Oh, Naughty Night!

“That’s certainly something to keep in mind,” she said. “But didn’t you say we were backing up? I think you’re directionally challenged. That was pretty forward.”

He laughed, enjoying her bluntness, her humor. She was refreshing, challenging and sharp. He was starting to like her as well as want her.

“Okay. Sorry. Backing up.” The music changed, and he said, “Want to go grab a drink? At the bar, not at my place.”

She nodded and let him lead her toward the bar. He shouldered his way in, calling their drink orders to one of the harried-looking bartenders.

“Do you need money?” she asked.

He shook his head. “I was kidding. I can cover it.”

She stuck out her hand. “Okay, then, where’s my nickel?”

Laughing, enjoying everything about her, he dug a coin out of his pocket and dropped it into her hand.

“Ahh, the beautiful feel of cold hard nickels.”

Drinks in hand, he led her away from the table where she’d been sitting with her friends. No way did he want to sit with the shark who’d eyed him like he was chum. He had to wonder what this woman had been doing with somebody like that, since she didn’t seem at all on-the-make as her dark-haired friend did, or, actually, as innocent as the lighter-haired one seemed.

His witch was just right.

Heading toward a small empty high-top in the corner, he put their drinks on it, and then helped her hop up onto a stool. She crossed one leg over the other. The position revealed a devastatingly sexy length of thigh, and he swallowed hard as he took his seat opposite her.

He sipped the drink, having gotten the special for himself, and grimaced. “Yeah. Cough syrup.”

“I warned ya.”

“I had to try one holiday-themed drink, and the only other choice was some green, glow-in-the-dark ectoplasm stuff.”

They talked drinks for a few minutes, and then music. He realized they had very similar tastes. She was a great conversationalist, but he would never remember half of what she said. He just lost himself staring at her and listening to that sexy, throaty voice—which occasionally tipped up into a more normal tone, one that seemed familiar to him somehow. He was about to ask if she had a cold, or if she’d been around a smoker, but she asked him something first.

“So, Chaz, why were you overseas?” she asked, taking over the conversation. That was a good thing, since he wasn’t sure he’d be able to think of anything except how much he was dying to taste that vulnerable spot on the hollow of her throat.

Besides, it was better than Nice weather we’re having.

“I’m a journalist. I was following a story in Pakistan and ended up staying in Islamabad to help with a new media outfit.”

“That sounds exciting.”

“It can be. Some days are just routine, but the situation there is just so...unsettled.” Well, that’s the understatement of the night.

“So I hear.”

Remembering some of the darker parts of his trip—the things he’d seen and wished he could forget—he admitted, “It’s a completely different world.”

One where he’d witnessed some of the worst—but also, he had to concede, some of the best—of humanity. Dirt and poverty warred with decency and a strong desire for a better life. He’d met people he would consider good friends...and others to whom he would never have turned his back for fear of them sticking a knife in it. It had been like living on a high wire for two months, but, quite honestly, it was what he lived for. He’d always hated liars as a kid, and now he got to bring down the biggest and worst all over the world. Still, it was exhausting, and he was glad to be back in the U.S. of A. Particularly at the start of the whole holiday season. His parents hadn’t expected him home for Thanksgiving and he looked forward to calling them tomorrow to tell them he’d be there.

“Were you in real danger?”

“I never really felt like it, except the two times I crossed over into Afghanistan. Things got a little hairy on the second trip.”

She gasped. “Are you crazy? How could you take a risk like that?”

“Chasing a story,” he said, amused at her response. She’d reacted as though she were a disapproving family member rather than a woman he’d just met. “Believe me, there wasn’t a minute when I wasn’t aware of my surroundings.”

“Your family must not have been happy about your being there.”

That inspired a brief laugh. “You think I’m insane? I didn’t tell them!”

He’d swear she was frowning in disapproval beneath that mask. “Maybe it’s good you didn’t. I’m sure your parents would have been terrified for you.”

“Yes, they would have,” he said, wondering if she, too, had overprotective parents. “That’s why I didn’t say anything to them. The trips were in-and-out, neither lasting longer than thirty-six hours. No point in worrying anybody when I was so far away and nothing they could have said would have changed my mind about going anyway.”

“I read about some journalists who were attacked there last spring.”

His hand tightened around his glass, an instinctive reaction, and a familiar pang of sorrow stabbed him in the gut. “Yes, I knew one of them. She was a wonderful photojournalist.” Her death had been part of what made him so conscious of his surroundings for every second of the trip—and so determined to keep doing what he was doing.

Maybe that was also one reason why he was being a little reckless tonight. He’d been tense for weeks, he needed to let loose, shake off the last vestiges of emotional darkness, be around someone exciting and daring. Someone like her.

“All I can say is it’s great to be home where...”

“Where you can proposition a sexy stranger?”

He smiled, incredibly grateful that she’d lightened the mood again. It was as if she’d read his mind and understood he’d gone as far as he wanted to go on the memory-lane trip.

“Uh-oh, I think you were the one who stepped forward that time.”

“Sideways, maybe. The question was related to the subject at hand.”

“So it was.” He tossed back the rest of his drink, stood, and offered her his hand. “Let’s dance again.”

She immediately rose, twining her soft fingers with his. He squeezed lightly, wondering why he had such a sudden, shocking feeling of rightness at it being there. Funny, how quickly she was affecting him.

They were back on the dance floor, swaying to another bluesy Halloweenish song, when he remembered what she’d said back at the table. “So, you think you’re sexy, do you?”

“I think you think I am.”

Sexy enough to stop his heart. “Oh? You seem pretty self-assured.”

“Well, you gave me a hint with your have-sex-like-the-sun-isn’t-gonna-come-up-tomorrow line.”

“That wasn’t a line,” he said, his voice steady, resolute. “It was a promise.”

She wobbled again. Damn, he loved rocking her out of her spike-heeled shoes that were more of a sexual invitation than a foot covering.

“Now who’s the self-assured one?” she whispered.

“I guess that makes us a good pair.”