Simply Sex

“Absolutely.” Her eyes gleamed more richly. She seemed relieved he wasn’t angry about the mix-up, but there was delight there, too. She wasn’t sorry, either.

He took a sip of the drink, relishing the chill, the burn, the smell of juniper and Kylie’s eyes. “So,” he said, setting down his glass, embarrassed that he couldn’t take his eyes off her. “You work for Personal Touch?”

“Oh, no.” She almost shuddered. “I have a PR and marketing business. I’m just helping Janie out with some promotions. And I want you to know this mistake is not typical.”

“No need to apologize again. I’m paid up through the year.” He touched her hand. The contact was electric and his entire being lit up. Ridiculous. He’d just met the woman. But he’d been celibate for a long time.

She took a harsh breath, so he knew the reaction had at least been mutual. “So, you enjoy the law?” she asked, clearly changing the subject.

“Very much. I’m in corporate law. Benjamin, Langford and Tuttleman. Mostly mergers and acquisitions.” Then he caught himself, remembering his video ordeal. “I’m sure you don’t want to hear about my work.”

“Oh, yes I do. Talk to me about it.” She wiggled into her chair, resituating herself as if she anticipated some thrilling tale of due-diligence derring-do.

Her breasts swelled under the ice cream–stained jacket, reminding him how hot she was, but he forced himself to talk about the all-important Littlefield case and was soon engrossed in the topic. She asked good questions and he found himself jotting down an idea or two she sparked in him.

Somewhere in there the waiter took their orders of steak and the restaurant’s signature Caesar salad. Kylie selected a terrific pinot noir—a prime selection in Wine Spectator, he recalled—proving she had taste as well as intelligence and beauty.

He hoped Deborah Ramsdale was like her. He’d love evenings spent this way, with time zipping by, words flying, warmth and connection growing. Maybe his time would have been better spent working at home, but he didn’t give a damn. It was more than the loosening effect of the second martini. He plain liked Kylie.

“So, you have your own PR firm,” he said. “How did that happen?” He settled in to listen to her describe with animation and energy how she’d come to start K. Falls PR, who her clients were, what campaigns she’d created.

Then she told him she was closing it down and moving to L.A. in a month. He felt a punch of regret. As though he’d caught the tail end of something wonderful about to tear out of his world. The woman was a stand-in, here to apologize and buy his dinner. They would never see each other again.

“What’s wrong?” Kylie stopped herself in the middle of gushing over the S-Mickey-B offer. Cole Sullivan was looking at her as if he’d lost his best friend all of a sudden.

“It’s stupid,” he said. “Just that you’re leaving town. And I’m enjoying this…the dinner…and you.”

He blushed the most adorable pink. The guy was a hottie, with a sturdy and graceful face, warm brown eyes ready to sparkle at the slightest pleasure and her favorite mouth—sensuous, but masculine. Lucky Deborah Ramsdale.

“Me, too,” she said, flattered by his reaction. “I’m enjoying you, too.” The thrill of attraction had every nerve tight and she liked the guy, felt as if she knew him far better than she actually did. He was a workaholic and a good listener, just like her. If she weren’t leaving town, she’d want more dinners like this. Hell, she’d want more than that. She wanted him. That sexy mouth, those strong hands, those amused eyes drinking in her naked body.

Stop, stop. She was simply crazed with sexual frustration. The first attractive man she’d met in a while had her wiggling in her chair ready to meet him under the table for some mad groping.

“Tell me about this award you won,” he said, sounding embarrassed by his admission. So, she told him about Lock-It and its success and how Garrett McGrath had searched her out and about why it made sense to put her company on hold while she built her success. She almost admitted her doubts about making it on her own, her sense that she lacked the brilliance required to really succeed.

He seemed deeply interested in her ideas. His comments were pertinent and insightful. He wasn’t just waiting for a chance to talk again. And he kept smiling as if she delighted him.

And that turned her on. In a way, her reaction was odd. She deliberately hooked up with guys who were different from her—laid-back, easygoing, with jobs, not careers. Cole was very much like her—ambitious and driven—so she would expect to feel kinship, not passion.

But she was feeling more than comradely. The warm tickle between her thighs had become a steady throb. She crossed her legs to control it, feeling like a girl in the throes of a crush.

“More wine?” Cole lifted the bottle.

She nodded and when they both reached for her glass, their fingers brushed. Heat shot through her and she took in a violent gasp. Lord, what a weakling she was. “Hiccups,” she lied, faking a second harsh intake of air. She watched him pour the last of the bottle into her glass, the light gleaming off the magenta liquid, and realized the sad truth: Dinner was over. They would part soon. Forever.

She sighed. She couldn’t help it.

“What’s up?” he asked, his tone as affectionate as a friend, his expression as attentive as a lover.

Lover. The word sent chills through her.

“Nothing,” she managed. “I just haven’t done this in a while. Gone to dinner with someone for fun.” She squeezed her crossed thighs tight, trying to quell the relentless throb. She couldn’t act on the feeling. Her purpose was to soothe Cole, not seduce him. It plainly wasn’t healthy to go so long without physical release. Now she’d latched onto the first wonderful, interesting, smart, funny man she’d met.

Cole Sullivan was a find, though, no question. Any woman would react to him. She was human. She had needs.

“I know exactly what you mean,” he said, his eyes twinkling with mischief, and she was pretty sure he shared the sexual frustration, too. “I’m Cole,” he said somberly, “and I’m a workaholic.”

“Hi, Cole,” she said, but then she thought she should be serious for a second. “I don’t think we should have to apologize for working hard. We have goals. You’re fighting for partner. I’m pushing for recognition. When we’re ready to kick back, we will, right?”

“Right.” He grinned with relief. “Exactly. I’m glad you said that.”

“Except you’re looking for a wife, so you must intend to make some changes.” She was curious why he’d paid a matchmaker when he was hot enough to attract plenty of women.

“Some changes, though I hope to find a woman at a point in her career that fits with where I am. Someone who’s willing to help with the social duties that come with being a partner.”

“Ah. You want a corporate wife.” She hoped he wasn’t expecting the adoring little woman, circa 1950, who would meet him at the door naked, wrapped in Saran Wrap, holding a Tom Collins mixed his way. Cole seemed better than that.

“You don’t approve?”

“Some women are okay with that, I guess. My mother gave up an architectural business to go with my dad wherever he got transferred. She never complained, but I think she has regrets about sacrificing her career.”

“I don’t want a woman to give up her work for me, just make room for mine.”

“That makes sense.” It did, she guessed, for the right woman. She hoped Cole found her. Maybe it was Deborah, whom Janie had declared a perfect match.

But here he was with Kylie now and they were sipping the last of their wine and staring at each other in a silence thick with arousal. Maybe just a kiss. The idea roller-coastered through her and her stomach plunged.

“Enough about my marriage plans,” Cole said softly, his flicking cheek muscle signaling the desire she read in his eyes. Her heart began to beat so fast she put a hand to her chest.

“Can I get you anything else?” the waiter asked wearily.

They both started at the interruption. They’d had dessert and coffee, paid their bill, and their table had been cleared long ago. They’d dragged this out impossibly long.

“No, no. We’re fine,” she said.

Cole sipped at his empty wineglass, putting up a pretense of still having something to consume. She was glad he seemed no more inclined to say goodbye than she was. Their connection felt condensed, as though they’d swallowed their friendship as a bullion cube instead of sipping cups and cups of broth.

“It’s hard to believe you need Personal Touch,” she said.

“I take it you don’t approve of dating services.”

She realized how he might take that. “It’s not that. And Janie’s the best. If you need help. But you don’t seem…”

“Like a loser who has to pay someone to get him a date?”

“That didn’t sound right.” She blushed. “I just hate the taste of shoe leather, even flavored with mint and chocolate.”

He chuckled lightly. “I figure I owed the love of my life the same energy I’d invest in a career search. I see Janie as my relationship headhunter. I don’t have time to hit bars or parties, so I see this as a practical answer to a time-consuming problem.”