Two to Tangle

“What would she be like?” Chloe asked before she thought better of it.

He didn’t hesitate. “She’d have curly brown hair and amazing blue eyes. She’d love the beach, not be afraid of trying new things, like skydiving and windsurfing.”

Chloe shuddered. “I don’t do heights. High places make me nauseous. I’d feel sorry for whoever jumped out of the plane first and was below me on the way down.”

He laughed softly. “I’ll remember that.”

“So you want an adventurous brunette?”

“Not entirely. Adventurous is nice. But she also has to have an amazing smile.”

He was staring at her lips and she nervously licked them. She saw him pull in a deep breath, something hot and intimate flashing in his eyes. He finally looked away and picked up his drink.

“Anything else?” Chloe asked, feeling confused and yet completely fascinated by the intense heat she’d seen in his expression when he’d stared at her mouth.

He nodded. “Sense of humor is a must.”

Okay, now he was getting someplace. Humor she could do. Chloe loved to laugh. Given the choice between a gushy, oozy chick flick and a bawdy comedy, she’d go for the grins any day. Her comedy movie collection filled several boxes in her closet.

Her mother called her ability to laugh at life, to find joy in anything, her best feature. Chloe had once countered, “Thanks, Mom. Fabulous hair or a great figure would be nice. Heck, even brains! Sense of humor is almost as bad as telling the chubby kid she has ‘such a pretty face.’”

Of course, Sister Mary Frances had called her sense of humor her ticket to a century in purgatory.

“Do you like old comedies? Laurel and Hardy?” Chloe asked.

He shook his head. “I’m more of an Abbott and Costello fan.”

“Me, too. And Mel Brooks?”

“Oh, sure.”

“So we share the same tastes in comedy,” she said with a hopeful look. “Does that let me off the hook for skydiving?”

“Ever tried parasailing?”

“From what I hear,” she replied dryly, “parasailing requires some elevation, too.”

“Okay, I’ll keep you on the ground.”

You can keep me anywhere you want me…as long as you keep me. She took a sip of her drink and thrust the thought aside.

“This is good,” she acknowledged as she sipped the last few mouthfuls of her punch. Funny how she’d begun to enjoy the rich, spicy flavors—probably because the alcohol had burned every taste bud right out of her mouth. But she wasn’t complaining.

“I’m not opposed to seeing you dance on the table…or anywhere else. Would you like another drink?”

“Maybe I’d better have a glass of water,” she said. Okay, score one for Sister Mary Frances.

“Let’s make that two.”

For the next hour, Chloe found herself thoroughly entranced by the man sitting across from her. Troy—er, Trent!—was funny and sexy, smart and irreverent. He laughed at her jokes and teased her about not being able to handle her punch. He seemed genuinely interested in hearing her brag about her brilliant little sister. He even got her to open up about her worries. Chloe found it easy to tell him about her desire for normalcy, and her concerns about her unconventional mother, whom she dearly loved, but who couldn’t really be counted on for anything.

He once caressed a lock of her hair under the guise of pushing it off of her face, which had set her heart racing for several moments. He didn’t talk much about himself, seeming to really want to focus on her, as if his own life was completely boring and she the most fascinating person on earth. That was an unusual feeling for Chloe, who was well used to sitting in the background while her flamboyant mother soaked up all attention like a paper towel soaked up spilled milk. She even finally decided she was ready to handle a second rum punch.

“You’ve got to be sick of hearing about my family, phobias, video collection, or the various lists of do’s and don’ts by which I run my life,” Chloe said.

He shook his head. “I don’t think I could ever get tired of hearing anything you say.”

This time Chloe was the one to break their stare first. Confusion washed over her. This wasn’t quite the way she’d envisioned the evening. She’d been all set to be mysterious. To play along with his “strangers in a bar” suggestion.

But they’d gone well beyond playing sexy games. Well beyond seductive flirtation. She’d known she was attracted to him. She’d never expected to like him.

“I want to know more about you now,” she finally said. “Do you really like to do dangerous things like skydiving?”

He tilted his head to one side and lifted his hands up in helpless resignation. “Uh, yeah. I do.”

“Yikes,” she murmured, unable to picture the smooth, polished store businessman doing anything so impulsive. Trent, his alter ego, however? Well, yes, she could picture that.

“I don’t really skydive very much anymore,” he admitted. “No time, no money. I do still like to hang glide whenever I visit my folks out west. You really should try it, it could help you get over this problem you have with heights.”

“If I’m more than ten feet off the ground, I’d better have a floor or a fully operational Boeing 747 underneath me,” she countered. “Hang gliding, ha! It should be called strapping paper-framed wings on your back and pretending you’re not attempting suicide.”

He let out another laugh, and Chloe noticed, not for the first time, that every pair of female eyes in the place turned to look at him. Approvingly. Hungrily.

She reached across the table and touched his hand, sending a not-so-subtle message—he’s mine—to the overhormonal bar bimbettes in the room.

He immediately responded by taking her fingers and entwining them with his own, sending shards of heat rushing up her arm. Chloe stared at their hands, marveling again at the darkness and strength of his against her own pale, soft skin. When she finally lifted her gaze to his face, she found him studying her, a half smile on his seductive lips.

“You ready to get out of here?” he asked softly, leaning close and lowering his voice to a more intimate level.

Chloe waited for the length of two heartbeats but felt like two hours for him to continue. And go where?

“The storm’s over. We could go for a walk on the beach.”

Chloe released the breath she’d been holding. “Sounds lovely.” She meant it—a walk on the beach did sound perfect. But she still somehow felt a stab of disappointment. She told herself not to be an idiot. Even if he had issued a much more suggestive invitation, as she’d half feared—okay, half hoped—she wouldn’t have taken him up on it. Absolutely not. Uh-uh, no way, never gonna happen.

Well, probably never gonna happen.

Remembering the quick stop she’d made in the hotel store before dinner, and thinking of the condom right now burning a hole in her small black purse, Chloe acknowledged the truth.

Okay. Maybe gonna happen.

3

TRENT HID A SMILE AS A variety of expressions crossed his lovely companion’s face when he suggested a walk on the beach. He knew what she was thinking—exactly the same thing he was thinking. We’re strangers. This is too soon. What is happening here and why does it feel so right?

Though he sensed he could stand up and lead her out of the crowded bar without another word, he didn’t want to push her. “Your choice. We can stay here if you like.”

“Hmm,” she said, tapping the tip of her index finger on her cheek in obviously feigned indecision. “Stay here in a hot, loud, crowded bar with a bunch of other women who’ve been ogling you for an hour? Or go out onto a romantic, moonlit beach for a refreshing, private walk. Decisions, decisions. You don’t make it easy on a girl.”