He stepped back onto the porch in time to see Sophie struggling with a huge cooler. She was trying to negotiate the stairs without being able to see her feet, which were encased in those useless flip-flops anyway. An accident waiting to happen.
Adrian muttered beneath his breath and met her part way just as the heavens opened. Rain came down in heavy sheets with the wind swirling it in all directions.
Sophie squealed and dashed back to her car. Adrian concentrated on not slipping as he carried the heavy cooler inside.
When he stuck his head back outside, he saw Sophie trying to roll a suitcase across the wet sand. She looked ridiculous with a big, black suitcase at the beach. You brought a duffel bag or back pack to the beach. Everyone knew that.
When she got to the bottom of the stairs, Adrian resigned himself to carrying the thing inside for her. Wordlessly, or more accurately, not saying the words he was thinking aloud, Adrian reached for the suitcase.
Sophie flashed him a smile, brilliant in spite of the rain, but instead of running up the stairs, she flip-flopped back to her car.
“You’ve got more stuff?” he shouted after her.
“This is the last!” She pulled a cardboard box out of the backseat and nudged the car door closed with her hip.
Adrian hurried up the stairs, set the suitcase down and slid the glass door shut as soon as she raced inside.
Sophie dropped the box and turned to him. “Thanks, I—”
There was a metallic plink as her foot hit the poles he’d left inside the door and down she went, taking Adrian with her.
He twisted so he landed flat on his back, Sophie on top of him. As he stared up into those stunned, exotically blue eyes, Adrian reflected that it had been far too long since he’d held a woman in his arms for anything other than exercise spotting. And there weren’t too many exercises that required full body contact of the type in which he and Sophie were currently engaged. Right now, he was interested in only one. And the longer she lay on top of him the more interested he became. Amazing how just ten minutes ago, he’d been totally consumed with the question of his future and now Sophie had knocked those thoughts out of his head.
“Ouch,” he said softly. A Lean Machine—or Green Machine—pole was beneath his back. That was gonna leave a mark.
“Omigosh!” A wet Sophie started wiggling around. Adrian closed his eyes. He had a feeling she was going to leave a mark, too.
“Are you okay?” Her ponytail dripped on his neck.
“I hope so.” He shifted off the support pole and she propped herself away from him as she tried to find footing on the wet tile.
Her flip-flop slipped out from under her and she smacked against him. Again. This time his arms clamped around her. It was just reflex. He had excellent reflexes.
“I’m so sorry!” She apologized directly into his neck causing a few good vibrations before lifting her head.
“I’m not.” He tried to make his grin convincing because, good vibrations aside, his back did hurt and she’d just scraped his shin. True, it was with a hot-pink rubber flip-flop, but it still stung. Too bad a flip-flop injury didn’t exactly make for a story a guy could share in the locker room.
Her skin warmed his and as she breathed, her chest pressed against him. Nice. Wet, but nice. Very nice. He deliberately relaxed the muscles in his arms so her body could settle against his. Her swimsuit left her back bare and before he thought better of it, Adrian spread his fingers over her skin.
And just like that—maybe not just like that, but close enough—his hibernating desire yawned and stretched, blinked and said, Whassup?
Go back to sleep he ordered it.
But no, it had noticed Sophie. Heeeelloooo, it purred.
She stilled, her gaze locked with his. “I am so not flirting with you.”
“I so wish you would.”
Her expression changed. Actually, it didn’t change. It froze.
“Did I say that out loud?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“In that case, why aren’t you flirting with me? Boyfriend? Husband?”
“Because it’s unprofessional.”
Did they have to be professional?
She levered herself into a sitting position. “Although I must say in a completely sincere and non-flirty way that you have some serious abs. I thought I’d hit the floor instead of a human being.”
Adrian contracted his abs to sit up. His white shirt was wet and clingy, which set them off nicely, he saw. Sophie, on the other hand, was wearing a swimsuit and looked the same wet as she had dry, except for a messed up ponytail.
She whipped it over her shoulder and tucked stray hair behind her ears. “What did I trip over anyway?”
“Poles to my home gym. I was disassembling it.” He stood and held out a hand to help her up.
“Thanks.” She braced herself until she was upright. Then she casually stripped off her wet skirt.
That got his attention, as women undressing tended to do. He’d momentarily forgotten that the skirt was only covering a swim suit and got a sexy little zing. But hey, as long as they were dispensing with wet clothes…Adrian peeled off his shirt. Might as well display the abs. He’d worked for them. Now let them work for him.
“What a mess.” Sophie tossed her wet skirt in a corner and looked all around them. “We have to dry the floor before the others get here or people will be falling all over the…holy moly!”
Sophie had noticed Adrian and his abs, which he’d expertly displayed. Yeah, you don’t see these too often. Still want to keep things professional?
“You’re like…plastic man.” She approached him. “Are those real?” As she spoke, she poked her finger at his stomach.
He flinched. “Yes, they’re real!”
Sophie glanced up at him and then leaned closer and squinted.
“What are you doing?”
“Looking for surgery scars.”
“You’re not going to find any!” He wished he hadn’t taken off his shirt, even though it was wet. Balling it up, he tossed it toward her skirt. Too bad the rest of his clothes were already packed in his car.
“It’s just…” She gestured mutely. “You look so perfect. The chest…proportion wise…and the length of your torso—not too long and not too short and barrelly. Is that a word? You know what I mean. Your torso tapers nicely to your waist.” She nodded to herself. “Well done, you.”
Adrian stared at her. He was usually the one to analyze another’s body shape. And then only when asked. At least aloud.
“I heard you were going to appear in your own ads. Now I see why. You’re your own best advertisement.”
“I’m considering it.” She’d said he looked perfect. When a woman admired him, an invitation, either subtle or blatant, usually followed. Adrian responded with a standard regretful refusal that left them both feeling good.
He gazed down at Sophie, with her wet hair and her interesting eyes and her swimsuit-clad body, and felt neither regret nor a refusal.
He felt unprofessional. He smiled.
Head tilted, Sophie stepped back and examined his face. “Yeah, some makeup and good lighting—maybe putty on the cheekbones to emphasize shadows—and even your head will work.”
His smile faltered. “Gee, thanks.” Putty? Putty?
“Hey, it’s a good thing. It means you can do personal appearances, if it’s necessary. Otherwise, we’d Photoshop a new head for you in the print ads.”
Adrian could think of nothing to say. Nothing. There was no invitation for him to decline—or accept. This was not the way it was supposed to work.
Sophie was making him feel, maybe not insecure, but certainly less confident in his appearance. Not that he expected every woman he met to fall into his arms. Which, incidentally, she already had.
Sophie slid her foot into the flip-flop that had skidded beneath the kitchen bar dividing the living area. “Do you happen to know where they keep the mop around here? Between the wet sand and…what’s
wrong?”
“I—nothing.”
“Something. You look weird.”
“Maybe because I’m not wearing makeup or putty on my cheeks.”
“You’d probably have putty on your chin, too.”
Adrian instinctively rubbed his chin.
Sophie laughed. “Kidding. Sort of.” She knuckled his chin. “It’s a perfectly fine chin just the way it is.”
“Yeah, but what about the rest of my face?” Adrian knew that outside the gym he wasn’t a first-tier looker—the guys women immediately noticed when they cased a room. But he got plenty of attention. No complaints. And inside the gym, well. He ruled inside the gym.
“It’s a good face. A solid face.”
Good? Solid?
She smiled. “That’s a compliment.”
“Oh.” Lucky thing she’d told him. “Well…thanks.”
Sophie stood close enough for him to smell the flowery shampoo she’d used mixed with the salty sea weedy smell he’d been breathing for the last week. Heat radiated from her damp skin. Or maybe that was his damp skin. Whatever. There was radiation going on.
Awareness flowed through him, flipping on switches, starting the engines, rallying the troops.
This will do you no good. We’re leaving, he told his now fully-awake desire.
In the rain? Do you really want to drive in the rain? Think of the traffic going through Houston. The wrecks. The flooding.
Sophie picked up the box she’d brought and headed to the kitchen. There was a sexy jiggle to her glutes that women paid him to get rid of. Why? That little jiggle said “woman.” That little jiggle made him want to grab her bottom and squeeze.
Now why would you want to waste your time staring at a line of cars when you could stare at Sophie? his desire whispered insidiously.
Adrian felt himself being swayed. The weather was truly awful. And Sophie was truly not.
“Found it!” she sang and held up an old sponge mop.
You should stay to help her clean up the floor.
It was the desire talking. But he should help. He’d been here a week and hadn’t mopped once. She said people were arriving. So okay. He’d stay. And it wasn’t because of desire. It was because of the weather.
That would be the moment that the rain audibly slackened.
Sophie’s gaze flitted to the window. “The rain has let up. We’re between the bands of thunderstorms. Now’s the time to pack up your—” she gestured to the partially disassembled gym “—exercise thing. That is if you still intend to skip out on one of Jonathan’s awesome beach parties.”
“Um, yeah.” Not the most enthusiastic invitation he’d ever heard.
Feeling deflated, Adrian picked up the canvas duffel designed to hold the gym. Currently, the fabric was navy blue. He liked navy. But if he went with Dean’s Green Machine, it would be green, of course. Green was okay, but it was no navy.
Sophie’s suit was navy with a white band outlining the top. The whole thing fastened around her neck, exposing her strong shoulders. It was all one piece instead of a bikini. Classy, sexy. And navy. Had he mentioned navy?
He stared across the room at Sophie in the kitchen as she put away the food and supplies that had been in the box while she waited for him to move the poles.
Slowly, Adrian took apart the last two pieces and folded the seat until it was flat against the bench part. He put this, the largest part, into the duffel first. Next came the longest poles, but they were wet from the sand and water he and Sophie had tracked in. He really should wipe them off before packing them away. There were paper towels in the kitchen. Where Sophie was.
He saw her pull a large white plastic jar from the cabinet and frown as she read the label.
“Adrian Dean’s Power Protein Mix.” She looked over at him. “Yours, I’m assuming?”
“Yeah, thanks. I’d forgotten it.”
“‘Mix a quarter cup with twelve ounces water, shake or blend and drink in place of breakfast and lunch. Adrian Dean’s Power Protein contains all the nutrients needed to fuel your body for peak performance, both physically and mentally.’” She unscrewed the top and sniffed, immediately making a face. “Is this all you eat?”
“I eat soy bars for dinner. It’s part of the nutrition plan I’m developing.”
“No wonder you’re so grumpy.” She set the jar on the counter and carried the mop out of the kitchen.
Grumpy? He hadn’t been grumpy. He’d helped her carry stuff. He’d cushioned her fall. She’d injured him and he hadn’t complained. When had he been grumpy?
“I thought you’d be finished by now.” Sophie stared down at the poles. “Isn’t that supposed to be easy to assemble and disassemble?”
“It is, but how do you know?”
“It’s obvious.” She gestured. “And I studied the agency’s campaign notes.”
“You’re working on my ad?”
“Not specifically. I mean, I haven’t been assigned to it, but…” She looked up at him, and he could see her hesitate. “But the rumor is you’re considering a Super Bowl ad.” Her eyes searched his.
“I might be, if the ad is good enough.”
She exhaled. “That’s huge.”
“I know.”
“Expensive.”
“I know.”
“So…what’s the ad?”
“I don’t know.”
3
HE DIDN’T KNOW? HE hadn’t decided on a campaign? Sophie concentrated on keeping her breathing even and her face professionally interested. If Adrian couldn’t decide on the advertising that meant nothing had grabbed him yet. And if none of P&D’s proposals had grabbed him, he wasn’t likely to plunk down a couple million bucks for a Super Bowl spot. Before production costs.
Jonathan was unaware of Adrian’s lack of enthusiasm for the campaigns he’d seen. Sophie would bet her job on it. In fact, that’s what she was about to do.
Hadn’t she prepared for an opportunity? Hadn’t she been chasing after opportunities and flinging herself in their path? She’d collided with them. Been steamrolled by them. Been tricked by them. She’d let them slip out of her grasp. She’d grabbed and missed them. And she’d blown them. But she’d never ignored an opportunity.
She’d never encountered an opportunity with a body like Adrian’s, either. All that physical perfection was distracting, especially since he’d taken off his shirt. But he was a client—or at least a potential client. So until the others arrived, she’d work harder at not being distracted by his ideal shoulder-to-waist ratio and chest made for nuzzling. Or the way he’d felt beneath her body when she’d fallen on him. Twice. Or the gentle sweep of his fingers on her back—the memory made her skin prickle even now.
Adrian was still talking. Pay attention, Sophie.
“That’s why I was staying here a few days—to decompress and think. Jonathan told me to take a week and relax. Soak up the sun. Listen to the waves.”
Sophie’s gaze drifted to his chest as she flashed on an image of a gleaming, bronzed Adrian soaking up the sun and listening to the waves. Wow. Keeping focused was hard. This must be what men went through when talking to women with huge boobs.
“Empty my mind and the answer would come to me, he said.” Adrian grimaced. “Didn’t happen. But you know, the second day, I fell asleep on the veranda—luckily in the shade—and slept for, like, six hours and then came inside and slept for nine more. And the day after that, I read a book. A whole book. Start to finish. No interruptions.”
“That’s great.” Sophie hoped it was great. It didn’t sound great that Adrian was into physical fitness, yet was such a stress bunny. With a tendency to babble. That she found rather charming instead of annoying the way she usually reacted to babbling. Such was the power of Adrian’s body. With a body like that, he could babble all he wanted to.
She was objectifying him. Oh, this was not good.
Looking away from him, she swiped the mop over the tile, scooting the poles aside.
Ad
rian didn’t seem to notice. “I needed this week, but when the storm headed here, I could feel myself tighten up again. I know I’ve got to tell Jonathan something, but I have no idea what.”
Then Sophie would talk him through it. Brainstorm with him. Hand hold him into committing. After that, how could Jonathan not put her on the ad campaign? And with such a highly visible project, she knew he’d be leading the team himself. He’d hear her ideas directly and not filtered through Ross, and by filtered, she meant leaving out her name.
If she could help Adrian, then they’d both benefit.
“When I get too close to a project, I like to get a fresh perspective.” She stood the mop upright. “Since I don’t know anything about what you’ve been shown, maybe it’ll help if you talk to me.”
“Sounds good.” He nodded several times. “Yes. Thanks.”
Look at the guy. His jaw was clenched and he held a world of tension in those gorgeous shoulders.
“First, why don’t you finish putting away the machine—what do you call it?”
“That depends on which ad campaign I go with. It’s either Adrian Dean’s Lean Machine or Dean’s Green Machine.” He had a wild expression in his eyes.
“You don’t have to decide right this minute,” Sophie assured him hastily. He was ready to blow. “Honestly, I don’t know how you can think at all. When was the last time you ate real food?”
“I eat real food. I fuel my body with all the nutrients—”
“You eat reconstituted powdered chemicals. I’m talking about real food.” Sophie carried the mop into the kitchen and rinsed it out. “When was the last time you ate a thick, juicy, well-marbled, medium-rare, charcoal-grilled steak?”
“Red meat?” He looked horrified.
“Or pink, depending on how cooked you like it.”
“Do you have any idea what beef does to your body?”
“Yes. Add a salad and a glass of red wine and I’m a happy girl.”
“Your arteries aren’t happy.”
“My brain is happy. It thinks clearly. It makes decisions. And right now, it’s decided to broil a couple of the primo steaks I’ve brought and feed you dinner.”
His Little Black Book Page 3
