Simply Sex

“…been so ready,” she finished lamely. She’d been thinking crazy thoughts.

He released a breath. Was he disappointed? Then he chuckled. “Then let me say how lucky I feel to have been handy.” He shifted so he lay on his side looking at her. She did the same. “That was impressive for a first time.”

“It was, wasn’t it? We were in perfect synch.” It was so startling she almost felt like she’d dreamed it.

Feelings crossed his face like wind-blown clouds. You amaze me. I want you again. What’s going on here?

She felt the same. And it scared her.

Cole’s lips moved, about to say something too personal, she’d bet.

Please don’t ruin this. We had a deal, she thought.

“I should let you get some sleep,” he said matter-of-factly, relieving her of that worry. He shifted as if to get up.

She had to grin. She’d used that line herself to escape to her own bed. “Don’t rush off on my account, Cole. We could go again in a bit.”

She watched the idea register. That would be great. Followed quickly by, Better not. “I promised you just a couple of hours,” he said and kissed her before leaning across her to squint at her clock. “One-thirty. You can be asleep by two, and get five hours of sleep before seven.”

“Lie here at least until your heart stops pounding. I don’t want you to pass out in my driveway.”

“Sounds nice.” He smiled down at her, his eyes crinkling with pleasure, his breath soft on her face. In the late-night blackness, his face seemed familiar, like someone she’d looked up at in the dark for years.

He rolled onto his back and pulled her onto his chest, wiggling into the mattress. “This feels good.” He made it sound like a guilty pleasure. Which was exactly what it was.

She cozied onto his chest, feeling more relaxed than she’d felt in months. A man like Cole could be a joy to have around. They were as compatible in bed as they’d been in conversation. She could get used to this.

Again, that odd pain speared her. Sadness. Loss. Where did that come from? Then she remembered. She’d been five and they were moving away from her best friend Patti. It hadn’t been the first move, just the first that hurt. And the last.

That final day she and Patti had played all day. All their favorite games, breakfast through dinner at Kylie’s, joined at the hip, giggling hysterically at everything, squeezing out all the fun they could to the very last minute. Then Patti’s mother came to pick her up. They’d looked at each other and burst into tears. Please don’t go, Patti had cried desperately, her face scrunched with pain. I can’t stand you to go.

Kylie had felt so lost and helpless in the face of her friend’s agony, which mirrored her own, that she felt a sharp pop inside her, like the sound of the garden beans she snapped for her mother. Don’t let it in, don’t let it hurt. That had been the lesson. Kylie had learned it well.

She must be stressed if she was drumming up childhood hurts while lying in a delicious postcoital doze with a lovely man who’d loaned her his body for these few glorious hours.

She kissed his cheek and nestled in, but her tension was back. What if he fell asleep and stayed all night? She had work to do. They’d made a deal.

In the morning when she woke, though, Cole was gone. Relief rushed through her. The knocked-over silk flowers were back on her bureau, her bedspread folded at the foot of the bed, the scattered pillows placed neatly on the bedside chair, and she smelled French roast in the air. He’d made coffee, bless his heart.

And written her a note, she saw when she padded to the kitchen. Thanks for a lovely encounter. Good luck in L.A., Cole.

What a thoughtful guy. She liked his handwriting, with its heavy, even strokes. They reminded her of—her gaze snagged on the grocery list she’d clipped to her refrigerator—her own handwriting. They wrote the same.

She felt a sharp jab in her side. She missed him, for heaven’s sake. So silly. Probably due to the fact that she was moving away, which had unsettled her in secret ways, she’d bet.

She would miss Janie, for sure, though she’d been too busy with K. Falls PR to spend much time with her sister. Janie had been consumed by Personal Touch, too, for that matter. Kylie would miss her business, too. Candee, her assistant, a part-time student, planned to go to school full-time, so she would be fine when Kylie closed her doors. But Kylie would miss her and her clients, her office, the work itself.

Pointless nostalgia. She had a plan and a purpose and she would stick with it. The great sex had just caught her off guard, softened her defenses. She poured coffee and sipped the musky brew—Cole liked his coffee strong, too—and grabbed a pint of low-fat yogurt for energy. She had to get busy.

Her mind wandered to the night before.

That was impressive for a first time. Oh, yeah. She remembered his fingers on her body and an electric chill raced through her. If only he were still here.

Eh, eh, eh. Be sensible, girl. She prided herself on that. Going to L.A. was sensible, too. Cole had agreed with her. He’d put it perfectly: You have to make short-term sacrifices for long-term gains. Just a few words from him had boosted her confidence in her decision. Cole understood ambition and hard work, making plans and implementing them.

The flickering doubts that licked at her had to be the uncertainty of starting over somewhere new, along with the fear of screwing up at S-Mickey-B. The stakes there were high. Janie, with her psych degree, would be proud of Kylie’s insight.

Now about Kylie sleeping with Cole…Janie would not be pleased. It was pretty outrageous and Kylie would not leak a word of it. She’d been a stand-in date several times. But none of the other guys had been like Cole.

Her mind wandered to a memory of him looking up into her eyes while he touched her sex, and she shivered. That had been delicious. She’d have to send Janie some fresh roses as a secret thank-you for the gift she’d accidentally given her—great sex with a fabulous man and no complications.

Well, except for this tickling wish to see him again. Would he call? Did he remember her firm’s name? He could always call Janie and ask for her number. But that would tip her sister off—a bad idea. Maybe she should call him first. What was the name of his firm?

Stop it. She’d had a rejuvenating one-night stand, and that was enough.

Benjamin, Langford and Tuttleman. She remembered. Damn.

4

JANIE GALLOPED around her office, spritzing air freshener like a mad woman skywriting in scent. Her last client, Tony of Tony’s Import Auto Repair, had trailed the aroma of gasoline, and she needed the perfect atmosphere for the magazine writer due any minute. His story would rescue her company, she hoped, so the place had to smell like success. Or at least not like a garage.

She took a deep sniff. Still a tang of metal. Candles! Candles would fix it! In seconds, she’d arranged a rose-cinnamon pillar and three lilac-rosemary votives in an attractive clump on the far corner of her desk.

The first two wooden matches snapped in half and the next two burned out, but the fifth worked and soon four golden flames glowed in red and lilac pools of wax. She brushed the match stubs into the wastepaper basket, then waved the Arizona Weekly over the candles to spread the aroma before dropping the newspaper into the trash, too—it was a competing publication, after all.

The candles’ scent radiated outward, but too slowly, so she grabbed the stepladder out of her supply closet and climbed it to mist the AC vent with freshener.

A tap at the door to her left made her jump down, but before she reached the knob, the door flew open, revealing her visitor—a man holding a notepad, a camera over his shoulder. Definitely the reporter from Inside Phoenix.

“Sorry to bust in,” he said. “There was no one out front.”

Gail chose the worst times to disappear. At least when she returned she generally brought in a new client or two.

“No problem. I’m Janie Falls.” She switched the spray to her other hand and reached to shake his.

“Seth Taylor.” He had a nice grip and startling blue eyes that gave her an up-and-down just this side of decent, which sent a charge straight through her.

He was handsome, with a cocky smile, longish hair and the beginnings of golden stubble emerging from a strong jaw. Why did he have to be hot? She needed full focus to give him the best possible impression of Personal Touch.

“Have a seat,” she said, managing to sound gracious. She motioned toward the guest chair beside her desk.

He headed there with a lazy grace, his washed-out jeans cupping his behind like friendly hands. He sat and rested a foot in worn athletic shoes across his other thigh. Confident, carelessly groomed and sexy as hell. In short, he was just her type. He reminded her of Jason, the firefighter who’d headed for Alaska when things got comfortable between them.

She’d declared a moratorium on dead-end relationships for as long as it took to get Personal Touch in good shape and until she was emotionally mature enough for the real thing. She had no idea how long that might take.

Her reaction to the reporter was just a vestige of the old urge. An automatic physical response. Nothing she could do about that. She headed for her desk, determined to show no crack in her armor.

Just as she passed him, the reporter said, “Uh, Jane?”