Red-Hot Nights: Daring in the Dark

She pulled out the chopping board, a knife and a bowl.

“And why would you think I’m not thrilled to be here?” he asked.

She went to work chunking the fresh pineapple. She almost said she wasn’t as dumb as she must look but thought better of it. “Should I believe you’re thrilled to be stuck in this apartment with me?”

“Would you believe me if I told you there was no other place I’d rather be?” Something in the depths of his eyes stole her breath.

She laughed to cover her breathlessness and cored an apple. “No. I think there’s probably a list a mile long of places you’d rather be, but you’re too nice to say so.”

“Quite. I’m such a nice guy.”

“Be honest. Wouldn’t you rather be at your girlfriend’s? Or if the photo shoot had gone a little longer, you’d be with Chloe.” Okay, she admitted it. She was fishing. They’d double dated several times with Simon. Each time it had been a different woman. But after the photo shoot, Simon had always begged off whenever Elliott invited him along.

She added diced apple to the bowl and reached for a banana. His love life intrigued her. Not that it had anything to do with her. But if she was having head-banging sex with him in her dreams, she could at least know about his love life.

“I don’t have a girlfriend and Chloe isn’t my type,” he said, shrugging. A thin, beautiful model wasn’t his type? She looked at him considering the implications. Maybe he was …

“And no, I don’t mean not my type that way. I’m not gay. Chloe’s a nice woman, but she doesn’t do a thing for me.”

Whew! She shouldn’t be so relieved. She sectioned an orange. What kind of woman was his type? Who would appeal to a self-contained man like Simon? And why didn’t he have a girlfriend? In a dark, fiendish way, he was spine-tingling, toe-curling sexy. “So, what kind of woman does something for you?”

“I’ve never really thought about it.”

“Sure you have. Everyone has a type they go for,” she said.

“I don’t really have a type.”

He seriously needed to loosen up a bit. She mixed the fruit together. “Sure you do. I bet if you stop and think about it, there’s a certain type of woman that attracts you, that makes your blood run a little hotter.”

“Is this some kind of game, Tawny? Do you want me to say it’s a woman like you?” His voice was low, dangerous in its quiet intensity.

Wasn’t that exactly what she wanted? To know that for all the times she’d writhed, screamed his name in the middle of an orgasm, woken up wet and spent, that he wasn’t totally immune to her? Yes and no. The only game she was playing was with herself, and it was a dangerous one. She looked away from his dark-eyed gaze, glad to busy herself with getting two bowls out of her cabinet. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’ve made it abundantly clear how you regard me. I’m just surprised you’re not still seeing Lenore. You made a nice couple.” Lenore had been Simon’s date the night Elliott had proposed. The tall, willowy blonde had been a perfect complement to Simon’s urbane dark looks.

She divvied out the portions and they sat at the small wrought-iron table she’d tucked in the corner.

Simon shrugged. “Lenore is nice. That’s why I quit seeing her. I’m in a bit of an unrequited love and it didn’t seem fair to date her when my head and heart were otherwise engaged. Delicious, by the way,” he said, indicating the fruit and pizza. “Thank you.”

“Glad you like it.” His other words slammed into her. A dark jealousy coiled through her at the thought of a woman capturing the distant Simon’s heart. This mystery woman must be a paragon. Beautiful, sophisticated, thin, witty, probably a couple of Ph.D.s under her belt. Unwisely, unwittingly, instinctively Tawny hated her. Hated her for capturing his heart and hated her for tossing it aside.

So of course she said, “I’m sorry. That’s a hard place to be. Do you want to talk about it? About her? Sometimes talking it over with someone, things aren’t as hopeless as they seem.” She couldn’t seem to shut up, hell-bent on atoning for her lust. “Maybe I could help you figure out a way to win her over—you know, another woman’s perspective.”

She bit into the pizza, finding something else to do with her mouth other than babble on. Simon regarded her over the rim of his wineglass, his expression indecipherable. “You’re offering aid with my dismal love life?”

It could prove to be just the cure she needed to get over this … thing for him. She nodded and swallowed. “Sure. Why not?”

He placed his empty glass on the table. “That’s generous, but she’s unavailable.”

Ouch. “She’s married?”

“No. But she’s in a serious relationship.”

That merely irritated her. Was Simon truly in love or was it the unavailability factor? People, especially men, always wanted what they couldn’t have. Put a taboo label on it and they had to have it.

“Until she says I do, she’s not unavailable. You’ve got to decide how important she is to you. If you’re willing to forego other relationships, she must matter a lot. Wake up, Simon, and smell the coffee. What’re you gonna do? Sit around in some weird celibate state—”

“I never mentioned celibacy.” Simon tried to pull a haughty look on her.

Tawny rolled her eyes. “Give me a break. If you won’t date a woman because you don’t want to be unfair, then you’re certainly not sleeping with anyone.” Alarming how much that pleased her. So of course she worked even harder to push him. “You’re gonna moon around in a celibate state for a couple of years or even the rest of your life because she’s in a relationship but not married? How bad do you want her?”

“With every fiber of my being.”

His quiet intensity sent a shiver down her spine and pierced her heart. What was wrong with her? Who he wanted and how much he wanted her had nothing to do with Tawny.

“Then it’s time for you to fish or cut bait.”

“THANKS FOR YOUR ADVICE to the lovelorn. I’ll keep the ‘fish or cut bait’ in mind.”

Wasn’t that twisted? The object of his unrequited affection—and hence intense guilt, as she was engaged to his best friend—sat across the table, bathed in candlelight, wearing a sexy halter top and shorts and advising him to put a move on her. At least, that’s what he’d interpreted her charming colloquialism to mean.

Tawny topped off her wineglass and refilled his at the same time. “Well, I think you should go for it. What have you got to lose?”

What did he have to lose if he went for her right now? “Really nothing, other than those small matters of pride and self-esteem.”

“It’s pretty hard to wrap your arms around those and snuggle up to them. Or enjoy a glass of wine or a candlelit bubble bath with them either.”

He struggled to keep his expression one of sardonic amusement while inside her words played out in his head as snapshots of the two of them. The irony of sharing a glass of wine with her in candlelight nearly slayed him. He was an absolute masochist to participate in this conversation. Bugger that, he was a masochist to even be here.

“But a glass of wine sooner or later is gone, eventually the candles burn out, and the water grows cold, so perhaps one has to make the more long-lasting choice.”

“Except that life is fleeting. Tomorrow may not come before the wine stops flowing or the water cools.”

“Am I in the company of a hedonist?” he asked, very clearly recalling his recent introduction to Tiny, Enrico and Bob, her on-demand boyfriends.

She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “Life is short and it’s a shame to waste opportunities. This woman could be the love of your life and you’re letting her slip away. And who knows? She may feel the same way about you.” He really was a pathetic sod. He was flattered she didn’t consider him so repugnant she couldn’t imagine a woman attracted to him. “Maybe she just doesn’t know it yet. Or she could be shy and afraid to tell you.”

Simon laughed. Neither of those came to mind in a Tawny word-association exercise. Other than her aversion to the dark, she’d never displayed either characteristic. “I don’t think shy or fear are factors when it comes to my lady.”

Tawny leaned her elbow on the table and pursed her lips, tapping one finger against the corner of her mouth as she eyed him consideringly. She had a truly lovely mouth, full but without the collagen bloat so popular these days.

“Well, maybe this is some kind of courtly love.” She snapped her fingers. “That’s it. You know, chivalry and all. Knights only loved their ladies from afar. Maybe you’re just afraid to declare yourself because you aren’t truly physically attracted to her. Maybe you wouldn’t know what to do with her if she actually reciprocated your attraction,” she said. She crossed her arms as if she’d neatly solved a little puzzle.

His boyhood days of envisioning himself as a bold knight were long gone. There was nothing courtly or chivalrous about the maelstrom of emotion she evoked in him. He absolutely burned for her. And he’d had enough of her speculation. It was time for this conversation to end. He knew one sure way to kill the conversation and prove to her just how far removed he was from her romanticized notions.

He traced his finger along the edge of his glass and smiled at her across the table, offering her a glimpse of the dark passion seething beneath his surface. “I don’t know about courtly love.” He chose his next words very deliberately—crude and base—to make a point. “I do know I would fuck her senseless for a week, given half a chance.”

Her eyes grew huge and she swallowed hard, but she didn’t look away. “Oh. Senseless … a week … well, then.”

Okay. Perhaps he’d gone a bit over the top there. “I apologize if I shocked you.”