Too Sexy For Marriage

by Cathie Linz

  Not jealousy but insecurity. She’d walked into a room and felt this way before, too many times—when her sister, Erica, flirted with Bobby DelGreco in the eighth grade; when she stole Heather’s boyfriend, Randy Smurtz, in high school; every year at their parents’ Christmas party.

  Actually, Heather had felt this same achy pang each time she’d looked at her perfect family and wondered how she fit in with all that beauty. The answer was that she didn’t.

  But that was then. This was now. And now she was Heather Grayson, radio personality. No slinking back into the wallpaper for her. Not anymore.

  Instead she glided forward—hard to do wearing killer heels, but she managed it—and gave Jason her best smile.

  He smiled back.

  And to her astonishment, the woman retreated in search of new prey.

  “Was I interrupting something?” she asked.

  “I’ve never met her before in my life. Thanks for showing up when you did and coming to my rescue.” Before she could reply, he added, “You’re not like other women.”

  His comment rankled. “Which means what?”

  He shrugged. “Just that you’re different.”

  She was different all right, Heather thought to herself as the maître d’ lead them to their table. She wasn’t just interested in Jason for his body. She was interested in him to win a bet. Which didn’t exactly make her feel like a candidate for the Humanitarian of the Year award. In fact, she felt guilty as all get out. But she was determined to prove herself to Bud and anyone else who doubted her ability in the relationship department.

  She was also determined to clear up a few things from the night before. “Look, about that scene at Muddy’s, I don’t want you thinking that I’m some kind of troublemaker, or that I get inebriated conventioneers yelling about sex every night,” she said bluntly.

  Giving her a quizzical look over the top of the menu, Jason said, “You have something against sex every night?”

  Her eyes widened, then she smiled. “Hey, you do have a sense of humor.”

  “Should I be insulted that you sound so surprised?”

  “Not at all. I like surprises. How about you?”

  “I’m not all that fond of them myself.”

  Great. He didn’t like betting and he didn’t like surprises. And he looked so handsome tonight that she overcompensated by not looking directly at him, something she hadn’t done since grade school when she’d ignored Bobby because she didn’t want him to know she had a crush on him. This was very mature.

  “Do you know what you want to order or would you like some help?” Jason asked.

  At this rate she’d need plenty of help, like having her head examined. Getting him to have dinner with her was one thing, getting him to kiss her was something else again. In her panic, she couldn’t remember if he was supposed to kiss her here or while skating…or was it supposed to be on the Ferris wheel? She should have taken notes.

  “Have you decided what you want?” he repeated.

  Jason. Naked on a platter. The image exploded in her mind like a full-blown sexual fantasy. Where had that come from?

  She immediately whipped out her mental remote control and switched stations to something more appropriate. She also did the soft om mantra she used whenever she got nervous before a show.

  Remember, this entire situation is supposed to be light and easy, no complications. Not that anything in her life had gone easily or smoothly, so she supposed it was foolish to start thinking things would change at this late juncture.

  “You okay?” he asked her.

  “You bet. Not that you do. Bet I mean. Let’s start all over. I’m Heather Grayson and you’re?”

  “Hungry.”

  Without further ado, they both ordered the orange roughy with citrus hollandaise sauce, which turned out to be a good choice. Their waiter served them with smooth efficiency.

  Jason turned his plate so that his carrots were at a precise right angle to his fish, which was at six o’clock on his plate while the potatoes were at nine o’clock. Heather noticed the way he didn’t let his vegetables touch his fish, keeping them meticulously separated. Very different from the way she dug into her food.

  Another example of how different she and Jason were. He was great-looking, she wasn’t. He had too much common sense, she didn’t. If she did, she’d never have been suckered into this bet. She was no good at this cloak-and-dagger stuff.

  The oddly configured restaurant was large and very crowded. More than one woman eyed Jason appreciatively as they sauntered by. To give him credit, he didn’t eye them back.

  “This sexiest bachelor thing really does make you uneasy,” Heather noted in surprise.

  “It seems pretty frivolous,” he said, clearly embarrassed.

  “But surely you must be used to women paying attention to you.”

  “Paying attention, but not mailing themselves to me. Some woman actually had herself crated and couriered to my office this afternoon.”

  She blinked in disbelief. “You’re kidding.”

  “I wish.” His expression was that of a man near the end of his rope.

  “There, there.” She patted his hand. “It could have been much worse. They could have done a calendar on you. Like the Studmuffins of Science calendar. Not that I own that myself, you understand. My producer has one on her cubicle wall.”

  He looked skeptical. “You’re making this up, right?”

  “No. She’s got a couple calendars on her wall.”

  “I meant about the title of that calendar. Studmuffins of Science?” He raised an eyebrow.

  “Featuring buns, biceps and Bunsen burners. I don’t know if they have one for lawyers yet If they did, they could feature buns, biceps and briefs. Or they could do torts and torsos and call it The Hunks of Habeas Corpus. No, Latin in the title probably would be rejected by the people in marketing. How about Sex Slaves of Sidebars? Boy Toys of Jurisprudence, Chests of Cute Counselors, Pecs of Prosecutors? Hey, you’re looking a little green around the gills.” She patted his hand again. “Don’t worry Jason. By the time they have those calendars, you’ll no longer be Chicago’s Sexiest Bachelor. Some new young turk will lay claim to the title.”

  “That can’t happen soon enough for me,” Jason grumbled.

  “I can understand why I wouldn’t like being the center of attention, but you…”

  “Wait a second.” He held up his hand to cut her off. “Why don’t you like being the center of attention?”

  “Well, look at me. I’m hardly glamour material. Whereas you—”

  “Whereas I like looking at you.”

  “Yeah, right. You don’t have to say that,” she assured him with a grin. “I wasn’t fishing for compliments. Let’s talk about you instead.”

  Jason shrugged, drawing her attention to his broad shoulders. “There’s not much to talk about.”

  Ideally she’d rather draw Jason out by getting him to talk more about himself, but obviously he was a man of few words.

  Now if he’d have been a caller on her show and she hadn’t had to look at him, she could probably have come up with something brilliant As it was, she didn’t feel comfortable interrogating him any further, so she steered the conversation toward fund-raising ideas to help Safe House and its efforts on behalf of victims of domestic abuse.

  Time flew by as she and Jason brainstormed various options. They worked well together, with complimentary skills rather than contrasting ones. Their creative juices were flowing so quickly, they barely noticed when the waiter whisked away their empty plates.

  It wasn’t until she paused to take a sip of her latte some time later that Heather happened to glance up at the wall of mirrors decorating the back of the restaurant and saw Bud and Nita sitting at opposite sides of the crowded bar. Actually Nita had managed to snare a tiny table at the edge of the dining area, while Bud was hunched on a bar stool.

  The sight of her co-workers brought her off the mental high she’d gotten from talki
ng to Jason. He’d had some great ideas, and a practical way of looking at things, keeping suggestions within the realm of possibility. He was a man who could make dreams doable.

  In trying to finish the last of her latte, Heather tipped her cup too far and ended up with whipped cream not only on her lips but on the tip of her nose, too.

  She laughed self-consciously. “Jeez, you’d think I’d know how to drink from a cup by now.”

  Lifting his still-immaculate linen napkin, Jason leaned forward to carefully wipe her face for her. “You clean up pretty nice,” he murmured, so close that she could feel his words as well as hear them.

  “You’re just saying that.” Her heart actually quivered. Either she was having cardiac trouble or this guy really was Chicago’s Sexiest Bachelor. She cleared her throat, afraid of sounding like a croaking frog. Workman’s comp didn’t cover female radio personalities being struck deaf and dumb by overexposure to sex appeal.

  “Why am I getting the impression you don’t believe what I’m saying?” Jason wondered aloud. “You don’t think I’d lie, do you?”

  “No. But your mom probably raised you to be polite.”

  “Something wrong with that?”

  “No. I mean that you’re not really lying, you were just being polite. Which is a great thing. Polite is good. Hard to find these days. I like polite. Are you going to eat that biscotto? Do you eat when you get nervous? Do guys do that, or is it a girl thing? Judging from the calls I get on the show, I’d say it’s a girl thing. I’m talking too much. You should stop me, really you should. Before I say something else stupid.”

  Jason responded by leaning across the small table and kissing her. It was over almost as quickly as it had begun, but he caught her completely by surprise.

  Speechless, she just stared at him, her thoughts consumed by the attraction zipping through her body like random tracers of electricity. She’d once read somewhere that kissing was two people tasting each other. Jason tasted strong and sexy, a blend of the coffee he was drinking with an underlying essence all his own.

  But Heather couldn’t pause to enjoy the moment because she was distracted by the frantic hand motions Nita was making. Thankfully her friend’s performance was out of Jason’s range of vision, but even so, it was only a matter of time before someone noticed her pantomiming motions, the same kind she used when producing the show. Except that Heather had never seen this particular gesture before, a rapid revolution with wiggling fingers.

  Excusing herself, Heather murmured something about visiting the ladies’ room. As soon as she was out of Jason’s sight, she wove her way around the various columns adorned with foliage until she finally reached Nita’s table. Sitting in the chair across from her, she said, “You’re supposed to observe, not direct and coach. You were practically holding up cue cards.”

  “I was just trying to help. Listen, Heather, you’ve got to admit that I have more practical hands-on experience with men than you do.”

  “You’ve got more experience than all the women in this place put together.”

  Nita preened. “Thank you.”

  “That doesn’t mean you can stay here. You saw the kiss, you can leave now.”

  “As I was trying to indicate to you, you were supposed to have Jason kiss you on the Ferris wheel, not here at Andre’s.”

  “So that’s what that giant circling motion was for. Great. I was afraid of that.” Heather was also afraid that she’d enjoyed Jason’s brief kiss too much.

  What kind of woman was she to lead Jason here under false pretenses? She knew the answer to that She was a desperate woman.

  If everything worked out, she’d win the bet and thereby defend her reputation as well as force Bud to be nice for a year. Plus, as a result of her talk with Jason, she had some great fund-raising ideas for Safe House. Thank heaven he hadn’t simply told her to talk to them directly instead of involving him in the process.

  Now all she had to do was keep her cool, her poise and her sense of humor. And not spill any more food or drink on herself.

  “Did you hear a word I said?” Nita demanded.

  “No. Listen, I’ve got to get back to Jason.”

  “A real sacrifice, I know,” Nita mocked. “Spending time with a gorgeous guy like that. And he’s straight. Why couldn’t Bud have made that bet with me?”

  “Because he knew he’d lose. Stop drooling into your wineglass and go already. And take Bud with you.”

  As Heather got up and turned to leave, her attention remained focused on Nita. Heather never saw the waiter with the dessert cart. He wasn’t expecting her, either. Their collision was inevitable.

  5

  JASON CHECKED HIS WATCH again, hoping that Heather wasn’t ill. She’d been gone a long time and he was getting worried about her. Deciding he’d better check on her, he left their table to search for the ladies’ room. But that wasn’t as easy as it sounded. This restaurant had more ferns than a rain forest and they made navigating difficult.

  “Hey, watch out!” Jason heard a waiter shout. Instinctively looking around for the cause of the disturbance, he saw a flash of purple silk between plant fronds. Heather?

  It was Heather, her arms windmilling as she tried to keep her balance. She appeared to be hovering over a dessert cart that the waiter was frantically trying to put in reverse. Jason was there in an instant, hooking an arm around Heather and preventing her from taking a dive into the middle of a whipped-creamcovered key lime pie.

  The waiter wasn’t so lucky. Hastily backing up in an attempt to avoid the collision, he bumped into a couple who’d just returned from the seafood-andsalad bar. Their overloaded plates went sailing into the air. Hapless diners within a five-foot radius shrieked as chilled jumbo shrimps rained down on them, dropping into low-cut bodices, plopping into wineglasses and nestling in upswept hairdos. A woman seated nearby wisely dove under the table to avoid the chaos.

  Several crab legs ended up adorning one man’s shoulders like a seafood mantle of state, their giant red claws resting in perfect symmetry on either side of his startled face.

  Meanwhile the abrupt reversal of the dessert cart resulted in several items sailing off the far edge. They fell at Heather’s feet in quick succession.

  Shuddering, she hid her face in Jason’s shoulder as she clung to him. Holding her close, Jason patted her back soothingly before realizing her trembling was caused by the fact that she was desperately trying to hold back laughter.

  “I’m sorry,” she gulped. “Do I have any shrimp in my hair?”

  “No. You miraculously avoided disaster.”

  “Other than stepping in it,” she noted ruefully, looking down at her designer shoes. They were goners now for sure. She was ankle deep in calories—whipped cream, chocolate mousse, key lime pie and what looked like flan. Carefully shaking each foot, she managed to get rid of enough gunk so that she could walk without sliding…or squishing.

  There was no sign of Bud or Nita, she noted with relief, while plucking a single shrimp from Jason’s hair. The dark strands slid against her fingers, thick and enticingly touchable. Even in the middle of bedlam, he had the power to take her breath away.

  “We’d better get out of here while the going is good,” Jason suggested, noting the disapproving look of the maître d’, who was heading in their direction. Jason made quick work of paying their bill, leaving a generous tip, before hustling her out.

  Once they were safely outside in the parking lot, Heather wiped away the tears of laughter that had been restrained too long. “I’m sorry. I’m not usually such a klutz, honest. I would much rather have eaten that pie than worn it,” she added. “And I didn’t mean for you to pay tonight. Dinner was on me.”

  “Actually, dessert was on you.”

  “You’ve got that right,” she agreed, wiggling her pie-coated shoes at him. “I look like a clown. All I need to complete the image are big floppy galoshes and fuzzy orange hair.”

  “I wouldn’t say that. You look kind of cute,�
� he said, teasingly tapping the tip of her nose with his index finger.

  Cute. A four-letter word in her vocabulary. Cute didn’t snag men. Sexy snagged men. Cute only made them smile.

  “I think it would be a good idea for me to give you a lift home instead of you catching a cab,” Jason stated.

  “Thanks. I think you might be right,” she noted wryly. “Do you have any paper towels in your car so I can try to minimize the damage?”

  He nodded and reached into the back seat before saying, “Here, sit down while I clean you up.”

  The low-slung, bucket front seat meant that Heather ended up with her knees almost at her chin as she tried to remove her strappy heels, perching her feet on the door ledge. His car, a sleek black model, still retained enough new-car smell for her to be extremely wary of messing it up. Hunched over, she fiddled with a particularly stubborn clasp.

  “You’re going to get a crick in your neck doing that,” Jason said, brushing her hands aside. “Let me do it.”

  Hunkering down in the V formed by the open door and the body of the car, he made short work of removing her shoes. Then his fingers rested against her nylon-clad foot, the pad of his thumb gliding along the valley beneath her toes. “Are you ticklish?”

  She shook her head. “What about you?”

  “Not on my feet. Tickle me under my arms and I’m a goner.”

  Talk about goners, she was melting under his ministrations. The warm brush of his fingers evoked provocative thoughts of his hands sliding up her calves to her trembling thighs and beyond. And then there was the fact that her foot was resting upon his rock-hard thigh as he bent over her, like a modern day dark knight attending his lady.

  “I think this would be easier if you took your stockings off,” he decided.

  Easier for what? she wondered. For him to seduce her? For her to seduce him?

  The sensual tension went up a notch or two as she slid her fingers beneath her dress to her lacy garters, releasing the fastenings one by one. She slid her nylons down an inch or two before Jason took over, his fingertips skimming her inner thighs as he unrolled first one sheer stocking and then the other. He did so with leisurely dedication, as if revealing state secrets that warranted the most intense concentration.