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“Yes. Normally, I’m good at making trouble.” She traced the tips of her fingers across the condensation on her own glass. “Maybe I’m losing my touch.”
He watched her long, slender fingers, so delicate and feminine, but also strong. He sensed she wasn’t so much giving up as she was choosing what she thought was a better option.
“I’m sorry. And I’m goddamn angry. Let me help you.”
“I don’t need any help.”
Used to taking care of things, and bothered that he couldn’t in this situation, Damien bit back a frustrated retort. She was independent, he respected that. But he couldn’t stand the idea of anybody getting away with that kind of bullshit, especially when Viv was the injured party.
Their drinks arrived. Damien glanced at his watch. “Twenty-nine-and-a-half minutes,” he pointed out before sipping, enjoying the icy bite of the alcohol.
Remembering her comment in the garage, she smiled. “Okay, I officially resign from Man Haters Anonymous. At least for the rest of the day.”
Lucky him.
“Now, back to your situation...”
“I meant what I said. I know men like to solve things—boy, do I ever know that. But I have already made up my mind.”
As if she sensed he was about to argue, Viv tossed her hair, lifted her chin and managed a real smile. He suspected she was trying to downplay her sadness and humiliation as she said, “I must say, though, I’m not happy my good behavior went to waste. I was so nice, so plain and sweet while trying to get those guys to lose interest.”
Plain she could never be. He doubted sweet was used to describe her very often, either. No, she was spicy.
“The deck was stacked against you because of that bet. You could have come in to work literally wearing a nun’s habit and it wouldn’t have changed a thing.”
“I understand that now. But I gave it my best shot, believe me. Though, I didn’t think of the habit angle, and I should have, given my Catholic-school upbringing.”
Something else they had in common. “Nuns are terrifying.”
“No kidding. My second-grade teacher, Sister Margaret, wouldn’t have recognized me over the past several weeks, I was so demure. If she had, she’d probably have fallen over dead of shock that her predictions of my future wickedness hadn’t come true.”
He sipped again, wondering just how wicked this woman could be. “Future wickedness, huh? Did she believe you were destined for damnation?”
“Or prison.”
He chuckled.
“You think I’m kidding? Yeesh, let a nun catch you in a coat closet with two boys, playing my-underwear-are-better-than-yours, and she’s pegged you as a bad girl for life.”
“Were they?
She cocked her head. “Were who what?”
“Were yours better than theirs?”
Snorting and rolling her eyes, she said, “Well, duh. Angry Beavers beats Darkwing Duck or Animaniacs any day.”
He had just taken another sip of his drink but her response made him swallow the wrong way, and he had to cough into his fist, half laughing, half groaning. When he could speak again, he asked, “Your parents let their seven-year-old daughter wear Angry Beavers panties?”
“Caught that, didja?” she replied with a snicker. “They worked a lot, raising six kids, five of them strapping, athletic, eating-them-out-of-house-and-home boys.”
Ouch. Five brothers. He wondered where she fell in the Callahan family lineup.
She continued. “Because of my parents’ work schedules, my oldest brother had to take me back-to-school shopping that year. He didn’t want to be caught by any of his high school friends in the little girl’s department at the mall, so I had free rein when it came to choosing panties. Heh. But hey, better than Ren and Stimpy, right?”
“I don’t know, ‘happy-happy, joy-joy’ seems like a good underwear motto.”
“Speaking from experience?”
“I don’t think they make Ren and Stimpy drawers in my size.”
“Bummer. That would be a wicked-good theme song to have in your pants at all times.”
They laughed together, and Damien found himself relaxing more than he had in ages. Strange, considering the fact that he was sitting here, drinking gin and tonics, with a gorgeous woman he wanted to take to bed, and they were talking about childhood cartoons. He hadn’t had a completely normal childhood, given his family’s wealth, but he’d enjoyed the occasional after-school Nickelodeon binge, and remembered fighting with his sisters over who got to watch what.
Funny that this new stranger made him remember those days, so far in his past he’d nearly forgotten about them. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d had a conversation like this. Lately, all he talked about was business when at work and shopping and finances when with his family. He avoided relationships, knowing he wasn’t cut out for them, but, on occasion, he did talk sex with women who expected nothing more from him.
This one had him talking cartoons.
He suddenly realized he liked her. Quite a lot. Not just because she was strong and independent after going through hell. Not just because she made him laugh. It was also because he suddenly realized she’d done what she’d set out to do. She’d distracted him from the issue of those two buttons and that tumbling sea of hair. Clever girl.
“So, Wicked Viv—”
“Vixen Viv,” she interrupted.
“Even better. So, Vixen, was Sister Margaret right about your wickedness? Are you planning to seduce me?” he asked, not letting her evade the subject this time.
He kept his eyes focused directly on hers, so he saw the way they flared. She licked her lips, and a faint pink tinge rose in her cheeks. He knew she wasn’t blushing; that wasn’t embarrassment or modesty.
It was heat.
And he had his answer.
“Are you saying you would have to be seduced?” she finally asked.
“No, I’m not saying that at all.”
Seduction implied having to be coerced or convinced to do something. That wouldn’t be the case with Viv. He’d been attracted to her at first sight, and his interest had heightened with every passing minute.
It wouldn’t take a seduction for him to ask her to come up to his suite on the top floor of this hotel. How had she put it—he could ask her to join him for a drink, and then dinner, and then breakfast. She most definitely wouldn’t have to be the one doing the seducing. All she had to do was say yes.
“Viv, would you—”
She cut him off. “Yes.”
He smiled. So did she.
And that was that.
3 (#ulink_5ed20f6a-e5e1-5da6-b6e6-187e7b069da9)
VIV HADN’T BEEN sure how to answer his question about her seductive intentions. With Damien Black’s unfinished invitation, however, she hadn’t needed to. What was happening between them was on both their heads...and would soon, hopefully, be on their bodies.
No, this was not a seduction. This was all about instant connection, shared desire and pure heat. It also had something to do with timing. She was in the right frame of mind to have a wild, one-night fling, and he was the right man—oh, Lord, he was right in all the best ways—in the right place, to make it happen.
That was why she’d cut him off, not even needing to hear the rest of his question. The answer was yes to anything he cared to propose.
There was one thing, however. “One night,” she said, wanting to make sure he knew where she stood.
“What?”
“I just want to make sure we’re both on the same page. One night is all I’m interested in, and since you’re here from out of town, hopefully that’s all you want, too.”
He stared at her, intent, assessing. Finally, he replied, “You’re serious.”
“Very.”
“Why?”
“Why am I acting like a guy, wanting just a one-night stand?”
“Nobody could mistake you for a guy.”
“Not in looks, maybe. But my attitude—about this, anyway—is probably more in line with a man’s.”
He didn’t deny it.
She ran the tip of her finger around the rim of her glass. Would she turn him off by admitting she was a woman who wasn’t afraid or ashamed to go after what she wanted?
“My life is too convoluted right now to consider any kind of relationship.” Lifting her finger to her mouth, she licked off the condensation, eyeing him wickedly, making promises about what kind of night they could have. “But I want you. I want one hot night with somebody I won’t have to deal with tomorrow when I start picking up the pieces of my life.”
He appeared indignant. “Deal with? You don’t want to have to deal with me?”
She shrugged, not repentant. Better to lay things on the table now. “Well, not you personally. I just don’t want to care about any repercussions or expectations. I don’t want to worry about whether you’ll call, or have you worry whether I will.”
He nodded slowly. “I can understand that. And yes, I’m here on business, and I won’t be in town for too long.”
“Perfect.”
“And, for what it’s worth, I don’t do the love-and-relationship thing anyway. I don’t have the right genes for it.”
Fine by her. “So we’re good?”
He held up a hand, palm out. “Just to make sure I’ve got this straight, you want me to fuck your brains out tonight, make you come in a dozen different ways, bring you breakfast in the morning and then go away?”
Wow. She swallowed hard, noting that he could give as good as he got. His words scooped out her insides and replaced them with boiling lava. Just the idea of the kind of night he promised made it hard for her to think.
So she didn’t. She merely agreed. Finding her voice, she said, “Yeah. Pretty much.”
A brief hesitation, and then he nodded. “All right.”
Her heart leaped. Though she’d known he desired her, she was glad he hadn’t been turned off by a woman who was so nongirlie about sex. Some men couldn’t handle women who were blunt about what they wanted—and what they didn’t want—and felt as if their masculinity was threatened, or something.
She suspected that had been partly why she and Dale hadn’t worked out, though he’d used any number of other excuses when he’d dumped her. And she also imagined it also explained the ridiculous bet among her former coworkers.
Fortunately, Damien was an unusually confident man. He would never be threatened by a strong woman who was unafraid to admit what she was really thinking. He’d be challenged by her.
It was almost too bad they would only have one night. She suspected they were pretty spectacularly matched.
She quickly squelched the thought, because she’d set out the parameters and he’d agreed to them. They were both out for a one-night stand, and no possible future. She couldn’t change her mind—or try to change his—ninety seconds later.
Licking her lips, she murmured, “So, a dozen different ways, huh?”
He gave her a confident smile.
Viv did a quick mental calculation, and could only come up with seven ways previous lovers had brought her to orgasm. Adding in what she could do with her own fingers, a sex toy or a handheld showerhead brought her to ten.
A dozen would be very interesting indeed.
Just picturing a few of them made all that lava boil over inside her, dripping down to her sex. She was swollen and sensitive, so wet she might leave a stain on her damn skirt.
Imagine...ninety minutes ago, she’d been at one of the lowest points of her adult life. Now, well, as the saying went, things certainly could turn on a dime. Or on a broken-down car.
“Maybe thirteen,” he said, as if suddenly remembering something. Something wicked. But oh so good.
“I could live with that,” she mumbled, halfway to her first climax without a single touch from the man.
Before she could say another word, however, his cell phone beeped, indicating a message. He glanced at the screen and said, “It’s Jed. He’s had a chance to check out the car.”
If anything could cool off her rapidly burning self, it was that. She reached for her glass and sipped her drink. She could not afford any pricey car repairs. Part of her wished somebody had just stolen the thing before the mechanic had gotten there, but she knew it wasn’t much of a temptation. Compared to most of the cars in this upscale Arlington neighborhood, hers was a top-of-the-line piece of crap. Nobody would want it.
“All fixed,” he said, reading from the screen.
Her mouth fell open. “Seriously?”
“Dead battery, that was all.”
“Finally something goes my way.”
“You mean things weren’t going your way?” His tone was silky; his eyes gleamed. “And here I thought your day had improved tremendously.”
She licked her lips. “I’ll clarify—things are continuing to go my way.”
“As they should.”
“Spoken like someone who’s used to things always going his way.”
“Not always,” he admitted.
