Elise narrowed her eyes and studied him. “I
don’t know.”
He knew she wanted to say more. To ask more.
But she wasn’t known as Queen of Scheme for nothing, and after
years of practice, she knew how to hold her cards close to her
disproportionately large chest.
Her nose practically twitched as she sniffed
the air for clues, knowing there had to be more to this story than
she’d been told. She didn’t even try to be nonchalant about her
devious intentions as she said, “Well, it’s been fun… and
intriguing, but I’ve got to go. Things to do and all.” She gave a
little finger wave and said, “Ta-ta,” then headed off in search of
a pot to stir.
Erik rubbed a hand over his eyes and drew in
a deep, erratic breath. Part of him, the part that had spent the
past thirteen months looking for Kat, wanted to yell
Hell
yeah!
at his good fortune of finding her again. Looking just as
beautiful and sexy as she’d been the night they met, no less.
But dammit, he’d wanted to find her in
Charlotte. With him living at the coast, that put the entire state
of North Carolina and a five-hour drive between them, thereby
limiting the feasibility of establishing what could be misconstrued
a real relationship.
Especially since he didn’t do
relationships—at least not any that lasted for more than twelve
hours. And while he enjoyed more than his fair share of female
companions, he always made sure there were no misunderstandings
about what to expect after those twelve hours ended. That wasn’t to
say he wouldn’t sleep with a woman more than once. But he always
put enough time between encounters to make sure everyone knew where
things stood.
And he never spent time thinking about them
between visits.
Until Kat.
He hadn’t been able to forget her or let go
of hoping to see her again. Now, here she was in his hometown.
Looking very much like she belonged and very much like she intended
to stay. And that presented a problem. The fire between them burned
too hot, and he doubted he’d be able to ignore it any more now than
he’d been able to ignore it thirteen months ago.
So where did that leave him?
Avoid her and hope the simmering embers
eventually cooled and she became a distant memory? Or work her out
of his system by picking up where they’d left off?
Naked.
For all that he didn’t know, one thing he
knew for sure. Before he made any decisions about the future, he
needed an answer to the question that had driven him nearly insane
for the past thirteen months. Why had she walked out on him without
so much as a good-bye kiss or a
kiss my ass?
***
Kat Owens surveyed the surrounding scene. So
this was it. Her new life. A new town, new job, new friends, new
everything. All for the opportunity of becoming Vice President of
Client Services for Sinclair Marketing Group.
Standing within striking range of the
corporate ladder’s top rung didn’t feel quite like she thought it
would. Somehow she pictured herself light as a feather and floating
on air. Not weighed down and miserable.
Maybe it was the stuffy clothes and
uncomfortable shoes. Maybe it was the pantyhose cutting her lu-lu
in half—it was difficult to feel light and airy when important body
parts were at risk of permanent damage.
It might be those things, but deep in her
heart, she suspected it was more than those superficial
discomforts.
She looked around at the various mix of
agency staff, clients, and vendors—all here for the supposed
purpose of celebrating SMG’s move into their new offices. It looked
nice, neat, and polite on the surface. Regular people playing
nicely, shaking hands, telling jokes, and laughing. Sharing a
few—but not too many—personal stories.
But if one looked at these interactions with
a microscope, they’d see the ugly truth of advertising life. She
supposed all businesses were competitive and cutthroat, but few
reached the pinnacle of advertising. In advertising, your best
friend would set you up, cut you down, and steal your job. That was
tough to beat.
Handshakes and nice-to-meet-yas took place in
most polite circles, but not much about this job included any real
sincerity or concern for the people you met. It was all about
getting what you wanted, and to hell with everyone else.
The hardest part of her job would be the
suck-up ass-kissing required to get and keep an account—that’s
where the laughing and joke telling came in. And the personal
stories… those were told to prove you were actually a human being.
Sometimes in this business it was difficult to know for sure.
But right now, she was tired and wanted
nothing more than to go home, shed the office armor, and crawl into
bed. However, as the future VP of Client Services, it was critical
she familiarize herself with all of the agency’s clients. This
event coincided perfectly with her move to Riverside and gave her
the opportunity to meet most of the clients all at once. So, until
the last guest had their fill of food and drink and headed out the
door, she was stuck.
Rusty Sinclair, owner and president of SMG,
had spared no expense in throwing this open house celebration to
show off his pride and joy—the restored Victorian that now housed
the SMG offices. And nowhere was it more evident than in the
overflowing food tables.
Shrimp, every color vegetable known to man,
stuffed mushrooms, meatballs, and fruit galore sat awaiting a
taker. But what appealed to her most were the chocolate-covered
strawberries. Actually, it was the chocolate that had her mouth
watering, but she could hardly run her finger along the inside of
the bowl, or hang her head under the flowing chocolate fountain, so
she was forced to take the strawberries, too.
Since leaving this shindig wasn’t an option,
her best bet was to find a secluded corner where she could drop the
smile, slip off her shoes to give her poor, aching feet a break,
and take a few deep breaths.
And soothe her soul with chocolate.
She picked a few of the larger
berries—because they held more chocolate—loaded them down, then
stacked them on her small plate. Settling into an empty corner of
the lobby, she kicked off her shoes and sagged in relief against
the wall. She picked up a berry, licked her lips, then slid the
fruit into her watering mouth, savoring the mixture of sweet,
smooth chocolate and tart strawberry.
Oh God, that’s good.
After several moments of delectable bliss,
the hair on the back of her neck began to prickle. For the past
thirty minutes, she’d had the strangest sensation of being watched,
and the feeling became too strong to ignore.
She grabbed another berry and casually
scanned the crowd. She’d just bitten down, once again enjoying the
near-orgasmic feeling of the thick chocolate rolling across her
tongue, when she stumbled across a brilliant-blue gaze boring
straight into her.
Ohmigod!
Her heart stuttered, her stomach plummeted,
and she gasped at the sight of him. Chocolate and strawberry juice
shot to the back of her throat, and she began to choke. She yanked
the mangled strawberry from her mouth, stifled the coughing as best
as she could, then grabbed her glass of water. After a few sips,
she had the coughing under control, but her heart rate and
breathing remained out of step.
She’d give just about anything to convince
herself it wasn’t him, but she’d never mistake or forget those
eyes. She saw them every night in her dreams and often in
daydreams. Even on a cellular level, she recognized them, and
everything feminine within her came alive.
Maybe he doesn’t recognize me.
Just because she’d spent the last thirteen
months reliving every second of their incredible night together
didn’t mean he had. However, as she flicked her gaze back to him,
that tiny fragment of hope slipped away and was replaced with
dismay.
The million-watt smile that had played so
easily on his mouth the night they’d met was gone, and a severe
scowl took its place. Oh yeah, he recognized her and he wasn’t
happy. In fact, he looked downright pissed.
She didn’t know which was worse: him not
recognizing her, or him recognizing her, but being so obviously
unhappy to see her. A heavy sadness settled over her as she dropped
her gaze to the floor, righted her shoes, and slipped her feet into
them.
What’s a girl gotta do to catch a freakin’
break?
The last two weeks had been hell. Between
quitting her job—the only job she’d known since college—packing her
apartment in a heated rush, and moving from the big city of
Charlotte to the small, coastal town of Riverside, where she didn’t
know anyone besides her new boss, she was operating on a tightly
stretched rope.
And at this moment, she heard the faint
tearing as a few more strands unraveled and gave way beneath
her.
She spotted Maggie and Seth, two of her
coworkers, talking with a sales rep from a local radio station that
she’d met earlier in the evening. Needing to know Erik’s connection
to the agency, she casually made her way to them. If luck was on
her side, she’d find that no one knew him. He’d be a lost soul who
had wandered into the wrong party and decided to stay for a
beer.
She slipped into a space between Seth, the
very talented and very gay art director, and Maggie, the equally
talented and very northern copywriter. She patiently waited for a
break in the conversation and when the opportunity presented
itself, said, “I think I’ve been introduced to almost everyone, but
there’s one gentleman I haven’t met yet. I wondered if anyone could
tell me who he is.”
“I’m sure between all of us,” Maggie said,
waving her hand around the circle, “we know everyone here.
Riverside’s not that big a place.”
In addition to being talented and northern,
Maggie was also, apparently, the queen of understatements. Kat’s
previous apartment complex had been bigger than the entire town of
Riverside.
“I don’t want to turn around and be obvious,
but he was standing with Elise a minute ago. Around six feet tall,
dark hair that’s kind of curly and unruly—”
“Rock-star stubble covering a strong jawline
and gorgeous blue eyes?”
Kat bit her bottom lip and cut her eyes to
Seth. He didn’t hide his sexual orientation, but never had his
excessive gayness been more evident.
“Damn, Seth,” Maggie said. “Even men think
Erik’s hot?”
Seth looked offended. “Of course. Every gay
man in town has the goal of being the one who turns him.”
Kat burst out laughing, then threw her hand
over her mouth. Erik was as hetero as they came, and there wasn’t a
chance in hell of turning him. Thank God.
Sexual genius like his couldn’t possibly play
both sides of the fence, and what a shame it would be for womankind
if he did. He had long fingers and strong, capable hands. She’d
expected the jagged scars on his palms—the ones he’d flat-out
refused to discuss—to be rough, like calluses. But his touch was
soft, and he knew exactly where, when, and how to stroke a woman’s
body to elicit sensations and feelings never before discovered.
At least that’s what he’d done to her. And
just thinking about it caused dampness in her palms and… other
places that had no business getting damp at the moment.
She needed to get a grip. Now wasn’t the time
to remember, and it sure as hell wasn’t the place for a reaction.
She now knew Erik was an equal-opportunity sex magnet, but she
still didn’t know his relationship to the agency. “Who is he? Is he
a client?”
“His name is Erik Monteague,” Maggie said.
“His family owns Monteague Boats, and he’s one of our larger
clients.”
Damn, damn, damn.
“Mmm… hmmm… I imagine he is.” Seth had taken
on a stereotypical gay man pose—hip cocked to the side, one arm
crossed over his stomach while his free hand held a glass of wine
to his lips. His eyes were hooded and appreciative as he stared at
Erik.
“Life offers few guarantees, Seth, but one
thing I can guarantee is that you’ll never have the opportunity to
verify that,” Cara, the radio station rep, jumped in. Turning dark
brown eyes to Kat, she explained. “Erik’s known for his wild
escapades…” She cocked her head to the side and rolled her eyes
toward Seth. “…with the ladies.”
Her words had been directed at Seth, but
they’d settled in Kat’s gut like a heavy weight. The night she met
Erik, she’d suspected one-night stands were a way of life for him.
That had been part of the reason she’d left while he was still
sleeping. However, knowing it intuitively was a lot different than
hearing about his sexcapades first hand.
Cut the crap, Kat.
Jealousy was ridiculous and immature. She’d
been lucky enough to have one night with Erik, and the memories
were hers forever. Tonight, however, was not the time to stroll
down memory lane. The situation was surreal and like bad déjà vu.
What would happen to her job if anyone found out she’d slept with
Erik?
It was before you took this job—relax.
Easy to think, but hard to do with the past
rushing at her like an out of control freight train destined for a
horrible, fiery crash. She refused to let another promotion slip
away because of a lapse in judgment. He’d been pissed off by her
presence, so maybe he’d be happy to keep their fling quiet.
Tightness filled her chest at the thought of
asking him to treat their night together as a dirty little secret.
She was sure to him it had just been another one-night stand, but
to her it had been more. Much more.
“His nickname is ‘The Full Monty,’” Cara
said, interrupting Kat’s thoughts. “No one works harder than Erik,
but he plays equally hard. He’s wild and untamed. Many have tried,
but most believe he’ll never settle down.”
Kat studied Cara as she absently stroked her
arm and glanced around the room, obviously searching for the object
of their discussion. Kat didn’t know if she was being warned off
Erik for her protection, or because Cara had designs on Erik and
wanted one less competitor in the field. Either way, it didn’t
matter. Erik was off-limits to Kat regardless of his settling-down
tendencies.