Hot Spot (13 page)

She figured the math tutoring she offered at the store was her community service. Along with the remedial math class she taught during the school year one evening a week. Math was a game to her, like a puzzle where everything fell into place if you put the pieces in the right way, and she was able to make it a game for the kids, too. Within the circle of youngsters who came into her store, she was known as the Math Wizard Lady—Magic card vernacular popular at her place.

Speaking of magic, her mind automatically focused on the previous night, when pleasure had taken on an otherworldly character. How freaked out would he be if she were to call him and tell him she was deeply in love even though they weren't well acquainted? Except for the sex, of course. And in that regard, she had to think they were bosom buds.

But she didn't call. She wasn't that crazy. Not after seeing his reaction to Kirsty's less-than-subtle approach last night. There had been a distinct chill in his eyes.

But chill aside, damned it was tempting.

Maybe she could call and hang up when he answered.

At least she could hear his voice.

Psycho chick
! her little voice of reason shrieked.
Don't you dare
!

Hello. Are you the one needing an orgasm
? She got tough with that little voice and managed to silence it. Sex was a powerful compulsion.

But just as she reached for the phone, it rang.

Please, please, please
, her lustful urges pleaded.

"Give me every little detail, or as much as you can whisper into the phone without your customers hearing X-rated material," Megan declared, foregoing a greeting.

Stella couldn't tell Megan her call was a letdown, but something in her voice must have given her away.

"The evening didn't go well? The bastard. Tell me and I'll put a curse on him, or my psychic will. She guarantees results."

"I'm not down about him—it's me. He was so perfect I'm obsessing about calling him and telling him how great he was. Tell me not to do it. Tell me to act like an adult."

"You could try, but it might be a stretch for you."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"Sweetie, you're the most impulsive, disorganized, unconventional person I know. And I know an odd assortment of people because I teach in an alternative school. But listen carefully. Do. Not. Call. Him."

"I had a couple zillion orgasms last night. My body doesn't want to listen to reason."

"Would it help if I told you that calling him would be one of the most stupid things you've ever done, and that includes leaving that message on Nick Blanchich's answering machine in the eleventh grade?"

Stella groaned. "Don't remind me. His mother never looked at me the same after that."

"You shouldn't have mentioned her underwear drawer."

"He was the one who brought out that black lace nightie at the party."

"And you were the one who tried it on."

"He wanted me to."

"So you were polite. Right?"

"It might have been those couple of drinks."

Megan laughed. "Look, he was cute as hell. If he'd asked me, I probably would have done the same thing. But a word of warning: Danny Rees won't appreciate a female stalker."

"Couldn't I just say thanks?"

"And then what would you say after that?"

"Okay, okay. Point taken."

"And need I remind you that you're the lady who only a few days ago told me in no uncertain terms that dating customers was against your principles?"

"Danny Rees might be worth altering one's principles—ever so slightly."

"Let him call you. That's all I'm saying. He's used to women crawling all over him."

"You're right. I'm convinced. So did you have a good time last night? What did you think of Buddy?"

"He was nice, but it was more friendly than anything. He has money. Guys like that can pick and choose. It's just a fact. So I'm not going to start planning my engagement party."

"You
like
him. Wow. Tell me
everything
!"

"Don't get excited. It's nice, okay—not anything more. But I like that he's not into himself when he could be with his bucks, and he listens when you talk as though he cares what you're saying. He's a great dancer, too—even when he's not sober. And you know how I like to dance, not that Chad would ever dance."

"You were young. You're allowed a mistake. Forget Chad," Stella said, dismissively. "What else do you like about Buddy?"

"He's really polite, and I never thought I'd be saying anything so lame, but he opens car doors for you and orders your drink like you're some kind of special and he even asked about the kids, if you can imagine. He said he'd take the kids and me out on his boat again. So there. That's about the whole story."

"That's a real nice story. Now, tell me how much you really
do
like him, 'cuz I'm hearing something in your voice that's a notch or two up from just okay."

Megan giggled. "Maybe half a notch."

"Maybe something like say—casual affection?"

"Let's just say I'm sticking to casual right now. Don't forget, I've been practically in a nunnery since my divorce. I'm not sure my sensory receptors are even up to speed yet."

"Even then, you should have come out to Danny's last night. I wouldn't have left Buddy alone with Kirsty for a second. That lady sees every man as a potential conquest."

"I was going back to my mom's or I would have. She was expecting me to go to church with her in the morning. And Buddy said Kirsty is some kind of sixth cousin or something. She's like family. That's why she's always on his boat."

"Okay, so you're marginally safe. In my case, little Kirsty was doing her bombshell best to lure Danny away even though I was standing right there."

"Without success apparently," Megan noted.

"Without any success at all," Stella replied, the smile in her voice obvious. "And I gotta tell you, I couldn't be happier how things turned out. In fact, I'm feeling
so-o-o
infatuated this morning," Stella said, her euphoria echoing down the phone lines.

"Although I'm not sure whether it's with him or his you-know-what. He's pretty phenomenal."

"Even more reason not to call him. I expect he's been phenomenal with lots of women."

Stella sighed. "Back to the real world, right?"

"It's the only one you can count on, sweetie. Leave the love and romance for the movies."

DANNY HAD TALKED HIMSELF INTO THE SAME sensible frame of mind by the time Buddy left. Fortified by several cups of espresso, he walked to his office, shoved open the door, and immediately felt the hair on the back of his neck rising. Whether it was a scent or an imperceptible feeling, something was wrong.

And then he saw it.

One screen saver was out of sync in his color-coded, left-to-right sequence. If anyone tried to get into his computers, his security stopped them. But more important, he knew it. Should anyone touch his computers without his entry code, the screen-saver motion altered right to left.

Additionally, the early version hard copies of the video game he was developing had been moved. And neatly piled.

Whoever had been here was stupid enough to leave a trail.

He should have heard. He should have known someone was in the room next door.

That's what came of temporarily losing your sanity because some woman was hotter than hot.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Moving into the room, he shut the door, locked it, and methodically went through every sheet of paper on the work tables. Then he checked out the security codes on his computers. All of them had been tampered with but not breached. Not that it was likely. His security was solid as Fort Knox.

Not that he was happy that the printouts had been seen. But they were only variations on his original game and not likely to give clues to the new series he was creating.

He'd have to begin using his safe again. He'd gotten lazy when he shouldn't have—lulled into a false sense of security by his bucolic setting that could out-Mayberry the TV ideal. At least his wake-up call was relatively benign. No major damage had been done.

So—with industrial espionage rampant in his business— lock-down mode was back in effect. No way was he going to let his competitors crack the code on his next game, introduce it before him, and make a God-damned fortune.

But who the hell had broken into his office? And when?

With his fucking brain on hold all night, it could have been anytime between when Stella arrived and morning.

An outsider was a real long shot; the list of suspects was more likely those at the pool last night. Buddy wasn't a problem. He had more money than God. Brian was an unknown. Suspect number one. Kirsty? He doubted it, but maybe she wasn't as spacey as she looked. And she liked what money could buy. Nah… not likely. But okay, suspect number two.

Although, a certain amount of brains were required to hack into his computers, so Kirsty might be out of the lineup of likely suspects—unless she had some accomplice. Maybe Brian knew computers. He'd have to look into it.

The person he was getting twitchy about though, not only had the opportunity—if Brian and Kirsty had decamped early— but the time. And he was pretty much dead to the world this morning, thanks to the strenuous paces little Stella had put him through last night. Jesus, talk about being played for a sucker.

Sex aside, of course.

Compartmentalize to the max when it came to sex like that.

Dropping into a worn leather chair, he slid down and contemplated the injustice of finding some of the best sex this side of Bangkok and then discovering little Miss Comic Book Girl and her hot body were on a competitor's payroll.

Talk about paying a high price for a piece of ass.

Maybe. Perhaps. Definitely within the realm of possibility. Although he'd been the one who'd gone to her house. But she might have known any guy would have come to her eventually. She probably knew from past experience that all she had to do was sit and wait. Flipping back through his memory, he tried to recall whether Stella had shown any surprise at his unannounced arrival. She'd done that little I'm-not-sure-I-want-to-screw number, but come to think of it, she hadn't indicated any surprise. As for that little fiction about no sex, they'd blown that one—literally… in more ways than one.