A Lick and a Promise

MARGOT PLACED THE FIRST PIZZA on the grill, then the second. She stepped back, almost tripping on her little flower box, the one she was preparing for herbs. Her flowers were doing really well, but the herb thing was giving her fits. She’d tried basil, marjoram, dill, parsley and a bunch of others, but the only thing that had grown successfully was the parsley. But, she’d give it another go. Maybe get some grow lights.

Devon joined her outside, closing the sliding-glass door behind him. “So, what do you think?

She smiled. “He’s yummy plus ten.”

“No kidding. If I wasn’t—”

“But you are.”

“Very.”

“And he’s not.”

Devon sighed. “Nope. Straight as an arrow. But you know my philosophy.”

“Right. No man is truly straight. Only uneducated.”

Devon lifted his highball glass. “Amen.”

She looked past him to see the man in question, still wearing his jacket and tie, smiling rather confusedly at Anya. “I want to rip off his clothes—”

“Margot!”

“—and put him in some Dolce & Gabbana. Hell, even Tommy Hilfiger would be better than that getup.”

Devon stood next to her, watching Daniel. “He works out.”

“You think?”

“I saw him without the jacket. Yep.”

“Ah, nice.”

“So, you going for it?”

“Oh, yeah.”

He turned, putting his free hand on her shoulder. “I meant for the whole nine yards.”

“Oh.”

“Come on, babycakes. This boy needs you. Look at him. He doesn’t have a clue. Face it, it’s destiny.”

“Dev, the guy just moved in. I’ve talked to him for thirty seconds.”

“I knew the moment I laid eyes on him. He’s for you. Ready to be molded by your incredible style. He’s clay, darling. Unformed. Pliable. Needy.”

“Yeah, well, we’ll see. I can’t make a decision that momentous until I learn some things.”

“Like what?”

She checked her pizzas. They were almost done. The serving platters and the cutter were at the ready. “I have no clue if the man has a sense of humor. And as we all know, that’s a deal breaker.”

“That’s it?”

“No. He also needs to be teachable.”

“He moved here from Greenwich, Connecticut. He’s teachable.”

“Unless he’s clueless.”

He turned around to face the door. “He’s too delicious to dismiss out of hand. Take off those glasses, give him a decent haircut, and honey, it wouldn’t matter if he couldn’t tie his own shoes.”

“Devon, go inside.”

“Spoilsport.”

She gave him a little push, and he went to join the others. Margot got busy with the pizza, transferring it onto the platter and cutting it into pieces. All the while, she kept thinking about Daniel. Devon was right. He was the most scrumptious man she’d seen in years. Totally adorable. And clearly in need of her particular talents. But would he go for it? And did she want it to be more than a makeover?

She thought about her friends online, and how she hadn’t been participating with the group much since she got her new job. Eve’s Apple was what they called themselves. A group of brilliant and witty women from all over the country who met in a chat room to talk about life, books, sex. Several years ago, the original founders of the group had begun something called Men To Do. The premise was that there were men out there who were completely inappropriate for the long term. Dangerous men. Foolish choices. Men you wouldn’t take home to mother.

Margot had participated in every aspect of Eve’s Apple, except for that last one. She’d thought about having a Man To Do, but when push came to shove, she’d never found anyone she wanted like that.

These men were for sex only. Not relationships. And despite being too hip to live, according to her friends, Margot was a throwback to a different time. A die-hard romantic, which was not exactly in sync with her New York lifestyle. She didn’t want a tissue of a guy, to discard after one use. She wanted a keeper. But as time went by, and she got older and older—jeez, next March she’d be thirty—the reality of her life was getting harder to deny. She was lonely. Not for friends, she had those in spades. But for love. Or at least lust. The whole vibrator thing was getting old fast. She wanted someone to share her bed. And who knows, maybe Daniel Houghton III was the ticket.

She finished slicing the pizza and went inside. The gang glommed on to the food as if they hadn’t eaten in weeks. All except Daniel, of course, who still looked as if he’d been transported through the looking glass. Poor baby. He had no idea what to make of his fellow tenants. His widened gaze moved over the group and ended up locking with hers. She smiled. He smiled back.

Oh, my. Heart flutters. Flutters lower down. All kinds of inexplicable flutters. She moved toward him, bearing appetizers. “Care for some?”

He hadn’t looked away. Barely even blinked. Something was happening here. She wasn’t sure if he was scared to death or interested. She chose to believe it was interest.

He finally glanced at the remainder of the pizza and took a small piece. She had time to admire his lovely teeth while he took a bite. Excellent hygiene. A plus in anyone’s book. But God, she wanted to see him without that jacket. Actually, she wanted to see him in a lot less than that, but she’d settle.

She swung her platter-bearing hand to the right. “Take these, will ya?”

The platter was gone, and she had absolutely no interest in who’d taken over as hostess. Her focus was on Daniel. “It’s just us,” she said.

He blinked. She loved when he did that. Confusion on Daniel was like caviar on a blini. “Pardon?”

“Us. The gang. Informal.”

This time he didn’t blink. But his right eyebrow arched delightfully.

She decided to give him a tiny hint. Moving none too quickly—she didn’t want him to spook—she maneuvered herself behind him, then reached over his broad shoulders and gently took hold of his lapels.

He jumped, and she thought she heard a little gasp. But he didn’t stop her as she stripped him of the offending garment. She was so taken with what lay beneath, she let the jacket slip from her fingers.

Oh, he did work out. Yes indeedy. Those broad shoulders needed no help from padding. Her fingers itched to keep on going. To take off the purple tie, un-button the oxford shirt. Touch the heat of his flesh. But since she didn’t want him to run screaming to the police, she did the next best thing. She looked down at his butt.