Operation Sizzle

by Darcy Lundeen

  No problem with the first part. He brightened at the prospect. Hell, he was the guy who’d once stripped his date of a good fifty yards of material in eight seconds flat after they attended a Halloween party with her dressed as a mummy. Of course, the other part would be harder to handle, but he’d simply play it by ear.

  “So you’d rather just have our discussion with you wearing sweats?” He held his breath and discreetly crossed his fingers, hoping like hell she didn’t also plan to have sex dressed like that.

  She nodded. “Since this is probably what the guys who’ve dumped me think of me…you know, a frumpy woman with no sex appeal to speak of…I thought it would make sense.”

  Matt sighed. Nope, it didn’t make a bit of sense to him, but at least it was further confirmation of what had to be done. Could he do it? Stupid question. Of course he could.

  ****

  Betsy squirmed, suddenly realizing how much she was revealing to this man and how much more there still was to reveal—like her body, her lame sexual technique, all the most sensitive aspects of her psyche. Could she do it? She wasn’t sure, but he looked sympathetic enough to help and she was desperate enough to try. So, damn it, she’d give it her best shot and pray she didn’t humiliate herself too much in front of him.

  He moved a little closer to her on the sofa so their knees were touching again, and it took all her self-control not to jerk her leg away. After all, if they were going to get naked with each other, a little innocent knee contact certainly wasn’t a bad place to start.

  “Hey, c’mon.” He leaned nearer so that their shoulders made contact too. “Stop beating up on yourself.”

  Betsy shrugged. “Easier said than done.”

  “I know it is, but if it’s any comfort, I also know what you’re going through and how you feel.”

  She stared at him, trying to gauge whether he meant it or was just trying to make her feel better about her inadequacies. “Really?”

  “Definitely. Been there myself.”

  “You’ve been dumped, too? Someone like you?”

  “Sure, someone like me. I’m no different than anyone else.”

  “No, I realize that,” she said quickly in case he thought she meant gay guys weren’t capable of being dumped or didn’t take it hard when they were. “Your last relationship?”

  He shook his head. “The one before that. It was in St. Paul, where I was living before I moved here last week. Must have been about five years ago.”

  Betsy nodded. “Sorry.”

  “Hey, at the time it was a kick in the pants, but eventually you recover.”

  “I guess your problem wasn’t like my problem, though. Not enough sex appeal.”

  “Not exactly,” he conceded. “My problem was that Gerri wanted to play the field…constantly…and with as many men as possible…while I was hoping for a little more exclusivity.”

  “So you wanted permanent with Jerry?”

  “Not permanent or completely exclusive, just a little less of a mob scene when I tried to make a date. Sometimes I had to wait in line for days until my turn in the rotation came around again. I mean, being able to call and say, ‘Hey, let’s get together tomorrow for dinner and a show,’ would’ve been nice. But with Gerri, not possible.”

  “So you guys parted company.”

  “More like Gerri parted company from me.”

  “Right, sorry.”

  “No problem. In the end, breaking up turned out to be a definite plus. I mean, we had fun sometimes, but not enough for me to keep putting up with such a crappy situation. Frankly, once it was over, I felt much better, like a giant weight had been lifted from my life. So it was good it happened.”

  “What about your last relationship, if you don’t mind my asking. Same problem?”

  “No. After Gerri came Sam, and the tables were more or less reversed. That time Sam was the one who wanted exclusive. Completely exclusive, right up to the point of permanent.”

  Betsy nodded. “And you didn’t.”

  “Nope. I wanted to get out of my rut in St. Paul, and when I was offered a job here, it was my dream ticket out of town.”

  “So you and Sam split.”

  “Totally.”

  “But you weren’t really dumped that time,” she pointed out. “Not the way you were with Jerry.”

  “Actually, the screaming session we had ended up being more or less a dumping session too, with me as the dumpee. I mean, I would have liked to stay in touch with Sam. On a friendly, non-dating basis.”

  “But Sam refused.”

  He gave a short, self-mocking laugh, obviously remembering the refusal only too well. “Big time. It was either permanent right now, or nothing.”

  “Uh-huh. And you’re not really into permanent, but you do fine at temporary.”

  “I do temporary magnificently.” He laughed again, though this time not self-mockingly, more with a sense of relaxed self-knowledge. “At least for the moment. Of course, someday I hope to switch to permanent, but only when the time and the person are right.”

  Betsy nodded. That probably meant now wasn’t the time and Rob wasn’t the person. She hoped Rob wouldn’t be devastated when this romance fizzled. At times he could seem cavalier about some of his relationships, but deep down he had a really sweet, romantic soul. She was tempted to tell all of that to Matt, but this wasn’t the time, and it definitely wasn’t her place to lecture him about, of all things, love. So she just smiled to let him know she understood. “I appreciate your telling me all this. I mean, even if it worked out for the best, it still can’t be easy dredging up old hurts.”

  He moved closer, nudging both her shoulder and knee a little more insistently. “Maybe not easy, but sometimes necessary, and often pretty cathartic.”

  His expression was so understanding that she ignored the nudging and forced herself to concentrate on the scary stuff—the part that came next. Actually sleeping with the guy.

  ****

  All right, she hadn’t moved her knee away from his, hadn’t moved her shoulder away either, and hadn’t once looked like she was on the verge of shoving him into a hot pan and scrambling him with a fork. Surely, it had to be a good sign. Time to get to the vital next step, the one that would lead them into a sober, rational discussion of her “man problems” and then, hopefully, also into bed. “I don’t want to rush you.” He lowered his voice to a calm, non-threatening level, his attitude literally oozing gentlemanly concern. “But would you like to tell me what this is all about?”

  Betsy bit her lip, looking as though she was about to bolt from the sofa and lock herself in the bedroom rather than discuss such a dicey subject with him. But to her credit, she finally gave in and nodded. “It’s about me changing and needing help to do it.” She looked up at him with those big, sexy, blue eyes of hers. “The magazine I work for is having a fancy tenth anniversary party in a few weeks. I want to be a totally different person by then.”

  “Different in what way?”

  She shrugged. “More confident. More skilled.”

  “Skilled in bed?”

  “Out of it, too. But, yes, definitely skilled between the sheets. I want to be a fox.”

  You are.

  “I want to be like Lisa.”

  He shook his head. “Who’s Lisa?”

  “Tyler’s new bedmate.”

  Matt sighed. Okay, so she wanted the idiot back. God, sometimes women could be dumber than rocks.

  “And how do you want me to help?”

  “I want you to show me what I’m doing wrong.”

  Wanting that fool back, for one thing. He kept his mouth shut about that key point. “And for that you want lessons.”

  “Need lessons. I’m not sure how else I can do it.”

  “Okay, need lessons. Hands-on experience, so to speak.”

  “Um, yes.”

  “So you want those lessons in sex we talked about a few days ago.”

  Her hands twisted in her lap, then she looked down at them
and nodded. “More or less. Today at work, I overhead him say I was cute but had no sizzle.” She looked up at him. “I want sizzle.”

  Matt gritted his teeth. The guy was discussing her sizzle quotient with his officemates, and she still wanted him back. My God. “Got it,” he said. “Sizzle’s the name of the game. So in a sense you want to mount an Operation Sizzle. And the physical part…you want to, uh, actually do it?”

  Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips.

  He squirmed at the sight. How would those lips taste pressed against his lips, how would that tongue feel dueling with his?

  “That’s about it.” Her voice was small and tentative. “I mean, I know it sounds crazy, considering we just met. But I thought that would be the most direct way to handle the situation.”

  Matt nodded, forcing himself not to smile at what had to be one of the biggest understatements he’d ever heard. “Definitely the most direct way.”

  She looked up at him again, the uncertainty in her eyes hitting him right in his crotch. “And it won’t upset you to be that physically close to someone like me?”

  He blinked. Had he somehow missed an important part of this conversation? Upset at getting physical with her? In what bizarre alternate reality would that be possible? “No,” he assured her. “Being close to you would be fine.”

  Betsy hesitated, then took a deep breath, her hands still twisting nervously in her lap. “Okay, good, I just wondered. As long as you can handle it.”

  Handle it? Could he ever! Even now his imagination was slowly stripping off her clothes and exploring every inch of her. “I can handle it.”

  “Wonderful. That’s good.” She paused for a beat and cleared her throat. “Umm, one more thing before we start. What we’re doing…it has to stay secret.”

  “Agreed.”

  She looked at him hesitantly. “Even from Rob. I know you’re both very close and I really hate doing anything that will upset him. I normally wouldn’t consider this kind of thing, but I can’t think of any other alternative. I mean, I hate being underhanded where Rob is concerned, because he’s my friend, and I love the man.”

  Matt shook his head, trying to get a handle on her reasoning. “Upset Rob? Why should this upset him? He’s very open-minded about these things.”

  “So you don’t think he’d mind?”

  “Of course not.”

  “That’s a relief. But I still want to keep it private, just between us.”

  He nodded. “No problem.”

  “And we use protection.”

  He patted his pocket. “Always.”

  She shifted beside him, her body stiff and her eyes wide. In all the sweat-suit material she’d buried herself in for protection, she looked like a rumpled package from the laundry just waiting to be unwrapped. And he loved unwrapping packages, especially packages that contained sexy ladies like Betsy Kincaid.

  “Fine,” she murmured. “So how do we begin?”

  Good question. Exactly how did you go about upgrading someone’s sexual skills? “With the basics.” He tried to sound appropriately professorial, even though he wasn’t sure how a professor who taught the joys of sexual activity should sound. “First, a kiss.”

  Betsy frowned at him, losing her hesitance for the first time since the conversation started. “Hey, I know how to—”

  He shook his head. “Shh. We’re in the classroom now. No backtalk from the student.”

  “But—”

  He pointed a finger at her, made his voice stern. “I said, shh.”

  She grudgingly backed off, giving him a look that told him her temperature was starting to overheat.

  True, she was hot with annoyance, not lust, but so what? In his experience, he’d learned one important thing. Underneath it all, heat was heat. Which meant it would be a piece of cake to tap the fire inside of her for sexual purposes, not just let it out to massacre a pan full of helpless eggs.

  Giving her his most intense look—the one that said, Get ready, lady, because in about three seconds I’m going to blow your socks off, along with the rest of your clothes—he moved in on her.

  ****

  Betsy stared at him as he leaned closer. Uh-oh.

  “Kiss.” He cupped her face in his hands. “Always start slow.”

  She tensed. Starting slow had always been her style. She loved starting slow, but something about him was making her nervous. Then his mouth touched hers, and nervous was the last thing she felt. Sheer panic was the first.

  She tried to move her head away to tell him no, wait, maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. But he stopped the movement, his hands holding her there. Not harsh, gently, like a man who’d done this before. True, he’d done it with other men, but a face was a face, she supposed, and a kiss a kiss, no matter the sex of the people involved.

  And then he smoothed his right hand down the side of her neck, raising goose bumps all over her body.

  Whoa, that guy’s right hand is good.

  Then his left arm drifted around her body, pulling her closer.

  Really rocking left arm, too.

  He nipped at the corner of her closed mouth.

  Great teeth…his dentist must be so proud.

  Then his mouth did some primal thing—a slow, half-sucking, half-nibbling movement.

  That raised another round of goose bumps on the goose bumps she already had, and without knowing how it happened, her mouth opened to him and Betsy stopped thinking as his tongue worked its way inside, touching her tongue, stroking it, curling around it, and sending a shaft of heat clear down to her toes.

  His stubble prickled the tender skin of her cheek, but not harshly, and she leaned into it, cuddling closer, then closer again to get more of that primal thing he was doing. But too soon he eased away, gently breaking the lip-lock, and Betsy’s goose bumps screamed at her to grab the guy’s head and pull his mouth back. Only his words stopped her.

  “Starter kiss,” he whispered.

  She blinked at him. If that was a starter kiss, what did the next level up feel like?

  Then he lowered his head again, apparently to show her.

  “The starter kiss is like an appetizer meant to prepare your taste buds for the next course.”

  Betsy gave a half-nod. Made sense to her. It was certainly preparing her taste buds—something she suddenly realized Tyler’s starter kisses rarely did. Maybe because he usually also used them as finisher kisses just before he jumped her uncomplaining bones.

  “This kiss is like a main course,” he said as his mouth came closer. “More intense but still not the hot-as-hell version. That one we save for dessert.”

  “Dessert,” Betsy murmured.

  Then his lips touched hers, pressing gently to coax her mouth open, and for a moment she forgot about dessert and willingly concentrated on the main course as the primal thing he did got more primal. He nibbled gently at her lips, then let his tongue come out to play, licking at the places he’d just snacked on until Betsy gladly opened her mouth to him. No coaxing necessary. Again, his tongue invaded—an intrepid explorer that seemed determined to know every inch of her. He did it so slowly too, as if he would happily take days to do the job right if he had to.

  “See the difference?” He murmured the question against her half-open mouth a long time later when he finally broke the kiss.

  “Difference?” Betsy sighed dreamily. Oh yes, she saw the difference. The starter kiss had turned her body into one gigantic quivering goose bump. This kiss had drenched her thong. She took a breath, almost afraid to think what his dessert kiss would do. Probably burn the skin right off her lips.

  “Now the dessert kiss.”

  Betsy mentally shrugged. Oh well, what’s a little singed flesh when measured against the benefits of higher education?

  And this time when his lips pressed against hers and his teeth nibbled, she instantly opened her mouth to him, their tongues meeting and tangling like old friends, which they were rapidly becoming. His arms pressed her body flu
sh against his, and she fell against him. All right, not so much fell as curled, like a kitten snuggling against a particularly skilled hand that was caressing it into a long, loud, languorous purr.

  Had Tyler ever made her purr? Matt’s dessert kiss took over, and her brain cells began to short out from how sweet it was, how potent. Pure sugar surged through her veins, making her hot, horny, and hungry for it to go on and on. God, the man really had it all—two good hands and a menu of kisses that had her clinging to him, her body all but begging for more.

  And he smelled good, too. No…better than just good…totally scrumptious.

  She inhaled, then inhaled again more deeply to absorb the delicious scent. Smooth, clean, redolent of woodsy freshness, and aggressively masculine, it stirred her senses, making her feel warm and unashamedly female. For a moment, she thought of Tyler and his scent—the aftershave he used that somehow made her nose tingle and her throat feel vaguely scratchy.

  Then Matt’s kiss deepened again, and Tyler faded from her mind, replaced by the reality of Matt’s mouth against hers. As she savored its pressure and heat, she also savored the feel of his arms around her, holding her gently. A perfect combination. Scalding kiss…soothing arms.

  “See the difference now?” he said when his mouth finally lifted from hers just enough to let him speak.

  Betsy sighed. “Tyler never did it that way.”

  His eyes widened as though shocked that Tyler was such a slacker. “He never gave you a dessert kiss?”

  “I was so grateful he wanted to be with me, I took any kiss he wanted to give,” she admitted.

  Matt shook his head. “Oh, lady, dessert kisses are absolutely essential because they’re the prelude to…”

  She nodded, suddenly eager to learn the next step in the process. “To what?”

  “This. Moving from sofa to bed, from vertical to horizontal.”

  He smiled and lowered his head again, his mouth seizing hers in another dessert kiss. Then he slowly stood, keeping their mouths together as he took her with him.

  She grabbed onto his shirt to keep from losing her balance, but his arms tightened around her, holding her safe, and she sighed into his mouth as one of his hands smoothed down her back until it found her butt and rubbed. Betsy jerked back in surprise, then relaxed again as the rub turned into a slow, circular massage.