Could people tell how turned on she was?

Dancing was sexual, of course—a civilized mating ritual….

But Beth had never felt it as vividly as she did swaying in AJ’s arms, with the jazz heat of the band making her body throb. The sax groaned like sex cries, the drums pulsed in a get-some heartbeat. The congas came after her, demanding satisfaction now. She was surprised people just didn’t give up all pretense and go for it on the floor.

There was something so sexy about a man who could dance. It meant he was in touch with his body, with her body.

And the way AJ was moving now, promising all kinds of sensual delights, she could hardly wait to hit the sheets.

Dear Reader,

I don’t know about you, but I’m a mess of contradictions. On all those personality/style thingies, I am split down the middle. One minute I’m semioutrageous; the next I’m desperate to melt into the wallboard.

So I really can relate to Beth—the shy, repressed writer trying to be an out-there sex columnist. Then she meets a man who accidentally turns into two people himself—her lover and her boss.

These two truly need each other to be whole. AJ helps Beth blend her contradictions, and Beth shows AJ the warm guy behind the distant loner he thinks he is. She’s the bridge over the moat guarding his heart.

Needless to say, this was a powerful story to write. I hope their story touches your heart. I’d be thrilled to hear from you. Write me at dawn@dawnatkins.com or pop over to my Web site, www.dawnatkins.com.

My very best to you,

Dawn Atkins

P.S. AJ is perfectly pictured on the cover by Greg Miller, the winner of the Blaze Cover Model Contest. I am honored to have this gorgeous guy grace my book.

Very Truly Sexy
Dawn Atkins

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Dear Reader,

Take a good long look at the man on our cover this month. Isn’t he fabulously sexy? His name is Greg Miller, and he’s the winner of our exciting Blaze Cover Model Contest. He and his wife won the grand prize of a romantic weekend at the Park Plaza hotel in New York City.

Last year we asked you, our readers, to tell us why your guy should be on the front cover of a Blaze novel. You responded with letters, poems, photos and e-mails about why the man in your life is a hero. And why he’s also hot, romantic and sexy…

We had so many great men to choose from, it was difficult. But in the end we judged that Greg was the perfect man to appear on the cover of Very Truly Sexy by Dawn Atkins. I think you’ll agree he fits the story well!

Thanks to everyone who entered our contest. And thanks for making Blaze such a hot series favorite!

Cheers!

Birgit Davis-Todd

Executive Editor

Blaze

To David, for loving the many faces of me

And to my best friend Gwen…you know why

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

1

“OKAY, SARA, DESCRIBE the first time you were intimate with Rick. In detail, please. No twitch is too tiny, no moan too minor.”

Beth Samuels adjusted her steno pad on her lap, clicked on the mini-recorder she used to back up her note-taking, then leaned back to listen, her stomach jumpy with tension. Her Chinese Crested hairless dog Spud, as relaxed as Beth was nervous, shifted his barrel body against her hip, cozying up for a snooze.

“Were intimate?” Sara teased. “You mean had sex, Beth. If you’re going to write about it, you’re going to have to say it.” Sara dipped an Oreo into the whipped cream garnish Beth had added to the circle of cookies for their snack-and-chat.

“I’m adjusting, okay? I said twitch and moan. What do you want?”

“More than that, sweetie.”

Beth clicked off the recorder, dismayed by the challenge she faced. She had to go from easy-breezy entertainment writer to nitty-gritty sex columnist practically overnight. Well, by the next magazine deadline anyway. She wasn’t that experienced at having sex, let alone writing about it. That was where her sexually accomplished friend Sara came in. If she would only cooperate.

“I’ll make it work, don’t worry,” Beth said firmly. She would not let her readers down. She cherished her “On the Town” column, where, as her alter ego, E.M. “Em” Samuels, she scoped out entertainment venues, analyzing every nuance with as fresh a wit and focus on detail as she could manage. The column was her window on the world and it made her feel valuable and very alive. The money mattered, too, but not as much as the joy of the work.

“So, about Rick and that first time,” she said, resituating herself, making Spud groan in his sleep. She snapped on the recorder again. “Was it on your first date? Why or why not? Did he suggest it, or you? Did you make out at length or did it just happen?”

“You mean, did clothes whip away, condoms appear and bodies magically meld?” Sara smiled. She’d told Beth more than once she was too dreamy about these things. “Sex doesn’t have to be pretty to be good.” She dipped an Oreo into the Grand Marnier frappé Beth had concocted as part of the evening’s refreshments, then gestured with it. “People jiggle and wobble.”

Beth lunged forward with a napkin to catch Sara’s flying drips.

“Zippers snag,” Sara continued. “Condoms fly across the bed. Bodies squeak and thrusts get off-tempo. But if you have the right attitude, everybody has a good time.” She pushed the soggy snack into her mouth with a triumphant finger.

The drip danger gone, Beth relaxed against the sofa. “I just don’t like the awkward parts.”

“What you didn’t like was sex with Blaine.”

“Our sex was okay.”

“Okay and sex should never be in the same sentence.”

Sara hadn’t made a secret of disliking Blaine, though an I-told-you-so had never crossed her lips. Sara was fiercely opinionated, but a loyal friend.

“You have to take a different approach, Bethie, if you’re going to make this work. Less lace, limos and gimlets and more ‘Ten Tips for Better Blow Jobs.’”

“I’m not writing for Cosmo,” she said, distress shooting through her. “It’s still Phoenix Rising magazine. I’m just going to spice up the entertainment reviews with a little sex.”

Though that wouldn’t be as easy as it sounded. Or as easy as her managing editor, Will Connell, thought it would be. Just take your notepad in for the post-date entertainment, he’d said to reassure her. What’s the problem?

The problem was that, for her, there was no post-date entertainment, though she wouldn’t share that fact with Will, who treated her like a treasured niece. She was as likely to take Sara with her to scope out new bars, restaurants and clubs, as to take a man. She hadn’t actually had a date since Blaine left, nearly a year ago. Maybe she was still recovering. Or maybe dating just seemed like too much trouble.

Sara tried to set her up from time to time, but Beth preferred cocooning in her cozy house with her pets, watching Doris Day-Rock Hudson romps while munching on low-fat caramel rice cakes and diet cream soda—low-cal snacks so she could afford an occasional cookie-frappé splurge with Sara.

But now Phoenix Rising was about to be gobbled up by a magazine conglomerate and Will was trying to save as many sections, columns and jobs as he could, including her own, God bless him.

“So pick up a guy and write about your own first time,” Sara said, twisting a cookie apart to scrape the frosting off with her teeth. “Pop a toothbrush and some Trojans into your clutch, hit a singles’ spot and—poof—a sex column.”

“That’s you, not me,” she said, absently running her fingers through the silky fringe of a throw pillow, vaguely soothed by the tickling sensation.

“Maybe that’s not sweet, shy Beth, but it sure as hell could be hip cosmopolite Em.”

“I think I’ll stick with my very own personal sex-pert—you. Just help me through this rough patch, Sara.”

“And you think it’s going to smooth out?”

“I can only hope.” We’re in a reality TV world, Em, Will had said. Readers are bored with their own lives, so everyone else’s fascinate them. And nothing was more fascinating than sex. She sighed.

“Okay,” Sara conceded, evidently reading her gloom. “I still say you need the adventure, but I’ll tell you about the first time with Rick if it’ll help you.”

“Start with the highlights, please.” Boomer, her St. Bernard, lifted his chin from the floor, as if interested in the scoop, and Ditzy, her teacup poodle, jumped onto Sara’s lap.

“Is this animal story time?” Sara asked. She glanced up at the archway into the kitchen. “Even your cats are listening in.”

Beth glanced up at her black-and-white spotted cats, Frick and Frack—watching closely from their favorite perch—then at Sara. “At least cover Ditzy’s ears. I think she’s still a virgin.”

“Listen and learn, furball,” Sara said to the dog curled in her lap, then shifted her attention to Beth. “Okay, the highlights. First off, Rick has the most amazing tongue. He did this swirly thing in my ear, and then below, where it counts, and, let me tell you, I thought I was having an out-of-body experience and a vision quest—where an animal guide tells you the meaning of your life, right?—in one big whammo.”

Beth swallowed. “Um, that’s impressive.” The tops of her ears burned and she felt funny listening to something so intimate, but it had to be done. To distract herself, she scooped a dab of whipped cream from the cookie plate onto a finger, then let it drizzle sweetly down her throat.

“Impressive? It was mind-altering, mind-boggling, mind-melding—all that and more. After I stopped hyperventilating, I returned the favor, doing my very best work….”

Beth took careful notes while Sara described what her best work entailed, uncomfortable with the way her body began to feel like a marshmallow over a low flame—toasty warm on the outside and all melted on the inside.

A little bit later, Sara finished describing her second orgasm and paused for air. They both took big gulps of the orange-flavored frappé, thinking over the story. The drink was supposed to be research for the column Beth had planned on froufrou drinks. But now that her focus had to be sex, the cocktail review would be merely a sidebar.

“Great detail, Sara,” she said. “But let me ask a few general questions. Do you always carry condoms with you in case the man isn’t equipped?”

“Absolutely. Safer sex is everybody’s job.”

“But doesn’t that make it seem calculating? Have condoms, will have sex? Doesn’t it take away the excitement?”

“No more than having a fire extinguisher suggests you’re planning a kitchen fire. It’s a precaution. It’s being prepared. Weren’t you a Girl Scout?”

“That makes sense, I guess. Next question—what makes you decide to sleep with a guy?”

“Lots of things. If he makes me laugh…if he’s a good dancer…if he looks good…if he seems sweet. With Rick, it was his body temperature. He was so warm, I just knew he’d be sensual in the sack.”

“You slept with him because of his metabolic rate?”

Sara shrugged. “It’s just sex, Beth, not the meaning of life.”

“It’s never that simple for me.”

“That’s because you angst over it instead of just letting it happen.”

“Men don’t react to me like they do to you.”

“If you’d wear something hotter than a jumper, take your hair out of a braid and not look so serious all the time, you’d have better luck.”

“You mean, if I were a different person. I’ll settle for pretending to be you for a while. Plus I picked up some books.”

“You’re reading about sex? Jeez, Beth.”

“What can I say? That’s me.”

“You underestimate yourself. You’re a sensual person. Look at you in your silk pajamas.”

Beth rubbed the smooth, cool fabric that covered her legs. “Yeah? So?”

“And look around. Your living room has deep colors and tons of textures.” Sara gestured at the framed weavings—complex fibers in teal, silver and burlap-brown. “Plus, you love music—that whole wall is filled with CDs. Scented candles are all over the place in, what do you call them, aroma groups? Aroma groups, for God’s sake. Fresh flowers in every room. And look what you did to our simple snack. Not only did you make a lovely frappé instead of breaking out the Diet Coke, but you added whipped cream to my Oreos for a taste nirvana.

“You’ve got all the senses fired up—sight, touch, taste, smell, sound.” She counted them off on her fingers. “Of course, sex does all that and more. It’s a sensory jackpot with moans for music. You’ve just been neglecting that angle.”

“I suppose so.” Beth had worked hard to make her home comfortable and satisfying. She noticed she was still fingering the pillow fringe for the simple pleasure of the feeling.

“You just need a guy who can tap into all that sensuality and, ba-da-bing, you’ll be as hot as your column.”

“Believe me, if I find this mythical guy, you’ll be the first to know. For now, let’s go back to Rick’s magic tongue. Would you say the secret is in the actual swirl, the heat and moisture of the tongue, or the pressure of the tip?”

“Good Lord, Beth. You need a man.”

THE NEXT MORNING, Beth hurried her dogs back from their walk, anxious to get started on her column, her head full of Sara’s sexploits and her own doubts. Sara was right that her column would be stronger if it were based on her own experiences, and it would be nice to meet a guy with racy techniques like Rick’s tongue swirl, but what were the chances of that happening anytime soon? Blaine hadn’t even been much of a kisser, alternating a thin-lipped maneuver with an open fish-mouth.

But they’d had fun together, she reminded herself, not wanting to malign her good memories. He’d stayed up on trends, loved going with her to check out new restaurants, bars and after-hours spots. He’d been a good conversationalist and had appreciated all the lovely touches she’d provided to their times together. They’d seemed completely compatible.

Until he left. With her confidence.

Oh, and her savings. But she tried not to think about that. Too humiliating.

Inside the house, her dogs extracted their personal favorites from the large wicker basket of dog toys, while Frick and Frack observed the doings from their positions on their tall scratching pole. Beth tossed the toys and looked around her living room, thinking about what Sara had said about her place.

She’d only intended to create a comfortable haven for her and her pets, but the result was a feast for the senses, now that she thought about it. And she’d done it on a shoestring budget, too. The overstuffed sofa was as comfortable as a glove, but with an appealing rough weave. The cherrywood cocktail table and matching end tables were deeply stained and gleamed like liquid, and the carved wooden upright lamp was as curvaceous as a living form. These were amazing steals from an estate sale. The framed weavings Sara had admired were vibrant against the wall she’d painted an accent plum color. She’d worked out a trade with the artist—doing some publicity brochures and newsletters for her.

In contrast to the soft warmth of most of the room, elegant glass vases of various shapes, colors and heights filled her knickknack shelf. Treasures from garage sales and eBay. She varied the scents of the candle clusters based on her mood, which Sara teased her about.

She breathed deeply of the white gardenias, red hibiscus and yellow honeysuckle blooms she’d arranged in vases in her living room, dining room and kitchen. They were all from her yard. The aroma and bright colors made her feel good. She extracted a bloom and stroked her cheek with its petals, shivering with the delicious tickle. Maybe she was a sensualist, after all.

Her previous lovers hadn’t tapped into her sensual side, that was certain. Not that she’d slept with many men in her twenty-seven years—three, counting Blaine. They had all been good intellectual matches for her, which seemed more important than sex, which she’d viewed simply as part of the package. Maybe she was wrong.

Maybe she would explore sensuality versus sexuality in her column. Which she had to get to work on. Now.

“Enough, guys,” she said, refusing the ninetieth slobbery delivery of Ditzy’s rubber newspaper, Spud’s cloth monkey and Boomer’s battered playground ball. She headed into the second bedroom, which served as her office, her canine pals trailing her, disappointed but resigned.

Her revision on a camper top manual for Thompson Manufacturing was due this week, but her column scared her, so it came first.

She turned on the desktop water feature—a miniature waterfall that spilled over three layers of rounded pebbles into a frosted glass bowl—lit two energy-boosting peppermint candles, limbered her back and arms with yoga stretches, then sat in her specially outfitted chair.

After three slow, deep breaths, she tilted her lamp minutely to be certain the glare wouldn’t tire her eyes, then clicked the start button on her computer.

Her animals assumed their work posts. Spud rested his chin on her insteps, Boomer lounged to her left and Ditzy curled up in her lap, chewing on her toy. Hopefully, its squeaker would give out before Beth went nuts from the wheezy creak.

Taking a deep breath and blowing it out, she rested her fingers on the keyboard and began her adventure.

Your “On the Town” reporter, who has faithfully detailed the latest dance clubs and restaurants, greatest wine-by-the-glass value and most intriguing after-hours venues, will now turn her attention to the rest of the evening. After all, while my date and I are savoring the saucy bouquet of our cunning cabernet, we’re wondering what we’ll do after the last jazz set at The Phoenician and the ginger Crème Brûlée with pumpkin seed lace at Lon’s at the Hermosa Inn. Will we be intimate? And how will we decide?

Not a bad beginning, she thought, reading it over. Could she be Sara for the next part? Deciding to have sex based on whether the guy made her laugh, could dance, smelled good or, hell, wore a tie she liked?

That wasn’t Beth’s way. Beth waited to have sex until the relationship was solid and they were comfortable enough around each other to minimize the fumbling awkwardness of the first time.

And she did her best to make it special—perfect lighting, alluring music, erotically scented candles, something tastefully sexy to wear, wine beside the bed and an after-sex snack awaiting them in the fridge. And then she hoped for the best.

Her entertainment column was all about ambiance and turning everything, even a cup of coffee, into a celebration. Her column elevated the ordinary to the extraordinary. And now she wanted to do something like that with sex.

Sara, on the other hand, didn’t care a bit about elegance. She liked sex in whatever way it came, so to speak. But couldn’t sex be lovely, lyrical and hot? Surely Beth could give Sara’s sexcapades Em’s tasteful flare.

She looked at the calendar. She had just one week to write, revise and finalize the piece. Tight. She liked to let her columns breathe for a few days before polishing them to a gleam and sending them to Will. Her glance at the calendar brought her eye to the fan letters she’d pinned to the bulletin board. Smiling, she detached them and read the phrases she’d highlighted in each.

“Miss Em: Your words made me practically see the place,” said the first. “Thanks to your recommendation, Em, our anniversary was the most romantic ever,” went the second. And the third really moved her: “Oh, to have E.M. Samuels’s vision. What would we do without you?”

Her readers counted on her. She would not let them down.

But when the phone rang, she was grateful for the delay. “Hello?” she said eagerly, and her mother greeted her with equal cheer.

Beth rocked back in her chair, knowing the conversation would take a while. Her mother leaned on Beth for comfort and advice, a habit that began when Beth’s father had left them twenty years before, but she had to be coaxed to ask for the help she needed with practical things—repairs and finances.

It took a few minutes, but Beth finally extracted the fact that the AC unit was broken. AC was essential in Phoenix, even in April. Her brother Timmy, who lived with her mom, had patched it before heading to work, but it had wheezed its last shot of cool air shortly afterward.

The landlord, George Nichols, was insisting he’d replace it with a unit from another of his properties, but her mother didn’t want that. Her rent was low because they’d stipulated in the lease that they’d handle repairs, and Tim was good at that. The offer of the AC was too much like a favor, her mother said, which it undoubtedly was. George seemed to really like her mother.

A fact her mother seemed to be ignoring. She’d dated a few men during the twenty years since Beth’s father left, but the relationships never lasted long or amounted to much. George was a good guy—handsome, intelligent, kind—a little older, probably, than her mother’s fifty, but he acted youthful. He’d retired from some high-tech firm and managed properties to stay busy.

Today, she wished her mother would just let the guy give them the unit, favor or not. They needed to cut costs wherever possible. Beth’s work as a technical writer paid her living expenses, but the column funded the extra help her mom and brother needed. Yet more reason to make the sex column work.

She convinced her mother to let George give her the unit, without telling her about the column crisis—she didn’t want her to worry—and agreed to come to dinner before hanging up.

Staring at her blinking cursor, she thought about something else her mother had mentioned—Timmy’s latest invention idea. He needs investors, Bethie, if you have any ideas. Her stomach tightened another notch. In the past, she would have offered help from her savings. Now there were no savings. Not since Blaine. How had she been so wrong about the man?

They’d been together for nearly a year, spent most of their free time together, and Blaine had behaved as though she hung the moon, set the sun and fluffed up the clouds to boot. In truth, she’d felt a little uncomfortable because she didn’t feel quite as connected to him as he’d seemed to her.

But when he’d disappeared, she’d been stunned. She’d thought she had good people instincts. Basically an optimist, she expected the best from people, and they usually delivered. Yes, toward the end, Blaine had seemed more distant, unusually preoccupied about his business. He’d mentioned some difficulty with funding for his limited partnership, and his enthusiasm about their long-planned Caribbean cruise had ebbed, but she’d never doubted that he cared for her, loved her, wanted to be with her.

Maybe his infatuation had blinded her to what was really going on. Something had, because somehow, right under her nose, he’d forged her name on a check from her money-market account and taken twenty-thousand dollars, leaving her with a balance of just two hundred.

The experience had destroyed her confidence, for sure, and it would be a long time before she got serious with a man. Or even stuck her toe in the dating pool—no matter what Sara said about getting right back on that board and diving in.

She wasn’t risking another belly flop anytime soon.

Back to the column. Beth played the tape of Sara’s words, closed her eyes to picture Sara, so comfortable in her body, so easy with her sexuality. If Beth could just channel Sara, she would be fine.

Four hours later, she had a draft that held enough detail to be believable and was as refined as she could manage. She’d described the specifics of the experience vividly, but tastefully. She’d been frank, not vulgar; erotic, not graphic. Pleased with the result, she shot a courtesy copy to Sara and was just about to e-mail her draft to Will—early, to make sure she was on the right track—when her phone rang.

“Tell me you haven’t submitted this,” Sara said without preamble.

“I’m about to. Why?”

“I’m sorry, Beth, but you can’t use it.”

“What?”

Sara lowered her voice. “I know it sounds ridiculous, but Rick thinks it’s too personal.”

“You’re kidding. No way could anyone tell it’s him or you.”

“But we know, he says, and that’s enough.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I wish I were. Personally, I thought it was pretty hot. And, get this, now he wants us to only date each other.”

“But you don’t do exclusives,” Beth said, her brain struggling to absorb the bad news about her column. “What about ‘a pair and a spare’?” This was Sara’s dating philosophy: date two guys with another one in the wings…just to keep things interesting.

“I know, I know. But it’s kind of cute. He’s, like, zap, all protective and sentimental. About the tongue swirly thing, can you believe it? I said I’d try it for a while and see how it goes. If he goes weird on me—possessive and jealous—I’m outta there, of course.”

“I’m glad for you, Sara. I hope it works out.” She sighed, trying not to think about her nixed column.

“I’m sorry to do this to you, Beth,” Sara said, reading her mind. “Maybe you could modify the column a tad? Snip out the detail?”

“The magic is the detail. Let me see…” She clicked open the file and scanned its contents. Removing all signature elements, she was left with a measly two paragraphs. “Without you two, I’ve got an introductory blurb. And a week to fix it.”

“You know the answer—go pick up a guy. Fresh is better than canned in more than spinach, you know.”

“Can you honestly see me doing that?”

“Yeah, if you don’t bring a book.”

“That was one time. And it was a great novel.” Sara was notoriously late and Beth had happened to have a paperback in her purse while she waited for her. Reading in a bar. Sara had never let her hear the end of it.

“You can do it, Beth. Wear something slinky and look friendly.”

“I’ll just fake the column, I guess. Fictionalize it.” She sighed. “Maybe add some statistics on favorite kinds of foreplay or something.”

“Statistics? Come on. Think what a great column it would make—Em really on the town…. Give it a try.”

“Nope. Not me.” When it came to picking up a man, Beth was as far from the coolly sophisticated Em as a virgin from a call girl.

She hung up and looked at her computer screen, the cursor pulsing like her own nervous heart. She pictured herself throwing on something slinky and marching into a bar, pickup radar pinging. No way. Not in a million years.

“THIS DOESN’T WORK for me, Beth,” Will told her, holding the printout of her revised-to-death column. He’d asked her to come in to talk it over. Not a good sign. “It’s too wooden, too cookbook. Like a kinder, gentler Cosmo anecdote.”

“Tell me what you really think,” she said glumly. The worst was, she knew he was right.

“Where’s the energy? The scrumptious detail that is Em’s trademark? Hell, your description of the wine is hotter than the bedroom stuff.”

“I had to change it at the last minute. I can do better.” Except her expertise was in reporting, observing and interpreting real experiences, not writing fiction.

Will grabbed a magazine from a pile on his desk— Man’s Man, she saw—the California-based cross between Esquire and Maxim whose parent company was about to take over Phoenix Rising. He opened it to a page he’d dog-eared, tapped it and turned it to her. “Man’s Man Gets Some” by Z. “This is what we want—our version of this Z writer.”

“This is a men’s magazine,” she said. “Phoenix Rising has women readers, too.” She tried to hand it back.

“Keep it for inspiration. Give me something I can work with, Em. We’re leaking readers all over the place. And women like to read about sex, too.”

She noticed deep worry creases in Will’s forehead and sweat rings staining his shirt. Something was worse than he was saying. “What aren’t you telling me?”

He sighed. “The thing is, the VP of Man’s Man editorial will be here next week to talk about the makeover. He’s going to reassign and refocus. The mantra at MM is edge, titillation, heat. I want to keep your column, but it’s got to deliver. You have to dazzle me—and him.”

“I’ll do my best,” she said, her stomach twisting with tension.

“I know you will,” he said. “You can do it. Just, I don’t know, make it more vivid, more fresh, more real.”

Vivid, fresh, real? Right. Her heart heavy, Beth read over the Man’s Man column as she headed out of the building. It was sex, sex, sex—no warmth, no class, no sensitivity.

This was lame. And gross. A bunch of phallo-centric drivel. Which was the last thing Phoenix Rising readers needed, no matter what the Man’s Man hatchet man wanted.

She could do better. She had to. She couldn’t fake it, though. Not and make it vivid, fresh and real. There was only one way to do what she needed to do.

On the sidewalk outside the building, she shoved the magazine under her arm and hit speed dial three on her cell.

“Hello?” Sara said.

“Tell me everything I need to know about picking up a man.”

“Really?”

“No. Wait. Make that meeting a man. Talking, flirting, getting to know him, all that. Oh, hell, just help me, Sara.”

2

ADAM RAFAEL JARVIS, AJ to friends, Rafe to the world, pushed into the hotel lobby, his work for the day done. Thank God. He ran his fingers through his hair, weary to his bones. He’d been as gentle as he could with the staff at Phoenix Rising, but he’d given them the reality check they needed. No point ducking facts when they came with negative dollar signs. The pub’s circulation was in the toilet and the Man’s Man formula was its only hope.

He’d done his best to minimize the pain. There would be changes—more salespeople, fewer columnists, less news, more features—but if everyone went along with what he’d laid out, no one would lose a job.

He enjoyed working with the managing editor, Will Connell, a savvy guy and seasoned editor. Still, the staff’s pale faces and the tension in the air had drained him. He was getting soft in his old age. He was only thirty-five, but lately, that felt old.

He needed a drink, so he angled off to the bar for a quick Scotch to ease the tension of the day.

He sat at the end of the bar, where he could check out the clientele—an old reporter habit—and ordered a Scotch rocks.

The place was busy with conventioneers—identifiable by their plastic name badges—and locals from nearby offices, wearing business clothes, drawn by the happy-hour prices, no doubt. There were a few unattached women, he noticed—a cluster near the bar and a few in booths.

One woman in particular caught his eye. Dressed to kill in a clingy blue dress, she moved toward the restroom alcove with a determined stride, but wobbled in her heels, like a kid wearing her mother’s pumps. Driven, but shaky. Hmm.

Great curves, firm-looking breasts, her hair swept up in a style that invited a man’s hands, but as she passed, he saw it was held in place by a barrette in the shape of a cartoon kitty.

A hot babe with a child’s heart? Interesting contradiction. And a great ass, he saw, as she disappeared from view.

He turned his attention to a guy flirting sheepishly with three women at a booth. He was either married or their boss. Rafe would love to get close enough to eavesdrop and verify his hunch. He smiled at himself. More knee-jerk reporter stuff. He was obviously bored.

He took a drink, welcoming the smoky burn. He liked travel, liked visiting the other MM properties, liked making his mark on the magazines they snapped up. But the rest of his job was getting predictable and he was tired of charity events, stakeholder meetings and advertising revenue reports.

Strangely enough, he found he missed journalism. He’d been thinking a lot about his days at the Miami Tribune, where he’d been the lead reporter on an investigative project about funeral companies. He’d dug through piles of records, coaxed reluctant bureaucrats to spill, uncovered the kernel of the crime and then helped write the series that sparked an over-haul of the industry, new legislation and a Pulitzer nomination.

The work had been rewarding, but at the time, he hadn’t realized how much it meant to him. He’d been a restless guy in his twenties. A couple of feature assignments further raised his profile, and he’d gotten an offer at Man’s Man as a feature writer. The money was great and he liked the Bay area. Before long, he’d moved into editing, a new challenge, and then into management as a vice president.

Where he now felt stuck. He’d made his choices, though. The publisher counted on him. Maybe he was just going through a restless period that would pass.

He’d spend one more day in Phoenix, during which he’d go over details with Will and talk to the last writer—E.M. Samuels, the entertainment columnist, who was coming to the magazine offices for her check and mail.

He wasn’t looking forward to the meeting. The woman’s work epitomized what was wrong with the pub. She reported on food, wine and clubs with a sort of Town and Country flavor that was passé for the target demographic—and the times. Connell, who seemed protective of her, wanted to keep her on as a feature writer because she had a flair for words and lots of talent. Rafe was willing to offer her that option, but she would have to leave the column behind.

If only she wouldn’t cry. Her genteel writing made her seem the type who might. He hated making women cry. Which was why he steered clear of any female who even hinted at getting serious.

Actually, he’d steered clear of all women lately. He took another swallow of Scotch, not allowing himself to think about what that meant, focusing instead on the changes at Phoenix Rising.

Until Will could find someone with the right spice to take Em Samuels’s place, Rafe would have the “Man’s Man Gets Some” columnist, Zack Walker, do a few guest pieces.

In two days, he’d be back in the home office in San Francisco. Just in time for a big shareholders’ meeting, followed by a charity golf tournament and a week of work on a strategic business plan. Truly tedious and deadly dull.

Unlike the woman with the kitty-cat barrette, who’d emerged from the bathroom. She caught his gaze, smiled a smile that lit her eyes, then flew past, as if afraid he might speak to her.

He felt the urge to do that—just to get the scoop on that barrette—but she lighted at a table with a morose guy. No doubt the boyfriend, though how he could look so glum with a dish like her in his grasp was a mystery to Rafe.

She said something to the guy, who answered, then grinned, stood and hurried away. Had she sent him on an errand? She smiled him off, then her shoulders slumped. She’d been faking her cheer?

She got up from the booth, seemed to hesitate, then moved toward the rest rooms again. She didn’t even glance at Rafe this time—too busy fishing a phone out of her handbag. He shifted so he could watch her—and listen.

“Sara?” she said, standing in the alcove, one hand over her ear. “Except for the drinks, this was a complete bust…. What?… I did meet a guy. Yes. Except it turns out he just had a fight with his girlfriend…. Yeah. See what I mean? It’s hopeless… What do you think? Of course I helped him. Plus, I suggested a gift. Roses are on sale at that shop on Central, and if he puts them in a vase from the final clearance table at Osco’s, he’ll have a sixty-dollar gift for less than thirty…. What?… I was not sabotaging myself. The point is that I cannot do this…. I do too want to get laid!”

She covered her mouth, chagrined, and looked up—not in Rafe’s direction, thankfully, because she’d have seen him practically choke on his drink in reaction to her words.

Had her friend dared her to pick up a guy? And she’d zeroed in on a loser on the rebound? He shook his head, amused, and listened harder.

“I’m not the kind of woman men pick up,” she continued. “I’m the kind they ask for advice about their girlfriends. I’m going home. What else can I do?… I know…. I know what I said. Yes, I know it will be good for me.” She chewed her lip, listened to her friend. “Okay, okay. I’ll try one more guy.”

She hung up and walked slowly down the length of the bar toward her booth.

One more guy, huh? To have sex with? Hmm. Could it be him? The possibility gave Rafe a charge he hadn’t felt in a long time. The woman had a girl-next-door freshness with an undercurrent of hot babe he wouldn’t mind tapping into.

How to approach her? He noticed that a ballpoint pen lay on the floor beside her table. It was a place to start. He eased off the bar stool and headed her way. He’d get the story on that barrette, one way or another. And maybe a whole lot more.

“IS THIS YOURS?” THE HUNK who had smiled at Beth on her way back from the rest room extended a pen in her direction.

“Uh, no. Not mine. Maybe the waitress’s?” She pointed to where the woman stood.

He smiled down at her, confident and handsome, his eyes a fierce blue. “Mind if I wait for her?” He seemed to be teasing her.

With a jolt, she realized the pen and the waitress had been a conversational ploy. He wanted to join her. “Oh. Sure. Have a seat.” What luck.

He sat and reached to shake her hand. “I’m AJ.”

“Beth.” His grip was firm but not overwhelming, and his hand was extremely warm. That was the reason Sara’d had sex with Rick—high body temperature. So insane. But it’s just sex, Sara would say, not the meaning of life.

Beth watched as her new companion sized her up in a masculine way. Unsettling, but pleasant. Flattering, really.

There was an edge to his face—he had a square jaw, a straight, strong nose and an intense, almost hard expression—but his broad mouth, easy with a smile, softened the effect.

His most dramatic features were his eyes—blue and sharp-edged as shattered glass, but there was humor and intelligence in their depths and wry crinkles at the edges.

Just as the mutual appraisal began to seem unnaturally long, the waitress breezed over. “What can I get you?” she asked AJ, smiling down at him more broadly than she had with Beth.

“What are you drinking?” he asked, indicating Beth’s nearly empty martini glass.

“Tutti-Frutti Martooti,” she said, the name sounding more foolish than it had when she’d selected it. She’d come to Grins for its specialty drinks for her sidebar on the top ten froufrou cocktails. Oh, and to meet a man.

“Want another one?” AJ asked, looking doubtful.

“I should try something else.” She grabbed the drink menu. “I can’t decide between the Licorice Twist and the Hot Cha-Cha. Will you try one for me?”

“Sorry,” he said, lifting a brow as if she’d asked a crazy question. “Scotch rocks, please,” he said to the waitress as though they were old friends.

“You got it,” she said, winking at him. Brother. The woman was either aiming for a big tip or an after-shift date. She made it seem effortless.

“I’ll have the Licorice Twist,” Beth said.

“Sure.” The waitress wrote it down, then gave AJ a departing smile.

“The pen,” Beth said to AJ.

“I think you dropped this,” he said to the waitress, holding out the pen.

She accepted it, her fingers lingering on his. “Thanks for watching out for me.” So obvious.

“My pleasure,” AJ said, flirting back.

Some people could flirt as easily as breathe. Not Beth. Sara had given her tips, but they’d flown out of her brain the minute this man dropped into her lap—well, booth.

Her stomach tightened. She felt as though she was in over her head. She didn’t have to actually sleep with him, or anything. They would just chat, joke around, maybe get friendly enough to kiss. Just enough to make her column sparkle. Sara, of course, would go for sex. He had warm hands, after all. What about Em? What would Em do?

She was about to find out.

“So what brings you here?” AJ asked her, leaning closer on crossed arms, his scuffed leather bomber jacket creaking deliciously.

I’m picking up a man. You interested? “Just getting out…sampling some cocktails,” she said, lifting her empty Martooti glass.

“Sorry I couldn’t help. Tiki drinks threaten my masculinity.”

She smiled. “I can’t imagine anything doing that.” Not bad. Something was giving her the courage to stretch a bit—either the warmth of his expression or her determination to extract a column out of this at any cost.

“So I seem too macho to you?”

“No. Just very male.” The candlelight polished his blond hair and gleamed on the leather of his jacket. Underneath, he wore a V-neck silk knit shirt in a rich brick red. The contrast of leather and silk begged to be touched. So did the muscles swelling under the shirt, pulled taut by his position.

“I think I have a feminine side in here somewhere.” He pretended to pat his jacket pockets, then shrugged. “Hopefully, it’ll show up when I need it.”

“And when might that be?”

“When a woman wants to know what I’m feeling inside.” He shuddered in pretend dismay.

“I’ll try not to pry.”

He wasn’t really joking, she could tell. For all his friendliness, there was a guardedness about him. His piercing eyes, warm on her now, still managed to say, Don’t get close. “So what do you do, Beth?” he asked.

“I’m a technical writer.” That was one of her jobs, anyway. Sex columnist working on her first article would change the entire flavor of the encounter. She never revealed her identity when she reviewed venues, so why start now? With her nondescript appearance and subtle research techniques, she slipped in and out of hot spots like a ghost with taste.

“That sounds interesting.”

She laughed. “You’re too kind. It sounds boring, but it’s fascinating to me. I like the challenge of turning engineering jargon into something ordinary people can grasp.”

“Having once assembled a stereo system, I salute you. Do you have an engineering background?”

“Not really. My degree is in English, but I took lots of math and science.”

The waitress arrived with their drinks and after she left, AJ lifted his Scotch in a toast. “To tiki drinks and talking,” he said, studying her over his glass.

Something hot vibrated along her nerves, connecting between her legs, which she nervously crossed. They were only discussing cocktails and technical writing, but she felt on the brink of something thrilling. And scary.

Raising her Licorice Twist in its tall glass, she said, “To getting to know each other.” And more?

Only if she dared. And if he was interested, of course.

The proportions of anise and chocolate in her drink were off, and the liqueur was a cheap one, so the effect was sickeningly sweet without an alcohol bite. She mentally crossed Licorice Twist off her top ten list. That part of her column was moving along. For the rest of it, the important part, she should say something flirty, but she settled for the predictable. “And how about you? What brings you to Grins?”

“I’m staying here, in the hotel.”

“Where are you from?”

“San Francisco.”

“And you’re here on business?” He nodded and something flickered in his eyes, some discomfort, but she asked the next question anyway. “And what work do you do?”

“I’m a transition expert. I help, uh, reorganize companies, redeploy staff, all that.”

“Far more interesting than technical writing.”

“It hasn’t been much fun today and I actually dropped in here to stop thinking about it.” He lifted his glass as proof.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude.” She’d been practically grilling the man. Any second she’d ask for his social security number so she could run his prints.

“Let’s just stick with keeping each other company.” He tapped his drink against her glass and studied her again. “That’s what I find interesting.”

“Okay. Sure.” She had to look away, uncomfortable with how closely he was looking at her with those laser blues. But part of her liked it. The tingling between her legs intensified. She could see that if a woman went with certain impulses, she could end up in bed with a man like AJ with no effort at all. Some women, anyway.

“Actually, you caught my interest just walking across the room a while ago,” AJ said.

“Really?” That might be a line, but there was something so direct about AJ that she was sure there was more to it. He had looked intrigued when he’d caught her gaze near the rest rooms. “How so?”

“You seemed, I don’t know, contradictory.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re dressed very hot, but you’re unsteady in your heels and you’ve got a little-kid barrette in your hair.”

“Oh.” Her hand flew to touch the Hello Kitty clasp she’d borrowed from her neighbor’s daughter to hold her hair up. “I borrowed this. And I’m just getting used to new shoes.” The truth was that she never wore heels. AJ had seen right through to her inner librarian.

“Don’t apologize. The contradictions suit you.”

His scrutiny and flattery unnerved her, so she decided to joke away the feeling. “Excellent. I’m completely charmed. And what’s my line? ‘No one’s ever noticed that about me before’?”

“You’re catching on,” he said, but a flicker in his eyes told her she’d hurt his feelings.

“I’m sorry. I guess I’m not good at this.”

“At what?”

“You know. Snappy repartee, flirting, all that. I prefer to be more direct. I like people to say what they mean.”

“Me, too.”

“But you’re good at the other. You were great with the waitress, and that dropped-pen bit with me was very fresh.”

“I guess that’s a compliment?”

“Absolutely. I’m just interested in how this all works.”

“Why is that?”

She couldn’t exactly answer that, but she could come close. And get some data on the male point of view on dating. If she wasn’t going to sleep with the guy, she could at least interview him. “The thing is, I haven’t dated in a while. I’m kind of, well, rusty. So, I have questions about the whole process.”

“You haven’t dated for a while, huh?”

“No. I was in a relationship that ended. And I’ve been out of, um, circulation for quite a while.”

“Our loss, I would say. Speaking for men in general.”

“Thanks. So, can I ask you about how all this works?”

He seemed amused by her question. “It’s not like I’m an expert, but ask away.”

“Great.” She wiggled into her seat, feeling better wearing her reporter hat. “Here goes. How do you decide what to say first when you want to meet a woman?”

He shrugged. “It depends on the woman and the situation.”

“No tired lines, right, like, ‘Did it hurt much when you fell out of heaven’?”

“Hell, no. That’s for amateurs.” He winked, clearly teasing her. “The first line is just to break the ice. It should be funny or intriguing and certainly not sexual.”

“Too offensive, right?”

“Exactly. And the first line isn’t make-or-break. It’s the second line that counts. By the second line, you’ve got a conversation on your hands.”

“Oh, very true.” She wished she could flip on her tape recorder, or at least take notes. “So, how do you figure out what to talk about in that conversation?”

“It varies. Say I’m at the airport and I see a woman I want to get to know. I might ask her about the book she’s reading, or how she likes her laptop, whatever seems natural. Assuming I’m not intruding. You pick up the vibe if someone would rather enjoy her privacy than talk.”

“I see what you mean.” That would be her he was talking about—the woman giving off privacy vibes. Except even she might succumb to AJ’s overtures. Something about him made her feel comfortable, as if she’d known him for years, instead of moments.

“Okay, here’s something I’m curious about…” She paused, wondering if she dared ask the question flashing in her head. Oh, what the hell. “How often do these encounters lead to more? A date…and um…?”

“You mean sex?” He grinned again. “Depends on the chemistry, on how we both feel.” His smile faded and he became thoughtful. “Lately, not often, to tell you the truth. I’ve been traveling a lot and just haven’t been that interested.”

“I can imagine.” Darn. That meant tonight would be just talking. But that was good, too. She had something for her column, at least—“pickup lines and possibilities.” But would that be racy enough to dazzle Will and the VP at Man’s Man?

“Until I saw you and your kitty barrette, that is,” AJ said, startling her. “You’ve got me very interested.”

“I do? You are?” Little, fizzy sparklers began to sting her stomach. She took a big gulp of her drink to put them out. Except the drink was nastily sweet. She made a face.

“Try this.” AJ handed over his Scotch.

She took a swallow, but it was too much and too strong and she choked.

He leaned across the table to pat her back. “You okay? I didn’t mean to shock you.”

She nodded, gasping for air. “F-fine.”

“You like people to be direct, right? To say what they mean?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. I want to take you to bed, Beth.”

Her entire body went electric. She couldn’t believe her luck. She’d not only met a hot man in a bar, but also not fifteen minutes into the conversation, he’d asked her to sleep with him. This was way easier than even Sara had said. She must have stepped into some magic wish-fulfillment time warp. The Em Zone. Maybe the universe wanted her to keep her column.

“Beth?” AJ said. “You okay?”

“Yes. Very. I’m better than okay. So, you want to…?”

“Take you to bed? Very much. So, are you interested?” His eyes flared with heat.

Even though she hadn’t even dreamed she’d get this far, she’d come prepared. At Sara’s suggestion, she had a pre-pasted travel toothbrush and a selection of condoms—ribbed, flavored and ultrathin—in her handbag.

Even more amazing, she did want this man, with his intense eyes and easy smile, square jaw and warm hands. Her whole body lifted with the pleasurable possibility of being with him. It wasn’t because of her sex column or Sara’s challenge, either. She just wanted him. From somewhere deep inside, where she wasn’t nervous or embarrassed or clumsy. Where she knew what she wanted and why, and exactly how to get it.

But could she do it? It could be a disaster. Awkward and awful. Or it could be heaven.

“If this isn’t a good time, don’t feel pressured,” AJ said, seeming to pick up on her doubts. “I’m just telling you that I’m available. And you should know that you could crook your finger and get every unmarried guy in here—and some of the married ones—into your bed or anywhere else you wanted them.”

“That’s kind of you.” The man had managed to read and erase her doubts in one sentence. She wanted to kiss him in gratitude.

“It’s all true.”

How could she pass up a man like this? A chance like this? She wasn’t a coward or a quitter. She was going for it, dammit.

“Actually, AJ, I think I am interested. I would like to, um, go to, uh, bed with you. I think.” Her face flamed.

“You sound like you just accepted a dangerous assignment.” His eyes twinkled at her, inviting her to loosen up. “As always, Mr. Phelps, should you or any of your IM Force be caught or killed, the Secretary will disavow any knowledge of your actions.”

She laughed. “Like I said, I haven’t dated in a while. And meeting a man like this and…pursuing something so fast…well…it’s just…”

“I’m out of practice, too, if that makes you feel better.”

Out of practice? She’d never done it. But she wasn’t about to admit that. At least not right off the bat. “So, good then. We’re together on this.” She bit her lip. “So I guess now we should go up to your room?”

AJ covered both her hands with his, his hot palms suffusing her with warmth, and met her gaze. “Let’s finish our drinks, Beth, and talk a little more, then see what we feel like.”

“But you think we’ll feel like going upstairs?” She liked to have a plan.

He considered her question in mock seriousness. “Maybe we’d better be certain. So we don’t waste our time.”

He moved out of his seat and came to sit beside her on the banquette. He took her face in his palms and kissed her. She was stunned. Motionless with the thrill of it. His lips were gentle and he took his time, touching the seam of her lips with the tip of his tongue in a friendly coax. I’m here with more if you want.

She moved her tongue to barely touch his, relishing the taste and softness. Her sex began a steady pulse that made her want to squirm. A shudder passed through her body and she closed her eyes. This man understood the pleasures of a good kiss.

AJ slid his fingers into the hair at the sides of her head and turned her face at a different angle. She breathed in his cologne—something elegant that seemed natural on him.

After a delicious minute of sliding lips, touching tongues and exchanging hot breath, AJ released her. “Well?” he asked. “Think we’re going to want to go upstairs later?”

She slowly opened her eyes. Was he kidding? She was melting like a frozen margarita on a tongue. “Uhhuh,” she managed.

“Maybe we should be positive,” he said and leaned in for another kiss. There was more suction this time. His lips tugged and pulled at hers, massaging them with a hypnotic, back-and-forth rhythm. He moved with care, as if he sensed her skittishness, but his breath rasped in her ears, so she knew he was as aroused as she was.

Her entire body seemed to warm and loosen, as if she’d been frozen solid and was now thawing out all over this man, dripping onto the banquette and the floor beneath them.

She moved closer, wanting to crawl into his lap, her mind hazy, but she bumped the table. The rattle of glasses reminded her that they were in a crowded bar, making a spectacle of themselves. She broke off the kiss and looked into his blue eyes, which gleamed with heat. “Let’s go upstairs,” she said in a rush of lust.

But he might assume too much. “For privacy, I mean. So we can do this some more.” Maybe they’d go further, maybe they wouldn’t. All she knew was that here was her column, her man, her moment. Em’s moment.

AJ climbed out of the booth and gave her his hand to help her slide out. She wobbled a little—a combination of arousal and high heels—and he pulled her tight against his body. “You okay? You’re not acting faint just to make me feel manly, are you? Because of that tiki drink remark?”

“It’s just the heels,” she said, not wanting to let on how weak-kneed he’d made her. She felt safe with him. She trusted her instincts on that, though her self-defense training gave her extra confidence if those instincts proved off-kilter.

She knew her only danger was from her own nerves. Sara did this kind of thing all the time. So could Em.

They walked across the lobby and in seconds were riding the elevator to his room. Hotel bars were the perfect place to meet men if you tended to jitter, she realized. Just say the word and you were in their room. No time for second thoughts.

They swooshed upward, alone in the elevator, AJ’s eyes hot on her body. His hands slid up and down her sides, bunching up her dress, exposing her thigh to the air. Everywhere he touched went liquid with heat. Out of the elevator, she Jell-O-walked her way to his room, grateful for his arm around her waist keeping her upright.

He key-carded the door and guided her inside. The room was impersonally elegant. Cherry wood faux antiques and naturalist watercolors surrounded the centerpiece of the room—a huge, pillow-top sleigh bed, where they would soon be engaged in, gulp, intimacy. No, sex. Beth got intimate. Em had sex.

AJ led her to the bed in question, where she sat, nervously running her fingers across its quilted expanse. He went to turn on the stand-up lamp, then flung open the night blind and sheers to reveal a sparkling view of the city. He tossed off his jacket, then returned to help her to her feet and into his arms, pleasurable anticipation on his face.

Her courage failed her for a second. What if he expected her to be good? Her purse had gotten trapped between their chests, and that reminded her of what it held. “I, um, have protection. Three kinds, depending on your preference—ultrathin, ribbed or flavored.”

His eyes twinkled. “Let’s make that lady’s choice.”

“Oh. Right. Okay.” She’d decided to do this in a haze of lust, but now she’d have to face the awkward newness, the fact they were strangers. All she knew was that he kissed well.

“I’m glad you’re prepared,” AJ said, clearly trying to calm her. “The use-by date is long expired on whatever I have in my toiletry kit.” He studied her face. “It’s just us here, Beth. We can stop anytime. You’re in charge.”

“Right. Good,” she said, releasing a shuddery breath. “I have to use the bathroom.”

Mostly, she needed to calm down, figure out how she’d gone from barely being able to listen to Sara describe an orgasm to waltzing into a stranger’s hotel room ready to leap into the sack with him.

Had her column made her bold? Or was it something about AJ? Or was Em just ready to step out? Em might be ready, but the woman who’d just ducked into the hotel bathroom was Beth all the way.

3

YOU CAN DO THIS, Beth told herself, sitting on the edge of the bathtub. You have to, if you want to keep your column. The situation couldn’t be more ideal, really. AJ was the perfect guy for her first adventure in the wild world of easy sex—confident and comfortable with himself, he’d sensed her uncertainty and knew how to reassure her. Plus, he was from out of town, so he wouldn’t ever see the magazine and figure out he was in it. She would disguise him, of course, but some guys got funny about even anonymous exposure, judging from Rick’s reaction.

AJ was perfect. She was the problem. She just had to turn herself into Em for the next couple of hours. To gear up, she took her notepad from her purse and jotted a few Em-worthy observations.

Broad shoulders…smile as spicy as a crantini…fresh pickup line: Is this your pen? What did he say about the second line being more important than the first? Note: Hotel bars ease transition to intimacy. Just an elevator ride to ecstasy…

Except, now here she was, hiding in the bathroom, shivering on the edge of the bathtub.

She took a deep, cleansing breath and blew it out slowly. It’s just us here, Beth. You’re in charge. Maybe they would just make out for a while and call it a night, and she could write about hot first kisses.

She had to get moving. She’d been in here long enough to shower and put on makeup. Or at least undress. Lord. What if he thought she was taking off her clothes? Would he be naked when she got out?

She had the urge to call Sara for advice, but stopped herself. In the mirror, she looked into the pale face and shiny eyes of a nervous woman. How had she gotten into this mess?

“Beth…you okay?” AJ called to her from outside the door.

That was how. AJ’s voice made her melt, despite her fears. “F-fine,” she said. You can do this. Be the sensualist you truly are. She slid her purse strap over her shoulder, took a determined breath, faked a smile and opened the door.

AJ still had his clothes on, thank God, though he’d slipped off his shoes and socks. Jeez, he even had sexy feet. He peeled her purse strap off her shoulder and tossed her bag onto a nearby chair so he could pull her into his arms. His warmth worked through her nervous chill like a hot bath.

“I guess I’m a little jumpy,” she said.

“It’s all right,” he said. “You seem to be pushing yourself into this. We can go slow. Or just kiss. Whatever you want. No pressure.” He kissed her again, as slowly as he’d said, and she got that melting margarita feeling again.

He was so easy to be with. If she forgot herself for a second, she could just move into this moment and really enjoy it. She spread her fingers against his back, loving how broad and sturdy he seemed. Their tongues tangled, danced, traded places, explored, rocking with the same rhythm as before. This was familiar. This worked. If they stuck with this she’d be just fine.

Then he reached down and cupped her bottom with both hands, hugging her against his hardness, sending shock waves throughout her lower body. Okay, maybe they should try more than kissing.

He broke away from her mouth, still holding her snugly against him. “Are you okay?” he asked, his gaze hazy with arousal.

“Okay? Oh, yeah,” she said. She was more than okay. She loved feeling his need against her stomach. With Blaine, an erection had meant, I’m ready. With AJ, it said, Look what you do to me.

He lowered his mouth to hers again, his tongue more insistent this time. She opened wider, the way she wanted to open her body to him. He tasted of smoky liquor and sweet flesh, and smelled of his elegant cologne. She wondered how his skin would feel, how his chest would look. And down there…how would that be?

Kissing like this, holding AJ and being held by him, made the impersonal room seem intimate. She felt safe and desirable and right. Even better, the embrace seemed to erase the bad memories of Blaine, like an Etch A Sketch shaken clear of a bad drawing.

She would make sure her column captured this—the magic of a first time with the right man.

AJ’s hands slid upward from her butt, lifting her dress, exposing her thighs all the way to the tops of the lacy bands of the thigh-high nylons she’d worn. Then he moved his hands to the front of her dress. The bottom half dropped down, warm against her thighs, just as he cupped her breasts through her bodice.

Hot lust shot through her so swiftly she had to catch her breath. She broke off the kiss.

“Too fast?” he asked, searching her face as if she were some fragile creature who might run, or faint. She didn’t want to be fragile. She wanted to be bold.

“No. You’re perfect. Keep it up. Please.”

He smiled, then brushed her nipples softly. They tightened in response, sending electricity through her. She had to touch him, too, she realized, to give him the kind of pleasure he was giving her. As best she could, she grasped him through his pants.

He felt thick and long, and she had a fleeting thought that he would be too much for her. But he would be careful, she knew already because of how sensitive he seemed to be to her reactions. He would take it slow, make sure she was comfortable.

Then he surprised her by sliding his hand down her body and putting one finger gently against her cleft. He was right on target, and it took her breath away. Her parts seemed to loosen and swell, ache and dissolve, all at the same time. Her legs trembled and she thought she might swoon like some Victorian virgin in whalebone. “Let’s get…in…bed,” she managed to say.

If only they could whisk themselves there and clothes would disappear without any jiggling or tangling or hip-hopping out of panties.

AJ stopped touching her and held her gaze. “You sure?”

She nodded. “Just close your eyes while I change.” She was too modest to strip with him watching her.

“Don’t ever change,” he joked, but he closed his eyes.

That gave her a second to look at his face again—the strong brows and cheekbones, deep tan, the golden bristle emerging from his skin, his lush mouth with its knowing smile. Wow. And he was about to make love to her.

“No peeking now,” she said.

“You’re beautiful, Beth.”

“Humor me,” she said, and wobbled over to turn off the lamp, then punch off the entry light. She would definitely skip this part in her column—this dashing around, ripping off clothes while he hid his eyes, like some demented game of hide-and-seek.

She shook off her shoes, unzipped her dress and shoved it down, rolling her panties and the tops of her hose down along with the dress. Last, she unclipped her bra and took it off.

“Ready or not?” he teased.

“Not.” She shot a glance at him, crossing her arms over her naked breasts. His eyes remained closed, though he was grinning.

Wrapping her underthings into her dress, Beth placed the bundle neatly on her purse, her shoes beneath the chair, just as she did for a gyno exam, then started for the bed. Halfway there, she remembered the condoms in her purse. Note to self: Before things get too hot, extract condoms from purse and discreetly place on nightstand.

Beth rushed back for the squares of protection, deposited them on the nightstand, then whipped back the bedspread and slid between the sheets, pulling them up to her chin. The pillowtop was deeply soft and she seemed to sink for miles into its luxuriance. She turned the bedside lamp to the lowest glow—just enough light for AJ to see the condoms, but not enough to reveal too many of her physical flaws. Then she rested her arms along her body, over the sheet. “Now you can look.”

AJ opened his eyes. “But I missed the good part.” He walked to the bed, looking at her. He seemed to see right through the thick-ply fabric to where she trembled, her nipples taut, her sex tight.

“There are plenty of other good parts.”

“Sure, but a chance to see you naked—a little at a time—now that’s not to be missed.” Still watching her, he lifted his shirt over his head, then tossed it over the chair, where it wafted over her dress like a caress.

He opened his belt, undid his zipper and slid off his pants and boxers with quick grace. His arousal looked natural against his abdomen, which was flat with light muscle. His thighs bulged from what must be regular exercise, and his chest bore a feathering of golden hair.

She sighed and he slid under the sheets and enveloped her in his arms, radiating heat like a human furnace. Maybe Sara had a point about warmth. She spread her fingers against his back, reveling in the ripple of muscle, the pressure of his chest against her breasts, his penis and belly against her stomach, his thighs against hers.

“You feel so good,” he said, sliding his lips down her neck. He nipped, then sucked at a spot below her ear. “I want to look at you,” he said, and before she could object, he’d pushed the sheet down to her waist.

Feeling exposed, even in the dim light, she had the impulse to snatch the covers up to her chin, except AJ’s worshipful expression quelled that urge. He ran his hand over her breast, looking at it in wonder, like a geographer mapping beloved terrain, relishing each millimeter he skimmed and studied. “I wanted to touch you the minute I saw you in the bar.”

“You did?” she said.

“Oh, yeah.” He pushed the sheet farther down, making it rustle, exposing her pubic area and thighs to the brush of cool air, then his warm fingers. She tightened her tummy, to reduce the slight pooch, but he cupped it with affection. “Your body is amazing.” No man had looked at her with such frank appreciation, as if her flaws were part of her charm.

He traced the edge of her ear with his tongue while his fingers brushed lightly back and forth across her stomach, then breezed over her pubic hair.

“Oh, oh, wow,” she said, loving his teasing tongue, the surprise and grace of his skimming fingers. Her nerve endings were on fire in places that had never been ignited before. Was it possible to melt any more? Somehow she seemed to manage it. Waves of tingles washed down her arms and legs and pooled in that spot between her legs, which grew hotter, tighter and more hungry every second.

Pushed by need, she reached for AJ and curled her fingers around his shaft—velvet on the outside, sturdy underneath. She slid her hand up, stalling at his crown. He closed his eyes and pushed into her grip.

They would get serious now, and here was where her performance got iffy. “I should warn you that sometimes, when I’m nervous, I can’t…get there, you know…so don’t wait for me. Just go for it. It’ll still be great for me.”

“This isn’t a race, Beth,” he said, his eyes twinkling.

“I know, but I just don’t want you to be disappointed.”

“Don’t worry. I’m enjoying every second of this. How about you?” He slid his finger into her cleft and gently pressed the spot above her clitoris, sending a wave of heat surging through her. “Are you disappointed?”

“N-n-no,” she managed.

“Doesn’t seem like it. You’re wet and swollen,” he said, exploring her gently, “and…so soft…. Are you nervous?”

“Uh-uh,” she said, so swept away by his touch, she sounded like a slack-jawed idiot. “Sometimes, I just get…oh, never mind….” She didn’t care about past history, about explaining herself, about anything but what his finger was doing to her flesh.

AJ gave a slow smile. While still stroking her sex, he kissed her neck with gentle suction. He kissed his way down to the swell of her breast and then took her nipple into his mouth.

She arched into the electric tug, feeling as if her very being was being sucked into his mouth. “Oh, oh, oh,” she said. Instinctively, she opened her legs wider and AJ took the hint, and moved his finger more rhythmically over and alongside the flesh that covered her clitoris—now a tight knot of need.

She wanted to reach for his penis, connect with his body, too, but she was riveted by the energy pulsing through her.

AJ released her breast and slowly shifted his body downward until his hands were on her hips and, oh, dear heaven, his mouth was there. Right there.

“Oh, my…oh, oh, oh.” What was she saying? And did she even care?

He huffed hot breath onto her, starting up bottle rockets and sparklers in her most sensitive flesh. His tongue reached her clitoris, now swollen enough to welcome direct contact. He licked gently, then sucked and teased. She rocked against his mouth, wantonly pushing at his tongue, greedy for more, not quite sure where she was, feeling lifted off the bed, even while his hands held her bottom securely in place.

He seemed to enjoy what he was doing. No way was he going through the motions because he thought it was what she wanted. He kissed and sucked and stroked as if he were in her head, understanding exactly what she needed, and wanting above all else to give it to her.

She thought she should stop him, do something for him, but she was pinned in place by his mouth, held in his hot hands, and she felt treasured and lusted after—pure and wanton at the same time.

The feeling grew stronger and more irresistible—a wave she had no choice but to ride. She called out his name and other words, possibly in a foreign language, and AJ intensified his movements.

With no effort or anxiety or doubt, her climax tightened like a fist clenching, natural and fierce and unstoppable, and punched her through to glorious release.

She bucked up against his mouth and cried out loudly—too loudly for a hotel room, but she was beyond control. The waves rolled and rolled through her, so that she felt like one of those multi-orgasmic women she’d read about. Except this was just one great, endless release.

AJ held her tight, his tongue not moving, just resting on her, until she quivered to a stop. Then he slid slowly up her body, kissing her as he rose.

“That was amazing,” she gasped, trying to blink away the gray her vision had faded to, trying to catch her breath. “That was…incredible… That was…”

“Fun,” he said, reaching her face. “And you taste great.” His hair was tousled, but he looked so handsome and so pleased with himself. “I thought you said you had trouble getting there.”

“I do…when I’m nervous. But, wow, for a while there I didn’t know my own name.”

“You got mine right, I was pleased to hear.”

“After what you just did, I’d better.”

“I had a good time, too.” He chuckled lightly and kissed her. She tasted herself on his lips—clean and muskily female. His eyes shone with unquenched arousal. She had to fix that—do something as wonderful as what he’d just done for her—but she wasn’t great at oral sex. At least, she didn’t think she was great at it. She’d never gotten any real feedback.

What could she do that she’d do well? She’d read that men liked the woman to be on top. She could do that. She rolled over and pushed AJ onto his back, straddling him. “Your turn,” she said.

“Oh, if you insist,” he said with mock reluctance.

She reached across him to the nightstand for a condom packet, but when she tried to tear it, it slipped out of her fingers and to the mattress.

“Allow me.” AJ grabbed it, opened it and rolled it onto himself in one smooth motion. She took over when he’d finished, rubbing his latex-encased erection with more pressure to make up for the barrier, though this was a very transparent condom. “Ultrathin for maximum sensitivity,” she breathed.

“I love it when you talk dirty,” he teased, lying back, relaxing into her touch.

“I hope you’ll love this even more.” She moved so his tip pushed against her opening. She was so wet that he immediately slid into her, thick and long, and the sudden fullness made her gasp.

“Oh, yeah,” he said. “I love this even more.” He reached deep, providing a sweet ache that made her throw back her head with the pleasure of it. That pressed her clitoris against his shaft. So, so good. This had to be instinctual behavior.

AJ dug his fingers into her hips. “You’re good.”

She raised and lowered herself experimentally. She felt awkward, jiggling above him like that, until AJ released her hips and grasped her breasts with both big hands.

She arched into his palms, stretching her breasts until the skin was taut and her nipples ached for action.

Which AJ gave her, pinching the tips with just enough pressure to send arousal beelining along her nerves, straight to her core.

She began to ride him, slowly at first, sliding against his shaft, dropping the weight of her breasts into his palms.

“Beth,” he said, thrusting upward, reaching deeper.

She went faster, feeling his urgency, wanting to quench his need. She looked into his eyes, which told her with every flicker and flash of light that she was pleasing him.

He was close, she could tell, and she matched the force of his upward thrusts with her downward pushes. Then he stilled for a second and, looking into her eyes, placed the pad of his thumb directly on her clitoris. She’d been so intent on pleasing him, she’d forgotten about her own climax, which had been moving happily closer all along. This just-right pressure brought her instantly to the brink. Her climax surged and she rocked mindlessly on him, pivots and circles and trembling jerks.

When she was nearly finished, he exploded inside her.

She collapsed onto his chest, panting, sweat making their bodies slide and squeak, but the sound didn’t embarrass her.

“That was great,” he said, his voice rumbling against her ear.

She rose up and looked down at him. “I know,” she said, feeling positively triumphant. She’d just had two orgasms in the space of a few minutes with a man she’d barely met. Talk about Em on the town.

“Got any more things you’re not good at?” he said.

“Oh, lots,” she said, gratified that this incredibly hot man seemed to think she was good in bed.

“Can’t wait for you to show me,” he said. “If you don’t kill me first.”

She rested her cheek on his chest and he held her snugly on him. They rested like that for a few silent moments, hearts beating as one, and then he slowly pulled out and headed to the bathroom.

She lay on her side, propped on an elbow, waiting for him, completely thrilled. She was so glad she’d been bold enough to take a chance. Not only did she have tons of material for her column—practically writing itself in her mind—but her sexual self-confidence had gotten a major boost.

AJ slid between the sheets again and she opened her arms to him, twined her legs with his. She wanted to thank him somehow. “That was really special. I have to tell you that I’ve never even slept with a man on the first date before, let alone picked one up in a bar.”

“You’re kidding!” he said, in mock amazement.

“Was it that obvious?”

“You did lock yourself in the bathroom, babble about condom selection and issue a disclaimer about how I should forget about your climax and go for mine.”

“That tipped you off, huh?”

He chuckled softly, tucked her hair behind her ear, then stroked her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “You’re a very sexual woman, Beth. If some man made you feel differently, he was an idiot.”

Or not as skilled as AJ. Sara was right about one thing—okay and sex shouldn’t be in the same language, let alone sentence.

“Though I wouldn’t brag about picking me up,” he said with a wink. “Technically, I picked you up.”

“No, sir,” she said in mock outrage. “I invited you to my table. All you picked up was a pen.”

“But I insisted,” he said, pushing her onto her back on the pillowy mattress and pinning her by the wrists, which made her feel very sexy.

“So, am I threatening your masculinity?” she teased.

“Nope. You make me glad I have it.” He kissed her softly, then released her wrists.

“I’m serious, though,” she said. “I was nervous and you made it so easy. Like I said, I’ve been out of circulation…and you helped me get my feet wet.”

“Your feet?” he asked, sliding his hand to where she was still slippery. “I’d say something way more fun than your feet got wet.”

“Oh, yeah. Very true.” Wow. She’d never felt like this before—in or out of circulation. The three men she’d slept with hadn’t been much interested in sex, now that she thought about it. Dan, in college, had been a virgin, too, she’d been sure. She’d gotten a book to help them, but he’d been embarrassed to admit his inexperience, so sex was always fumbly.

Mark had been a philosophy professor—very cerebral—and sex had been a low priority. And then there was Blaine. Blaine had been haphazard about sex, sometimes rushed and often preoccupied. Had she subconsciously chosen men who didn’t enjoy sex? Or maybe she hadn’t rocked their worlds. She could have made more of an effort, she guessed, but the awkwardness of the topic had intimidated her.

What a mistake, she realized now. There was way more to sex than she’d thought. And what a perfect time to find out—when she had a column where she could share all her insights. She had the tiniest impulse to slip into the bathroom and take notes, but then AJ touched her and her thoughts flew away like dandelion fluff.

Her notes could wait until AJ was finished with her. And she was finished with him. Who knew how long that would take?

A FEW HOURS LATER, Beth rested her cheek on AJ’s sweat-damp chest and listened to his heart thud steadily against her ear. He was dozing now. He’d earned a rest, having given her another amazing series of orgasms. Even in sleep, he held her close. She breathed in his wonderful smell and sampled his salty skin with her tongue. Mmm.

She would love to spend the night here, tangled up in sheets and man, but she didn’t dare. She had to let her dogs out to pee, and she itched to start her column. Plus, she didn’t want to spoil the moment with talk. AJ might have annoying opinions and she wanted to preserve the magic at all costs. For her column. And for herself.

Moving carefully so she wouldn’t wake him, Beth untangled her limbs from AJ’s, rolled over and slid out of the bed.

“Don’t go.” His sleep-fogged voice floated to her in the dark.

“I have to,” she said, grinning madly at the desire she heard beneath his slurred words.

“I’ll be back in two weeks,” he muttered so faintly he might have been talking in his sleep.

She grabbed her clothes bundle and ducked into the bathroom to dress. Her reflection in the mirror stopped her. Her face was soft, her lips swollen and her eyes gleamed. Freshly laid. That was how she looked. She’d had no idea sex could be so easy and so fun.

Dressed, she tiptoed out of the bathroom, then stood watching AJ sleep for a moment. He was a big man, a bundle of male power curved under the sheets, his muscular arm and chest slightly revealed, dark against the white sheets in the dim room. He didn’t want her to leave.

For a moment, she was tempted to crawl back in and go for more. Maybe she’d turn out to be good at oral sex, too.

No. She had to go. Her pets and her column were waiting.

I’ll be back in two weeks, he’d said. That was a lovely thought. She smiled to herself as she went to the desk and wrote, “Call me when you’re back in town,” on the hotel notepad. She left her number and signed it simply “Beth.” Easy-breezy.

Then she left, walking as silently as she could down the hall, in deference to the hotel’s sleeping guests. She was leaving a man’s room in the middle of the night like the “Sex on the Town” columnist would do, casually scribbling her number for next time. She tossed her hair, loose now, and waltzed to the elevator. In the lobby, she gave the sleepy desk clerk a jaunty wave, then bounded out to the late spring night.

The barest hint of dawn lightened the horizon, she noticed as she drove. She liked how few cars there were on the streets. She felt part of the secret society of middle-of-the-night lovers. Her skin felt so silky, her muscles were tired and she could still smell AJ’s cologne on her skin, hear his voice in her ear telling her how good she felt and sounded and tasted.

At home, she took her guys out back to do their business, then went straight to her computer. Four in the morning or not, she was wide awake, alive with sense memory. She would write about the sex she’d just had with the same confident verve she used in her entertainment column—leaving out the bathroom jitters and her orgasm disclaimer, of course. Otherwise, she’d be Em all the way.

Her animals sensed her excitement and jostled for position around her in her office. Ditzy curled up on her lap to sleep and Beth began to type.

Along with hot new drinks, your “Sex On the Town” reporter decided to sample a hot new man. I scoped out a popular watering hole known for its trendy drinks—two birds with one bar, after all—for likely bed buddies. My first choice was nursing a heartbreak along with his microbrew. (Check out the mouthwatering Raspberry Wheat Cream from Copper Springs Brewery, by the way.) After a quick pep talk, I sent him back to make nice with the girl he’d gone emotionally AWOL on, along with an appropriate gift idea. Your ever-helpful Em.

Then I set my sights on Mr. Broad Shoulders, Lazy Grin, whom I’d spied as I was returning from the ladies’ room. Note: Before deciding your perch in a bar, girls, take a trip to the powder room to assess the best seats for ogling the playmate buffet.

Oh, and note to fellow fashionistas: Hello Kitty barrettes can be man-magnets.

After exchanging a few conversational bon mots with Mr. Broad Shoulders, hereafter to be known as Mr. Perfect Timing, the steam rose and so did we—up the elevator to his room.

Note to the nervous: Hotel bars ease the transition to intimacy. One quick lift and you’re bed-bound….

The words flew and soon Beth was reading over her first draft, smiling so broadly it hurt. She’d described first-time sex with a sensual man in luscious detail, without being explicit, and ended with her meditative drive home enjoying the intimacy of empty streets in the pre-dawn light.

She had to know what Will thought of this right away, so she slapped the column into an e-mail and shot it through cyberspace. By the time she got to the Phoenix Rising office at ten, Will would be ready to sing her praises.

Her lavender-sprayed sheets welcomed her, but she wished they didn’t carry a scent, so she could keep smelling AJ. Maybe he would call before he left town, just to say goodbye. She couldn’t stop thinking about how he’d looked at her with such appreciation, as if her body, with all its flaws and flab, was gorgeous, as if his whole purpose was to make her feel good.

He was a special man. Or maybe he was just the first of a breed she’d be on the lookout for from now on. Beth had fought the new column tooth and nibbled nail, but she realized now that it was a gift to herself and, she hoped, to her readers.

4

RAFE WOKE AND STRETCHED across the spongy hotel bed, reveling in the open space. Except something was missing. Beth. He usually liked sleeping alone, not having to worry about disturbing a woman when he rolled around or punched the pillows. But this morning he missed Beth.

Sure, he’d been celibate for a while, and hunger made the best sauce, but something about Beth’s wide-eyed pleasure and eager interest had superheated the experience. She’d challenged herself into circulation, evidently—made a bet or accepted a dare from her friend—and he’d been in the right place at the right time to enjoy her win.

The sex had been remarkable. She’d been so focused on every nuance, every movement, as if it were completely new to her. Does this feel good? Do you do this with other women? Why like this and not this? Almost like she was taking notes. She was a technical writer, so of course she’d be detail-oriented. That made him smile.

He wasn’t sure why he’d been ducking sex lately. It was a fine pastime. But the pleasure hadn’t seemed worth the hassle for the last year or so—roughly coinciding with his restlessness at work.

When he had gotten involved, it was never serious. He made certain of that. His parents’ marriage had failed, largely due to his father’s lack of emotional staying power—a lack Rafe believed he shared. So he kept things light with women.

Being a journalist led to a certain dispassion—a neutrality that kept him from really putting his weight down in one place or with one person. Forever was a hell of a long time.

Meeting Beth had been a splash of ice water in the face—fresh and bracing and impossible to ignore—reminding him that not only had he spent too much time alone, but he hadn’t been paying much attention to the little joys of life.

Beth had reacted to sex with the wonder of a child getting her first taste of ice cream, and that was damned erotic. She was sweet and smart and surprisingly innocent. An uncertain sex goddess.

But a hell of a quick learner.

He’d like more, but she was gone. Hell, he didn’t even know her last name. Probably just as well. For all of her one-night-stand enthusiasm, she struck him as a woman who cared a lot about everything. So if last night had been enough for her, that was okay by him.

He was glad he hadn’t told her he’d overheard her phone conversation. The last thing she’d want in her sexual triumph was to think that he’d felt sorry for her in her little-kitty hair thing and shaky heels.

Hungry, he climbed out of bed to locate the room-service menu. He would eat before he headed across the street to the Phoenix Rising office.

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