For a Good Time Call

by Trish Jensen

  Why hadn’t he realized just how lovely she was before? Oh, he’d always found her attractive, but right now she looked like the most attractive woman on three continents. And he wanted her so badly he burned with it.

  God, he hoped this plan worked.

  He stood at her approach, glaring at the man at the next table who whistled at Sherry under his breath. “Thanks for meeting me on such short notice,” he said, holding out her chair.

  “No problem,” she returned, smiling.

  She smelled fabulous. If he didn’t know better, he’d say she was dressed more for a date than a business meeting. Except for the briefcase.

  He moved around to his own chair and sat, trying to decide how to proceed from here. He’d never been so nervous on a date in his life. What had happened to the cool, calculating man who remained forever in control?

  He was gone. Because right now if Sherry turned those baby blues on him and told him to jump off a cliff, he’d do it without hesitation.

  The waiter came, and they ordered drinks. Afterward, she treated him to a polite smile and waited, apparently content to let him get this meeting under way.

  “The commercial went over well,” he said, figuring that was as good a conversation starter as any.

  Sherry nodded. “It’s a great ad. This campaign’s going to be a hit, Mr.—”

  “Kit,” he said sharply. “Just Kit.”

  “Kit.”

  “And it’s all thanks to you,” he complimented. “Your concept, your script, your . . . model.”

  Sherry’s eyebrows shot up, but she reserved comment until the waiter served their drinks and went away. “Thanks,” she finally mumbled. “I’m glad you’re happy with it.”

  Kit took a healthy sip of his scotch. Then he set down the tumbler. “I’ll get right to the point. This is how happy I am with it,” he said, then pulled the envelope from his breast pocket. He laid it in front of her.

  Sherry’s lush mouth curved down in a frown as she picked it up. “Airline tickets?”

  She flipped it open, then glanced up sharply. “Airline tickets? To Paris?”

  “Right.”

  She slapped the envelope down on the table. “Look, I’m thrilled that you liked the ad, but this is going a bit overboard, don’t you think?”

  Knowing he’d never be able to admit his true intent—that he wanted to attempt to romance her—he began explaining his carefully constructed excuse. “There’s a company over there I’m thinking of acquiring. A perfume company. I want to take a look at it. And I was hoping you’d come along and see if you can’t come up with a good marketing strategy.”

  She was struck speechless for a long, long minute, and Kit felt heat begin to creep up his collar to his cheeks. Finally, she cleared her throat. “Are you saying you want me to go to Paris . . . with you?”

  “Right.”

  “On business?”

  “Right.”

  She again checked the tickets. “Next week.”

  “Right.”

  She looked up and shook her head. “As much as I’ve always wanted to see Paris, I couldn’t possibly go.”

  He couldn’t believe the disappointment he felt. “Why not?”

  “Well, number one, I’ve got all kinds of appointments next week.”

  “Cancel them.”

  She stared at him, then burst out laughing. “You are amazing. When are you going to learn that you’re not my only client, Kit? I have other obligations.”

  “Okay,” he said slowly. “How much time do you need to clear your calendar for a week?”

  The waiter returned, and Kit started to order the deluxe sushi and sashimi platters, but stopped himself just in time to avert disaster. “Sound okay to you?” he asked Sherry.

  “Fine,” Sherry said, then grinned up at the waiter. “And bring lots of extra wasabi.” The pale green mustard usually served with sushi was powerful stuff, but she loved it.

  Five minutes later, the food arrived. Kit watched with astonished amusement as Sherry devoured the raw fish and rice rolls, slathering them with the fiery wasabi.

  Watching Sherry eat was a purely sexual experience. Kit was grateful for the tablecloth that hid his reaction. The way her mouth moved filled him with an almost overpowering desire. So overpowering, he barely tasted the food himself.

  “Do you want that piece of tuna?” Sherry asked, pointing a chopstick at the wooden slab filled with raw delicacies from the sea.

  Kit shook his head, struck dumb. He couldn’t wait to take her to every restaurant and café Paris had to offer. He thought he could watch her eat for the rest of his life. That thought brought him up short. His brain had short-circuited, obviously. “You never answered my question,” he said, a little more gruffly than he’d intended. It wasn’t her fault he couldn’t think around her, after all.

  Busy coating her tuna with wasabi, she missed his self-directed scowl. “What question was that?”

  “How soon can you make it to Paris?”

  Her chopsticks stilled halfway to her lips. “Look, Kit, it’s really rather ridiculous for you to take me all the way to Paris for something I can do perfectly well right here. Besides, aren’t you jumping the gun? You’re not even certain you’re buying the company.”

  “Oh, I’m ninety percent certain. And I want to get your thoughts.”

  She ate her tuna, closing her eyes in ecstasy as the wasabi was most certainly burning that sweet, sweet tongue. “I just can’t see taking a week off.”

  Kit growled to himself. “What about vacation time? Don’t you have any coming up?”

  Her eyes—watering slightly from the fiery flavor—went wide. “Now what makes you think I’d want to spend vacation time working?”

  This time he growled out loud. “Okay, forget the perfume thing. Just come to Paris with me.”

  She was about to snag a shrimp roll when her hand stilled, then slowly lowered to the table. “What the heck are you talking about? What would be the point of going, if not to do business?”

  Either she was extremely dense, or she was intentionally missing the point. Either way, it aggravated the hell out of him that she was making him spell it out. “What does anyone go to Paris for?”

  Definitely, she hadn’t understood. Because when understanding dawned, it dawned in brilliant detail. Her look of astonishment was a wonder to behold. “You mean . . . oh, my God! I can’t believe you!”

  “What?” he said, wondering at her sudden outrage.

  “You jerk!”

  “Jerk?” he repeated stupidly, shoving a hand through his hair.

  She shook her head, the outrage slowly turning to amusement. He couldn’t decide which emotion bugged him more.

  “You know,” she said, picking up the shrimp roll. “I guess I should be extremely flattered at the lengths you’d go to, but isn’t Paris an awfully expensive way to seduce a woman? I’m sure there are others out there who wouldn’t expect a trip to Europe in return for going to bed with you. Seriously, dinner and a movie satisfies many of them.”

  It was his turn to be outraged, even if she spoke the truth. He did want to go to bed with her. Badly. Very, very badly. “That’s not my only reason for wanting to take you there,” he said, trying not to sound sulky.

  “Right.”

  “It isn’t! My sister told me that it’s a great way of romancing a woman.”

  “Romancing?”

  He pointed his chopsticks at her. “That’s right! You said you wanted romance, I was trying to give it to you. I’m so happy you find the effort amusing.”

  She set down her chopsticks in what appeared to be a permanent manner. “That’s sweet, really. And I do appreciate the gesture. But you don’t know the first thing about romance, Christian Fleming.”

  “I’m trying to learn!”

  “What you’re talking about here is seduction. That’s not the same as romance. A grand gesture, to be sure, but the wrong one. No matter what you do or say, I’m not going to go to bed
with you just to satisfy your male ego.”

  Kit didn’t think he’d ever had the urge to pout before. He had the urge now. “This isn’t about my ego.”

  She reached out and patted his arm. “Sure it is. You can’t stand the thought that there’s a woman in the world who won’t just fall into bed with you. I’m a challenge, that’s what I am. And you hate losing.” She wiped her lips on her napkin and tossed it on the table. “But don’t worry, I’m flattered just the same. Well,” she continued as she picked up her briefcase, “thanks for dinner.”

  “Don’t you want dessert?” he asked desperately, not wanting her to leave, even if this dinner was becoming downright humiliating. He stood with her.

  “Oh, I’ve already had it.” She shot him a brilliant smile. “Paris. Wow, that’s a new one. I love it.”

  And with that, she sashayed out of the restaurant.

  Nine

  The sable coat arrived at Sherry’s office at eleven o’clock the next morning. As she pulled it from the box, she nearly choked. Dropping it on the desk, she searched through the tissue, checking for a card from the idiot.

  She found it. Sherry: Something soft and warm and the color of your hair. Enjoy. Kit

  She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. What in the world had the man been thinking? Just how badly did he want to win? First Paris, now this. The guy was an out-and-out lunatic.

  She supposed she should feel flattered, but it drove her nuts that he thought he could seduce her with extravagant gifts. For just a moment she rubbed the fur against her cheek, then with a shake of her head, put it back in the box.

  After calling the furrier and demanding an employee come and pick up the coat, she dialed Kit’s office. Unfortunately, he was tied up in a meeting. She left a message, then hung up, slumping back in her chair.

  What should she do about the man? Little did he know just how much she wanted to cave in to his seduction. She had no doubt that he’d be an incredible lover, if the expert way he aroused her with kisses alone was any indication.

  Not only that, but she had gone a long time without a man. Dealing with him caused her to realize there was something big missing from her life.

  But she couldn’t, wouldn’t let him win this one. He might supply short-term pleasure, but once he’d satisfied his own lust, he’d be gone in a hurry, leaving her to nurse a broken heart.

  Because she cared about him. Probably too much already, but not nearly as much as she would if they shared intimacy. Sherry knew herself well enough to understand that fact completely.

  Sex was an expression of feelings to her. An expression of trust and commitment. It might be an old-fashioned sentiment in this day and age, but it was her sentiment. Which meant she couldn’t do what she wanted to do most in the world at the moment. Make love with Kit.

  No doubt about it, she wanted him. Heaven help her, she wanted him. What sane woman wouldn’t? He was gorgeous, successful, single and sexy as sin. His kisses alone could melt arctic glaciers. His touch made her flesh flame. His possession of her body would blow her mind. And make her fall in love.

  She shook her head. It was a moot point. She wasn’t going to bed with him, and therefore she was safe from falling in love. It was as simple as that. And wasting her time thinking about him when she had work to do was silly. She had a kitty litter ad campaign to create.

  Clucking her tongue, Sherry refocused on the task at hand. But she found concentrating difficult, and her need for chocolate immense. She grabbed a Mallomar from her drawer and sat back, closing her eyes. Munching on the cookie, she tried to think of a catchy phrase that would sell kitty litter by the truckload, but nothing came to mind.

  Her phone buzzed, and she quickly swallowed what was in her mouth and sat forward. “Sherry.”

  “Delivery man for you, Sherry,” the receptionist announced.

  “Good,” she said, scowling at the box with the coat in it. “Send him in.”

  But she knew right away that this wasn’t an employee from the furrier, considering the man who entered was carrying yet another package.

  Sherry rolled her eyes, but kept her comments to herself. She wasn’t into shooting the messenger as a rule. Smiling grimly, she took a five from her purse and handed it to the man, then waited until he left her office before tearing the paper with a vengeance. She knew who the sender was before she saw the note, but still she wasn’t prepared for what was inside the wine velvet box.

  Sapphires. Lots of them. Enough to form a necklace, bracelet and earrings. Sherry just stared. A month’s salary couldn’t have bought these baubles. The beautiful stones were all surrounded by smaller diamonds.

  She snatched the card nestled under the bracelet, and dropped the jewelry box on her desk. As she opened the envelope, scathing thoughts flew through her mind. The man had more gall than the world should allow.

  Sherry, these remind me of your eyes. Enjoy. Kit.

  Yup, she was going to commit murder. She picked up her phone and called him. When his secretary informed her he was in yet another meeting, Sherry informed his secretary what he could do with his meetings.

  Then she took a deep breath, remembering once again that this woman was blameless. “I’m sorry,” she said, reaching for a package of M&M’s. “Please tell Mr. Fleming it’s important, and to get back to me as soon as possible.”

  The secretary promised, and Sherry hung up. She popped some M&M’s in her mouth and ground them between her molars.

  Kitty litter, Sherry. Think about kitty litter. But she couldn’t. Kitty kept getting shortened to Kit. All roads led back to him. And his ridiculous courting.

  Sherry suddenly grinned, her anger dissolving. The clod. Did he really think extravagant gestures would do the trick? Poor man. Poor, poor misguided man.

  Her phone rang, and Sherry’s heart leapt. She knew it would be Kit before she picked up. She didn’t understand how she knew. She just knew. “Sherry.”

  “It’s Kit,” he said, his voice low, rumbly, and sexy as all get out.

  “Well, well, well, how’s tricks, Kit?”

  “You tell me.”

  She shook her head slowly, picking up the necklace. “Kit, my man, you need help.”

  “Huh?”

  “Do you really think I’m like all your other bimbos?”

  “No,” he said around a soft chuckle. “You’re not a bimbo.”

  “Then why,” she asked, her indignation growing again, “are you treating me as if I were?”

  “What?”

  “You have good taste, I’ll have to grant you that. But if you think extravagant gifts are going to work with me, you are in for a big disappointment. Save your platinum American Express for some other girl. I can’t be bought.”

  He growled . . . just like a tiger. “I’m not trying to buy you. I told you last night, I’m trying romance.”

  “Well, this brand of romance might work on other women you’ve kept company with, but it won’t work on me.”

  “Dammit, Sherry! I’ve never tried to romance anyone before! I never had to.”

  Sherry’s mouth popped open. The audacity of the man! “You oaf.”

  There was a pause. “I take it that means you’re not going out with me.”

  “You mean go to bed with you.”

  “Well . . . that too.”

  “Adios, Kit.”

  “Wait, Sherry!”

  “Hmmm?”

  “I’ve tried everything I know. If you hang up now, I give up.”

  For some dumb reason, that made Sherry sad. But she was determined to keep her heart intact. And she knew, without a doubt, that Kit Fleming held the power to break it in two. “Give up, Kit,” she said softly, then broke the connection.

  “Like hell I’m giving up,” Kit muttered, as he pulled into a parking space in the strip mall an hour later.

  Okay, so his sister’s idea of romance hadn’t worked with Sherry. He probably should have known that instinctively. With Sherry, subtler gestures were
called for. And since he had no idea what that meant, he’d decided to seek out advice from another source.

  He entered the book-video store and looked around. It took him a moment to find the section labeled “Romance.” He headed to it, feeling wildly conspicuous. But he didn’t care. Sherry found something that appealed to her in romance novels, and if they held the key, he was going to read as many as he needed to find it.

  Once in the romance section he stopped, and stared helplessly at the hundreds of books. How could he possibly figure out which one would give him the insight he needed to win Sherry?

  He leafed through a few, but still had no idea how to decide. So he swallowed his embarrassment and sought out a clerk. “I want to talk to someone who knows something about romance novels.”

  Ten minutes later he left the store, two novels and a video in his possession. Unlocking his car door, he began to whistle. Sherry Spencer didn’t stand a chance. Because Kit Fleming was armed and dangerous.

  Sherry barely had time to register the splendor of Kit Fleming’s home. She was too frantic from the phone message she’d received from him. It had started out predictably: Kit making noise about getting it right this time, and would she please give him a chance to show her. He’d been in the middle of giving directions to his house when he’d suddenly yelled, “Fire!” and then the phone had gone dead.

  Her car had barely come to a halt before she was out the door and running up the majestic steps of a palatial Tudor home. The only relief she felt behind the galloping beat of her heart was that she saw no sign of a blaze out of control.

  Jabbing at the doorbell and banging the heavy oak door with her fist simultaneously, she told herself no fire trucks in the driveway was a good sign. Then it hit her. No fire trucks. No smoke. No flames. No fire.

  By the time the door swung open, she’d come to the suspicious conclusion that this might have been a hoax on Kit’s part. And if it was, the man would soon be dead. It would be a real shame, though. He’d be the best-looking dead man she’d ever murdered.