Authors: Kate St. James
Chloe turned up a hand. “If you say so.”
Tess narrowed her gaze. Overwork aside, she itched to snatch up the gauntlet her friend had oh-so-cleverly thrown down. Resisting a challenge was not her forte.
“What do you mean?” She took another swallow of beer. The ale warmed her veins and scattered a pleasant buzz through her body. How nice to relax after several weeks of nose-to-the-grindstone paperwork helping a senior partner close several files.
Chloe’s voice softened. “Tess, Tess, what am I going to do with you? You have the heart of an angel. That’s what gets you into trouble. Sweetie, you’re incapable of sleeping with a man
without
falling in love. Your track record screams it.”
Tess stiffened. “You’re dead wrong.” The waitress returned with two more bottles of pale ale and the tequila shooter Chloe had ordered. Tess waited until the young woman moved to the next table. “I didn’t love Warren.” The lamebrain.
Well,
now
she recognized him as a lamebrain.
“Right. You sure thought you did, before you realized how manipulative he was. Then you woke up.”
Pfft!
But the fine hairs on Tess’s arms lifted, signaling a speck of truth to Chloe’s theory.
“What about Kyle Hampton?” Her first lover had been rather creative in the bedroom. Sadly, once they were established as a couple, he’d spent more time with his soccer pals than her. Still, infatuated with his…big hands and convinced he’d learn to find time for their relationship, she’d dated him for several months.
Shades of her mother. She shuddered.
“Ah, Kyle of the size fourteen shoes. Major warm fuzzies there.”
“Warm fuzzies isn’t love.” Tess knew that now.
“For you, at barely twenty, it was. And let’s not forget Brad. One quick tumble in the sack, and you were ready to serve your heart to him on a silver platter.”
Tess exerted a weak laugh. Oh. Brad Nelson. Yes.
Chloe started her second beer. “Face it, Tee, you’re not wired for mindless sex.”
No way would she admit that. Age difference aside, Tess already looked like her mother—the queen of confusing sex with intimacy. In times of stress, she was just as fastidious about housekeeping, obsessively tidying her apartment to vent her frustrations. She was single-minded and determined, like Mom. She didn’t like conceding failure…and neither did Mom.
Agh.
Tess gripped her beer glass. Patrice Sheridan had many good points, but at times like this, Tess felt like she only shared the weak ones.
“And you
are
wired for mindless sex?” she asked Chloe.
“More than you. Admit it.”
“I. Will. Not. Of course I can have sex without falling in love—if I want to.” She just didn’t happen to want to this year. “Matter of fact, that’s stage two of my plan to lead a fulfilling single life.” Unlike many women tiptoeing through their late twenties, matrimony held limited appeal for this lawyer. Her parents’ troubled marriage served as an omnipresent reminder of the hazards of falling too hard too fast. “I’m only celibate now because of my commitment to work. Once I’ve proved my worth to Mr. Greenburg, I’ll sex it up ’til I’m blue in the face.”
“Colorful image, but you’re missing the point. Your entourage of dates is your safety net. What you’re really afraid of is risking your heart. And you wouldn’t defend yourself so strongly if you honestly believed that wasn’t true.” Chloe patted her chest. “Damn, my psych degree comes in handy.”
Tess downed her beer and reached for the second bottle. Was Chloe right? Did she face a future without sex
or
love?
The possibility sounded incredibly disheartening.
But I don’t want love
, she reminded herself as she splashed beer into her glass. No matter how much Chloe hounded her, she was certain on that score.
Sex, however, was another matter. She wanted loads of it. Tons of it.
Gargantuan, sizzling, lust-drenched chunks of it.
She’d prove Chloe wrong.
Twenty minutes later, Tess had polished off her second beer and was eyeing the Screaming Eddie—a tequila shot spiked with Tabasco sauce—her friend had yet to consume. “Let’s see if I have this straight. I pick a man, any man—”
“No, he can’t be someone you already know. No enlisting friends or one of your current dates for help. In order to challenge your heart, Tee, we need an element of risk. That means choosing a guy you find exceedingly hot.”
Chloe’s logic escaped Tess, although she couldn’t determine precisely how. She’d logged so many extra hours lately trying to impress the senior partners that her second drink had hit her super hard. Her thought processes felt kind of muddled.
“A hunk of burnin’ love?” she attempted to clarify. No harm playing along.
“Or, as we liked to say when we were young and foolish, a studmuffin.”
Perfect.
Tess resisted a grin. Even if she planned on following through with Chloe’s scheme—and she didn’t—she wasn’t in danger of falling for a self-absorbed studmuffin. Warren, while not to-die-for handsome, had possessed enough good looks and charm to cure her of that particular beast. On the rare occasions she did dream of marrying—like maybe once she turned fifty and images of old age encroached—her fantasies revolved around sincere, homely types.
“All right, so I can’t already know him, and I can’t tell him about the bet.” This was fun. And what better place to partake—well, lead on Chloe a little—than within the safety of conservative Danver’s? “Let’s get started. I’ll make contact tonight—”
“Just contact? Why not take him home?”
“Because! I do have some morals. I’d like to date him once or twice first.”
“Tess, I was kidding. Making contact tonight is great. Providing you can pick out a hunk from among this boring sea of suits.”
“A business suit does not a dullard make, Chlo.”
“It doesn’t help.”
“Now you’re trying to dissuade me?” An easy out. Her brilliance knew no bounds.
“Never.” Chloe sipped her beer. “How about this? You approach the guy, give him your phone number. If he doesn’t call within a few days, you do. But don’t ask for his number. That might seem too predatory, scare him off. You know how guys are. Just make sure you get his last name, and you can look him up in the book or online.”
“That’s not predatory?” It
sounded
predatory.
Chloe scoffed. “Any true hottie would be flattered.”
“Gotcha.” With any luck, Tess’s hottie would have an unlisted phone number. But she couldn’t count on that eventuality, so she’d slip him a fake number of her own and hope Chloe didn’t catch on.
For good measure, and in case Chloe asked, she’d invent a fake name for him, too.
Exhilaration whipped through her. Could she do this?
Yes.
No.
All right, maybe halfway do it. Long enough to prove her point to Chloe.
She scanned the bar for potential targets.
Tread carefully, girl.
She couldn’t let Chloe suspect that she didn’t intend to take this silly dare beyond tonight. She’d establish her brilliance by hitting on some gorgeous, conceited sap who wouldn’t remember what she looked like tomorrow. Then she’d sit down her best friend for a lengthy heart-to-heart until Chloe admitted that Tess’s plan for a carefree life
was
possible—on
her
timetable, not Chloe’s.
Meanwhile, she’d have a blast tricking her friend into thinking she intended to pursue a hookup. Any embarrassment she experienced approaching a guy would be worth it to prove Chloe wrong.
“And you have to date him for at least six weeks,” Chloe said. “Exclusively. That eliminates your worry about sleeping with one guy while dating others.”
“How generous of you.”
“I think so.”
Tess smiled. She could agree to anything, because she had a loophole. Best friends didn’t hold one another to bets conspired while buzzed.
“If you’re bouncing the mattress with him most of that time, I predict you’ll fall in love with him, too,” Chloe said. “So no one-night stands and then you ask him to be your bud, Tee. The challenge is to really get to know this man, in bed and out. If you do that and still don’t fall in love with him, you win. Then I’ll believe this great plan of yours to remain single.”
“And the stakes?” Tess felt compelled to ask. For no other reason than she should gain familiarity with what she’d owe come pay-up time.
“The usual.”
“One carton?”
“I’m hungry. Let’s make it ten.”
Tess’s mouth watered. Chloe definitely knew how to tempt her.
Tess surveyed the tables, found them a wee bit lacking in the hottie department, then glanced at the big mahogany bar. Her gaze tripped along the barstools. Wasn’t there a mark in the whole damn pla—
Her heart kicked.
That’s him!
Sitting on a stool with a group of laughing men and women surrounding him, from this distance the guy appeared sensual and earthy-looking. Standing, he’d measure about six feet tall. An amber polo shirt stretched across his wide shoulders, and his dark brown hair looked thick and casually mussed, as if he’d spent the day hiking Grouse Mountain instead of locked in a Burrard Street boardroom.
Just my type.
No, not my type.
Focus, Tess, focus.
He probably had dreamy, dark-lashed brown eyes to go with his dark hair, too. Roguish, handsome features highlighted his friendly-looking face. And his smile…
As if he sensed her staring, his head turned. Like in a thousand romantic movies in a thousand darkened theaters, their gazes caught and refused to let go.
His sexy smile widened, and Tess’s heart slid to her toes.
Come to Mama.
Another guy in the group patted his shoulder, and the mark turned back to his friends.
Tess sucked in a breath. “Got him.” She pointed him out as his friends headed to the exit. The mark remained seated, oozing confidence and sex appeal.
Chloe eyeballed his side view. “Oooh, Tee, I approve.”
“Good.” She grabbed the tequila shot and downed it. She shivered with distaste as the fiery Tabasco and the over-strong burn of liquid sin razed her throat and flamed wildly through her veins.
“Hey, that was mine!”
“Tough.” Hitting on a stranger required more courage than her usual two-drink limit offered.
She stood, smoothed her skirt over her hips, and announced, “I’m going in.”
Chapter Two
“Hi,” a soft, feminine voice barely audible above the pub’s sound system murmured behind Zach. Turning on his barstool, he saw the slender strawberry blonde who, moments earlier, had been sitting at the table near the ornate mirrors.
“Hi yourself.” Up close, she was more than a knockout. She was breathtaking. A few strands of molten-sunshine hair had escaped her conservative hairstyle to feather in waves along her slim neck. Long lashes framed her demure, light blue eyes. But the way she propped one hand on her hip and the husky timbre of her voice was anything but demure.
Interesting.
Minutes ago, when their gazes had met, Zach had sensed shyness in droves. Now, the intriguing allure of her madonna-minx appeal pulled at him. Pleasure filled him that she hadn’t ventured to the bar while he’d chatted with the Halliday employees on their way out. He might have missed her in the commotion.
And that would have been a damn shame.
“Um, excuse me.” She death-gripped her purse, her voice shifting from sensual to something approaching awkward.
“Sorry.” Zach rose to allow her better access to the bar, but her light blush stopped him from stepping aside. The pale freckles he’d imagined—and was gratified to see she possessed—enhanced her delicate features and high cheekbones.
Then she angled her arm in a manner emphasizing her breasts beneath her pale yellow business suit, and, for a second time, he glimpsed minx.
His woman-on-the-prowl radar went on alert. “I’m not in your way, am I?” He set his drink on the bar.
“Not yet.” Her smile wavered. “But if you play your cards right, you could be.”
He chuckled at the horrendous pickup line. “And I take it you’d be more than happy to fall into my lap.”
Uncertainty flashed in those stunning blue eyes. She cleared her throat. Moved closer.
Was that tequila he detected on her breath?
“I’ve been watching you all evening,” she murmured. “Do you come here often?”
“You mean, what’s my sign?” Zach enjoyed their exchange of retro clichés. However, as much as he loved women and wasn’t unaccustomed to getting hit on, something about Miss Strawberry Surprise didn’t jive. “Look, I don’t want to embarrass you or sound like I’m not interested, but are you sure you want to be doing this?” If the tequila were responsible for the strange vibes floating off her, she might regret it tomorrow.
Her blue eyes rounded, making her look impossibly young and innocent, yet also guilty.
Damn, but she had the cutest tilt to the tip of her aristocratic nose.
“Yes, I want to do this. I have to.” She tensed, inhaled. “Um, I’d like a date. That is, would you like a date? Uh, just for the evening—uh, night—um, for a start?”
“You’re a hooker?”
Her hand jerked off her hip. “Of course not! I said ‘for a start’.”
“Whoops. Initially, you said ‘for the night’.”
“I know.” She winced. “I didn’t mean to. What I meant to say was that I’d like a date sometime. Not necessarily—uh, definitely not tonight.”
A smile tugged his mouth. “Definitely not tonight, huh?”
“No. I came with a friend, so I shouldn’t.”
Oh yeah, the security-in-pairs game.
She glanced away. “Damn it, I’m screwing this up. I’m nervous.”
Zach gazed at her. Why should she feel nervous? If she’d been watching him like she claimed, she’d have noticed he didn’t bite…unless the woman in question requested it. And tonight he’d done nothing but joke around and relax since entering the place with Ethan—
His brain snapped to attention.
Ethan. Of course.
His brother had organized tonight, choosing the bar, the time, where they’d sit, then had kept checking his watch as if waiting for something to happen. When Ethan left, maybe thirty minutes after they’d arrived, he’d specifically mentioned
wanting
Zach to stay.