What Have I Done For Me Lately?

Jenny shook back her hair, about six inches longer than when he’d known her, arranged herself in a casually sexy pose and winked at George, who was smirking—not that she entirely blamed him.

“Wish me luck.”

“Okay.” He smirked harder. “Good luck.”

“Maybe you could seduce his date away from him?”

He rolled his eyes and moved away to fill another order.

The waiter finished his spiel. Ryan looked startled, then slowly turned toward the bar.

Here it came…

Kaboom. Houston, we have contact.

And with contact came extreme thrills chasing each other up and down Jenny’s seductively black-clad torso.

But wait, there was more. He was pushing back his chair, excusing himself and coming over to…well, a girl could always hope.

Oh, yes, indeed. Even with his savagery dumbed down to what would be tedious respectability on another man, even wearing a suit any businessman—who could afford it—would wear, his magnetism persisted, electrified him, singled him out as someone to watch, someone to follow, someone to be reckoned with…someone to beg into bed.

She’d expected to be attracted to him. What she hadn’t expected was the subsequent rush of nerves, the bizarre flash of panic, similar to how she’d felt around him growing up, before their summer as lovers, whenever he’d shown up at her house with the rest of his family, scowling, mutinous, barely civil, teasing her as often as he ignored her…the way a shy, romantic teenage girl felt around her look-don’t-touch dream boy.

She’d been as much of a wreck then as she was heading toward being now. A highly conditioned response: The Masterson Effect.

He was close, standing beside her so she had to tip her head up. “Well. Jenny Hartmann.”

Oh and the voice was even deeper with age, as deep as…a really deep thing. His eyes were so blue, she hadn’t forgotten, as blue as…something very blue, and oh God, her brain was gone.

“Well. Ryan Masterson.” Somehow, through force of habit maybe, her voice emerged when she needed it to. She tried also to appear in control of her mind and body, if not her hormones. “Fancy meeting you here.”

He narrowed his eyes and she had a feeling he already suspected the meeting wasn’t entirely by chance. “Mom told me a while back that you were in New York.”

“As are you.”

“Yes.” He seemed at a loss for what to say next, which made her own nerves easier to bear. Her brain cleared, and calm returned—relative calm, considering Ryan Masterson was standing next to her for the first time in thirteen years.

“Want me to keep up the small talk or can I ask what I really want to ask?” She shot him a provocative look. “Well one of the things I want to ask.”

“Shoot.”

“What’s with the fancy suit? It doesn’t look like you.”

“Adult uniform. What’s with the…” He looked her up and down leisurely—the lace top that didn’t appear to cover much, the slit-to-there skirt that made no bones about not covering much. “It doesn’t look like you, either.”

“It’s me now.” She gave him a come-on-baby stare from under her lashes. “What do you think?”

His eyes returned to hers and she was suddenly back to that summer in college, to the night of the storm, when those intense blue eyes had stared at her exactly like this, as if he’d never seen her before and wanted to devour her whole, when he’d leaned in and kissed her as if there was simply nothing else he could do.

Unfortunately, history was not lucky enough to repeat itself so many years later. He glanced over his shoulder at his date and beckoned, then pointed to the empty seat next to Jenny. Blond Woman shook her head, coolly declining, and he gave a reassuring wave and turned back. “You’re looking well.”

Well? As in not sick? That was the best he could do? “I’m healthy as a horse, thank you so much for noticing.”

He blinked, and then his old mischievous grin snuck onto his mouth, the one that used to make her want to giggle before she even knew what was amusing him. Only it looked sort of wrong and unfamiliar over a starched shirt collar and perfectly shaven chin. “I heard about your book from Mom. Congratulations.”

“Thanks. Have you read it?”

“No.” His expression said liberals would have to vote Republican first. “Are you writing another?”

Guilt. She kept her expression carefree. “Supposed to be.”

“Then what are you up to?”

“Either staying out of trouble or trying to get in.”

“You?” He shook his head in amusement. Or maybe amazement. “In trouble?”

She shrugged. “If the mood hits.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“Hmm.” She tipped her head, un- and re-crossed her legs, watching him watch her. “Maybe I’ll get to show you sometime.”

“Are you coming on to me five minutes into a chance meeting?”

She tsk-tsked. “What is this world coming to?”

Those killer eyes narrowed again. “Anne told you I was going to be here.”

“Ooh, you’re good.” She sipped her drink, put it carefully back down and flashed him another me-woman-you-man glance. “But then from what I remember, you always were.”

He looked at her in quizzical amusement. “Is this the new you? Or a few extra martinis?”

“Ha! No. I behave when I’m drunk. I’m bad when I’m sober. George.” She lifted her arm and he came right over as if he’d been spying on them all along. “How many have I had? This gentleman would like to know.”

“Still on your first.” He gave a thumbs-up and went back to his duties.

“See?” She sent Ryan a sweet smile. “Why don’t you introduce me to your gorgeous date? I think she’s getting lonely. We could have a threesome.”

His eyes popped. “It’s Jenny Hartmann, right? Shy, sweet girl who lived down the street from me?”

“I meant a threesome for drinks. I haven’t changed that much.” She touched his sleeve and was rewarded with the feeling that for the instant her finger was in contact with his arm, he stopped breathing. “You still haven’t told me if you like me this way.”

“It doesn’t fit the girl I knew.”

Jenny raised her brows. “About as well as Armani fits the guy I knew.”

“Touché.”