distract her from the simmering attraction she was trying to ignore—even if, while they discussed the number of seats, she was more interested in the man seated across from her. His eyes crinkled at the corners every time he smiled at her, in a sexy, mischievous expression that made her want to lean across the booth and kiss him. The faint scent of an expensive, masculine cologne washed over her like a warm, seductive breeze, and it was difficult to imagine ever returning to a platonic friendship.
Could they do it?
Something sharp and panicky jabbed her in the heart. Surely it wouldn’t always be this way, with her so aware of him she was ready to come out of her skin. It was good that she’d invited him to the party on Saturday. Maybe being around other people would take some of this intimate pressure off and help them relax with one another again. Maybe being around some of her more off-beat friends would open David’s eyes to the fact that Serena was comfortable in a much different world than his.
With any luck—she’d be sure to wear her earrings—by the time the party was over, they’d be back on the right track. As opposed to the how-soon-can-I-get-you-naked? track where she was currently circling in fruitless laps.
* * *
UNDER different circumstances, Serena grabbing his hand and tugging him behind an oversized easel in a dark corner might have given David hope. Somehow, that wasn’t the case Saturday night in the dimly lit art gallery. For one thing, there were about three dozen other people in the spacious front room, and not even his free-spirited Serena was quite that exhibitionist. Also, since she’d given him a list of reasons why he should just meet her here rather than their driving together, he was pretty sure she wasn’t angling to get him alone. No, her actions probably stemmed from the fact that he’d gone in today for “a few hours” and had unintentionally worked until almost dinner time, only arriving moments before the expected birthday girl.
“You’re late,” Serena chided, her soft, husky voice a caress all its own even though she’d let go of his hand and was carefully not touching him.
“I got caught at work,” he whispered back.
“On a Saturday?”
“In my defense, I would’ve been here sooner, but I didn’t realize 285 would be backed up.”
“Oh, come on—285 is always backed up! But I
’m glad you made it.” She sounded almost surprised about being happy he was here.
So why had she invited him? He thought he knew the answer to that question. Serena wanted to prove they were friends—safe, platonic friends who could go thirty seconds without wanting to tear each other’s clothes off. Delusional. He’d be surprised if she could make it twenty, and his personal best was eight-and-a-half.
A rustle of murmurs went through the crouching crowd in the gallery’s main room, a passing on of “I think she’s here” interspersed with “shh”s.
The front door opened. Illuminated by the outside lights, a woman and her taller companion stood on the steps. On cue, everyone yelled, “Surprise!” and appeared from behind urns and a reception desk and the sign stating exhibition dates.
An inside light flipped on, and David got his first look at Alyson Kane, a petite woman with almost waist-length dark-red hair and a beatific smile. She pressed a hand to her heart and laughed in delight, but as she scanned the room thanking everyone for coming and exclaiming over how shocked she was, he caught her send a sly wink in Serena’s direction. Then the woman’s gaze slid from Serena to David himself, and she advanced in his direction. Her date followed, but stopped to say hi to some acquaintances.
“Happy birthday, Aly!” Serena sidestepped David to hug her friend.
“Thanks. So, am I finally getting to meet David?” The woman’s expression was friendly, but judicious.
He realized he was being assessed, and it suddenly occurred to him how important it was that Serena’s friends not find him lacking. “David Grant. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Serena’s told me a lot about you.”
“Same here.” Alyson said, her eyes twinkling with mischief.
He slanted a look in Serena’s direction, and discovered she was blushing, from her cheeks all the way down to the neckline of her asymmetrical top. Her shirt, the color of lime sherbet, was held together at one shoulder by a beaded multicolored butterfly, then the material draped at an angle over her breasts, toga-style, leaving her other shoulder completely bare. As if that tantalizing glimpse of skin wasn’t enough to raise his rocketing temperature, the material stopped at her midriff, exposing her smooth, flat abdomen. The tiny blue crystal shimmering at her navel coordinated with the butterfly.
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