Silent Desires

Joan rolled her eyes. “Men. Funny how that card always seems to draw a man’s attention.”

“I’m not looking for two women,” he said, meeting her eyes. “But I wouldn’t mind spending some time with one good one.”

It was a blatant come-on, and she pointedly ignored it, determined to stay all business. “Do you know much about erotica?” she asked.

“Well, I suppose that depends.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “I have what I like to call hands-on knowledge of the subject. But formal book learning? Afraid not.” His eyes met hers. “Maybe I’m due for an education,” he said, his words flowing over her like warm honey.

She cleared her throat to keep the suggestive response that tripped to her tongue at bay. The plan, remember? No flirting. “I’m sorry the apartments aren’t what you’re looking for.”

Disappointment flashed across his face. “Yeah,” he said. “Too bad.” After a moment, his expression shifted and he smiled, the simple gesture lighting his face. “Although I can’t say it matters much. I might have stepped in to ask about the property, but once I was inside I found something much more interesting.”

Joan’s gaze immediately dipped to the tabletop. “It is fascinating, isn’t it?”

He laughed, and she snapped her head back up, looking him in the eyes. “Not the drawings,” he said, waving the sketch he still held. “You. You’re my perk for the morning.”

Her cheeks warmed. “A perk? I don’t think I’ve ever been anyone’s perk before.”

“No? I’m surprised.” He laid the sketch back on the table, then tapped it in the center with his index finger. “I’m serious, though,” he said. “I bet there are a lot of things you could teach me.” A sexy grin crossed his face. “For that matter, there are probably a few things I could teach you.”

Joan didn’t doubt that for a minute. This man made her tingle, and only a few weeks before she would have been a very eager student. Now, though, that kind of education wasn’t on her agenda. Before she had the chance to tell him, though, the electronic tones of his cell phone trilled through the air. Bryce grimaced and pulled a tiny phone from his pocket. He checked the display, mouthed an apology, then answered the call. “Worthington.”

Joan watched with interest. The man she’d been flirting with was confident, friendly and charming. The man on the phone was all those things and more. He had a presence about him, as if some invisible aura of command had dropped from the sky and surrounded him as soon as he’d answered the phone. Joan had no idea what he did for a living, but it involved a lot of money. Of that, she was certain.

“Dammit, Leo, I thought you had things under control,” Bryce said. A pause, then, “No, I’m not thrilled. But if you really think this is the best route…” Another pause. “Well, I pay you to make these decisions, so just tell me what your recommendation is and stop beating around the bush…. Fine. I’m on my way.”

He flipped the phone shut, shaking his head.

“Bad news?”

“I think so,” Bryce said. “Because it means I have to go.”

“Oh.” She didn’t know what else to say.

“Maybe I could buy you dinner?”

“Dinner?” she repeated stupidly.

He grinned. “You’ve heard of dinner, I assume? It’s a ritual whereby people eat for nourishment, often finding entertainment in the company of others.”

She made a face. “Yes, thank you. I’ve heard of dinner.”

“Tonight?”

Her resolution flashed neon orange inside her head. She should say no, she knew that. But there wasn’t anything resolution-breaking about dinner. Dinner could lead to Mr. Right.

Right?

Inwardly, she groaned. That was a justification if she’d ever heard one. And she fisted her hands against her own weakness, trying to bolster her resolve. This man was too sexy by half, and if she went with him to dinner, had a little wine, her resolutions would go up in a puff of white smoke. She’d be willing to bet on it.

“I’m sorry,” she began, “but I’ve—”

“It’s just that I find this so intriguing,” he continued, nodding at the table. “And I’m a collector.”

She frowned. “You are?” He hadn’t struck her as the type.

“Well, not of erotica, but of first editions. You’ve started me thinking about expanding into new territories.”

“Oh,” Joan said, and then, when she realized just what a coup this man could be for the store’s bankroll, “Oh!”

“Maybe you could pick out two or three of your best first editions. Something a serious collector needs. We could meet over dinner and talk about building my collection.”

“Oh, yes. Right.” Joan’s head was spinning. Her guy resolution might be flashing neon orange in her head, but her profit resolution was lit up like a Broadway billboard, complete with soundtrack. If he was really thinking about buying three first editions…

She licked her lips, doing some quick math in her head. “Sure,” she finally said. “Dinner sounds great. It’ll have to be late, though. The store doesn’t close until eight.”

“So we’ll eat at nine.” He smiled, and Joan realized he was willing to accommodate whatever inconveniences she might throw his way. “In fact, why don’t you bring three books and an invoice? I’m sure whatever you pick out will be perfect. I’ll write a check at dinner.”

“Oh.” Joan stared, mildly flabbergasted. “Well, sure. Okay. I mean, I like a man who takes charge.” It was a flirty comment, but she barely noticed. Right then, the possibility of an amazing sale overshadowed everything.

“Good. Then you should like me just fine.” He slipped a card out of his breast pocket, then scribbled something on it. “I’m staying at the Monteleone,” he said. “Do you know it?”

She nodded. Everyone in town knew the posh hotel on Fifth Avenue.

“There’s a restaurant just off the lobby. It’s fabulous. Talon. Does that sound good?”

“Um, sure.” Really, it would be uncouth to leap up and down for joy. Never in a million years would she be able to afford to eat there.

She took the card, the paper smooth between her fingers. On the back, he’d written dinner, 9:00 p.m., Talon. On the front, no job or company was listed. Simply a mobile phone number and Bryce Worthington as if that were all she needed to know. Hell, maybe it was.

“Then it’s settled,” he said. “A little wine, a little literature, a little erotica.” He met her eyes. “Does that sound good?”

Joan swallowed. This wasn’t a man people said no to. And, frankly, her entire body was screaming yes. Not that she intended to listen to her body. Bryce Worthington might be interested in a date—might be using the sale of erotica as a ploy to get her to dinner—but that didn’t matter. Joan intended to stick to her guns.

She licked her lips. Too bad for her.

“Joan?” he pressed. “Are we on?”

She nodded. A silent, professional gesture. As if she delivered erotica every day of her life to men who made her nipples ache and her panties damp.

But her panties didn’t matter. Because Joan was meeting this man only to sell him some erotica. And nothing else was going to happen.

Nothing at all.

A COLLECTOR? Bryce smiled, shaking his head as he slid into the taxi he’d hailed.

“Where to, buddy?”

He gave the driver the address for Leo’s office, then settled back in the worn vinyl seat, thinking about his lie. The truth was, he owned one collectible first edition—Tom Clancy’s The Hunt For Red October—that he’d inherited from his father, a submarine buff who’d bought one of the early copies before the book became a bestseller. Valuable, sure. But not exactly the sort of collection he’d suggested filled the nooks and crannies of his home.