How to Score (22 page)

Diversion—that was his only recourse. He grabbed the first thing that came to mind. “The truth is, I’m having a hard time following this conversation, because I can’t think about anything except how beautiful you are, and how much I like you, and how much I want to kiss you.”

Her eyes widened as he leaned forward and placed his hand on her upper arm. Her mouth formed a very kissable little “oh” of surprise as he moved in to lightly, softly drop a mere whisper of a kiss on her mouth. She sat perfectly still for a second. Her eyelids fluttered closed—and then her arms wound around his neck, and she was kissing him back.

Dear God in heaven.
A lightning bolt of desire shot through him, so hard and hot he barely knew what hit him. All he knew was he couldn’t get enough. She tasted both sweet and salty, and she smelled like flowers and herbal shampoo and, most compellingly, an undernote of warm, willing woman that was Sammi’s scent alone.

She strained toward him, pulling him close, pulling him down, until he was lying on top of her on the sofa. Her breasts pressed against his chest, warm, soft, tempting mounds that he ached to touch. He moved his hand down her outer ribs and caressed the sides of her breasts, his mouth mating with hers in a hot slide of need.

She moaned and wrapped one of those long, lush legs around his. Every thought fled his mind as his mouth moved over her skin.

He kissed her neck, kissed the soft shell of her ear, then returned to her wet, succulent mouth. He couldn’t get enough of her, couldn’t get close enough. Her leg tightened around his. She clutched his back, tugging erotically on the back of his belt.

He deepened the kiss. Her mouth opened and flowered, and her grip on the back of his belt tightened. He felt her hands slide down his butt. She tugged on the back of his belt again, this time with such force that the buckle dug into his belly.

Holy mackerel. He was content to take things slow, but from the insistent way she was groping him, apparently she wanted to pick up the pace. It felt as if she were trying to pull off his pants without unfastening his belt.

Well, whatever she wanted, he was up for the job. “Unbuckle it,” he whispered against her ear.

“What?” The word was a hot breath.

“My belt. Unbuckle it.” He pulled back to give her access. The buckle bit harder into his skin. The tugging was getting seriously uncomfortable now.

She opened her eyes and fixed him with a passion-glazed stare.
“What?”

“If you don’t want to, I’ll do it myself.” He reached for the buckle.

She drew back, her eyes wide and alarmed. “This is all moving too fast.”

“I thought so, too, but… ” Jesus Christ! It felt like she was shoving her entire hand straight up his inseam. “Sweetheart, you really need to let go. You’re killing me.”

“I—think we just need to call a halt to things.” She put her hands against his chest.

Wait a minute. If her hands are on my chest, who the hell is pushing up my butt?

Chase twisted around to see Joe standing on his hind legs, his front paws braced on Chase’s crotch, his mouth yanking earnestly at his belt.

“Hey!” Chase swatted at the dog with his leg. At the same time, Sammi sat up, which sent Chase rolling to the floor. The dog gave a startled yelp and dashed to the far side of the room.

Chase scrambled to right himself. Sammi jumped to her feet, her expression alarmed.

“Your dog was chewing my belt,” Chase hurried to explain, “and I thought it was you.”

Sammi’s brow scrunched together. “You thought
I
was chewing your belt?”

“No! I thought you were tugging on my belt, and poking at my… ” He stopped, cleared his throat and started again. “I thought you were trying to pull my pants down without unfastening my belt.”

“What?”
She stared at him as if he were insane.

He swallowed hard. “While I was kissing you,” he tried to explain. “Your dog was trying to pull down my pants, and I thought it was you.”

She stared at him another moment, and then she snickered. Her snicker became a laugh.

It was contagious. The next thing he knew, they were both gasping for air. Chase laughed as he hadn’t laughed in years, until his stomach hurt and his face was sore. Every time he’d nearly get a grip, she’d start in again, which would set him off on another round. The dog joined in with a plaintive howl, which made them both double over.

When they finally caught their breath, Sammi wiped the tears running down her cheeks. “I thought you’d suddenly turned awfully demanding.”

“I thought the same thing about you.”

She burst into a fresh peal of laughter. “I did it again, didn’t I?” She wiped her wet lashes. “I hurt you.”

Oh, hell. He was supposed to be helping her get over that stupid neurosis, not making it worse. “No.” He adamantly shook his head. “No. It wasn’t you; it was your dog. And I wasn’t hurt. I was just slightly molested.”

“That sounds wrong on so many levels.”

So was kissing her. He grinned and rose to his feet. “I’d better get going.”

“But you haven’t had your coffee.”

“It’s late. I need to go.”

She stood and walked him to the door. He dropped a kiss on her lips. The urge to pull her back into his arms and pick up right where they’d left off threatened to overtake him.

“I’m sorry,” she said, holding Joe by the collar as she opened the door.

“Don’t be. I’m not.”

But he was. What the hell was he doing? Chase believed in planning his work and working his plan, and he’d just made a huge deviation from his charted course of action. He was supposed to date her casually, restore her confidence, then ease out of the picture. He wasn’t supposed to get physically involved with her. He damned sure wasn’t supposed to develop feelings for her. What was going on here? He had a better time with Sammi when things went wrong than he’d ever had with anyone else when things went right.

He’d have to do a better job at keeping things under control, he thought as he headed to his car. Next time he saw her, he had to make sure things stayed light. Light and easy and platonic.

Problem was, when it came to Sammi, his feelings weren’t platonic at all.

S
o how are things going?” her coach asked Thursday evening.

“Not great.” Sammi twirled the cord of her bedroom phone, a reproduction of a 1930s boudoir model. “I haven’t heard from Chase since we went out to dinner last week.”

“Tell me what happened.”

As she paced her bedroom, Sammi relayed all the details, including the kiss, Joe’s attack, and the laughter. “And then he left, and I haven’t heard from him since.” She stretched out on her bed. “I guess he’s not all that interested.”

“If he weren’t interested, he wouldn’t have kissed you.”

“Maybe it was a pity kiss.”

“Did it feel like a pity kiss?”

Just thinking about it made her warm and tingly. She smiled up at the ceiling. “No.”

“So—how did it feel?”

“Hot. Really, really hot.” So hot it was a wonder there weren’t scorch marks on the sofa. She rolled over on her belly. “But that’s just my perspective.”

“If you thought it was hot, I’m sure he thought so, too.”

“Maybe my hot is someone else’s tepid.”

“You sound pretty hot.”

So do you
. Sexual tension burned through the phone line, throwing her off guard. What was going on? She’d always been a one-man woman. How could she be drawn to her life coach at the same time she was so attracted to Chase?

“I don’t think you can tell that over the phone.” She sat up and swung her legs to the floor. “Anyway, apparently I scared him off.”

“Maybe his job took him out of town.”

“Phones work out of town.”

“Well, some guys just don’t like to talk on the phone.”

She stood up and straightened a print of Jackson Pollock’s
Moon-Woman
on her bedroom wall. “He talked on the phone for more than half an hour the night he got that concussion,” she reminded him.

“I thought you said he was talking to his partner.”

“Yeah, that’s what he said.”

“Maybe he hates to talk on the phone, but he has to do it for work, so he avoids it during his spare time.”

Sammi frowned. Luke seemed to be going out of his way to excuse Chase’s lack of communication. “I don’t think so. And even if that were the case—which I sincerely doubt—if he really liked me, he’d suck it up and call.” She walked to her vanity table and sat down on the satin stool. “I think I must not measure up to his criteria for sore pig surgery.”

“His
what?
”

“He has this whole list of stuff he’s looking for in a woman, and when I talked to his partner’s wife yesterday, she told me he calls it his sore pig surgery. It’s some sort of code or something.”

On the other end of the phone, Chase was seized by a sudden, violent cough attack. She was about to ask if he was okay when he finally cleared his throat. “Sorry,” he said, his voice ragged.

“You really need to see someone about that cold of yours,” she told him. “It’s gone on way too long.”

“Yeah. I might do that.” He cleared his throat again. “Why, um, were you talking with his partner’s wife yesterday?”

“Because she’d invited me to a Pokeno party at her place, and she called to give me the time and address.”

“What’s Pokeno?”

“It’s sort of like bingo with cards. It’s a women’s party thing.”

“Oh. So… what else did she tell you about him?”

“That he has a life plan all mapped out with timelines and everything, and he thinks he can follow it. Isn’t that the dumbest thing you’ve ever heard?”

A brief pause echoed over the line. “Actually, I think it’s pretty smart. You have to know what you want before you can get it.”

“But if you have too narrow of a concept of what you want, you might miss out on something even better. Chase is completely ignoring the divine plan.”

“Divine plan?”

“Yeah. The thread he’s supposed to pull through the tapestry of the universe.”

Silence pulsed over the line. “You think he has one?”

“Sure. Everyone does. But if we think we already know what’s best and close our minds to the clues the universe is giving us, we end up getting all off course and tangled up.” She aligned the perfume bottles on her vanity table. “That’s sort of why I hired you. To give me spiritual promptings and help me get on the right path. Or at least off the wrong one.”

“Whoa. Time out, Sammi.” His voice rose in what sounded like alarm. “I’m not a guru or prophet or psychic or anything. Don’t look to me for spiritual advice.”

“I don’t look to
you
. But God often talks through other people.”

“What makes you think he’s talking through me?”

She rose and crossed the room again. “Well, I’d prayed for guidance, and then your newspaper ad caught my eye, and I felt an urge to call your number. So I think that was a spiritual prompting.”

“I’m just a regular guy, Sammi. I’m not doling out heavenly advice here.”

“If you were, you wouldn’t know it.”

“Yeah, well, trust me, I’m not.” His voice was low and gruff. “And I don’t want you thinking I’m some sort of celestial messenger or something.”

Sammi pulled her brows together. “You sound upset.”

“I’m fine. How the heck did we get off on this, anyway? You were telling me about Chase and his criteria.”

“Right. He thinks he knows exactly what he wants, and apparently it’s not a woman who constantly inflicts bodily harm.” Sammi sank back on her bed. “Which means I’m batting a thousand in the injuring-and-running-off-guys department.”

“But you said he didn’t get hurt.”

“He didn’t leave with any cuts or burns. But it had to hurt to fall off the couch after my dog molested him.”

“Couch rolling and dog molestation don’t count. You didn’t injure the guy yourself.”

“Still, here’s the thing: Chase is looking for a woman with a neat, orderly, totally together life, and everything about mine is messy and chaotic.” She sighed. “And I really hate it, because I’m crazy about him.”

The phone was silent for a long moment. “But you don’t want to get involved with him. You’re only seeing him to get over your man-mangling habit, remember?”

“Yeah. But I really, really like him.”

“You’re not supposed to.”

“I can’t help it.”

“Yes, you can.” He spoke in an authoritative, no-nonsense tone. “You need to stick to the original plan. Go out with this guy two more times and prove to yourself that you can date a man without injuring him. That’s the whole goal of this exercise.”

“I’m not sure I see it as just an exercise anymore.”

“Well, it is. It’s a practice session.”

“What if it’s not?”

“It is.” His voice had a hard edge she’d never heard before. “And I want you to keep in mind that the point of practice is to sharpen your skills so you play your best in the real game. This is not the game.”

“But—”

“No buts about it.” His tone was steely. “You can’t change the rules in the middle of a game, and the rules are, you’re not supposed to get attached to this guy.”

The tone of his voice said there was no point in discussing it further. But in the back of her mind, she couldn’t help wondering:
What if I can’t help it?