Real Women Don't Wear Size 2 (18 page)

He’d leaned forward, elbows on his knees and hands clasped beneath his chin, as if he were conducting a casual interview. But his eyes had darkened to navy and were anything but casual. “Any particular color?”

“Black,” she whispered, recalling the hue most often covering his perfection in her dreams. At the beginning of her dreams. By the end, he was au naturelle and gloriously impressive.

“Not a bad guess.”

Her stomach clenched, or maybe it was her uterus, but she winced at the intensity.

Ethan leaned closer, and the atmosphere in the room instantly shifted as quickly as his teasing grin shifted to a frown of concern. “Do you need another washcloth?”

Clarise blinked, suddenly remembering last night with vivid clarity. Doubled over the porcelain throne, hurling for all she was worth, and Ethan beside her, offering cold cloths and words of comfort. No. Way. “I don’t need a washcloth. I need a do-over,” she whimpered, retreating back to her sea of covers.

“A do-over?”

“Of yesterday, everything that happened yesterday, and especially everything that happened last night.”

His sexy laugh should’ve made her feel better. It didn’t. In the past twenty-four hours, she’d gotten naked, and then gotten sick, in front of her best male friend, who happened to be her
boss,
the one man she admired, and fantasized about, more than any other. And if memory served, and she feared it did, the one who’d been on the receiving end of a copped feel in the elevator. In the elevator!

“I felt you up,” she croaked.

“And did a damn thorough job.”

Dang, she had actually thought things couldn’t get worse. “Can we discuss my resignation?” she pleaded. “I’d appreciate it if I could resign instead of getting fired, if you don’t mind. Of course, I’d understand if you refuse,” she added, feeling downright pathetic. How could she have let this happen?

“I have no intention of firing you, Clarise. Hell, you’re the best employee I’ve got.”

She sat up, which made her head throb. Holding it with both hands, she mumbled, “You’re not going to fire me?”

His eyes moved to her chest, which was quite bare, thanks to the sheet’s slide to her waist. She lifted it and tucked it beneath her armpits. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“Right. You saw, um, everything, last night.”

He didn’t speak, simply nodded.

“And you’re not going to fire me?”

“After learning how much you got into the spirit of the corporate bonding trip? How could I? Then again, I didn’t catch you attempting to bond with anyone I recognized. That’s assuming you’re counting that flashing technique as a prelude to”—he cleared his throat—“bonding.”

“Everyone headed in different directions,” she said. “And I wasn’t sure if I was quite ready for Jake.” She moved her hand to her mouth, as though she could push that back in.

“Jake?” he questioned, his brows pulling together. “Were you planning to—bond—with Riley?”

She shrugged. “I wanted to,” she paused, then decided to continue, carefully, “have fun. But when he asked me to go sightseeing, and I thought he meant to do more . . . ”

“You said no,” he surmised.

“Didn’t make sense to me either,” she said disappointedly. “Except . . . ”

“Except?”

She shook her head, then moved a hand to her temple when the pain seemed to vibrate all the way to the back. “Except I couldn’t picture myself with Jake that way, you know.”

Ethan nodded, but didn’t speak.

“My head hurts,” she repeated.

“That’s what happens when you spend your Friday afternoons drinking rum instead of coffee. And you’re quite more vocal with the rum too.”

“Rum?”

“You had a daiquiri, right?” he asked.

She nodded.

“Then yeah, rum. And a strong one, at that.”

“Dead on arrival,” she whispered.

His grin broadened. “No wonder you prayed for death.”

“Very funny.” She swallowed. “Did you say I was—vocal?”

“Definitely.”

Vocal? What did that mean, exactly? Lord, what had she said? Or worse, what had she done?

“Don’t worry. My lips are sealed.”

Oh. God.

He lifted his brows and winked. Winked! Surely she hadn’t divulged her fantasies. Her very graphic, and extremely inventive, Ethan Eubanks fantasies. Or worse, surely she hadn’t acted them out. And if she did, she’d never forgive herself for forgetting it.

“Of course, you’ll probably need to remain sober for your remaining experience at Gasparilla. How’re you going to know what it feels like to be wild and crazy if you can’t remember it?”

“Right,” she said. “Definitely plan on staying sober.” Why wasn’t he telling her what she said? What she did? Clarise looked at his eyes. Yep, Ethan had that glimmer, the one that announced he was up to something, typically a bit of mischief. And from the grin that accompanied it, she’d bet the mischief had plenty to do with last night’s show, not the show at the parade, but the one in her room. “What?” she asked. “You look—”

“How do I look, Clarise?”

“Guilty.”

“Of?”

“I’m not sure, but um—” she stammered.

“Yeah?”

“Did we, you know, do anything?”

“You mean you don’t remember it? No fireworks? No bells? Hell, I’m losing my touch.” He smiled wickedly, and her heart rate tripled involuntarily.

“Ethan, don’t treat me this way. We didn’t, did we?”

Laughing, he shook his head. “No, Clarise, we didn’t. Give me a little credit. You were smashed.”

“But you’re up to something, aren’t you?”

He smoothly shifted from his chair to the side of the bed, where his body heat swiftly seeped through the sheets and warmed her flesh like long, hot fingers. Clarise looked at his hands. Yep, those fingers were long, and one hand currently rested palm down on the sheet, inches from her waist, with merely a thin piece of fabric between them.

“I’m simply wanting to talk to you, Clarise. Friend to friend.”

“Okay.” She couldn’t remember ever having a friendly conversation in the buff, or with a man on her bed, but, with Ethan, she was certainly willing to give it a go.

“Although we don’t need to discuss your employment status, since there’s no way in hell I’m going to lose my top salesperson, we do have something else to discuss.”

“All right.” Clarise took a deep breath. No problem. She’d made a mistake, and he’d decided to see it for what it was, a momentary lapse in better judgment and a mistake a dear friend could easily forgive. Holding the sheet in place, which was tougher with his weight adding to the tension, she straightened and leaned against the headboard. So Ethan had been here last night and witnessed her attempt to get wild and crazy. It wasn’t a totally terrible thing. They were friends, anyway, and friends saw each other at their best and worst, right? Her brows drew together. Why
had
he been here? In Tampa, when he had stayed in Birmingham for the acquisition meeting with Panache? And more importantly, why had he been
here
—in her room? Several key factors from last night’s events didn’t add up. At all. “Wait a minute,” she said.

“Yeah?”

“Why are you here?” And had he been here all night? Well, of course he had; she remembered that much. He’d stayed through it all, hadn’t left her side. Warmth washed over her, settled in her chest, then moved lower. Ethan had taken care of her through a drunken mess. Why?
Because that’s what any friend would do,
she thought. Sure, that was it, friendship at its finest. Nothing more. Certainly nothing more. Right?

“I finished up all of the loose ends with the Panache deal, then my brother came to Birmingham and offered to run the show while I attended the annual corporate bonding excursion.”

“Oh.” Not what her fluttering heart had hoped for, but she’d take what she could get, particularly where Ethan was concerned.

“And the reason I’m in your room is because this wonderful resort of ours gave my room to someone else before I arrived. So, if you didn’t mind, I planned to ask my friend if she’d be willing to loan out the couch. Or something.”

Or something.
What exactly did he mean by
or something?
Because she’d be more than inclined to discuss the options.

“So you don’t have your own room?” She processed this bit of knowledge, looked around. Yep, one bed and one bed only. No sofa to offer. Worked for her.

“Not anymore.”

“And that’s why you found me?” The memory of his strong, extremely large hand slapping over her breasts at the parade came through loud and clear.

“More or less.”

“You can stay here.” Like she had to give him permission. She’d beg if he wanted. And what did Ethan Eubanks’s “staying here” involve? He’d already seen her naked, right? So, what was the verdict? She eyed him. He didn’t look repulsed. As a matter of fact, he looked rather interested.
Please.
“But I don’t have a couch.” Might as well fish for info.

“The oversized chair worked last night,” he informed, and her hopes dropped.

She bit her lip. Heck, she should’ve known he wasn’t interested in a bit of bed sharing. He was simply in Tampa at Gasparilla with nowhere to stay. Of course he’d ask his buddy, who had a room he was paying for, to let him bunk in. But then again, someone who looked like Ethan, acted like Ethan, could have his pick of women at Gasparilla. He could stay with any of them for the extent of his stay, truth be told. Basically every woman Clarise had seen at the parade had been in prowl mode. They’d snatch this hunk of magnificent male in a heartbeat. But he’d asked to stay with her. Did he really mean to stay on the chair, or would he be interested in more? And what did a girl have to do to find out? Man, she wished she had more experience in this kind of thing. Babette would know what to do, no doubt. As it was, Clarise could count her sexual encounters on one hand and her partners on two fingers. Not a lot of knowledge there for handling dancing naked in front of your friend, then finding out whether he wants to play house for a few days.

She grinned and bit back a hysterical bubble of laughter creeping up her throat. So, she hadn’t had anything this incredible happen in her less-than-exciting life before. Didn’t mean she wasn’t up for a bit of on-the-job training, courtesy of Ethan Eubanks. He could teach her any and everything she needed to know about playing one-on-one for a few days, if that’s what he wanted. A tinge of something tickled the back of her brain, the realization that an interlude with her boss might not be the best thing for her long-term career goal. What would happen if he didn’t want to employ someone who’d been a fling? She pushed that thought aside. Things like this didn’t happen to Clarise Robinson, ever, and for all she knew, he really only needed a place to sleep. So he’d asked his friend. Then, when he’d found her plastered, he’d helped her, every time she got sick, every time she’d yelped about her aching head. A big thick lump settled in her throat.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his head tilted. “Because I have something that I believe we should discuss.”

“Yeah, I’m okay.” She swallowed. “What do we need to discuss?” If not her resignation.

“This list.” He unfolded the paper and scanned it, while apprehension made Clarise’s flesh sting.

Oh. No.

“Actually,” he said, “there is a way for most of these. Oh, I added elevator sex to the end, since you asked me to last night.”

Clarise stared at the sheet of paper. What had she been thinking, writing all of that down? He had her list, a list where, in her mind, he was always her partner for the events. Her neck and face were so hot they hurt. He’d
seen
her list, knew what it meant. She did another check of his expression. Nope, definitely not an I-think-you’re-deranged-and-never-want-to-see-you-again look.

“I have a proposition for you.”

She attempted a swallow, but it quickly escalated into a hard gulp. “Proposition?”

“I understand you want to accomplish these—goals—at Gasparilla. You said as much last night. But I believe it’d be better, safer, if you were to experience them with someone you know.”

“Someone I know?” Two things soared through her mind. One, did he really think she would have done all of that with a stranger? And two . . . Oh. God. Yes.

“Exactly. And since I’m the reason you’re here, and I’m assuming you’ve had some thoughts of me in that sense before, since you mentioned it last night.”

Lord help her. What did she say? “Since I mentioned—what—exactly?”

“That you’d dreamed your lover would look like me.” He sat forward, placed a knuckle under her chin and grinned.

His touch should’ve been harmless, but it shot an arrow of intense desire directly to the center of her thighs. Clarise wanted to die, right now. Fast. Slow. Painfully. Or not. Didn’t matter. But she definitely, most certainly, wanted to die.

“I was quite flattered,” he added, at the same moment her heart thunked over of its own accord.

“Flattered?”

“Of course.”

“That I wanted my lover to be like you?” she asked, thinking she’d obviously misunderstood.

“Yeah. And I was wondering if you’d be willing to improvise your plan.”

“Improvise?” she whispered.

“Let me play the part and help you fulfill the fantasies on this list. I know you wanted it to be someone you didn’t know, but don’t you think sleeping with a stranger is a bit risky these days?”

So, was that the reason he was offering, to protect her health? Not that she minded any reason that put Ethan having sex with her, but she’d kind of hoped . . .

“But do you want to?” she asked, unable to resist.

“Do I want to?”

“Sleep with me. Enough times to accomplish everything on that list.” She timidly pointed toward the paper.

Amazingly, his smile grew wider, and his eyes smoldered, as though he were actually turned on by the idea of getting down and dirty with Cautious Clarise. With his friend.

“Would you? Want to?” she asked.

“Oh yeah.”

A hot rush of liquid pooled between her legs. Sure, she knew he wasn’t in love with her, or even in lust with her, but he did want to sleep with her, for some strange reason, and dang if that didn’t seem good enough to her libido. She blinked. He thought she simply wanted to sleep with a stranger? However, he was willing to play stranger for her fantasy—to keep her safe. No, it wasn’t the ideal scenario, where he wanted her because he loved her and couldn’t live without her, but he wanted to have sex with her, so Clarise wasn’t about to knock it.