by Mari Freeman
“You’re mad? Why? What were you looking for, Craig? We met last night. We stumbled upon a chance meeting and made it more. It’s not been twenty-four hours.”
He couldn’t answer that one. He didn’t know what he’d expected. But it wasn’t this. All he knew was he felt empty and disappointed. It had only been one day. Of course she had no real expectations. Why would she? Did he?
Her eyes were darting from him to the bright walls and then to her shoes. She looked uncomfortable. He didn’t want to make a scene. If he’d had a good answer, she didn’t look like she really wanted to hear it anyway.
Craig turned and walked away. He’d imagined being used as a boy toy would be a lot more glamorous than this.
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Chapter Six
Becky watched from the exit door as Craig walked away. He was angry. It had been less than twenty-four hours. They barely knew each other. He couldn’t have real feelings this soon. Really. What was he thinking?
He’s just as hot for me as I am for him. That’s it. She took the few steps to the grass. I mean, the sex is incredible. She headed back toward the outskirts of the festival, passing the rings of booths and attractions. I know his sense of humor matches mine perfectly. She stopped to look over a display of blown-glass Christmas ornaments. And he’s smart, successful—and did I mention he has a really great smile?
Becky intentionally shook her head and shoulders to get her thought train to change tracks. She did not need to make a mental list of all his positive attributes. It didn’t matter what he was. For her, he was a weekend fling. She was merely trying to help the guy loosen up. Have some fun. Get out of his shell a bit. None of which had anything to do with feelings or relationships.
Luckily, she spotted Liza sitting on a bench at the end of the row of booths, talking on her cell. Becky plopped down beside her friend and partner. From the one-sided conversation, she knew Liza was saying goodbye to her husband Blake. She watched Samuel arguing with someone over by one of the sculptures. He looked miffed. She should go over there and see if he needed her, but she didn’t have the energy to deal with him at the moment.
Liza snapped the phone shut. “So.” She looked at Becky. “What’s wrong?”
“What do you mean? Nothing’s wrong.”
“Bullshit,” Liza said and crossed her arms. She leaned back and threw Becky a smug look that said “you’d better spill it”.
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Becky waved her off. “Nothing.”
“Becky, your hair is a bird’s nest, your makeup is all fucked up and your shirt is on inside out. If you were grinning from ear to ear, I’d write it off as you finding some more time with our Mr. Hill, but you’re not. So. Something is wrong.”
Crap. There was no escape. “Fine,” Becky snarfed. “Yes. I accidentally met him last night and we’ve been having a bit of fun today.” It was just after noon and Becky was already tired after the long night and the highly charged morning. Not to mention the work.
Liza shook her head and looked up to the trees. “It was obvious something was going on during the meeting. Maybe not to everyone else, but I saw it.”
Becky nodded. “The remote vibrator.”
Liza laughed out loud. “Oh. Well. I didn’t think that much was going on.”
Becky would have blushed if it had been anyone else, but her friend understood her. “I wish Tanisha had realized it.”
“Why?”
Becky shook her head. “He remembered her Love Doctor comments and kind of got pissed when he realized I was trying to help him understand life can be more than work.”
Liza rolled her eyes away from Becky. “Imagine that.”
“Stop it.”
Liza resituated herself on the bench so she was facing Becky, one leg tucked beneath her. “Why wouldn’t he be pissed? He’s a nice, attractive man. Why would he want to be a project for you to ‘fix’ in your free time over a working weekend?”
“I guess when I’m in a bar and I give a stranger the remote to my vibrator, I’m not thinking long-term relationship. I wouldn’t think he would either.” God knows what he thought. She was the one who’d chased him down a New York City street. She was the one who’d invited him back to her room.
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That was all before she knew he was the E.C. Hill who Mark had told her about. The stuffy workaholic attorney. That was just me being horny. Liza shook her head. “And that stranger turned out to be Craig?” Becky shook her head. They both laughed for a moment. “Only you.”
“Now, after less than a day of very fun, very erotic interaction, I pissed him off by trying to help him. What does he want after one day?”
Liza turned back to face the park. “Imagine that,” she said sarcastically. “You just met him. How on earth could you make a connection that quickly?”
That wasn’t fair. Liza had met her husband, Blake, and had a short, whirlwind courtship. It was Becky’s prodding that had made Liza follow her feelings in the first place. No, It’s not the same, Becky thought. I’m not Liza. But I do really like him…
They sat quietly for a moment, watching the few remaining vendors covering the booths and readying to leave for the day. The festival would start at eight the next morning.
“Why do you do it?” Liza asked without looking at her.
“Do what?”
She cocked her head. “I know I’ve never asked. I figure who you date, and why, is your business. But I have always wondered. Why all the short-term relationships? Why does the Love Doctor scenario always show up?”
She knew the answer. She’d not really shared it with anyone but this was Liza… “It sounds so cliché, but my mom. Of course.”
“What do you mean?”
“Rebecca McGregor-Cooper-Tyler-Maddings-Hall-Whitworth-Briggs. Seven times. She’d bring them home, we’d all play nice-nice and before I knew it, I was in a bridesmaid dress…again. I had more fathers growing up than a Catholic diocese.”
“Huh.” Liza crossed her arms again. “So…”
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“So.” Becky crossed hers as well. She felt like she was using them as a shield. She’d been embarrassed by her mother’s husbands. She’d liked some, she’d hated some, but none of her feelings mattered because she knew no matter what she thought, they were out the door before long. “I grew up knowing I didn’t want to have a revolving last name. I didn’t want to have twenty-seven marriages.”
Liza sighed and put her hand on Becky’s folded arms. “Sweetie, look back over your fixer-uppers. Those are your revolving relationships. All of them. All you’re missing is the dresses, Beck.”
The simple words hit Becky like a sucker punch. Liza might as well have reared back and hit her bare-fisted, square in the jaw. She blinked. Air seemed hard to come by. If she had been a cartoon, little birdies would be flying around her head. She had done it after all. Become no different than her mom. She’d managed a long trail of empty relationships with men who weren’t right for her. She’d considered them fixer-uppers because they were fixer-uppers. Not one of them was the kind of man she wanted.
Holy fuck.
She was still struggling with her unexpected psychological breakthrough when Samuel approached them with Farrah, as always, tucked under his arm. Did he even let the dog down to poop? “Hey girls.”
Leave it to Samuel to be her distraction again. His teal-and-white paisley jacket still looked straight-from-the-cleaners perfect. He looked her over. “What happened to you?”
Becky looked down at her inside-out blouse and closed her eyes. “Nothing.”
“What- evah. You look like something Farrah yacked up.”
“Were you having any trouble over there?” She changed the subject away from her disheveled appearance. “You were arguing with a couple of guys a little while ago.”
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He pressed his
hand to his chest. “Oh, that. Not even a hiccup, honey. The pinwheels are all up and we are ready-Freddy.” He tickled Farrah under the chin. “I’m famished. What time are we supposed to meet Tenfold at the Tavern?” Samuel looked at his watch and then to the restaurant through the trees. No way was Becky up for Tavern on the Green. She’d just been sidelined. Injured reserve. Her phone rang. Even though she didn’t recognize the number, she gave the universal index-finger-in-the-air signal. The one that says I’m brushing off this conversation so I can have a more interesting conversation on my phone. She listened as the booking agent informed her one of the three bands scheduled for tomorrow had to cancel. Evidently, the young lead singer had a nasty skateboarding accident that involved steps, a handrail and his family jewels. No singing on key for him this weekend. Great.
At least the small emergency gave her an excuse to ditch the meal with Tenfold and go to her hotel instead. She needed a large dose of aspirin or a large glass of scotch. The latter was more likely.
* * * * *
Becky flopped back on the bed that evening and changed the channels until she found CNN. The volume was low and the endless chatter would lull her active brain. The long, hot bath in the huge tub had done wonders for her sore feet but nothing for her racing mind.
She huffed at the news report, glad her day was over. The band situation had only taken a couple of phone calls to remedy. The other two bands lined up were happy to play a little longer to cover the time. Tanisha confirmed the contracts would allow the extra playing time without extra monies due. The media exposure of playing at one of Charles Tenfold’s functions was more valuable than the money anyway. Left with her own thoughts, she took a bite of a chicken strip. Room service had timed the delivery with the middle of her bath. She’d gotten out to answer the door but 68
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the chicken and fries had waited on the bed until her toes were wrinkled from the long soak and her brain slowing down from the large scotch.
She forced down a couple of the cold, chewy strips and a few of the fries to give her just enough food so she could have another drink. Scotch and soda on an empty stomach was never a good idea.
At first she thought she’d imagined the knock at the door. But the second knock was louder and more demanding. She glanced at the clock. Eight.
“Liza,” she said as she got up off the bed and straightened the towel around her body. “I told you I wasn’t going.” She reached for the door to confront her friend and reiterate her position. She was not going to dinner. She swung the door open—and stumbled backward when she realized it wasn’t Liza.
“Craig?” This time she was the one who stumbled, tripped and then fell, landing catawampus at the end of the bed with her towel askew. She struggled to right herself and the towel without completely exposing herself.
She wasn’t ready to talk to him again. Didn’t he know she’d had an Oprah moment this afternoon? How could he, stupid? He wasn’t involved with that conversation. Not enough time had passed for her to understand what this little revelation meant to her and she didn’t need his sexy ass standing there in low-slung jeans and a tight t-shirt, distracting or influencing her.
He tried not to smile at her fall. She righted herself and stood, holding the towel at her chest. “You’re here. Why?”
“Ouch.” He crinkled his nose and gritted his teeth. “Not the greeting I was hoping for.” His body leaned against the doorframe, but he made no move to enter the room. He had a small white bag in his left hand. “I was a jerk today. I’m sorry. I needed to say it.”
Becky knew she was the one who owed him the apology, but he’d offered one first.
“You could have called.” Wow, that sounded bitchy even to her. 69
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“Woof. Tough crowd.” He pulled on the neck of his shirt. “I brought these as well. I figured if my ability to negotiate an understanding between us faltered, I could resort to bribery.” He lifted the bag a bit and shook it like a cat toy.
“What’s that?” She knew she should tell him to go. She didn’t want to talk about the Love Doctor thing again tonight. She needed time to sort out her reality.
“I need an invitation in to show you the riches contained in this simple paper bag.”
His smile was so contagious. “Are you a modern-day vampire, bearing gifts to gain permission to enter the homes of unwitting victims?”
He straightened. “I doubt you have ever been unwitting.”
Maybe it was the scotch. Maybe it was his charm. Either way, she was toast. “Come on in.”
Craig stepped past her and headed to the table and chairs by the bed. He looked at the picked-over plate of cold chicken and fries then picked up the half-empty bottle of scotch. She’d only had two large shots. “It was Tanisha’s bottle. I haven’t had that much.” Okay, maybe two large glasses.
“Good. Mind if we switch over to wine?” He stacked her dirty dishes and moved the tray out of the way. He set the bag on the table and grabbed the room-service menu, paging to the wine list before she could answer.
“I guess not,” she said. He was intentionally playing out the situation. She liked the way he was teasing her even over something as simple as the contents of a paper bag. But two could play at that game.
Becky laid herself out on the bed, letting the towel fall where it may. She reached for the remote to turn the volume off, the loose towel pulling partially off, showing her ass.
Craig picked up the phone, watching her as he pushed the button for room service.
“I need a good, dry Malbec. I don’t know the two you have on the list. I need something that will complement a variety of flavors.”
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“So it’s food in that little bag.” She spread her legs a bit more. Craig licked his lips. “Yes. That will do nicely,” he said into the phone.
“Thanks,” Becky replied coyly.
He smiled. “Two, please,” he answered with a lift of the eyebrows. Becky rolled onto her back, spreading her legs completely. “My. You are a greedy boy.” She was propped slightly on the pillows, her body an open invitation. He smiled and said to Becky, “You have no idea.” Then, back into the phone,
“Sorry. No. That will be all. Could you get it up here as soon as possible, please? I have some chocolate that’s warming quicker than I’d hoped.” He waited for a response.
“Thanks.”
He hung up the phone. “You. Stay right where you are.” Becky started to rise up farther. “No. Right there. Don’t move.” He ripped open the bag and removed bundles of colorful-paper-wrapped chocolates, each tied with a gold bow. He lined them up on the nightstand next to the bed before looking her over. “God. You are so beautiful.” He ran his fingers over her heated skin.
He sat beside her and pressed his lips lightly to her belly. “I made these for a wineand-chocolate party I’m having this week.”
“You’re having a party?”
“Why is that so surprising?” He unwrapped one of the candies. She opened her mouth to speak but didn’t have a good reply. Because Mark said you were an overworked homebody without a life. She heard it in her head and realized it didn’t sound like the appropriate response to give aloud. Thank God her internal editor worked occasionally. She was getting the picture that Mark was very wrong about Craig. “I made some assumptions, I guess.”
And everyone knows what happens to those who assume…
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She had made an ass of herself. She knew better than to base her opinions on gossip, but who knew that they would take things from harmless fun to something, well…something else. Becky didn’t know what to call this. The Doctor was not sure how to proceed with this case. She was losing her professional objectivity.
She watched as Craig pulled the towel all the way off her body, leaving her naked. He then placed one of the chocolates in the middle of her upper abdomen, just below her breasts. “I brought four
different kinds, all dark chocolate, each filled with exotic flavors.”
Her nipples hardened in response to the cold chocolate. “Ah. The ice pack kept them cold. They were already pretty cold when I left the apartment. Your skin should bring them to the perfect temperature in a few moments.” He tapped her ribs next to the truffle. “This one I call Fire. It’s made with the finest Sri Lankan cinnamon and Mexican chipotle chilies.”
“Wow.” Being a Texas girl and having a love of all things hot, it sounded wonderful. “You weren’t playing when you said you baked.”
“Nope. I’m a very serious baker. Although, technically, you don’t bake chocolate. It’s still serious cooking,” he said as he tossed the wrapper from the next one over his shoulder.
If this was serious… “Right. Serious.”
He lined up the little round candy an inch or so below the last one, closer to her bellybutton. “This one is called Mardi Gras.” His voice was lusty and sensual as he described his creations. “It’s a blend of chicory coffee and almond liquor.”
She smiled up at him, not knowing which she wanted more at the moment, the man or his chocolates. He was still dressed. He hadn’t even taken his shoes off and she was completely nude, lying before him like some kind of ancient sacrifice. She’d never felt so sexy in her life.
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He bent over and, with the lightest of pressure, ran the tip of his tongue over a nipple. Her tummy trembled with her need. He brushed his cheek across the tight nipple agonizingly slowly. His eyes were closed and she could hear him inhaling her scent as he moved. He brought his mouth back over the tight, aching nipple and bit down, hard enough to make her want to squirm.
“Don’t move. You’ll lose the truffles, baby.”
Becky let out a whimper as she tried to remain still. The torture was exquisite. Her body was humming with need. “Craig,” she whispered.
