Shameless

by Clark, Rebecca J.

  Not this single man’s dream, John thought. The only reason he was here was to see Samantha Rossi, aka Sammy Jo, who would be covering this event according to the private investigator.

  The Northwest Women’s Extravaganza was an annual event to raise money for local charities. For $100 a ticket, attending women were served lunch by one of Seattle’s premiere restaurants and were treated to an exclusive fashion show. But the biggest draw of the event, apparently, was the chance to “win” a date with the area’s most eligible bachelors.

  Thanks to Alex, that short list now included him. Yippee.

  “I like women who play a little harder to get,” he muttered. “These women here all seem… a bit desperate.”

  Alex smiled a toothy grin. “Desperate has its advantages, John-boy.” On a mission to find a wife, he was tired of the single scene, ready to settle down. John, on the other hand, was satisfactorily single.

  He figured he should at least try to look like he was happy to be here. It was all for charity. He flashed a brighter smile from his position on stage with the other bachelors and waited his turn to be introduced, all the while scanning the crowd. So far, he hadn’t seen anyone who looked like Samantha Rossi.

  The emcee, Adele Bartholomew, had just begun introducing the bachelors, when the double doors at the back of the room opened.

  Sammy Jo.

  She slipped unobtrusively into the small group of reporters. At least she probably thought she was being unobtrusive. She couldn’t be more conspicuous if she were a breadcrumb on an ant hill. Even at this distance, she was striking. Dark hair flowed over her shoulders, and tight black jeans and a red leather blazer covered her womanly curves.

  He nudged Alex and nodded toward the back of the room.

  “That’s her? Mm, mm, mmm,” Alex said. “You think she’ll recognize you?”

  He shook his head. “No way. You remember what I looked like back then, and our names were kept private because of our ages.”

  She glanced his way, her gaze continuing past him in bored fashion. Well. He guessed he didn’t have to worry about being recognized.

  As a sports reporter for the Seattle Statesman, Sam was used to covering stories on local professional teams. She lived for those gritty locker room interviews after the big game. She loved the excitement and raw enthusiasm of high school sports. What she hated — no, despised — was fluff feature writing. Exactly the type of story she was covering here.

  A few weeks ago she’d asked her editor, Oz, to start assigning her feature stories. Once she got pregnant and had a baby, she wanted a more traditional work schedule. Covering sports had her out nights and weekends, but feature writing would be more nine to five. At the last staff meeting, Oz mentioned he had a story in mind for her. Expecting a killer assignment, she’d been handed this piece of garbage.

  Grabbing a notepad and pencil from her purse, she listened as the emcee introduced the men on stage. The seven bachelors included a player from the Mariners, a real estate developer, a guy who’d made a fortune on the Internet, a retired NFL lineman, and a man who owned a chain of health clubs.

  The room was packed with thirty tables of ten women — a lot of money at a hundred bucks a pop. Despite the crowd, the stage dominated the room, rising three feet above the floor. Large potted palms marked the two front corners, like sentries standing guard. Seven stools lined across the stage, the bachelor occupants sitting atop it like royalty looking down upon their subjects.

  Sam wondered if any of these women had any self-respect. Granted, those men were attractive and it was all for a good cause, but she would rather go dateless for the rest of her life than sit in here like chattel at an auction block, hoping she caught the eye of a prospective buyer.

  Unfortunately, she was afraid she had caught the eye of one of the men. She adjusted the tag hanging around her neck by a thin black cord identifying her as a member of the press. She needed to make it clear she wasn’t ripe for the picking.

  Feeling the man’s gaze on her made her uncharacteristically self-conscious. He was the second one from the right. For something to do, she glanced at her notepad. According to her hastily scribbled notes, his name was John Everest and he’d moved here from Los Angeles four years ago. He owned the franchise for a chain of health clubs, among other entrepreneurial endeavors. He was thirty-four years old and — she squinted at her writing to make sure she’d read it correctly. Yes, she’d read it right; he’d already been married and divorced twice. Both times before he turned thirty. Her brow wrinkled in judgment.

  A wave of cramps knotted her abdomen, and she pushed back feelings of discouragement. Attempt number six had failed. The countless hours spent pouring over donor catalogs, the time spent being interviewed by sperm bank counselors, the coldly scientific procedures in the sterile doctor’s office… all for nothing.

  All she’d wanted to do today was to load up on Motrin, crawl back into bed, and spend the rest of the day stuffing her face with chocolate and zoning out on old movies. But no. She had to spend her afternoon in a stuffy conference room full of desperate women, and with a lothario’s eyes on her. And there wasn’t a speck of chocolate in sight. It was enough to make her want to scream.

  Rifling through her purse for Motrin, her fingers finally closed around the plastic bottle. She shook a couple of pills into her palm and popped them into her mouth, intending to swallow them dry. The first went down easily, but the second got caught in her throat, causing her to sputter and cough. She covered her mouth with her hand, turning away when she noticed dirty looks from women nearby. A few moments later, after wiping her watery eyes, she found John Everest staring at her again. She wasn’t unused to men looking at her, but this guy was relentless. It was really starting to tick her off.

  She scribbled something on her pad, not really writing anything, but wanting to look occupied and like a reporter not a ticket holder. As if drawn like a magnet, her gaze went to Everest again. Good. He no longer paid attention to her, but listened to the emcee. He was a striking man. Broad of shoulder and chest, he filled his dark aqua shirt quite nicely. She was sure his body had a lot of women here drooling in their wine.

  But his entire demeanor was just too much for her tastes. From his dark blond hair falling over one of his eyes, to the arrogant slant of his brows that put her on guard from the first time she caught him staring at her, he was just the type of man she’d enjoy knocking down a few pegs.

  He was probably here to scout out wifey-poo number three. Unfortunately, she knew his kind all too well. Handsome or not, he had to be a jerk.

  Adele Bartholomew said something that made the audience laugh — Sam didn’t know what, she hadn’t been paying attention — and suddenly John Everest was looking her right in the eye again. He’d caught her watching him this time. He said something to the gigantic black man to his right, the former football player, and they both looked her way.

  Frat boys. She shoved the notebook into her back pocket and lifted the camera from where it dangled against her chest. She’d need her telephoto lens to get good pictures of the men, so she popped one onto the camera and peered through the viewfinder. The image was entirely out of focus. With her right hand, she adjusted the dial around the lens until her subject was focused. That subject curved his mouth into a grin and nodded at her.

  She snapped the picture, not letting him ruffle her feathers. Deliberately, she rotated the camera to shoot the other men, trying to make it obvious to Mr. Everest he was merely part of a day’s work.

  “Okay, ladies,” Adele said to the audience in a booming voice, “and gentlemen,” she nodded to the group on stage. “Now’s the time you’ve all been waiting for. In just a few more minutes, seven lucky women will be up here on stage with Seattle’s hottest bachelors!”

  The audience applauded wildly. Sam wanted to throw up.

  Adele started with the first man on the left, the baseball player. He said he wanted to choose his date from the audience rather than pick a name
from the hat. Bachelor Number One ended up in the middle of the room where he tapped a pretty redhead on the shoulder. The woman blushed and followed him to the stage.

  Sam sensed another cough coming on — one of those pills felt caught in her throat — so she sneaked into the hallway to search for a water fountain.

  John watched her leave the room and narrowed his eyes. “I’m choosing her for my date,” he whispered to Alex.

  “What? Sammy Jo? You can’t do that, John-boy.”

  “Why not?”

  “Well, she’s… Sammy Jo. You don’t need to mess with that.”

  John kept his gaze on the closed doors. “I just want to see what she’s like, how she is.”

  “She looks damn fine to me.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  Alex shrugged. “It’s your life, man. But personally I think you’re nuts.”

  He might be nuts, but he liked how she tried to ignore him, how she busied herself with writing on that notepad or taking pictures whenever she caught him looking at her. She probably thought her actions conveyed total disinterest. But he knew her type: a little bit flashy, a whole lot sexy, and a tease. If she weren’t Sammy Jo, she’d be just his type. What would it hurt to get to know her a little?

  The double doors opened and she returned to her corner. She’d barely settled herself in when she looked up and met his eyes. This time she didn’t immediately break contact. Instead, she cocked her head and shot him a look that said, “In your dreams, buster.”

  “Ouch,” Alex muttered, following John’s gaze. “I think you might have your work cut out for you.”

  “Mr. Everest,” said Adele, patting his shoulder. “I believe you told me earlier you wanted to pick from the hat.” The audience cheered.

  She held out the hat full of names, but he pushed it away. “I changed my mind, Adele,” he said, staring at Sammy Jo. “I see someone in your audience I’d like to meet.” Alex snickered next to him.

  As John approached her, he was struck full force by her beauty. Twenty years ago, she’d been striking. Now she was nothing short of stunning. She had the ultimate bedroom eyes — almond shaped, heavy lidded and a deep passionate brown, tempting him like two pools of warm, melted chocolate. Her olive skin was porcelain smooth with hardly a laugh line, and he knew it would be satiny soft beneath his fingertips were he to touch her. Her full red lips parted as his gaze dropped to her mouth, and although he had no business thinking this way, instinct told him she’d be one hell of a woman to kiss… among other things.

  Stopping in front of her, he held out his hand. “I’m John Everest.”

  Shaking it, she looked him straight in the eye and said, “Sorry. You should have picked Door Number Two.” She tapped the press tag on her chest. “I’m here to work, not play.”

  Damn, she was cool. He gave her his most disarming smile. “Well, you know what they say about all work and no play.”

  Her answering smile didn’t come close to reaching her eyes. “Go find yourself a plaything, Mr. Everest,” she said for his ears only. “I’m busy.”

  Adele came up behind him. “Hey, you two,” she said in a scolding tone. “I’m not opposed to intimate little conversations, but the rest of us would like to be in on this, you know?” She laughed and moved between the couple. She glanced at the tag on Sam’s chest then wagged a finger at John. “John, you naughty boy, she’s not a member of our audience. She’s with the press. You can’t have her.”

  Sam shot him an “I-told-you-so” look, smiling smugly. Not removing his gaze from her face, he said, “I was told I could choose anyone in the room.”

  A woman from a nearby table said, “That’s not fair. She didn’t buy a ticket.”

  Sam glanced over to see an attractive but overweight woman staring at her with envy. She wanted to tell her a man like John Everest would never look past a couple of extra pounds, he’d never get to know the woman behind the externals, having met his type many times during her heavier days. She felt a new surge of dislike toward him. She smiled at the woman before turning to Adele.

  “She’s right. It wouldn’t be fair to everyone who bought a ticket if Mr. Everest chose me. I’m flattered,” gag, “but I’ll have to decline.” She expected to see a frown on John’s face, instead he wore a cocky grin. Bastard.

  “I’ll tell you what, Adele,” he said. “How about I pay for her ticket?”

  “Uh, that won’t be necessary,” Sam said.

  He raised an eyebrow. “Oh, you’ll pay for it?”

  He knew damn well that’s not what she’d meant.

  “I’ll pay double the price of the ticket.”

  Adele whooped and addressed to her audience. “Boy, he’s persistent, isn’t he?”

  Sam wanted to kill him. She stepped closer to him. “Are you trying to buy me?” she muttered between clenched teeth.

  “Yes,” he whispered back. He turned to Adele. “I’ll pay triple the price of her ticket.” The audience roared. “If she turns that down, these charities are out 300 bucks.” He met Sam’s eyes again, daring her to say no.

  She was about to tell him exactly where he could stick his 300 bucks, when she met the eyes of that overweight woman in the crowd, who would probably give a month’s pay to go out with a man like John Everest. If Sam turned him down, it would be a slap in the face to this woman and all the others in this room. Taking a deep breath and shooting a dagger-filled look at John, she said, “Now how could I possibly say ‘no’?” She hoped the smile she gave him was as sickeningly sweet to see as it was to wear.

  The audience applauded as Sam followed Adele to the stage with him right behind her. Adele directed her to the stool John had previously occupied. He moved in close behind her, not touching, but his body heat radiated into her back. The big man on the next stool chuckled softly.

  Adele stood in front of them. “I’m sure our audience would like to know what kind of woman caught the eye of Bachelor Number 6. Why don’t you tell us a little about yourself?” She pushed the microphone in front of Sam.

  Sam forced a smile. “My name is Sam Rossi and I work for the Statesman.”

  “A woman of few words,” Adele said to the audience. To Sam, “How do you feel about landing such a hot date?”

  “I’m speechless, Adele.”

  Adele’s brows lifted slightly and she turned to John. “John? What kind of a date do you have in mind with this speechless lady?”

  “Something private, where we can get to know each other better.”

  The audience oohed.

  The other bachelors snickered.

  Sam seethed.

  Adele moved on to Bachelor Number 7.

  “Samantha,” John murmured, his warm breath grazing her scalp. “The name suits you.”

  “Gosh, thanks. But it’s Sam.” His soft laugh created a slow shiver down her spine.

  He dropped his hands on her shoulders and she tensed. The son of a—! She took a couple of calming breaths. His touch was possessive, like he was staking his rights to her. She gritted her teeth and prayed for the end of this thing.

  After what seemed like forever, Adele wrapped things up by announcing, “Remember, ladies, next year we’ll be having the Extravaganza in December, just in time to bring home a hunk for Christmas.” The audience cheered loudly, then dispersed.

  Sam jumped from the stool and whirled around. “Okay, Everest. Game’s over. I wish I could say it’s been fun, but…” She raised her brows and gave him a phony smile before moving into the audience to talk to the attendees. When she was sure she had enough notes, she folded her pad and put it and the pencil into her purse. From the corner of her eye, she noticed John speaking to another couple on stage. She took the opportunity to scurry out of the room.

  A group of women crowded into the elevator. “Hold it!” Sam called, hurrying for it, but the doors closed before she reached it. “Dammit.”

  She annoyed herself by constantly looking over her shoulder for him. She wasn’t running
scared. She’d put enough men in their place to know she could handle John Everest if he happened to catch up with her. The elevator bell pinged. Finally. When the metal doors opened, she stepped inside and pressed the button for the ground floor. She turned around and John stood right behind her. She jumped.

  “Samantha,” he scolded. “You left before we set a time for our date.” His masculine presence made the spacious elevator seem tiny and cramped.

  Did he really think—? “Cut the bull, okay? I have absolutely no intention of going anywhere with you. I only went along with this little charade because I didn’t want to embarrass you in front of your adoring public.” She swore under her breath when the elevator went up rather than down. No wonder none of the other women had followed.

  “Are you always this nasty?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  Her eyebrows rose. “Because I’m not a nice person. You’d better call off our date now, before you regret it.”

  He leaned against the back panel of the elevator, his muscular arms folded across his broad chest. “If we call it off, then I want my $300 back.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I paid $300 for your ticket. If you’re not going to fulfill your end of the bargain by going out with me, I want my money back.”

  “I didn’t ask you to pay for my ticket.”

  “I’ll take a check.”

  “Look, Everest. I don’t care how much money you paid. It ain’t gonna happen. Period.” The elevator stopped on the top floor. The doors opened, but nobody got on. She punched the ground floor button several times.

  “That won’t help.”

  She whirled toward him. “I know you.”

  John blinked twice. “What?”

  She tapped his shirt with her red fingernail. “I’ve met your type before. You’re all the same.”

  He flattened his palms on the paneling behind her, his forearms paralleling her head, his face just inches from hers. “You don’t know me at all, Samantha. I’d like to change that.”