When It Hooks You

by Nicki Elson

  After swallowing a gulp, Jo answered, “Free drinks have no carbs. Besides, I’ll drink Bloody Marys the rest of the night.”

  “I’m not sure a low-carb diet works like that,” Trish said.

  “That’s because skinny bitches like you don’t have to worry about how diets work,” JoAnne bit back.

  Trish wasn’t up for another lecture on how lucky she was to have inherited such a forgiving metabolism. She turned her attention to Lyssa. “What was Hayden’s reaction to you moving to Boston?”

  “I haven’t told him yet. He’s coming at the end of the month to celebrate our one-year anniversary. I’ll tell him then.”

  Their conversation was cut short when the free-drink guys sauntered over.

  “Ladies,” one of them said, reaching his glass out to tap it to the edge of Trish’s. The men introduced themselves as Josh and Tim.

  “Enjoying the Belgian white?” the taller one, Tim, asked.

  “I should’ve known that’s what it was,” Lyssa said. “That’s my boyfriend’s favorite.”

  Trish and JoAnne exchanged an eye roll at their friend’s lack of subtlety. Josh, the one who’d tapped Trish’s glass, asked her, “What’s your boyfriend’s favorite?”

  “Are you speaking in past or future tense?”

  “No boyfriend in the present?”

  “Not that I’m aware of.”

  His grin widened, highlighting the dimple on one side of his handsome face. He had a fantastic smile, but Trish was more impressed with his broad, athletic shoulders and the V-shaped waist that his navy blue Henley shirt couldn’t hide.

  “Still,” she teased, “I also should’ve known.”

  His smile deflated. “It’s your husband’s favorite?”

  Trish laughed. “Nah, no husband. I meant that I should’ve known because I’m part Belgian.”

  The adorable dimple was back—along with a soft chuckle that rolled out in a pleasantly deep rumble. “You know what they say about Belgian girls, don’t you?” Josh asked.

  “What?” She took sultry sip of her ancestral beer, keeping her light brown eyes locked on the deep blue of his.

  “No idea, but I can’t wait find out.”

  Right when Trish was about to giggle, JoAnne let out a false retching sound. Trish’s gaze snapped toward her friend. With a tilt of her eyebrow, JoJo confirmed the rude sounds had been directed at Trish’s flirtation. JoAnne swigged the last of her drink and announced, “This has been a hoot and a half, but I’ve got to boogie.”

  “I should probably go, too. Want to share a cab back to Lincoln Park?” Lyssa asked Trish.

  Trish flicked her gaze back on Josh, who pressed his full lips into a slight pout. “I think I’ll stay for a bit,” she said. “I want to see if this guy can nail another portion of my heritage with the next beer he buys me.”

  His lips twisted into a teasing grin. “You sure I’m going to stick around?”

  “Yes.” She raised an eyebrow in a dare and held his gaze. By the time the two of them peeled their eyes off one another, their friends were gone, including Tim. Josh looked over his shoulder, and Trish followed his gaze to see Tim approaching another girl.

  “Then there were two,” Josh said.

  “Sorry I scared your friend away.”

  “He’s not scared. He simply knows when the chemistry isn’t in his favor.”

  “Oh, and it’s in yours?”

  “I hope so.”

  “We’ll see.” She winked, and he went on to guess wrong with the next round of Irish beers.

  During their continued flirtation, he tricked her into telling him she had a touch of French blood in her family tree. He immediately ordered two Grey Goose lemon drops—with the sugar in a small dish on the side. By then they’d moved to a dark corner at the end of the bar.

  “What are you doing?” she asked when he pushed one side of her long, blond waves over her shoulder.

  “I’m going to call this one a French toast.” He dipped the tip of his finger into his shot glass and tickled a wet line over the corner of her jaw. Then he pinched sugar between his fingers and asked. “Do you mind?”

  She saw what he was up to and shook her head in a shy no, tilting her exposed jaw slightly upward. He grinned in response, but there was no dimple this time—there was something more sedate about this smile. Slowly, he rubbed the sugar onto her moistened skin. Lifting his glass with one hand, he wrapped his other around the back of her neck to hold her steady while he softly traced the tip of his tongue along the trail of sugar.

  Trish closed her eyes and held completely still, relishing the stolen moment of tenderness in the middle of the bustling bar. He finished with a kiss to her earlobe, and when he pulled away, she held her breath. Gradually, she lifted her heavy lids to watch him set his emptied shot glass on the bar and take a quick taste of the lemon.

  “Your turn,” he murmured. His eyes burned on her, seeming to proudly take note of the dizzying effect he had on her.

  She cleared her throat and tried to shake her head into focus as she picked up the dish of sugar. “Where do you want it?”

  “Hmm,” he half-growled, pulling his plump lower lip into his mouth, wetting it, and then pointing to it as is fell back into place. He most definitely had chemistry working in his cocky favor. With a trembling finger she glided a pinch of sugar across his warm, wet mouth. It didn’t matter how many sets of sweet lips moved into and out of her life—there would always be another pair waiting to be explored. With its glittery shimmer, this particular pair of lips promised to be even more delectable than the last.

  She leaned in and worked her way across the heavenly bit of slippery flesh, licking and sucking. When the sweetness disappeared, she didn’t want to stop. Instead of a shot of vodka and a lemon, her sugar course was followed by Josh’s hot, eager tongue.

  “Hey, hey, hey!” Trish broke suction to see that it was the bartender who’d cut into their spontaneous make out. “Sorry guys. I’m not supposed to allow that sort of thing in here.”

  “It’s okay, man,” Josh said. “Won’t happen again.” He handed Trish her shot and watched her down it before handing her the lemon, keeping his other hand at her waist the whole time. “Shall we take that as a cue to head somewhere more private?”

  Trish wrapped her long, slender fingers around his sizeable bicep. “Joshy, we’ve got to discuss a few things first.” After Rob, she’d decided it was best to be upfront about her rules.

  “Like what?”

  “Like, I’m not looking for a relationship. I only wanna have fun.”

  He molded a hand over the curve of her ass. “Sounds great to me. I’m cool with just sex.”

  “Eh, no, that’s not quite it.” She lifted his hand back up to her waist. “Do you want to hear the whole plan?”

  “Give me the highlights.” He leaned against the bar, looking curious but decidedly less eager than he’d been a moment ago.

  “No more than three dates,” she said. “And no sex.”

  “At all?”

  “I suppose some things are permissible.” She walked her fingers up his chest and lightly stroked the side of his neck.

  “How can you be sure these other things won’t lead to sex?” His fingertips rotated their way south in small circles.

  She slid her hand off of him and jerked her hip, causing his hand to fall away. “Because they won’t. If you’re not ‘cool’ with that, we may as well end this right here, right now.”

  She never saw Josh again.

  Trish began to doubt the viability of her three-date plan. Sometimes what looked good on paper didn’t translate into reality. Unsure of how to proceed, she stayed date-free for a few weeks after meeting Josh. She was on the verge of resigning herself to the old model of letting open-ended dating lead her where it may…and then some frosted, white-blond tips changed her mind.

  She’d been filing papers in the gleaming lobby of River South Partners, the commercial law firm where she worked. She w
as the receptionist, and her desk was the only one in the wide corridor that ended at a huge window overlooking Grant Park and the glittering lake beyond. At the opposite end of the long room was the private elevator that served only the twenty-fourth floor. A huge, tropical plant with oversized, olive green fronds blocked her view of the elevator from her desk.

  The décor of the lobby was decidedly minimalistic, but the warmth of its maple paneling and the dazzling view kept it from being stark. Trish found the clean lines and ever-spotless room comforting. No matter what kind of craziness went on behind the paneled doors leading to the corporate and real estate wings, the client’s initial greeting was staid and harmonious. It was Trish’s duty to uphold this impression in human form. She found that projecting such serenity usually resulted in her actually feeling it.

  The elevator dinged. A moment later, sweet, young Levi rounded the tall shrub. He was a part-time courier for the company Trish’s firm used. He held his streamlined bicycle helmet tucked under his arm, leaving the frosted tips of his otherwise dark hair to dance freely in charming disarray.

  “What’ve you got for me today, blondie?” he asked, flashing his sparkling grin.

  “Not too much, surfer boy.” She handed him three flat envelopes. “This should fit into your little basket just fine.”

  He gave her a teasing snarl and glanced at the addresses before tucking the envelopes into the messenger bag at his hip. His cycling pants showed off his well-formed thighs—and every other muscle below his waist. For Trish, guys like Levi had always been relegated to the Eye Candy Only category. He was too young and free-spirited to consider as anything more. Watching his tight, round bum make its way past the bush toward the elevator, she considered that what had classified him as poor dating material before made him absolutely perfect now.

  “Hey, Levi?” she called.

  He poked his head around the green fronds. “Forget something?”

  “Remember when you asked me out a hundred years ago and I said no because I had a boyfriend?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I don’t have him anymore.”

  “Yeah?” He stepped all the way around the shrub, and his sculpted muscles brought him closer.

  “If you’re still available and interested, want to maybe do something this weekend?”

  His smile sparked. “Are you up for the Riviera? Red Hippo Planet’s playing and I have plans to meet up with friends. I’d love to bring you as my date.”

  “You’re on.”

  They exchanged necessary information and had a rocking good time at the show, even though the music and the crowd it attracted were harder core than Trish was used to. At least the event gave her an excuse to wear the studded pleather pants that rarely made it out of her closet. She and Levi kissed in the shadows, where she took every opportunity to grope the muscles she’d long admired from behind her desk.

  At the end of the date, there was no promise of a phone call, and none came. When Levi stopped by the office the following week to pick up envelopes, he said he’d had a great time. Trish concurred, and they agreed they should do it again sometime—though no concrete plans were set. It was absolutely perfect.

  Chapter 4

  AS TRISH APPROACHED THE HAND DRYER in the office bathroom, she heard the faint tones of “I’m Shipping Up to Boston” floating in from the lobby. She’d left her phone at her desk and now rushed to answer before the song stopped playing. It was her new ringtone for Lyssa.

  “Hey,” she said, somewhat breathless.

  “Hi. Sorry. Hope it’s okay to call. This was too complex for text.”

  Trish flicked her eyes around the reception area and saw she was alone. “Now’s fine as long as you’re fast. I’m expecting a client at any moment.”

  “Great. I’m packing my entire life and getting rid of what I can. A truck from the church rummage sale is stopping by at six to collect donations. Before I give it all to them, I was wondering if you’d want…” She went on to list various pieces of small furniture and accessories, only a few of which Trish said she’d take.

  They got through the list quickly, and the client still hadn’t arrived, so Trish figured it was safe to chat until the elevator dinged. “I’ve cracked the code on my guy troubles.” She’d kept Lyssa apprised of her latest revirgination disasters. “I don’t tell the guy anything. He doesn’t need to know I’ve set a three-date maximum. We go out one, two, or three times, and if he tries to get in touch after the third, I blow him off. Easy peasy. This way we don’t waste any valuable date time haggling over my neuroses.”

  “Plus you’ll leave the door open for a fourth date if he’s worth it.”

  “No, no, no! Absolutely no more fourth dates for me.”

  “Have you cracked the code on the sex thing?”

  “I’m still not planning to sleep with any of them, if that’s what you mean. But I did crack the seal on a new toy from The Pleasure Chest last night. It has this add-on that gets right up in—” She halted when a noise sounded from behind the tall bush between her desk and the elevator. When she continued, her voice took on a warning tone. “I’ve gotta go. Unless the plant in my office has grown a throat and just cleared it, I’ve got an eavesdropper.”

  From behind the highest frond, a man’s head emerged. His dark blond hair was straight and mostly swept back from his elegant, handsome face. As he leaned forward, a stray wisp fell over his forehead. Trish didn’t recognize his long, angular features. She guessed him to be in his mid-thirties at the oldest and noted a touch of suntan to his mid-tone complexion. His tall, lean form moved around the plant with his arms bent and hands half raised in surrender.

  “Talk to you later.” Trish clicked off the phone, keeping her gaze locked on the new arrival.

  “I’m sorry. It’s my first time in the Chicago office.” The boldness of his rich, plummy voice was surprising against his abashed demeanor. “When I saw the reception area was vacant, I went back to the elevator to make sure I had the right floor. You surprised me with the phone. I heard you say you’d be quick, so rather than interrupt, I intended to wait until you finished. Then…”

  His eyes darted away and Trish’s face warmed at remembering exactly when he’d cut her off. She’d initially assumed the throat-clearing had come from Levi or one of the building maintenance guys she often joked with. That would’ve been something to laugh at. Talking about shoving things into her naughty bits in front of a client she’d never met before, however, was nothing short of mortifying.

  She pulled on the most self-assured expression she could muster. “I’ll let them know you’re here.” Pressing the line of Michael Gutierrez, one of the partners, she announced. “Mr. Helms has arrived.” After getting instructions and hanging up, she forced herself to look the client straight in the eye. “Someone will be here to bring you back in a few minutes. Please have a seat while you wait.” She gestured toward the couches by the window. “Can I get you something to drink? Water or coffee?”

  “No, thank you.” He stayed where he was, not making a move toward the couches. His gaze fixed on her desktop. By the way the fingertips of one of his hands tapped against his thumb, she gathered he had something more to say to her.

  She preempted him. “I’m sorry for what you overheard. It was unprofessional of me to have a conversation like that at the office. It won’t happen again, Mr. Helms.”

  He lifted his eyes and she saw they were a light golden color with touches of green—or was that the hue of his suit reflected off them?

  “I’m the only one who need apologize,” he said. “I should’ve made my presence known sooner. I’m sorry to have caused you embarrassment.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “So you’re not going to rat me out to my bosses?”

  His lips twitched into a small smile. “It stays between you, me, and whoever was on the other side of the phone.”

  She smiled in response, inciting his grin to grow larger. She wasn’t sure if it was because of her relief or
the sudden warmth of his expression, but she felt drawn to the alluring man in front of her. There was something old school about his slimness and height, his crisp suit, and the formal way he talked. Yet the wisp of hair that he hadn’t yet smoothed back revealed an impish, less polished side to him.

  “Please, call me Adam,” he said.

  “I’m Trish Cerise.” She stood and reached across her desk. It wasn’t until he took her hand that she remembered her rush to answer the phone. Swiftly pulling back, she explained, “My hands aren’t usually this damp. I hadn’t finished in the bathroom. Oh! Not like that. I meant I hadn’t finished washing my hands. No! I’d finished washing, just not drying them and…” She sank into her chair and fisted her offending hand in her lap. “I’m going to stop making words come out of my mouth now.”

  “And deny me the best entertainment I’ve had in weeks?”

  She laughed, caught in Adam’s amused gaze. She realized now that it was the intensity behind his eyes that pulled her in, making her more intrigued by him than their brief conversation should warrant. She wanted to keep the back and forth going. “Are you sure this is the first time you’ve ever spied from behind tropical foliage?” She scanned him from shiny shoe to squared shoulders. “Your suit’s nearly the exact color of that plant.”

  His eyes slid toward the shrub. “It’s not that bright, is it?”

  She squinted, examining the khaki green threads of his finely tailored jacket. “I suppose your suit is more subtle in tone, but it would look like shadows—camouflage.”

  With his chin now bent toward the suit, he slowly raised his eyelids to peer at her. “If my intention was to spy, why would I have interrupted you?”

  “Excellent point, Mr. Helms.” She aimed a teasing finger at him. “But I’m watching you.”

  “Good.” His eyes opened wide for a split second, as if he was surprised he’d said it. That small gesture told Trish she wasn’t the only one who was intrigued.

  The door to the corporate wing opened. “Hello, Mr. Helms.” Sharon, a paralegal from the corporate side, came over and gave his hand a firm shake. “You can come right this way. I’ll show you to the conference room where they’re waiting.” Turning to Trish, she said, “Don’t forget, Clifford Walsh will be here at one o’clock.”