His smile immediately curdled.
Good…serves you right. Betsy snatched the fork from his hand and went back to scrambling their eggs.
****
Ten minutes later, she sat across the table from him, watching in fascination as piles of food disappeared down his insatiable gullet. She’d once heard that people with lusty appetites for food were also lusty in other parts of their life—work, sports…sex.
Dumb thought, she warned herself. Don’t even go there. The man was…well…a man, for Christ’s sake, meaning he was on her official drop-dead list.
She sipped some coffee and considered the list, suddenly realizing she wasn’t quite as anti-man as she’d been when she first woke up. In the cold light of day, she was getting some of her perspective back. She’d been acting like a harridan to men who didn’t deserve it. After all, it wasn’t Matt Pollard’s fault he was male and the kind of person who obviously went that extra mile to help someone in need. It wasn’t even Rob’s fault that he’d advised her to take the job where she met Tyler. Both men had meant well, and she did love Rob. As for Matt Pollard, of course she didn’t love him. She barely knew anything about him, except for the few random observations she’d been able to make—he snuggled when he slept, had a wandering hand and leg in bed, asked too many damn questions, and possessed a lusty appetite for food.
She stole a glance at him as he buttered some toast and devoured it at breakneck speed. The gleam of butter lingered on his lower lip, and he licked it off and smiled, obviously enjoying the taste.
A strange jolt went through her, and without wanting to, she wondered what other things in life he might also feel such lust for—work, sports…sex.
Blinking, she took a quick, bracing sip of coffee. Can the stupid thought. It was madness, not to mention completely inappropriate. A day after being dumped by one man, you didn’t just blithely start experiencing strange jolts of feeling for the next man you met. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t sensible. Most important, it wasn’t her. Elizabeth Marcia Kincaid simply didn’t do those things. She didn’t do them with any man and certainly not with a man like Rob’s good friend.
“So, what exactly do you do?” She sipped more coffee. It was the only way she could think of to replace the jolt she’d gotten from his damn lip-licking with a more acceptable caffeine jolt.
He looked up from his scrambled eggs and smiled. The oil still gleamed from the corner of his lip. Even worse, his cheeks and jaw were covered with dark stubble, making him look like…well, not like the most reputable guy who’d ever crossed her path.
Tyler never looked that way. He was always completely clean-shaven. Even when he got out of bed in the morning, his face still looked as if he’d just sliced every last bit of fuzz away. Of course that could have been because Tyler had light hair and almost invisible stubble. But even so, if Matt Pollard was going to invade a woman’s apartment, he should at least have had the good sense to bring along a razor.
Betsy stared at him for a moment, blinked again, and quickly guzzled more coffee, telling herself this was ridiculous. If it kept up, she’d drink enough caffeine in the next few minutes to keep her awake for a month.
“I’m a lawyer.” He dug into his eggs with the same gusto he’d used on the toast.
Betsy nodded. A lawyer. At least that explained all the intrusive questions, even if it didn’t excuse them. “I guess you just moved in with Rob.” She quickly chugged a few more sips of coffee to keep those dark-stubble jolts at bay. “When I talked to him on Thursday, he didn’t mention a new roommate.”
“That’s because I didn’t move in ’til yesterday morning. We’d been talking about it for a while, but there were some last-minute changes in my schedule, so I was able to move earlier than expected.” He picked up another slab of buttered toast and made short work of devouring it. “You know that Rob and I are—”
“I know. Rob explained in his message.” Well, she supposed Rob must have explained, even though she’d cut his message off before it was over.
“Okay, good. So you understand the situation.”
“Completely.”
Of course she understood. It was a no-brainer. The man was gay. She’d already more or less figured that out, because if he was bunking with Rob, it was probably a given. Which meant he had to be another of Rob’s hunky male friends, lovers, boy toys, whatever. Not that it bothered her. In her book, a person’s sexual choices were strictly private. They certainly weren’t something you asked about a few hours, or even a few weeks or months, after you met him.
So, no question about it, she would definitely not broach the subject. But at least that clarified their bed situation. He hadn’t put any moves on her last night because she didn’t turn him on. Which made perfect sense. After all, if straight men didn’t find her that appealing, why should a gay guy be any different?
It should have made her feel relieved that she’d spent eight hours snuggled together with a man who would never even consider jumping her bones. Instead, for some reason, it just left her feeling vaguely depressed. Not because he was hot, either. She’d met some of Rob’s other friends, and they were pretty hot themselves. This sense of gloom was probably more basic, just your average purple funk brought on by the crappy realization that men who swung both ways all found her equally uninviting. On the positive side, it meant that if every male in the world met in a massive U.N.-sponsored conference, her lack of sex appeal would be the one thing they’d agree on one-hundred percent. So even if she was a loser in the love sweepstakes, at least she might be good for international peace and harmony.
“Right.” She smiled gamely at Matt Pollard to hide her dejection. “You and Rob are together.”
He nodded and dug the fork into his eggs again. “Only for a while.”
Betsy put her coffee cup down and stared at him. He was a real efficiency expert, this guy. Obviously the kind who planned his relationships in advance—all the way from “hello” to “join me in bed” to “get out of my life forever.” Just like the men she’d been dating.
Breathing a silent sigh, she scooped eggs onto her fork and raised it to her mouth as her game smile dissolved. “Uh-huh, got it. A short-term arrangement. Whatever you two decide.”
“Yeah, that’s the basic situation.” His fork was piled high with egg, and he shoved the whole thing in his mouth. The fork came out again a second later, wiped as clean as that proverbial whistle.
God, the man could really pack it in.
She looked at her own fork, mounded with a ladylike amount of food, and put it down again, suddenly not hungry. “Good, enjoy.” She longed for another session with her tequila shots, even though she still felt as if a wild horse had kicked her in the head and a herd of stampeding elephants had trampled on her gut.
“What about you?”
His sudden question startled Betsy out of her funk, and she shook her head. “What about me?”
He grinned at her confusion. “I’m a lawyer. And you’re…?”
“Oh.” She nodded. “I’m in publishing.”
“Ah, so that’s how you met Rob. At work.”
“No, we’re at different publications. He’s in fashion; I’m in computers. Actually, we met at a thrift shop, when we both reached for the same cherry-red silk scarf. I let him have it. Cherry red is a little too bold for me. It’s more his color. We both agreed on that, then we went out for coffee and had such a good time we decided to become friends.”
“So if you’re friends, why do you want to hurt him?”
Betsy hesitated and shrugged. Might as well go with the truth…or at least its basic outlines. It was a simple enough situation, and since it was the reason he’d rushed over last night, she supposed he had the right to know.
“Four months ago, when I lost my last job, he helped me find another one, the job I have now. At first, I wasn’t sure about it. I mean, I’m not that into computers, but the salary and benefits were good, and Rob insisted it was the right job for me. H
is instincts are usually pretty good, so I took it.”
“And it’s not the right job.” He picked up his cup and slowly sipped his coffee.
“No, the job’s all right, but some of the people are—”
“Certified ass pains,” he helpfully chipped in, watching her over the rim.
Betsy shook her head. “Worse than ass pains, complete and total—”
“Tyler,” he burst out, thumping his coffee cup on the table. He flashed a triumphant grin at Betsy.
She frowned back at him. “How do you know about—?”
Silly question. He knew about Tyler because last night when she was swacked out of her skull, she’d stupidly thrown his name around, then clammed up when he asked for information. Probably a lot of people could have figured out the connection. But no doubt about it, someone like Matt Pollard would definitely solve the puzzle faster than most. Betsy exhaled a silent sigh. Damn, in terms of puzzle solving, lawyers were the worst.
Conceding defeat, she gave a grudging shrug. “Yes, all right. Tyler.”
He nodded, still sporting that annoyingly triumphant grin. “So that’s who the mysterious Tyler is you kept mentioning yesterday. One of your co-workers. A real scumbag, too, from your attitude. Look, if you don’t mind me asking—”
She shook her head. The man was in nosy-lawyer mode again, and the one thing she knew was that she definitely would mind. “I do mind you asking.” She said it as firmly as she could, desperately praying he’d back off.
But of course, he didn’t. He just continued grinning that insufferable grin of his and leaned forward, elbows propped casually on the table as if he owned the place. “You do mind me asking what?”
Scowling, she leaned away from him. Even with the table between them, they were getting just a little too close to each other, a place she definitely didn’t want to be. “Whatever you were going to ask.”
“I was going to ask why you want men to disappear. What’s the problem? Tyler specifically, or other men, too?”
“No problem.” She took a deep breath, trying to ignore the fact that her temperature had started to rise along with her temper.
He shook his head at her and flashed the same kind of disbelieving expression he probably used on lying witnesses. “God, that’s a lame answer.”
“Look, it’s just a personal quirk, okay?”
“Wanting a world without men—”
“A universe without men,” she corrected, picking up her fork and mashing her eggs around the plate.
He sighed. “Fine. Wanting a universe without men is a personal quirk?”
She mashed even harder. “Yes.”
“Why? Like I said before, what’s the problem?”
Betsy frowned. As if he couldn’t figure it out for himself—big, puzzle-solving lawyer that he was. “God, you are a persistent pain in the ass. All right, if it’ll make you leave me alone, here’s the problem. I don’t play well with others.”
“All others?”
“Male others!” Maybe that painful admission would be enough to make him get the picture and finally give her some space.
“You’re sure about that?”
No, apparently it wasn’t enough to convince him to back off. Evidently, the man needed specifics, and the more of them, the better. “Ask Roy and Jim and Brad and Peter and my latest failure…” She took a breath, then sneered the name. Not so much because she was furious at Tyler, even though she was. More because she was furious at herself. “Tyler.”
Matt gave a low whistle. “Nice list.”
“Oh, as if yours isn’t a lot longer.”
He winced. “Ouch. Okay, got me there.”
She looked down at her eggs. They were squished all over the plate as if a steamroller had flattened them. “Anyway, it’s not that I sleep with them.” She looked up at him again. “I don’t. Usually. Just with Brad and Tyler. But whenever I do, it’s always a disaster.”
“Why’s that?”
All right, this was getting too personal. Then again, since he was gay, what harm would it do to unload on him? There was no chance they’d ever sleep together in a basic, male-female, let’s-get-orgasmic way. That was a given. So what did it matter if he knew about her inadequacies?
It didn’t. Betsy looked him right in the eye, spelling things out as clearly as she could, even though it hurt like hell to admit it. “Don’t know. Guess I’m just not sexy enough.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
She stared at him. “Umm, thanks?” But how much would a gay guy know about female sexiness? Rob said she was pretty, but he obviously still thought his guy friends were prettier. Or at least sexier. “But what I meant was sexy, as in not good in bed.”
He shrugged. “No big deal. Technique can be learned. Probably all you need is practice.”
She stiffened at the suggestion she was a complete novice in bed. Granted, she didn’t get horizontal with every man she met, only a select few, but at this late date in her life, she did know a few things. She just wasn’t very good at actually doing them. “I’ve had practice, thank you,” she told him firmly.
He didn’t seem convinced. “Maybe not the right kind of practice or with the right kind of person. Maybe what you really need is training, lessons, pointers from somebody who can help you over the rough spots. Let’s admit it, on some level, sex is a lot like any other skill. You get an expert to teach you the basics, practice them until you feel confident enough to improvise and develop your own unique style, and then…bingo…one day you’re suddenly an expert yourself.”
Betsy couldn’t help it, she actually snorted at that, it seemed so funny. “Lessons, pointers, training? Are you serious? From whom? Who goes around giving lessons in sex? You?”
She laughed so hard she put her fork down before she accidentally sent crushed egg scattering all over the table. Then, rubbing at her eyes to brush away the tears, she looked across at Matt.
He had a thoughtful expression on his face, an expression that quickly morphed into a smile. His gaze met hers, a strange gleam suddenly sparking in his eyes.
It was the kind of gleam that sent out a red alert and made the laughter catch in her throat.
“It’s an idea.”
He sounded much too serious for her comfort, and there went more of those strange jolts zinging through her. At the thought of his lusty appetite, not to mention all of those other lusts he might also have, her breath went crazy. Then she remembered the most important fact of all. The man was gay, for God’s sake. He moved to a totally different vibe, one that didn’t include her. So obviously he had to be joking. Either that or, good Samaritan that he was, he was trying to rush in again to help her, the way he’d rushed over last night when he thought she was about to crash and burn emotionally.
“No.” She shook her head but smiled to let him know she was in on the joke, too. “Don’t even think it. But thanks for the offer.”
“Hey, your loss.” He gave a good-natured shrug that told her he probably was joking, even though it was a joke that had left her feeling shivery and unsteady.
Pushing her chair away from the table, she stood up and went to the counter for more coffee. God, did she need a good strong caffeine jolt to overpower all those other crazy sensations that kept bolting through her. She poured herself a cup, took a few nervous gulps, and looked over at him. What a silly offer…I can give you sex lessons, or words to that effect…and his rejoinder when she refused had been even sillier…Hey, your loss.
Filling her cup again, she took another stiff swig of coffee as she tried to calm herself and work up a good laugh at the whole thing. Her loss, ha! Sex with a gay guy was her loss? In what universe? As she rapidly gulped down the rest of the coffee, she forced herself not to think about what kind of loss it might really be.
Chapter Four
When Matt returned to Rob’s apartment two hours later, he found Rob standing at the kitchen table smiling down at a bowl of sliced and seeded casaba as if it were new-friend
-Arlen spread out there for the taking.
The thought of Betsy Kincaid spread out there made him need tequila shots—not the watered-down variety. Slamming the kitchen door to get Rob’s attention off casaba-Arlen, he raised his hand in greeting. “Hey, I’m back.”
Rob turned around and held the bowl out to him. “Yup, I can see that. Welcome to your happy interim home. You know, this is really good casaba. I had a piece earlier. Try some. Very tasty.”
Matt pulled off his jacket and dumped it on a chair. “Tell that to your new melon-obsessed buddy Arlen.” He took a slice anyway and sat on top of his jacket to eat it.
Rob shrugged. “I already did. Just got off the phone with him.” He shoved the bowl of uneaten melon into the fridge. “If you weren’t back by dinnertime, I was thinking of offering him your bed, since you didn’t use it last night.” Rob gave him a gleeful, I-know-what-you-did-last-night-and-who-you-did-it-with smile.
Matt countered it with his best glowering, prosecutorial-lawyer look, the one that could wither a defendant in his tracks.
Unfortunately, Rob didn’t wither easily, so he just continued to stand there beaming the same annoying gotcha-grin, obviously confident that his knowing smirk had trumped Matt’s warning scowl. “Well, how was your night with Bets? I assume that’s where you were.”
Matt gave up on intimidation and sat back, chomping his melon. “Yes, that’s where I was last night. With your friend Bets. How was it? In a word, aggravating. And you can squelch the leer and delete whatever lascivious images you’re conjuring in that X-rated brain of yours. There was no sex, just a lot of talk while I tried to unravel what the hell she was so upset about.”
He took a breath and thought about her crappy attitude.
Then he thought about her breasts, and the unbelievable possibility that those breasts weren’t A-number-one in bed, and a shiver went through him. But being a lawyer, he was nothing if not sensible, so he shook off the shivery idea of bedding her breasts and stuck to his annoyance.
“That woman is really a piece of work,” he told his exasperating relative. “She’s surly and contrary, and if you’re unlucky enough to be an egg, she’ll scramble your brains out once she gets you in a frying pan.”
Operation Sizzle Page 5
