HOW TO BE THE PERFECT GIRLFRIEND

by Heather MacAllister

  Then there was another noise. A horrible, terrible awful noise. A key-in-the-front-door noise. Her stomach clenched. "Oh, Hayden," she whispered. "Someone is coming in the door!"

  * * *

  9

  « ^ »

  Omigoshomigoshomigosh. She was naked in someone else's apartment. And not just regular naked, but kinky naked. Kinky naked and trying on someone else's clothes.

  Ignoring Hayden's alarmed questions sounding clearly through the receiver, Sara carefully hung up the phone. She heard the key turn in the lock, so the person coming in had to be either the owner—and how on earth was she supposed to explain what she was doing to the owner of the penthouse?—or the building superintendent.

  Or a burglar with a skeleton key.

  She had a split second to decide what to do.

  The coat. The coat was on the floor by the mirror and would be in sight of whoever it was. As the door opened, Sara scrambled around the bed as fast as she could, considering she was hampered by moist plastic wrap, and leaped for the coat.

  Don't panic don't panic. Shrugging into the fur, she held her breath. If it was the super, he'd probably do whatever he was going to do and leave.

  If it was the owner—oh, please, no—she should hear sounds of luggage being dragged in, probably by another person.

  If it was a burglar, she should call 9-1-1, but she wasn't near the phone, now, was she?

  Her clothes were in the bathroom, on the other side of the cavernous master bedroom and she had to pass the open doorway to get there.

  If she could get there, she could at least pretend she'd been using the bathroom. Or if she could get her clothes and dress in the closet, the cat could be her excuse and that would explain the coat. Somehow.

  Nothing would explain the rumpled bed.

  She held her breath, heart pounding, as the door closed. Please, please, please, be the super. Sara edged toward the closet and opened the door. She could hide inside. The thing was huge. Maybe she could grab on and ride the clothes train all the way to the ceiling.

  She backed into the closet, felt something brush against her ankles and heard a yowl as the stupid cat shot between her legs.

  Okay. A distraction could be good. She got ready to run for the bathroom.

  "Sara?" A voice. Male.

  Simon.

  She froze. That was Simon's voice. Simon. The same Simon who was supposed to be in Europe. And who clearly was not in Europe, because he was here, in his neighbor's apartment.

  How did he know she was here?

  Her purse was on the counter, that's how.

  "Sara, where are you?" She could hear him moving.

  She could lock herself in the bathroom, but that wouldn't explain what she was doing with the coat.

  What she was doing with the coat. She'd been practicing. For Simon. And here he was. Talk about a little sexy serendipity.

  Should she? Could she? Once he got over the surprise, he wouldn't quibble about the details, would he?

  Sara wrapped the coat tightly around her. It was a furnace inside this coat. She'd discovered the cure for freezing to death. Furs and Saran Wrap. Nobody would ever be cold again. Siberia could be a paradise. When she got out of this, she'd write the president.

  Stop. Concentrate.

  "Sara?" His voice was much closer.

  Okay, she was going to have to answer him. She walked to the doorway of the bedroom. "Simon." She was trying for a low purr, but got a cracked squeak.

  He turned around—and was holding the damn cashmere sweater cat.

  Oh, but the delight that spread across his face did bolster her self-esteem. "There you are."

  "Yes, here I am." She cleared her throat and stepped into the living room. "I've been trying to get that cat out of the closet ever since I got here, and as soon as it hears you, it's out of there like a shot."

  "You miss me, Cleo?" He scratched behind the cat's ears.

  She purred and blinked at Sara. Cleo, you slut.

  Then Simon raised his eyes. Oh, that look. It was one of the sexiest things about him, the way he could look at her and make her think she was the only woman in the world. Make her think of the possibilities that came with being the only woman in the world in Simon's eyes.

  It was addicting, that look. He was just laying it all out there, signaling his interest, making himself vulnerable, cutting through all the posturing men usually did.

  Simon could seduce with just that look. It made a girl wonder what he could do with his hands, his mouth and other pertinent parts of his anatomy—particularly to a girl naked beneath a fur coat.

  He didn't seem to notice the coat. Maybe she could bluff her way through this.

  Sweat trickled down her legs. "You're back early."

  His fingers had stopped scratching Cleo's ears and the cat jumped down, streaking toward the kitchen. "I worked like a madman so I could get back to you."

  Oh, wow. Exactly the right words. Words that slammed into her and revved up her idling motor.

  "I've just come from the airport." He was dressed in a suit that looked nothing like a suit that had been worn on a transatlantic flight, but his hair was endearingly wavy, not tamed with its usual ruthlessness.

  His eyes, though tired, had lost none of their intensity. "You didn't answer when I called your home, so I took a chance that you'd be here."

  "And here I am." Hadn't she already said that?

  "Yes." It was almost a whisper, a whisper that curled around her heart.

  Shouldn't somebody be kissing somebody?

  Simon's expression was full of such intense longing and desire that it filled her with an answering need. And yet, he stood there, his hands loosely at his sides.

  Sweat trickled beneath her breasts and she realized that her arms—her fur-covered arms—were crossed over them in the classic defensive position. "I suppose you're wondering about the coat."

  "No."

  "Houston gets a little crazy with the air conditioning…" He'd said "no."

  And that was the moment she fell in love with him. She was standing in his neighbor's apartment wearing her fur coat—naked, and he didn't even know it. He'd worked himself past exhaustion just to be with her and now stood there, barely holding himself in check because he was waiting for the tiniest little signal from her and she'd given him nothing. Had she said she was glad to see him? Had she smiled at him? Told him she'd missed him? Had she in any way indicated that she wanted him?

  No.

  And he wanted her. This fabulous hunk of a man wanted her. Fiercely. She had no doubt of that. But he must doubt her.

  It was time to remove all doubt. It was time to remove the coat.

  She took a step farther into the room. "I've been thinking of you."

  A muscle twitched in the side of his jaw.

  "And Hayden, well…" This was harder than she thought. She just couldn't quite get there. She needed some intro music, or something.

  "I haven't been thinking of Hayden at all."

  "Good—I mean, sometimes Hayden has some good ideas." She tried for a sophisticated Hayden laugh and all she got was a nervous, breathy giggle. So sexy. She swallowed. "The coat was her idea." But that sounded like she was blaming Hayden. "She said that there was nothing like a fur coat to make a woman look alluring to a man."

  Actually, Hayden hadn't said that, but it sounded like something she would say.

  "You don't need a fur coat to be alluring. Take it off."

  She shivered, even though she was hot. Maybe because she was hot. "Well, yes, well, um, there's more. Or less, actually." Where was her inner vixen? Cleo had more sensual moves than she did.

  Simon took a step toward her. "Take the coat off." It was a rough whisper.

  It wasn't a suggestion.

  "I was just practicing that."

  He'd started to take another step toward her when she let one side of the coat slip from her shoulder. Her naked shoulder. The slightly flushed—maybe a lot flushed—shoulder. Th
e shoulder she thought looked so good against the fur.

  Simon halted in midstep, his gaze trained on that very same shoulder.

  So she showed him the other one.

  His gaze flicked back and forth between the two as his brain attempted to process her naked shoulders. She wondered what he was thinking.

  Quite frankly, it appeared as though he wasn't thinking at all. He looked as though he'd been smacked in the forehead with a two-by-four. She'd been going for more of a lustful reaction as opposed to stunned immobility.

  Okay. She'd shown him two naked shoulders and that was it until she had some sort of encouragement. If he thought she was being ridiculous, she wanted to know and she wanted to know right now. Before the plastic came into view. Especially before what was under the plastic wrap came into view. But something was going to have to happen soon because she was so, so hot. She gave her inner vixen a couple of mental thwaps to revive her, in case she'd melted in the heat.

  Her inner vixen told her to reveal some plastic-manufactured cleavage and call her again if anything developed.

  Sara kind of thought something was developing even without revealing plastic cleavage because Simon's eyes had stopped darting between her shoulders and were fixed on her face with hopeful desperation.

  Ooo, she could work with that. She tossed back her hair and gave a little shimmy that dropped the coat still farther, past the plastic line.

  "S-Sara … are you wearing anything under that coat?"

  Simon had stuttered. Hey, hear that, vixen? "Nothing of any consequence."

  Sara took another step toward Simon, infinitely more confident now that her inner vixen was back on board. She met his gaze with a hot one of her own then looked down at herself, slowly lowering the coat. She glanced up to see that he was staring at the edges of the coat as they slipped lower.

  Heart pounding, Sara felt the fur tickle over breasts, then fall away.

  "My God." He gasped softly. "You—" He swallowed. "What … what is that…"

  "I'm a package." Sara let the coat fall all the way to the floor. "Unwrap me."

  His mouth opened and, tragically, wasn't anywhere near hers. "Y-you…" He swallowed and seemed to be trying to breathe. His mouth opened again.

  The man seemed to be having a system meltdown. Ha. He was at her mercy.

  Drawing a long, deep breath, Simon closed his eyes. "P-put the coat back on."

  What? This wasn't what she wanted to hear. She wanted to hear "My God, you're beautiful!" or "Where's the bed?" or "I am unworthy, but let me be your love slave."

  He struggled to get out of his jacket. "Put this on."

  Wrong. "I don't want to put on your jacket. I'm hot," she said deliberately.

  "You don't understand." Simon looked desperate. And flushed.

  "No, I don't."

  "Thousands of years of civilization are draining from me as we speak. I'm turning into a Neanderthal. You don't have much time." He abandoned trying to get out of his jacket and bent to pick up the fur. He held it out to her. "If I get any closer, I'll drag you off to my lair."

  All right. She could get into lair-dragging. Sara took the coat, but instead of putting it on, she tossed it aside. "Sounds good to me." And she took a step closer.

  From this close, Simon did have a wild look in his eye. Without another word, he snatched up the coat and shrugged it around her shoulders, barely waiting for her to put her arms into the sleeves before grabbing her hand and heading for the door. He threw it open before she had a chance to pull the edges of the coat together with her free hand. Luckily, there was no one in the hall.

  He was being quite the caveman and she loved it. Simon, the conservative, polite, thoughtful, contained man had been undone by passion. By desire for her. Tra la la.

  "Simon?" She didn't have anything to say. She just wanted to see his expression when he looked at her. His expression was hot and thrilling. He stopped and yanked the edges of the fur closed and used her free hand to keep it closed.

  "What? No kiss?"

  "No."

  She smiled to herself because she had to jog to keep up with him. He had started moving again. "But I want a kiss," she pouted. "Just a little one."

  "No."

  "Why not?"

  "This is why not." Without warning, he pushed her against the wall, ground his pelvis against hers through the coat and crushed her mouth with his.

  Yes. That was it. Exactly what she'd been waiting for, an explosion of raw passion. She'd tapped into the Simon reserves.

  Sara opened her mouth as he plundered it and clung to him, knowing it wouldn't take much to send her over the edge.

  The coat fell open and he thrust his knee between her legs.

  Or tried to. The plastic was in the way.

  A frustrated groan vibrated through her mouth as his hand moved against the plastic wrap seeking and finding her breast.

  Sara inhaled because the muted sensations partially relieved one ache while fueling another.

  More. She wanted more. She stood on tiptoe trying to fit Simon closer to her, trying to push aside the plastic wrap. She whimpered in frustration.

  Simon made a strangled animal sound as he tugged on the wrap at her breasts, then he raised his mouth from hers.

  She looked into lust-crazed eyes and knew they mirrored her own. He bent his head and bit through the plastic, tearing it with his teeth.

  She laughed, because it was so surreal and because she was drunk with desire.

  She felt a rush of coolness as Simon freed her breasts, then a jolt of pleasure as he fastened his mouth on one.

  His tongue touched her and she cried out. He lifted his head, but Sara moaned and pressed it back against her. She moaned again and one of his hands crept upward until his fingers gently pressed against her lips.

  She bit him.

  And he nipped her back.

  "Simon!" Intense pleasure spiraled through her. She took his fingers in her mouth and sucked hard on them.

  "Sara … Sara…"

  Dimly, she became aware that she was making unfamiliar guttural noises and Simon had straightened and was trying to smother the sounds with his mouth.

  His hands? Where were his hands and why weren't they on her?

  She tore her mouth away to discover that he'd planted one hand against the hall corridor on either side of her shoulders.

  "Simon!"

  "Hush, Sara," he whispered from the crook of her neck.

  "Don't stop, please! I was so close."

  "I know. The entire state of Texas knows." He was dragging the breath into his lungs.

  "Don't care." She licked his earlobe and he moved out of reach.

  "We're in a public hallway. Someone could see us."

  "They'd just be jealous."

  "This isn't that kind of building." He pushed himself away from the wall and looked down at her. "You are devastatingly gorgeous." He gave his head a shake and pointed. "Coat. Closed. Now."

  "Maybe I don't want to close the coat."

  He closed it for her and pulled her along the hallway by it. "We have to get from here to my apartment four floors below. We will have to take the elevator. We will hope that we do not meet anyone on the way because you look like you've been doing exactly what you've been doing. And, by the way, it's a very good look for you. I plan to help you achieve that look as often as possible."

  They'd made it to the elevators without encountering anyone else. He jabbed at the button and missed, which was pretty bad considering they were on the top floor and there was only the down button to push.

  "See? Another thirty seconds, or twenty—fifteen tops—wouldn't have mattered," she pointed out and rubbed her bare foot against his calf.

  "Sara."

  "Just how many penthouses are there up here?"

  "Four."

  "And we know one of the occupants is on a cruise."

  He didn't say anything, just stared at the elevator doors as though willing them to open.

 
; Sara felt something float down her leg. "Simon, I'm trailing plastic wrap."

  They both looked down as another loop of plastic wrap circled her legs. Sara bent to pick it up and her coat fell open.

  Simon made a strangled noise. "Doesn't that thing have buttons?"

  "A belt. I left it on the hanger."

  He knelt down and tugged on the plastic wrap, rolling it up as though he were twining yarn. As the ball grew larger, Sara began to twirl around. And make little happy murmurings. "There is some seriously good rubbing going on here."

  "Shh." Simon cast a frantic glance over his shoulder at the elevator. "I can hear it."

  "The rubbing?"

  "The elevator. Behave."

  Sara stepped out of the last of the plastic and dragged the coat around herself as Simon gathered a beachball-sized armful of plastic wrap then stood up. He was still looking for some place to ditch it when the elevator doors opened.

  Three people faced them. Sara tossed her hair and tried for a so-what-if-it's-May-and-I'm-wearing-a-fur-coat look. One woman stared hard at the coat and it occurred to Sara that if she lived in one of the penthouses on this floor, then there was a very good chance that she might be acquainted with Mrs. Galloway and might also be acquainted with Mrs. Galloway's furs.

  "Good evening," Simon said in his most mellifluous voice and stood aside to let them exit the elevator.

  He and Sara got in. She reached for him as the door closed.

  "No." Very firmly he pointed to the other side of the elevator. "Over there. Stay."

  "But why when I'm all completely naked under this coat?"

  He clutched the plastic wrap ball to him. "Precisely because I am totally aware that you are completely naked under that coat."

  From the far side of the not-very-big elevator, Sara let a sleeve slither off her shoulder. "Have I ever told you that elevator sex is one of my fantasies?"

  He closed his eyes and the plastic wrap crackled. "No."

  "Well, I'm telling you now." She took a step toward the control box. "What are you doing?"

  Sara held up her index finger in front of his tortured eyes. Slowly, she licked it, blew on it, then pointed it toward the emergency stop.