He wanted to taste every delicious inch of her…

Jessica lay on the bed, her blouse half-open to reveal a peach lace bra that couldn’t hide her erect nipples. The sight spurred Dan into action, and he ripped at his own shirt.

That got Jessica moving, too, and they raced to shed their clothes as if they were on fire. Which, in fact, they were. For each other…

By the time he got completely undressed, she’d reached the last stage—her panties. He held out a hand. “Stop.”

Jessica obeyed, her gaze moving down his chest and his stomach, finally settling on his erection.

“Why am I stopping?” she asked, her eyes never moving up, not even an inch.

“I want to appreciate you just for a minute.”

“Appreciate how?” She smiled.

“By looking,” he murmured, climbing onto the big white bed. “And touching,” he added, as his hands went to cup the most beautiful breasts he’d ever seen.

All Dan could think about was how stunning she was, and how lucky he was. How being inside her would be absolutely delicious. He wanted this to last forever. But time was running out….

Dear Reader,

Who says guys are the only ones who get to have Arm Candy? Not me, and not Jessica Howell, a woman who knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to go after it. Unfortunately, she doesn’t always know what she needs.

Take Daniel Crawford for example. Oh, Jessica wants him. To be her date, to be her lover. But to be her perfect match? To be the one man who makes her whole world make sense? She doesn’t have a clue. Not until…

Anyway, Jessica is a lot like me when I was working my tail off in the movie industry. I had no room for anything but work, success and more success. Thankfully, I woke up and smelled the roses before it was too late, and so does Jess. But not until Daniel shows her a thing or two about what it means to love.

Affectionately yours,

Jo Leigh

Arm Candy
Jo Leigh

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This book is for the dreamers—

all of us who can’t live without books

This guy is strolling on the beach in California. He sees a lamp, rubs it, and a genie pops out. The genie is so overjoyed that he decides to grant one wish to the guy.

The guy thinks about it and says, “I’d like you to build a highway to Hawaii because I’m afraid to fly.” The genie tells him that it’s impossible because of the depth of the ocean and the distance to Hawaii. So he asks the guy to wish for something else.

The guy thinks about it and, very enthusiastically, wishes he could understand women.

“Do you want the highway to have two or four lanes?” the genie says.

Source: Keidat, Ed; Keidat, Kim; Edelman, Joe “Genie in a Bottle” http://www.coolquiz.com/humor/jokes/joke.asp?jokenum=3593

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

1

JESSICA WAS SECONDS away from a clean getaway. At a quarter to midnight on a Thursday night, she figured everyone else had left Geller and Patrick, Inc., and she could simply go to the elevator and make it to the street and a taxi without interference. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

Owen McCabe, her boss, her former mentor and current major pain in the butt, popped out of his office one second before she pressed the down button. Not only did he scare the bejesus out of her, but he also made her drop her portfolio, which gave him an excuse to rush over and help her pick up her papers.

“Burning the midnight oil, Jess?”

“Yep, and now I’m exhausted, so if you’ll just give me the—”

“I know,” he said, handing her the prospectus on the new eyeshadow line, “why don’t we go get ourselves a nice nightcap. That’ll help you get right to sleep.”

She took a deep breath as she slipped the papers back into the portfolio. “Thanks, Owen, but I don’t need any help. Just a taxi.”

“I’ve got my car right downstairs.”

“No, that’s okay. You go on home. I’m sure Ellen’s worried that it’s so late.”

“She went to bed hours ago,” he said. “The boys had track today and they wore her out.”

“I understand how she feels.” Jessica pressed the down button again and silently prayed for the elevator to arrive.

“So,” Owen said, leaning against the wall in a not-so-casual effort to appear relaxed, “you all set for next week?”

“Pretty much. Just a few more odds and ends. We’ll be fine. It’s going to be a huge success.”

“Yeah, yeah, it will. Mostly due to your efforts.”

“Nonsense. Everyone’s been working like dogs.”

“With you as captain and commander.”

Six months ago she would have been thrilled by the compliment, but things had changed.

Somewhere along the way, her boss had gotten the idea that the two of them could be more than co-workers. Despite the fact that he was married with twin boys. Despite the fact that she’d never given him a smidgen of encouragement. Despite the fact that he knew she had no time or desire to date anyone, period.

She’d given the situation a lot of thought. She could complain about harassment, make a stink, but for all practical purposes, she’d ultimately be the loser. No matter the outcome, a suit would put a very large dent in her career plans. Instead, she’d decided to deal somehow with Owen until the new line was in place, then, with that success under her belt, make her move. Revlon had expressed interest in her, and she was pretty sure there was going to be a shake-up at Clinique. All she had to do was get through the next two weeks without a major fiasco, and she could write her own ticket.

“Sure I can’t persuade you?” Owen asked as the elevator doors hissed open.

“Not tonight. Thanks anyway, I appreciate it.”

He touched her arm as she walked into the car. “And I appreciate you.”

She smiled until the doors closed, then she let out a loud groan. God, what a nightmare. And it was only going to get worse.

In four days, the new line would be launched with one of the most elaborate campaigns and media focus in cosmetics history. A solid week of high-impact promos featuring A-list celebrities, all taking place in Manhattan with locations from the Rainbow Room to Central Park, and she was in charge of seeing that nothing went wrong. Luckily, her team was top-notch, especially her assistant, Marla, which meant she could concentrate on putting out fires rather than concerning herself with the details. Unfortunately, the biggest fire she’d have to put out was in Owen’s pants.

To make matters worse, they were all staying at the Willows hotel for the duration, and Owen had booked her a suite right next to his own. Undoubtedly with connecting doors.

Something had to be done. Something that wouldn’t get her fired. Something that would show Owen once and for all that she wasn’t available.

The elevator stopped in the lobby and she nodded at the security guy as she headed for the street, her heels clicking on the marble floors. Once she was outside, she stood still for just a moment, letting the cool air of the early-fall evening refresh her. This was her favorite time of year, especially in New York. The whole city seemed more alive. The humidity and heat of summer had finally passed, and the promise of brilliant holidays shimmered just around the corner.

She stepped to the curb and hailed a taxi. In another ten minutes or so, she could take a nice warm shower, crawl between her Egyptian-cotton sheets and forget about Owen, makeup and ad campaigns until five-thirty, when it would all begin again.

The cabbie was mercifully silent, and Jessica leaned her head back on the torn seat. There was so much to do before the premiere, and she felt guilty about leaving work at all. Ridiculous, but nonetheless it was true. Her job was everything… No, that wasn’t true. Her career was everything. Nothing, not even Owen and his out-of-control libido, was going to stand in her way. She would be an executive VP before she reached thirty, or die trying.

But that meant fending off Owen’s advances until the campaign was over. The only thing that would keep Owen away was her having a boyfriend. But he knew she didn’t have one, and how in hell was she supposed to come up with one in the next week?

Her gaze flickered over the staccato pImages** flashing by the window as the taxi zoomed toward Chelsea. At the corner of Seventh Avenue and West Twenty-first, she saw a billboard for Angel’s Escort Service.

Jessica smiled as she stared, the entire plan falling into place with a sweet little plunk. An escort. Of course. She could say it was someone from Harvard, someone she’d been with before. It would be a simple enough thing to hire a man for the job, someone sophisticated enough to play the part, handsome enough to look good in the inevitable photos, and someone discreet enough not to blow the whistle on her.

Glen. Her best friend. Of course. God, why hadn’t she thought of this before? It was so obvious. The only person in the whole office who’d even heard of Glen was Marla, and Marla was the soul of discretion. She’d call him tomorrow. He’d love a week at the Willows. And Owen McCabe could take his advances and shove them right up his Armani.

“LOVE TO. Can’t.”

Jessica blinked, not wanting to believe the words. “Glen, no. Please. Maybe you don’t understand the seriousness of the situation. He’s relentless. He’s everywhere. I need you.”

“I know, Jess, but I just can’t, I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

“Well, for one thing, I’ll be in California for four of the days.”

“You can’t cancel? Reschedule?”

His deep baritone filled her ear and made her clutch the phone with a desperate fist. “No, I can’t.”

“Dammit, dammit, dammit. This was the perfect solution.”

“So, find someone else. Surely I’m not the only guy you know.”

“No, but you’re the only guy I know well enough to ask. Come on, Glen. You’re perfect.”

“Ah, you say the sweetest things.”

“How about a friend? You have friends. Lots of friends. I’ll pay. Well. But he’s got to be discreet. If anyone finds out…”

“I think I might know someone.”

“Really?” She grabbed her Mont Blanc, the pen she’d gotten as a graduation present from her aunt Lydia of Belgium, and twirled it between her fingers.

“Yeah, but I’ll have to convince him.”

“Do it. Please. I’m begging.”

“Hey, I’ll do my best.”

She could picture him sitting in his gallery, underneath the Jean-Michel Basquiat collage, wearing something fabulous that flattered his blue eyes and dark, dark hair. “Thank you.”

“Just a thought,” he said, “but have you tried telling your boss you’re not interested?”

She laughed, which she hadn’t done in quite some time. It wasn’t a good laugh, though, and she thought of the many, many times she’d told Owen straight out that she had no intention of stepping over the line with him. “He has selective hearing. And don’t tell me to file a suit. I’ve thought this through and I’m going to bail when the time is right.”

“I figured. You’re nothing if not thorough.”

“You make it sound like that’s a bad thing.”

“Make that thorough and paranoid.”

She smiled. “When this is all over, I’m going to buy you the most decadent meal in Manhattan. You say where and when.”

“Deal. Now let me go see what I can do.”

“Go!” She hung up, then leaned back in her chair, consciously relaxing her shoulders as she sank into the kidskin leather. Glen would come through, she had to believe that. If not, she’d just plain hire someone from an escort agency. She’d heard of it being done, although she’d never met anyone who’d used the service. But she hoped she didn’t have to resort to that. This was too important.

A knock on the door brought her back to the business at hand. “Come in.”

Marla Scott, Jessica’s assistant, walked in, her arms filled with magazines. She came over to the desk, put them down carefully, then rubbed her hands together. “I’ve marked all the ads. Check out The New Yorker. There’s a column raving about the budget and our conspicuous consumption. It’s great.”

The stack was huge, and this was only the beginning of the blitz that would blanket newspapers, radio and billboards across the city. By the end of the campaign there wouldn’t be a man, woman or child in the country who wouldn’t know about the New Dawn line.

Marla sat down in the chair across from Jessica. “So are you up to your elbows?”

“Yes, but talk anyway.”

“Okay,” she said, flicking a strand of her long red hair away from her face. “So I went out with this John person last night. The one from the Starbucks? Who got the last oat scone?”

Jessica remembered. Poor Marla. Shy as a butterfly, and so lonely. She was the best assistant Jessica had ever had, completely on top of the job, no nonsense, but also generous and funny, and she had the absolute worst luck with men. “He’s the tall one, right? NYU?”

Marla nodded. “Lookswise, scrumptious. Datewise, disastrous.”

“No.”

“Yes. He took me to a play. Off-off-Broadway. More like performance art, really, with this one woman complaining about her period while this other woman pretended to masturbate. It was very high on the yuck factor.”

“It wasn’t his fault it was terrible.”

“True. Very true.”

“So?”

“So it turns out the woman pretending is actually his ex-girlfriend, only by the time we’re backstage schmoozing with the cast and fans, they’re not so ex, if you know what I mean.”

“What?”

“Complete with kissage. I mean, they moved behind a poster of The Vagina Monologues, but I could still see them all over each other.”

“Oh, God.”

“He didn’t even pay for the taxi home.”

“Bastard. He deserves someone who pretends to masturbate onstage.”

“My sentiments exactly. Only…” She looked down at her lap, to the hunter-green skirt she loved so much. “…he made me laugh at dinner. And I was so…I don’t know.”

“Yeah.”

Marla smiled purposefully. Adamantly. “No big. I’ll just keep, you know, trying. Never give up. That’s my motto. Not till you’re old and toothless and have all the cats that can fill an apartment.”

“I’m sure it won’t come to that.”

“Probably not. But it’s good that I’m not allergic. To cats, I mean.”

Jessica shook her head, and wished she had something akin to a social life where she might be able to meet someone right for Marla. But since her entire entourage consisted of Glen, who was gay, her mother, who lived in Cincinnati, and her landlord, who made an art out of complaining while not actually doing anything, there didn’t seem to be much hope.

“If there’s not anything else,” Marla said, “I’m going to call the Zephyr agency and double-check on the models.”

“No, that’s good. Thanks.”

Marla stood up, and headed for the door. But before she went out, she turned back. “Do you think we have a chance of getting Shawn?”

Jessica leaned back in her chair. “Who knows. We’re certainly offering him enough money.”

“Can you imagine? Shawn Foote in the same room? I’d get all swoony, I just know it.”

“He may be hunky, but he’s just a guy.”

Marla leaned her head to the right and quirked her lips. “Just a guy? I think not. He’s…he’s…”

“The Uberhunk. I know.”

Marla nodded. “I’ll report back.”

Jessica looked down at the spreadsheet on her desk and forgot all about male models, dating fiascos and even her own personal problems. Seconds later, the world outside her office could have crumbled and she wouldn’t have noticed.

DAN CRAWFORD WAS at sixes and sevens. Which was an interesting expression he’d just looked up on his computer. Seems it came from an old French game called Hazard, and had something to do with difficulty in shooting dice. But knowing what the term meant didn’t help the situation. He had to make a decision, and neither of the two immediate options appealed all that much.

Okay, so he could take the job in Botswana. He liked Africa, and hadn’t been there for almost fifteen years. It would be a challenge, and the company, an international trading firm, had been after his consulting services for a long time. But it would mean a commitment of almost a year, which seemed excessive.

On the other hand, he could partner up with Zeke on the Baja 1000 race, but that would mean a whole hell of a lot of training, getting the car up to specs, moving down to L.A. until the race, and, of course, being with Zeke, who was a great guy unless he got too drunk, which he did whenever he raced.

Dan’s gaze moved next to the fireplace, to the glass cabinet where he kept his mementos. The large second-place trophy from the Baja three years ago taunted him. Then he looked at the bookcase, at the pile of papers and articles he’d collected, everything from the psychology of racing to the topography of Baja. Damn, he’d put in a lot of man-hours on winning. So why wasn’t he more interested? Zeke wasn’t that bad. And if Dan supplied the booze, he could maybe rig it so his buddy couldn’t get so much of it.

He got up from his desk and walked over to the window. From the fifteenth floor he could see the bookstore on the corner, Villard’s Books, big, independent and as quirky as his own tastes. The staff there indulged him and his projects, the more obscure the better. In fact, between the New York Public Library, Villard’s and the Internet, he could research anything to his heart’s content.

Maybe he’d go down now, browse through the travel section, have a cup of coffee. Come up with something new to discover, or as his mother would say, bury himself in a new obsession.

He headed for the bedroom, but before he made it there, he got buzzed from the lobby. Crossing to the door, he answered the intercom. “Yeah, Jimmy? ”

“Someone to see you, Mr. Crawford. Glen, uh, what’s that?”

Dan heard a mumble in the background. Then, “Glen Viders.”

“Great, send him up.” Dan let go of the buzzer, curious. He’d known Glen for about a year, mostly as someone who kicked his ass regularly at racquetball. He liked Glen, liked his sense of humor and his taste in art. He’d bought a Lichtenstein from his gallery and he’d paid a good price for it. But they’d never really socialized, except for the occasional showing invitation. What could bring him by?

Dan opened the door and invited Glen in.

“This isn’t a bad time, is it?”

“Not at all. I was just going to make some coffee. Would you like some?”

“Sure.”

Dan led the way into the kitchen, where he pulled the beans out of the fridge to begin the process. “So, what’s up?”

“I have a proposition for you.”

Dan stopped short. “Oh?”

Glen laughed. “Not that kind of proposition. This one should be more to your liking.”

Smiling, and a touch relieved, Dan continued with the coffee making. “Intriguing. Do go on.”

Glen leaned against the kitchen door, crossed his arms over his chest and smiled. “I have this friend. Her name is Jessica Howell and she’s got a problem.”

Dan worked on the coffee while Glen filled him in on the situation. His first instinct was to say no and be done with it, but the more he heard about Jessica, the more an idea began to germinate. “So she’s brilliant, huh?”

“Top two percent of her class at Harvard. She’s razor-sharp, and too damn articulate for that foolish job she’s got.”

“Workaholic?”

“Beyond belief. I don’t think she’s been on a date since she moved to New York six years ago.”

“And I’d be with her. In her room for the whole week?”

“Yeah. Well, wait. I’m not sure about the ‘in her room’ part. But you’d have to stick pretty damn close.”

“Hmm.”

“Who knows? Things could go that way, if you play your cards right.”

“And what did you say she looked like?”

Glen smiled. “I didn’t. But now that you ask, she’s a babe. A little thing, but a powerhouse, if you know what I mean. Auburn hair, blue eyes. Really striking. She could have the men lining up, but—”

Dan nodded, pleased, but not all that concerned. Her looks were incidental. Her mind was what interested him. She was willing to pay to have an escort. He didn’t need the money, but he did have something he wanted to bargain for. “Tell you what. Set up a meeting. Whenever it’s convenient for her. We’ll talk.”

“She’ll be thrilled.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

Glen pushed himself off the wall. “What are you plotting?”

“Quid pro quo, Glen. With some very exciting potential.”

Women…

If you praise her, she thinks you’re lying

If you don’t, you’re good for nothing

If you talk, she wants you to listen

If you listen, she wants you to talk

If you visit her often, she thinks you’re boring

If you don’t, she thinks you’re cheating

If you’re jealous, she says it’s bad

If you’re not, she thinks you don’t love her

If you stare at other women, she accuses you of flirting

If other men stare at her, she’s flattered

If you want sex, she says you don’t respect her

If you don’t, she thinks you’re gay.

Source: Thomas, Megan “Men are Marvelous Creatures.” http://www.cs.berkeley.edu/˜mct/funny/woandmen.html

2

GLEN STARED AT HIM for a long moment, clearly trying to figure out whether or not he would move forward. “I’ll call her tonight,” Dan finally said with a slow grin.

“Great.”

The coffee aroma filled the kitchen, and Dan got down two mugs. “Can I ask how come you’re not the one who’s stepping up to the plate?”

“Hey, I’d do it in a minute, but I have to be in L.A. Besides, I think this will work out better.”

“Oh?” He got out the cream from the fridge, took it and the mugs to the butcher-block table. He nodded for Glen to take a seat, and made a pass at his pantry. He brought out a couple of boxes of cookies. By then the coffee was ready, so he carried the pot over and poured.

“Jessica and I go back to college, and I’d say I know her pretty well. Inside that ambition is one hell of a good woman. She just has to take off the blinders. See something of the world around her. From what I’ve heard, that seems to be your specialty.”

Dan sat down. “Curious perspective, and I suppose reasonably accurate.”

“Yeah. You two will be…interesting.”

“I wonder why she hasn’t just put the kibosh on the boss. Doesn’t he know there are laws?”

“According to Jessica, she doesn’t want the hassle. She’s planning a move upward after her campaign is a raging success.”

“Got it. Always looking at the next step, eh?”

“Never misses the details on a spreadsheet.”

“But almost gets hit by the bus?”

Glen grinned, and lifted his coffee mug. “To new adventures.”

Dan clicked his mug but, instead of taking a sip, he said, “Hey, why don’t you give Jessica a call now? See if she can meet me for a drink tonight.”

Glen pulled out his cell phone and dialed. By the time he hung up, the arrangements were made, and Dan had two hours to put together his counterproposal.

If it worked, it was going to be one hell of a lot more exciting than any race.

JESSICA CHECKED OUT her appearance in the window of the bistro. The weather had been kind to her hair, she’d reapplied lipstick in the cab, and her Donna Karan suit looked as if she’d put it on a half hour ago. Not that it mattered. She was the one doing the hiring, but still. The situation was just awkward enough to have a built-in nervousness factor of ten, minimum.

Dan Crawford. She’d done an Internet search on him, and what she’d seen had taken her utterly by surprise. The man was a very highly paid computer consultant and had worked for some of the biggest financial institutions in the world. His prices must be astronomical, causing her to call Glen back and make sure he hadn’t promised she’d pay the man her entire yearly wage. Glen had assured her that if Dan Crawford did this, it wasn’t going to be for the money. Which begged the question…

Why? Why would he give her odd little proposal a moment’s thought? What could he possibly get out of it, if not money?

She was about to find out. If she could get her legs working and walk inside. After a deep breath and a little pep talk, she yanked on the hem of her jacket, pushed her handbag strap up on her shoulder and walked inside.

Dorian’s was an upscale Wall Street bar. Martinis of all flavors dotted the tall tables in the bar, hoisted by the young and the restless go-getters in their Prada and Emporio Armani. Not much laughter, but a lot of chatter, caromed off walls decorated with three-dimensional art, mostly in shiny metals or rusted copper. It worked, especially with the oak bar and tables.

She walked a little farther, until she was midway between the door and the bar itself, then did a quick perusal. No one looked like Dan Crawford, although one young man to her right bore a marked resemblance to Colin Firth. She kept scouting.

Her reward came seconds later. At the far right edge of the bar, a man, alone, saving a seat, looked up expectantly. He was pretty damn close to Glen’s description. Around thirty-five. She couldn’t tell if he was six foot three, but he had that tall, lanky look about him. Dark hair, smooth, shiny, thick, parted on the right. Wide eyes, generous mouth, and a nose just a wee bit big for his face. Altogether a striking combination. A little too striking.

Glen hadn’t said anything about him being gorgeous. The word hadn’t come into play once. And she knew from experience that Glen knew gorgeous. So maybe it wasn’t Dan.

The man in question waved, quashing her doubts. He stood. Yep. Six-three at least. Smiling, too. A great smile. A smile that multiplied the gorgeous by a factor of six.

She pasted her own smile on her face and made her way through the crowd. He manfully held on to the two bar stools, chasing away a blonde with boobs the size of grapefruits.

“I really hope you’re Jessica Howell,” he said as soon as she was in earshot.

“I am.”

“Good because this is the only empty seat in the place. Guess I should have suggested somewhere quieter.”

“There isn’t anyplace quieter. Not around here at least.”

He held out his hand. Long, supple fingers, strong grip. Warm, but not at all damp. She felt her cheeks heat just from the touch, which wasn’t like her. Not at all.

“Sit. Let me buy you a drink.”

“I should be the one buying.”

“Next round, if you want,” he said. “What’s your pleasure?”

“A Merlot, please.”

He nodded, then turned to get the attention of the bartender as Jessica climbed up on the stool. Being so short, it was always an iffy proposition, but she didn’t flash anyone on her way up. She put her handbag on her lap and glanced at Dan. He was even better-looking close up. It was his lips, of course. Pouty, full, but incredibly masculine. Laugh lines etched on each side. If Marla were here, she’d wax rhapsodic about their kissability. Their smoochiness. Ah, that Marla. She had a way with words.

Dan put his credit card on the bar when the drinks arrived. He’d ordered a German lager, and he didn’t bother pouring it into the iced stein. Instead, he took a long pull from the bottle, giving her an enticing view of his Adam’s apple.

Her gaze moved down to his shirt. White oxford, well tailored, silk, she’d bet. It fit him beautifully, and she liked that he’d rolled up the sleeves a couple of turns. His jeans surprised her, but then she realized he wasn’t tied to a company, and he could wear any damn thing he liked. The jeans got her vote. They were good old-fashioned Levi’s and they fit his tall, yummy body like a glove.

He coughed, and she almost spilled her wine in an attempt to get her gaze up and away from where it’d been focused. Again with the blushing. Good God, what was the matter with her? She must be getting her period. She was never this…aware.

“Glen filled me in on your dilemma.”

“So he said, but I want to make sure you understand completely before we go any further.”

“Absolutely.”

“It’s really an acting job. I assumed he’d know someone out of work who could use the money. I can’t imagine why you’d be at all interested.”

“I’ll tell you. But first, let me hear what you expect.”

She sipped some wine, felt it melt all the way down, easing a bit of her nervousness. “I’ve got a boss who’s completely out of control, and I need someone to pretend to be my lover for the week. We’re launching a line of cosmetics with a huge press bash and back-to-back junkets. Whoever I hire is going to have to be available for any or all of the events. For meals. For anything, all the while acting like we’re the couple of the decade.”

“Yep, that’s pretty much what Glen said.”

“Okay, so why would you be interested? I have to tell you, I almost didn’t come. He twisted my arm, made me promise to see you. But I don’t get it.”

“Well, Jessica, I think there’s something we could do for each other. I see your problem, and while I’m not an actor, I think I could play the part. I’m a quick study, and I have no social ties that would interfere.”

“But?”

He smiled with those lips of his. She almost giggled like a coquette.

“Here’s what I want,” he said, studying her eyes. “I want access.”

“Access?”

He nodded. “To you.”

“Pardon me?”

“To your thoughts.”

She opened her mouth, but the only thing that came out was a kind of cluck.

“All of them.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

He laughed. The sound was rich and deep and almost enough to make her stop questioning his sanity. Almost.

“Okay, let me explain.”

“Please do.”

“I’m a curiosity junkie. Can’t help it. It’s a long, long story, full of interesting tidbits about my eccentric upbringing and my parents’ radical philosophy, which I’m sure we’ll discuss in detail over the next week, but the upshot is, I live to get answers to the big questions. I studied physics with some of the greatest minds on the planet, and theology in Rome and Israel. I’ve challenged my senses, my abilities, and always attacked the major problems of my life head-on. I might quake in my boots, but I do it until I’m satisfied. Which doesn’t mean I’m always successful. But I never wonder what would have happened if only I’d dared.”

“And what has that got to do with pretending to be my boyfriend?”

He laughed again. “Everything. Because what I want from you is answers.”

“To what questions?”

“All of them.”

“Excuse me?”

“All of them about women.”

“I don’t know all the answers about women.”

“But you know the answers for you.”

She gave him a long look.

He grinned back at her. “No, I’m not certifiable. Nuts, yes. But not quite at the padded-room stage.”

“You want answers about women?”

He nodded.

“What does that mean?”

“It means, I get to ask you anything. No holding back. No thinking twice about propriety. I ask, you answer. Honestly. To the best of your ability. All the questions I’ve wanted to ask but haven’t dared.”

“You’ve never dated?”

“Oh, I’ve dated. Many times. I’ve had relationships. All of which have failed. Mostly, I fear, due to my fumbling. My lack of understanding. Seriously, I don’t get it. Screw physics and the Big Bang theory, the great imponderable isn’t God, it’s women. Who are you people? The books are useless. Believe me, I’ve read them. Everything from Men are from Mars to Dr. Phil. And I still don’t get you.

“Every time I think I’ve figured you out, I’m totally thrown for a loop. Take Tamara. Great gal, an incredible dancer. I was crazy about her, and she swore she loved me. We lived together for two blissful years. So what happened? Right after I proposed, and we’re talking days here, she moved in with a drug addict who beat her for a hobby. And she’s just the tip of the iceberg. I ask other men, and they either throw up their hands or give me advice that lands me in the doghouse. It’s nuts, and it’s crazy, and dammit, what I want is to once and for all get it.”

Jessica heard what he said. She was a little taken aback by his earnestness and enthusiasm, and completely certain this wasn’t going to work at all.

“Oh, no,” he said. “Don’t make up your mind yet. Please.”

“I just don’t think—”

“Look, I know it sounds crazy, but really, it’s not. It’s like a research project. An in-depth study. Think of me as an anthropologist. It won’t be scary, I promise. And I won’t use the information to hurt you or anyone else. But come on. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I’d never get this kind of access. In real life, I’d be too afraid to ruin a relationship. Or if I paid for it, I’d never really be sure I was getting the real juice, you know? But this way, when we both can win, and there’s no feelings to hurt or wound, then, well…

“Not to be immodest, but I think I can convince your boss or anyone else that I’m your man. I won’t embarrass you. I know my way around the press, and I won’t cost you a penny. All you have to do is answer me honestly. If you don’t know the answers, great. No sweat. But if you do know, then I want them. No political correctness. No shading or hedging. Just what’s what.”

“What’s what, huh? Well, I know one thing.”

“Go on.”

“I need a much stronger drink.”

Dan held his grin steady, and made sure not to look too satisfied. She was gonna go for it. A minute ago he’d thought all was lost, but now? She was intrigued. From what Glen had told him about her, he’d hoped she’d be curious. “What kind of stronger drink?”

“A whiskey sour, please. Make it a double.”

“Good choice.” He signaled the bartender again, and while he waited his turn he took his time looking her over. He’d been so busy studying her body language that he hadn’t properly appreciated her body.

She was little, but not girlish. In fact, if he’d had to describe her, the word that would fit the bill was vamp. Sort of a throwback to an older age, Rita Hayworth, say, or Veronica Lake. The red hair had something to do with it, maybe the soft way it curled on her neck, or the swoop over her right eyebrow. Her lips, too, seemed naturally full, not collagen-injected like so many of the tonier crowd. And if they had been helped? Who cares. She was lush and her skin seemed silky, and the intelligence so clear in those blue eyes made him want to start his week tonight.

Not that he was going to actively pursue more than his stated objective.

“What’ll it be?”

He started at the bartender’s voice, ordered her drink, and himself a single-malt scotch, neat. When he turned back to Jessica, she pushed her hair back behind her left ear. Her hand, neat, tiny, feminine, captured his gaze and held it. He watched as she put her fingers around her wineglass. Rubbed the rim lightly.

Okay, so maybe he would pursue something more. Hadn’t Glen said she’d been solo for quite some time? Hadn’t he himself been entirely too celibate for longer than was healthy?

“Dan?”

“Yes?”

“What are you going to do with this information, assuming you get it?”

“Use it.”

“For a book? A degree?”

He shook his head. “I hadn’t thought of that, but I wouldn’t rule out the idea. Actually, I’m doing this for my own personal edification.”

“Meaning you’re looking for a wife?”

“Wife, lover, significant other. Yeah.”

“I’d think women would be banging down your door.”

“Not the problem. Quality is the issue. I’m looking for what my parents had. Which, in my naiveté as a young man, I figured all parents had.”

“A good relationship?”

“Much more than that. My folks were, and you’ll pardon the cliché, two halves of the same whole. They were married thirty-nine years, and were more crazy about each other when my father died than the day they met. That’s what I want. A partner. A best friend. All of it.”

“Tall order.”

“Don’t I know it. Hence, the quest.”

She gave him a half smile. “I’ve never been part of anybody’s quest before.”

The drinks arrived right then, and Dan handed the whiskey to Jessica. “So you’ll do it?”

She took the glass, sipped, closed her eyes, opened them again. “I’ll do it.”

He toasted her, the clink ringing clearly against all the muddled noise around them. “Fantastic.” He brought his own drink to his lips, then hesitated. “So when do we begin?”

“Monday.”

“The Willows?”

She nodded.

“Great. I’ll check in that afternoon.”

Jessica’s eyes widened. “Whoa, cowboy. Check in?”

He downed his scotch, ready for this. “Well, sure.”

“No, no, no. You’re not staying there. Just appearing when needed.”

He gave Jessica his most innocent, sincere smile. “That would be a royal pain in the ass for both of us. Much simpler to be there. But don’t worry. You have nothing to fear. I know the suites there and I’ll sleep on the couch.”

She gave him an “I don’t know” look.

“Check with Glen. He’ll tell you I’m harmless. Besides, I don’t want anything getting in the way of the research. And sleeping together would really screw things up.”

Her eyes softened. The internal debate went on a few more seconds, then she sighed. “It would keep Owen off my back.”

He nodded. “This is gonna be great.”

“That is highly unlikely. I’ll be happy if it’s survivable.”

“Come on. You’ll knock ’em dead.”

Jessica shook her head, causing her hair to shimmer in the lights. He hadn’t lied when he’d said sleeping with her would screw things up. But maybe he could ask all his questions real fast.

Five things you’ll NEVER hear one guy say to another guy:

1 Does my butt look fat in this?

2 I’m tired of beer.

3 Yours is bigger than mine.

4 You know what always makes me cry? Those long-distance commercials.

5 Our team lost 10–1. But we tried our best, and after all, that’s the important thing.

Source: Thompson, Dave “Things You’ll Never Hear” http://www.ijmc.com/archives/

3

“DANIEL, HONEY, I love you, but isn’t this just a bit nutso, even for you?”

Dan smiled up at his mother. “Probably. But then, it’s your fault.”

Colleen Crawford put down her mug of coffee and gave him a look. “And how did you arrive at that conclusion?”

“If you’d just talk to me, I wouldn’t have to hire myself out to strange women.”

“We’re talking right now.”

“But not about what I want to know.”

She took another sip and leaned back in her beat-up old director’s chair. They were on her balcony, looking out over her garden, the pride and joy of her life. Aside from him, of course. She grew all her own vegetables, flowers, anything she took a fancy to. For the most stubborn, there was a small greenhouse. The rest just gave in and grew, somehow knowing his mother wouldn’t let up until they sprouted. HGTV had done a profile on her green thumb. Of course, it hadn’t hurt that she was so well-known for her books, but still. The show had been about the garden.

“We’ve discussed this,” she said. “Some things have to be discovered. Not taught.”

“Even when I’ve got the inside track on one of the world’s leading experts right here?”

“There are no experts on relationships, pumpkin. Only wild-ass guesses.”

“I suppose that’s what you teach at NYU?”

“Precisely.”

“So if there are no answers, what’s the use of searching?”

“Because the only answer is the search.”

“Right.”

“You’ll see. Eventually, you’re going to meet someone who will turn your world upside down, and then you’ll understand.”

He leaned forward, so frustrated he could spit. “Understand what?”

“That you don’t need to understand.”

He raised his hands as if to go for her throat and growled at her. “You are the most obstinate woman.”

“I’m a cupcake, and you know it.”

“Fine. You’re a cupcake. I just hope you know that when I end up old and alone, a bitter, senile octogenarian, you’ll be to blame.”

“Yes, dear. So tell me about her.”

He smiled, remembering his meeting with Jessica, the look of her. “She’s a fine-looking woman. Kind of exotic, but in an old-fashioned way. Like a Renaissance painting.”

“Reubens?”

He shook his head. “No, more like a Botticelli. Complete with red hair, pale skin. Damn.”

“Okay, so we know you like that part of her, now what about the part above the neck?”

“That part’s just as intriguing.”

Her eyebrows went up. “Really?”

He reached over to the little hand-painted table where, next to the fruit bowl, he found a lemon muffin. Homemade, of course. His mother loved to cook what she grew. After an enormous bite and some coffee, he said, “She’s bright. Running a media campaign for a major new cosmetics firm. She’s all career, and determined to top out at CEO.”

“And that’s intriguing how?”

“Come on, Mom. Not everyone can be as well balanced as you.”

“No, but they can be a little balanced. I already assumed she had no real life. If she had, surely she wouldn’t have had to hire the likes of you.”

“Yeah, she’s pretty focused. But that works in my favor. I figure she’s not going to get coy with me, or have a secondary agenda. I’ll ask. She’ll answer.”

“And what if she doesn’t have the answers?”

“I’ll keep looking. But I’ll have tried.”

Colleen sighed, as she ran her hand through her softly graying hair. “We always encouraged you to go out into the field, to learn from experience. Just don’t let your hopes get too high, okay?”

“Look, even I know there aren’t going to be pat answers. But there are going to be clues. Directions. Hints. I think, if I can just talk about it with no games, I can move to the next level.”

“Don’t you need someone on this level to be able to move on to the next?”

“I’m hoping it will help me find the kind of woman I can move on with. Even you have to admit I’ve done a lousy job in my previous selections.”

“Oh, honey. Lousy is being kind. But that’s mostly because you let your little head do your thinking for you.”

“It’s a good thing I ceased being embarrassed by you years ago.”

“I know. And I appreciate your indulgence.”

“So, you’ll take care of Mercy?”

“The cat hates me, but yes, I will.”

He leaned over, kissed her cheek, then went back to his muffin. “Great.”

“And you’ll tell me what you’ve learned?”

“Sure, why not?”

“Oh, goody.”

He stood. “I’ve got to run. If you need me, I’ll have the cell.”

“Okay, sweetheart. Take some muffins.”

He grinned. “I planned to.”

“Take some vegetables, too.”

“In your dreams.”

He squeezed her hand and headed for the kitchen, where up above the sink was a picture he’d taken years ago, of his father and mother. They looked so damn happy.

THE HOTEL SUITE was straight out of a Fred Astaire–Ginger Rogers movie. It was all silver, white and high deco, right down to the crown molding. Huge by any standard, but especially for Manhattan, it had to be priced to the sky. If she’d made the reservations, she’d have been several floors down in a single, but that wouldn’t have been the perfect setting for a seduction, would it?

Owen definitely had a screw loose, and for the first time since she’d met with Dan, she felt fine about the devil’s bargain she’d gotten herself into.

Her basic premise still held true—that if Owen saw she was involved, witnessed it with his own eyes, he’d back the hell off. What was new to the equation was Dan’s “quest,” and worse, her attraction to the man.

She waited while the bellman put her big suitcase on the stand, then she tipped him outrageously, fully expecting to have to tax the hotel staff to the limit during her stay. He thanked her, gave a slight bow and left her to unpack.

Once alone, she fought the temptation to lie down on the puffy white comforter, to bury her head in the assemblage of pillows and sleep for three days. Instead, she unzipped her bag and went methodically through the contents, storing them in her typically organized fashion. Halfway through the job, she remembered that she was going to be sharing the space. Not only did that make her pause, it led her to open the door to the minibar and pull out a small bottle of Chardonnay.

Sharing a room with a total stranger. That had to be right up near the top of her own personal list of idiotic moves. Okay, so Glen vouched for him, but what did that mean? This was the most important week of her life, and she couldn’t afford to move her eye from the ball. So what did she do? Hire the most attractive man she’d met in years to pretend to be her lover. No distraction there. No, sir.

The problem was, he fit her criteria to a tee. Which was unprecedented. She’d never seen a man who had it all: the looks, the brains, the wit, the strong hands, the taste in clothes. Her only hope was getting to know him. No way he was everything he purported to be. Impossible.

He was undoubtedly narcissistic. Given his quest, probably chauvinistic, too. All she had to do was play it cool until he let his true colors shine, and voila, the problem would be solved.

It’d better be solved.

She poured her wine into one of the crystal glasses set on a silver tray by the wet bar, then sank down into the white-satin chair next to the window. Her view was of Central Park, but she stared without seeing it as she thought of the daunting tasks in front of her.

Tomorrow started the festivities, beginning with a makeover party for ten lucky radio listeners, to be held at Bloomingdale’s. All using New Dawn cosmetics, of course. Tomorrow night was the grand-opening party at the Panorama, the newest and most highly sought-after nightclub in the city.

Then there was the dessert-and-jazz party at the Rainbow Room, an evening cruise on the Hudson River, Geocaching in Central Park, and finally, the banquet right here at the hotel. By the end of this little adventure, she’d be ready for the funny farm, but in the meantime, she had to make sure the media was happy, the models showed up and acted like civilized human beings, the celebrities were catered to, and that every detail of every event was taken care of with no muss and utterly no fuss.

Thank God for Marla. And Marla’s troops. Jessica was really lucky to have them. And she mustn’t forget that every event had a professional planner in charge of it. Which did comfort, but didn’t assuage, the final responsibility, which lay directly on her shoulders. Sure, it was Owen who signed the checks, but everyone in the business knew who was really in charge.

This was her ticket. Her chance to soar. If she blew it, she doubted her career could recover. If she succeeded, she’d be well on her way to the dream.

Which meant there was no room at all for Dan in any other capacity but paid help. Maybe it wasn’t too late to tell him she’d changed her mind. She could call up an escort service and hire some lovely hunk of maleness, preferably someone gay, who would be silent for a fee.

She’d put Dan’s phone number in her purse, and as she rose to fetch it, there was a knock at the door.

She crossed the white marble floor, then looked through the peephole. Owen. Dammit. After a deep breath, she opened the door, but not very far. “Owen, hi. What’s up?”

He smiled at her. That goofy, love-struck grin that made her want to bitch-slap him silly. “How do you like it?”

“The suite is fabulous, but too extravagant. My God, it must cost a fortune.”

“Two fortunes.” He stepped closer, clearly expecting her to let him inside. “But you’re worth it.”

“Thank you,” she said, using the one technique that had merited any success. A simple response. No embellishment. Owen had some difficulty coming up with original thought.

“We need to talk about tomorrow.”

“We do?”

He nodded. She spied little drops of perspiration beading his forehead where his hairline used to be. At least he didn’t do the comb-over thing. That would have been the icing on the cake. As it was, he wasn’t bad-looking. Slightly pudgy, not too tall. She used to find him vaguely handsome, until he’d changed from Dr. Jekyll to Mr. Horny Hyde. “Yeah, you know. The details.”

She gave him her most reassuring grin. “That’s why you hired me, Owen. To take care of the details. So you don’t have to worry in the least. The makeovers are going to be a smash, and so is the opening party. All you have to do is show up at Panorama at eight tomorrow night. Which reminds me, I have to go make a couple of calls—”

“Jess,” he said, planting his foot firmly in the door and using his shoulder to ease himself in. “I have some concerns about the party.”

She wanted to shove him right back outside, but thought better of it. This would all come to an end soon, and then she wouldn’t have to worry anymore. In the meantime, however, she wanted to maximize the distance between them, so she closed the door and walked over to the wet bar. “Soda?”

“No thanks,” he said, his glee at gaining entrance far too evident on his face.

“You have concerns?”

He immediately adopted an air of thoughtfulness as his gaze shifted to the bedroom door. “What’s our TV coverage on this thing?”

She’d told him before. Written him memos. But she said none of that. “Entertainment Tonight, E!, Access Hollywood, MTV, VH1, and three cable shows.”

He nodded. “Good, good. And what about celebrities? Are they all verified?”

“We’re sending twelve limos, but most of the crowd is arriving on its own.”

“Who, exactly?”

She bit back a sigh. “Julia Roberts, Keanu Reeves, Reese Witherspoon, Sarah Michelle Gellar, Freddie Prinze Jr., Nicole Kidman, and oodles more. Should I ask Marla to come up with the list?”

“No,” he said too quickly. “That’s great. Just great.”

“But it won’t be just great if I can’t make the calls I need to, so…” She headed toward the door. He didn’t follow.

“I’m sure the calls can wait a few minutes.”

“No, Owen, they can’t.”

The expression on his face changed again. This time to lovelorn puppy. “Jess, can’t you see what a team we make? Isn’t it obvious?”

“Yes, absolutely. The next week will prove it. We’re going to make New Dawn a household name.”

He walked toward her, holding his hands out as if he meant to grasp her, which was simply out of the question. Only, he was blocking her easy exit. In order to get around him, she’d have to practically leap over the chaise. “That’s not the partnership I’m talking about.”

“There is no other partnership, Owen.”

“But there can be. Should be.”

“You have a partner already.”

He shook his head as he took those last steps, angling himself so that now she truly was caught. His right hand touched her forearm. “I don’t. Honestly. I’ve told you before. Ellen is a great mom—”

“I’ve got a partner, Owen.”

He stopped. Blinked. Kept his hand right where it was. “What?”

“A partner. A man. I have someone in my life.”

First, a flash of hurt, then confusion, quickly followed by doubt. “What are you talking about? You don’t date.”

“I don’t talk about dating.”

“You’re always at the office.”

“No, I’m not. I do have a life. Which is private. But there is someone, and it’s serious.”

Doubt became out-and-out disbelief. “Who?”

“You don’t know him.”

“What’s his name?”

“Not that it matters, but Dan.”

“Dan what?”

The annoyance factor was starting to shift into the furious factor. “Crawford.”

“Never heard of him.”

“Exactly.”

“How did you meet?”

“In school. Ages ago.”

“And he just showed up again?”

“That’s right. He showed up, and the old flames were rekindled.”

Owen finally removed his hand from her arm. “Where does he live?”

She stepped back, grabbed the door handle. “I don’t see why that’s important.”

“It is.”

“Why?”

Flustered, he looked around the room as if searching for a clue. “Because I care about you. I don’t want you to get in with the wrong sort of man.”

“He’s not. I assure you. He’s a very good man, and I care about him.”

“This is pretty sudden.”

“Actually, it’s not.”

“Marla knows about him?”

“No, she doesn’t.”

His mouth thinned. “Why not?”

God, she wanted to throttle him. “Because it’s no one’s business. I keep my private life private.”

“Right.”

“Owen, I have to make some phone calls.”

“Uh-huh. Dan Crawford, right? What does he do? Is he in marketing?”

“No, he’s not.” She opened the door. “Please, if you don’t mind. I have work to do.”

He made a move toward the door, but before he crossed the threshold, he turned to face her, his determination a bit daunting. “Come on, Jess. Don’t forget who you’re talking to. I know your hours. I’ve called you at home at 3:00 a.m., at five. You’re either there or at work, or in transit. So where did this private life come from? What, did you rub a bottle and he popped out?”

“No,” came a voice from just behind her. “She won me in a poker game.”

She whirled around to see Dan, bags in hand, staring past her. She’d never been so grateful to see anyone.

The small gurgle behind her made her turn back to Owen, who looked decidedly greenish.

“Owen McCabe,” she said, “this is Dan Crawford. “Dan, this is Owen.”

Dan put down his bag, put one arm around her shoulder and swung her into his arms. Then he kissed her. Kissed her as if he owned her. Kissed her until she thought her knees would give out.

Not just lips to lips, but teasing tongue, hot breath, intimacy that made her clench her fists so she wouldn’t push him away. Then his tongue slipped between her teeth, and he was inside her. This man she didn’t know. Her hired escort. And, good God almighty, her entire body went ballistic. Everything from goose bumps to hard nipples to curling toes.

She heard Owen cough, but that was somewhere out there, and she was busy. She tasted him back, rubbed her unclenched hand over the breadth of his shoulders.

Finally, when he was well and truly finished, he let her go. She gasped for breath, sure her face was aflame, her arousal as clear as the blush.

Dan smiled too knowingly, turned to her boss and grabbed his hand. “Nice to meet you, Owen. Jessica has told me a lot about you.”

HOW TO IMPRESS A WOMAN

Wine her and dine her. Listen to her. Laugh with her. Buy her flowers. Go shopping with her. Don’t stop reminding her she is beautiful. Console her when she is down. Rejoice with her when she is up. Read romantic poetry to her. Tell her you love her.

HOW TO IMPRESS A MAN

Arrive naked. Bring beer.

Source: Borja, Greg “How to Impress a Woman” http://www.buzzle.com/

4

DAN FOCUSED his whole attention on Owen McCabe. Not just because he wanted to gauge the man’s reaction to his rather spectacular introductory move, but because he didn’t dare think about that kiss.

Holy shit. He hadn’t expected anything like that. Not that he hadn’t had great kisses before, but this was…he wasn’t sure what it was. Maybe because he knew he was going to be spending so much time with her, talking about such intimate things. Or maybe because he’d been thinking so much about her. On the other hand, it might just be that the woman turned him on like a light switch.

Owen’s face had shifted from bright red to a subtle pink, but his eyes were still wide with shock, and his hand, still in Dan’s, gripped him so hard it hurt. Dan coughed, and that got Owen to let go. “I’m just glad I get to be around for the big doin’s,” Dan said, all bonhomie and good grace.

“Around?”

“Didn’t Jessica tell you? I’m going to stay for the campaign. Lend a hand when I can. Watch my girl in her hours of glory.” He turned a beaming smile on Jessica, who looked just a little freaked. He eased his arm around her shoulder and gave her a squeeze. “It’s going to be great.”

Owen looked as if he’d been stabbed repeatedly with a small knife. “You’re staying the whole week?”

“Yep. But don’t worry. I won’t interfere. I’ve been given the rules, which I intend to obey to the letter.”

The pink in Owen’s cheeks got a little darker. “But I, uh…”

“Jessica has told me how great you’ve been, and how much she’s learned from you. I’m impressed.”

Again, Owen blinked. Rapidly. “Impressed.”

“You bet. She’s so damn bright, I never expected her to find a boss who could keep her on her toes. But you sure have.”

Now it was Jessica’s turn to clear her throat. “Owen was just leaving,” she said, “because I have calls to make. You know, uh, business calls.”

“Right,” Dan said. “Well, great meeting you, Owen.” He picked up his bag. “I’m sure we’ll see a lot of each other. I look forward to it.”

Owen’s mouth opened, but nothing came out.

Dan didn’t wait for words. He just walked to the door, held it open for Jessica, then closed it behind them.

As for Jessica, she walked straight to a white chair by the window, picked up a glass and swallowed the contents.

“Pretty slick, eh?” he said, heading toward the closet. “I think he bought it.”

“I think we almost had to call the paramedics.”

Dan chuckled. “I figured why not go for it? Give him both barrels right from the get-go. Give him something to chew on while he sits it out in his suite.”

Jessica studied him with a bit more wariness than he cared for. “I don’t imagine he’ll need another demonstration that’s quite so vivid.”

“Maybe not. But as you’ve said, he isn’t one to grasp the subtleties.”

Her eyes widened. “That was about as subtle as a Sherman tank.”

“And fun, too. How about that?”

Jessica put down her glass and crossed her arms. She looked terrific in her cream jacket and slim skirt. Those high heels made her seem taller, which, he supposed, was the point for her, but they made him itch to run his fingers down the long line of her calf.

She did do a pretty good job of looking stern and no-nonsense, he had to give it to her. “About the fun part,” she said, her tone keeping pace with her scowl. “This is a job, and I have no intention of letting it get even the slightest bit out of hand. If it becomes necessary for you to put on a show of affection, I insist that you take the minimum step, not the maximum, and that you always keep in mind that it means nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

He nodded, trying to match her seriousness. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have made any reference to my enjoyment level. It was unprofessional. I’ve never been a paid escort before, so you’ll have to forgive me. I’ll do better in the future.”

He could tell she wasn’t sure if he was mocking her, and for a moment he thought she might really let into him, but she didn’t. She just uncrossed her arms and went to the coffee table, where she got her phone from her purse. “Feel free to put your things away. This couch opens up into a bed, so you can plan accordingly.” Then she started punching in a phone number.

He took her at her word and unpacked. He’d brought a wide selection of clothes, from city casual to black-tie, not knowing what kind of events he’d be expected to attend. When he stashed his night kit in the bathroom, he thought it prudent to keep the condoms tucked away with his razor and shaving cream.

When all was stashed, he poured himself a soda from the bar, got his notes from his briefcase and sat down at the corner desk.

He listened to Jessica for a few minutes while he pretended to read. And while the conversation about overtime for models didn’t interest him in the least, the way she carried herself did.

Glen had been very accurate when he’d described her as a powerhouse. She conducted business from a position of strength and confidence, and even though he only heard her side of the negotiations, he could tell she was going to get her way. There was no doubt in her mind, and it was only a matter of time before she’d convinced the model’s rep of the same thing.

Good. His instincts had been right on. This wasn’t a woman who was going to get all shy and giggly when he asked her about clitoral stimulation. He studied his notes, scanning the outline he’d made the night before. It wasn’t complete, but he figured the dialogue would suggest other topics and tangents.

He wished they could start right now. Looking at her again, leaning back against the satin chair, her auburn hair shimmering against the white background, her skirt mid-thigh, her ankles crossed, he wondered what he would ask her first. He’d led with the most obvious question of all, at least in his notes. “What do you want from a man?” But now that seemed the wrong approach. Because if he asked her something like that, she’d give him a quick answer, undoubtedly correct, but limited in thought and perspective. By the time he got to that question, he wanted her to have lived with him for a while, with the concepts he was exploring. He wanted an answer that was as complex as the woman before him, nothing less.

So what would start the dialogue? He was hoping that her answers would provoke and startle him, get him thinking in new arenas.

He’d read all the books that were currently in vogue, but none of them had given him precisely what he was looking for.

When he’d been in the few relationships that had lasted any time at all, there had been something illusive, something “other” about the women he cared for. Something that had doomed them, he was convinced, from the start.

His father had clearly understood his mother, because they had been like two sides of the same coin. They had a shared language, reserved only for the two of them. Unfortunately, he hadn’t thought of asking his dad about his secret while he’d had the chance. Not that he hadn’t talked to other married men, but they’d all said pretty much the same thing: listen to her. Put her first. Don’t try to solve all her problems, just pay attention and only make suggestions when asked. Which was all fine and good, but it didn’t get to the essential mystery. At least not for him.

It had occurred to him that while he might be bright as hell when it came to computer software and basic research, maybe the missing ingredient was in him, not in the information he was lacking. But this experiment was designed to bring that flaw to the fore, should that be the case. He wouldn’t be pleased to know it, but at least he’d stop trying so damn hard.

No, this was worthwhile, and he couldn’t do anything to muck it up. Jessica had all the qualities of a perfect research subject, and he was privileged to have the opportunity.

So the best thing to do was forget about any libidinous side trips. This was a field study; no fraternizing with the natives.

“Just to warn you,” Jessica said, standing and putting her phone back in her purse. “My assistant is on her way up. I’ll introduce you, but she won’t need any convincing. Okay?”

“Right. I’ll be the perfect gentleman.”

“That’s fine. We’re going to be a while, though, so if you have something else you want to do.”

“Nope. As long as I’m not in the way.”

She headed for the bar and got herself a soda, loading up her glass with ice. “I don’t think you will be, but please don’t take offense if I ask you to take a walk or something. This is all new to me, too.”

“No problem.”

She sipped some soda, then got a tan leather briefcase from the bedroom before she settled once more on the white chair. A moment later, she was taking notes, and had forgotten him.

He watched her for a long time as she worked. He liked her hands, the way they were so small, but so definite in their every move. Her nails, while polished a nearly flesh-colored pink, were short and serviceable. Like everything about her, they were meant to do the job, not to interfere. Unlike so many women he’d known, she wasn’t constantly flipping back her hair, or tossing it aside. Although her rich auburn locks were smooth and silky, and moved along with her head, there were no strays in her eyes, or on her cheeks.

Her makeup was like that, too. Subdued. Practical. He knew a little about that, having lived with Tamara. She’d always gone for extravagant makeup, the darker, the more dramatic, the better. But that was very high maintenance, whereas Jessica looked as if she could get out of the bathroom in ten minutes. Of course, he could be wrong. Maybe looking that natural took hours, but he doubted it. She had things to accomplish, none of which would happen until she was on her way.

What made her so driven? He wanted to know everything about her background. Only child? That would be his guess. That or eldest. But he’d bank on only. Successful father, someone to live up to. She probably didn’t have a lot of friends, as those were distractions, too. No pets. Okay, maybe fish, but then no. He doubted she’d want to worry about anything like that.

The only other woman he’d known well that was as driven had been Kathleen Butler, an arbitrage banker he’d met at Mulloney’s one night. They’d played pool, and although he was decent, she’d kicked his ass every game. Then she’d taken him to her apartment where they’d had really kinky sex. She’d wanted to be dominated, tied up. Owned. He’d gone along with it, and in fact had enjoyed himself a lot, but he hadn’t called her again. The domination thing was fun for a night, but not a steady diet.

He wondered if Jessica would be like that. In charge totally when it came to work, and wanting none of that in bed. The idea appealed, but maybe that’s because anything to do with sex and Jessica appealed.

He jotted down some notes about it, fully intending to ask her.

By the time he’d finished, there was a knock at the door, and Jessica opened it to reveal another redhead. This one was younger by several years, just out of college, he guessed. She was pretty, with a quirky little mouth and enormous eyes. The look she gave him was all wonder and curiosity, but it didn’t compare to the look she gave her boss.

He stood up for the introductions. Marla shook his hand, but her gaze was still on Jessica. Talk about dumbfounded. Okay, so what Glen had said was true—Jessica didn’t date. Or at the very least she kept her private life private.

“Can I get you a drink?” he asked, remembering his manners. Even though it wasn’t Owen, he was still supposed to be the dutiful boyfriend.

“Sure,” Marla said. “I think I need one.”

“Soda? Wine?”

“Soda, please. Wine later. Work and all. I can’t afford to get all woogy.”

“Woogy?”

She nodded. “All alcohol brain. There’s so much going on. Tomorrow there are the makeovers, and then all the models and stuff. Busy, busy.”

“So I heard. You must be excited.”

She smiled beguilingly, the lovely pink of her cheeks aglow. “I am. I’m learning so much.”

“She’s saving my ass,” Jessica said. “And I’d love to go on and on about it, but I think having a good night’s sleep is in our best interest, so what do you say we get to it?”

“Absolutely,” Marla said, and she ensconced herself on the couch, folding her legs beneath her.

Dan got her a soda, put it within her reach, then settled himself back at the desk. He intended to take notes, think more about the whole domination thing, but he got wrapped up in the dynamic of the two women, and didn’t move until 9:40 p.m., when Jessica called it a night. The hours had sped by, and he’d learned a thing or two about his subject. Mostly, that he liked her style. A lot.

JESSICA CLOSED the door behind Marla, and fought the urge to rest her head against the cool wood. She was tired. Not just because this was D day minus one, but because of the man sitting in the corner.

She’d had to use all her powers of concentration to ignore him. She never got distracted. A damn hurricane could be blowing outside, and she’d never raise an eyebrow. But he’d pulled at her ever since he’d walked down the hall.

She’d thought about asking him to leave, but figured she’d get over the awareness with time. It hadn’t happened. She was just as interested in him now as she had been, more so now that they were alone.

What had he been writing? And how could he have sat and listened so quietly for all those hours? She couldn’t imagine he was interested in New Dawn cosmetics.

This whole project of his confused her, and his behavior tonight hadn’t cleared up a thing. He seemed like a very bright man. In fact, after doing a little more checking up on him since their initial meeting, she’d discovered he was brilliant. A self-made millionaire, owner of a consulting firm that designed revolutionary computer systems, currently in use with, among others, the FBI, the IRS and the DOD. Not too shabby.

She turned to see him stretching, arching his back so his shirt rode up, revealing a tiny little patch of skin by his belt. She closed her eyes, although she couldn’t have said why, and when she opened them again, he’d brought his arms down. “I still don’t get it,” she said. “I can’t imagine what questions you think I can answer for you.”

“That’s okay. I can. I have a lot of them written down in my little notebook.”

“For example?”

He shook his head. “Nope. Not yet. Right now, I think the important thing is food. I’m starving and you must be, too.”

She looked at the bedroom with longing. That’s what she really wanted. Sleep. But he was right, she hadn’t eaten since her power bar this morning. “I could use some dinner.”

“Great. Why don’t we just go downstairs. They have great steaks and a good wine cellar at Gigot.”

“That sounds fine. I want to freshen up first, though.”

“You go ahead. I’ll call down.”

She went to the rest room, a little startled to see his things next to hers on the counter. It was only a leather shaving kit, but still. She tried to remember the last time she’d shared a bathroom with a guy. College. And not that often.

Her gaze went to her reflection. She didn’t look as frazzled as she felt. The important thing was not to let this arrangement get to her. He was just a hired hand. Someone doing a job. She’d done research in college, and she understood how it worked. He’d ask, she’d answer, and the rest of the time, she’d work. Simple, and yet…

She was so aware of him. Of his broad shoulders, his slim hips. The way his hair fell across his forehead. That nose of his that was too big, and yet exactly right. The way he kissed.

She sighed, slumping her shoulders and staring blindly at the sink. That kiss had knocked her for a loop. It had caught her completely off guard. Not just that he’d kissed her, but that she had reacted so fiercely. Her toes had curled. For God’s sake, that didn’t happen to her. Not ever. And it wasn’t going to happen again. This was her moment, and nothing and no one was going to get in the way. If she had to, she’d fire him.

HE ORDERED the 1999 E. Guigal Châteauneuf-du-Pape, which Jessica happened to know was the Wine of the Year for 2002 according to Wine Spectator. This to go with the filet mignon she’d ordered, and the T-bone he’d asked for.

Normally, she wasn’t big on steak, but tonight it felt right. As did the small salad with the unbelievably good balsamic vinaigrette, the roasted red potatoes and the sourdough bread that was way too good. Of course, the wine made everything sheer bliss. It was perfect. The meal, the atmosphere, which was dark but not too dark, cozy, quiet. The waiters didn’t hover, but were never out of reach. And she even liked the painting on the wall behind Dan. It was modern, no real subject, but nice.

They’d talked a lot about his mother, of all things, during the meal. Jessica had heard of Colleen Crawford, had even read articles by her. It seemed the two of them had a terrific relationship, and according to Dan, his parents’ marriage had been ideal. But it begged the question “Why don’t you ask her these questions that have you so confused?”

“She won’t answer me.”

“What?”

“She won’t. She tells me I have to learn some things through experience.”

“But you don’t believe her.”

“I don’t disbelieve her, but I think she’s been spoiled by her own relationship. I don’t think she sees the dilemma.”

“Frankly, I don’t think I do, either.”

“You will, the more we talk.”

“Don’t be so sure. I’m not terribly bright when it comes to men. I’ve never been in love or anything remotely close to it.”

His eyebrows came down for a moment, and he sipped some more of his wine. “I don’t think that’ll matter.”

“No?”

“My questions are about you. About what you want. What you need.”

“I can tell you that in about two sentences.”

“I’m sure. But I hope you won’t. I want you to answer my questions in the order I’m going to ask them. Not before.”

“Fair enough.”

He smiled.

She ate the last piece of bread on her plate. After she’d swallowed, she tapped the table. “Well?”

“What?”

“Ask.”

“Oh, no. Not yet.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m having a really good time.”

She laughed. “And questions will spoil it?”

He shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

“Just how offensive are these questions?”

It was his turn to laugh. “Not at all. Although, they are personal.”

“So I’d assumed.”

“We’ll start later.”

“When, later? I’m exhausted. All I want now is bed. I have to be up at five.”

“Which means I have to be up at five, right?”

She shook her head. “Nope. Tomorrow morning is makeover day. I’ll be at Bloomingdale’s. Owen won’t be.”

“So when do I report for duty?”

“Tomorrow evening. It’s the big opening party. I’m afraid it’s black-tie.”

“No problem. I’m all set.”

“Okay, then. Just be available from about five on.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She knew he would handle the party well. He was every bit the sophisticate, although not in the least obnoxious about it. The conversation had flowed with surprising ease. But still. “No, it’s not going to work,” she said.

He immediately sat forward. “What?”

“I’m never going to get to sleep wondering what the hell you’re going to ask me. So you have to. Ask. At least one question. Dinner’s about done, so it can’t ruin much.”

He leaned back, not looking pleased. “All right. If you insist.”

“I do.”

He looked down for a long moment, long enough for her to grab her fork so she could stab him with it if he didn’t for Pete’s sake say something. Then he lifted his head and his gaze met hers. “Do you like being tied up for sex?”

Five things you’ll NEVER hear one woman say to another woman:

1 Oh, look, that woman and I have the same dress on! I think I’ll go introduce myself!

2 His new girlfriend is thinner and better-looking than I am, and I’m happy for them both.

3 I’m sick of dating doctors and lawyers! Give me a good old-fashioned waiter with a heart of gold any day!

4 He talks our relationship to death! It’s making me crazy!

5 Why can’t I find a guy who’ll have a wild carefree night of sex and then just go his separate way for once?

Source: Thompson, Dave “Things You’ll Never Hear” http://www.ijmc.com/

5

JESSICA STARED at Dan, the words he’d spoken echoing in her head. He sat languidly against the dark brown leather, his right arm on the seat, his left still on the table. “Do I what?”

“Like being tied up for sex?” He leaned forward, moving both hands to his wineglass, his eyes dancing with the light from the flickering-candle centerpiece. “You know, being dominated. Letting yourself be taken, giving the control over to your partner.”

She took her own wine and drank it all, then put the crystal goblet down carefully. “You said you wanted to ask questions about women. Not about sex.”

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