At times, having a friend who was closer than a brother was a true blessing. This wasn’t one of those times. “Sometimes you’re a real pain in the ass.”
Steve’s lopsided grin grew to obnoxious proportions. “Yep,” he said, “it’s something I live for, especially where you’re concerned.” He took a sip of beer and waited. And waited. And when Erik didn’t elaborate, he pressed the issue further. “Seriously. What’s the deal?”
Erik took a long drink of beer, then studied the floor and fought the urge to shuffle his feet like a teenager being grilled by a suspicious parent. He and Steve had been friends since the first day of kindergarten, when they’d both gotten into trouble for standing underneath the monkey bars, sneaking peeks up the girls’ dresses. In their twenty-seven-year friendship Erik had never kept anything from Steve.
Until now.
Unwilling to analyze why he wanted to keep her identity, or the scope of their relationship, private, when he’d never worried about that kind of thing before, he grinned slyly and said, “My friend, we have shared many things. But whatever I might know about her, I’m keeping to myself.”
“Damn.” All traces of amusement dropped from Steve’s face, and he whistled low. “That sounds serious.”
Erik bristled at what he suspected could maybe, possibly be a spec of truth, if he allowed it to go that far. But he recovered quickly and turned it into a joke. Nailing on a smile, he said, “It is.” He took a moment to enjoy surfing the shock waves rolling off his friend before adding, “Serious lust. You know, the kind that results in sex that’s mind-altering, not life-altering.”
Shit. The instant the words left his mouth, he knew he’d taken the sarcasm too far. He’d left an opening big enough to drive a truck through, and, as expected, Steve barreled in. “Dammit, Erik, it’s been ten years. When are you gonna let it go and move on?”
Erik rolled his head in a circle, attempting to loosen the muscles in his neck and shoulders that’d suddenly snapped into tight bands. They’d had this conversation too many times to count, and he didn’t want to have it again.
Not tonight.
Not ever.
Rather than delve into the past—a past he couldn’t change or forget—he directed his attention across the room to something much more pleasant.
Kat.
He chuckled as he considered for the first time the possibility she might have given him a false name. That would certainly explain why, on all of his subsequent trips to Charlotte and multiple attempts to find her, he’d come up empty.
The name fit her so well, he found himself hoping she hadn’t lied. Tall and lithe, her movements were fluid and graceful, like those of a cat. And when stroked just right, she damn near purred. He scowled. She’d also crawled under his skin and become a constant source of irritation—like cat scratch fever.
He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall, studying her. She looked different than she had the night they’d met, and at first glance, he thought his mind was playing tricks on him. But the more he watched her move through the crowd, mixing and mingling and interacting, the more obvious it became. Her conservative business suit couldn’t hide her tempting curves or disguise the way her body moved with a natural sensuality.
She still screamed “sex,” and he still wanted her to the point of aching.
His stomach—and khakis—tightened as more unwelcome memories of her unbridled passion assaulted him. Her green eyes, locked within his gaze; her black hair falling across his chest while she rode him to oblivion. He’d almost forgotten all the reasons he avoided relationships and nearly professed true love that night.
It was probably for the best that she’d snuck out on him while he slept. It had prevented him from doing something foolish. Like falling for her.
“Hey, Romeo.”
Startled from his thoughts, Erik jumped. The wicked gleam in Steve’s eyes set Erik’s nerves on edge, and his irritation flared. “What?”
“I hate to wake you from your wet dream, but Elise has been watching you watch… whoever she is. And now Elise is headed this way.” He laughed and slapped Erik on the back. “You’re on your own with this one, brother, I’m out.”
Shit.
Erik closed his eyes and gulped his beer, wishing he had a keg tapped straight into his veins. There wasn’t enough alcohol in the world to make Elise Winstead tolerable, and the only reason he tried to be civil was out of respect for their mothers’ friendship.
Elise stopped in front of him, crossed her arms under her large, surgically enhanced breasts, and pierced him with an icy look recognized by males from every corner of the globe.
Rather than play games or dally around, he decided to get straight to the point and be done with her. “What do you want, Elise?”
“Nothing, really.” She pecked a talon against her cheek. “It’s just that… Well, I couldn’t help but notice your interest in my competition.”
Despite his desire to stay aloof, Erik felt his eyebrows rise in surprise. How could Elise and Kat be in competition for anything? One was like a Rolls Royce: compact with overdone curves, high maintenance, and pretentious as hell. The other—he flicked a glance to Kat—was like his Harley: sleek, commanded attention, represented wild abandon, and provided the ride of a life.
“Competition?” he asked, hesitant to encourage further conversation, but curious enough about Kat’s presence at SMG to risk it.
“The new account executive Rusty hired.” She looked at Kat with a truckload of disgust. “She’s from a big agency in Charlotte, and she’s got ninety days to prove she’s better than me.” She snorted. “As if.” Mumbling more to herself than speaking directly to him, she said, “I just don’t understand why she’d leave a large agency to come here. Something’s fishy.”
Erik suspected he knew why Kat left her old job, probably for the same reason she’d been in that bar drinking the night they’d met. But no way in hell would he arm Elise with that kind of ammunition against Kat, or anyone else for that matter. If she was going to be a seething boil on someone’s ass, she’d have to do it without his help.
“What’s her name?” he asked, pleased to hear he’d managed to sound casual and only moderately interested.
“Kat Owens.” Elise shuddered. “Appropriate really—I hate cats. They’re sneaky and nasty.”
As if sensing she were the topic of conversation, Kat began scanning the crowd while continuing to pick at the food on her plate. Her gaze skimmed past Elise and settled on Erik as she took a bite from another strawberry.
Her eyes widened and she froze in place, strawberry stem caught between her finger and thumb, half of a berry sticking out of her mouth. It would have been humorous if his nerves hadn’t been skittering along a razor’s edge of irritation.
And if she hadn’t started choking.
He’d already taken three steps in her direction when she grabbed her water goblet and managed a few sips. The coughing subsided and she appeared okay, so he forced the tension from his body and resumed his relaxed stance against the wall.
When she glanced at him again, probably hoping he’d been an apparition or a figment of her imagination, he tried to smile. But the question that had plagued him for so long—Why’d you run out on me like that?—turned his smile feral.
Her shoulders sagged as she dropped her gaze to the floor, then slipped her feet into her previously discarded shoes.
Elise tilted her head to the side and stared at Kat as she hustled to a small group standing nearby. Shit. He could see the wheels in Elise’s conniving mind turning and smell the rubber burning.
“Well, that was… interesting.” She turned back and studied him, steady and unblinking. “Do you know her?”
With Steve, he’d felt guilty for fudging the truth and had needed to justify his evasion. With Elise, he had no problem flat-out lying. “Nope. Should I?”
Elise narrowed her eyes and studied him. “I don’t know.”
He knew s
he wanted to say more. To ask more. But she wasn’t known as Queen of Scheme for nothing, and after years of practice, she knew how to hold her cards close to her disproportionately large chest.
Her nose practically twitched as she sniffed the air for clues, knowing there had to be more to this story than she’d been told. She didn’t even try to be nonchalant about her devious intentions as she said, “Well, it’s been fun… and intriguing, but I’ve got to go. Things to do and all.” She gave a little finger wave and said, “Ta-ta,” then headed off in search of a pot to stir.
Erik rubbed a hand over his eyes and drew in a deep, erratic breath. Part of him, the part that had spent the past thirteen months looking for Kat, wanted to yell Hell yeah! at his good fortune of finding her again. Looking just as beautiful and sexy as she’d been the night they met, no less.
But dammit, he’d wanted to find her in Charlotte. With him living at the coast, that put the entire state of North Carolina and a five-hour drive between them, thereby limiting the feasibility of establishing what could be misconstrued a real relationship.
Especially since he didn’t do relationships—at least not any that lasted for more than twelve hours. And while he enjoyed more than his fair share of female companions, he always made sure there were no misunderstandings about what to expect after those twelve hours ended. That wasn’t to say he wouldn’t sleep with a woman more than once. But he always put enough time between encounters to make sure everyone knew where things stood.
And he never spent time thinking about them between visits.
Until Kat.
He hadn’t been able to forget her or let go of hoping to see her again. Now, here she was in his hometown. Looking very much like she belonged and very much like she intended to stay. And that presented a problem. The fire between them burned too hot, and he doubted he’d be able to ignore it any more now than he’d been able to ignore it thirteen months ago.
So where did that leave him?
Avoid her and hope the simmering embers eventually cooled and she became a distant memory? Or work her out of his system by picking up where they’d left off?
Naked.
For all that he didn’t know, one thing he knew for sure. Before he made any decisions about the future, he needed an answer to the question that had driven him nearly insane for the past thirteen months. Why had she walked out on him without so much as a good-bye kiss or a kiss my ass?
***
Kat Owens surveyed the surrounding scene. So this was it. Her new life. A new town, new job, new friends, new everything. All for the opportunity of becoming Vice President of Client Services for Sinclair Marketing Group.
Standing within striking range of the corporate ladder’s top rung didn’t feel quite like she thought it would. Somehow she pictured herself light as a feather and floating on air. Not weighed down and miserable.
Maybe it was the stuffy clothes and uncomfortable shoes. Maybe it was the pantyhose cutting her lu-lu in half—it was difficult to feel light and airy when important body parts were at risk of permanent damage.
It might be those things, but deep in her heart, she suspected it was more than those superficial discomforts.
She looked around at the various mix of agency staff, clients, and vendors—all here for the supposed purpose of celebrating SMG’s move into their new offices. It looked nice, neat, and polite on the surface. Regular people playing nicely, shaking hands, telling jokes, and laughing. Sharing a few—but not too many—personal stories.
But if one looked at these interactions with a microscope, they’d see the ugly truth of advertising life. She supposed all businesses were competitive and cutthroat, but few reached the pinnacle of advertising. In advertising, your best friend would set you up, cut you down, and steal your job. That was tough to beat.
Handshakes and nice-to-meet-yas took place in most polite circles, but not much about this job included any real sincerity or concern for the people you met. It was all about getting what you wanted, and to hell with everyone else.
The hardest part of her job would be the suck-up ass-kissing required to get and keep an account—that’s where the laughing and joke telling came in. And the personal stories… those were told to prove you were actually a human being. Sometimes in this business it was difficult to know for sure.
But right now, she was tired and wanted nothing more than to go home, shed the office armor, and crawl into bed. However, as the future VP of Client Services, it was critical she familiarize herself with all of the agency’s clients. This event coincided perfectly with her move to Riverside and gave her the opportunity to meet most of the clients all at once. So, until the last guest had their fill of food and drink and headed out the door, she was stuck.
Rusty Sinclair, owner and president of SMG, had spared no expense in throwing this open house celebration to show off his pride and joy—the restored Victorian that now housed the SMG offices. And nowhere was it more evident than in the overflowing food tables.
Shrimp, every color vegetable known to man, stuffed mushrooms, meatballs, and fruit galore sat awaiting a taker. But what appealed to her most were the chocolate-covered strawberries. Actually, it was the chocolate that had her mouth watering, but she could hardly run her finger along the inside of the bowl, or hang her head under the flowing chocolate fountain, so she was forced to take the strawberries, too.
Since leaving this shindig wasn’t an option, her best bet was to find a secluded corner where she could drop the smile, slip off her shoes to give her poor, aching feet a break, and take a few deep breaths.
And soothe her soul with chocolate.
She picked a few of the larger berries—because they held more chocolate—loaded them down, then stacked them on her small plate. Settling into an empty corner of the lobby, she kicked off her shoes and sagged in relief against the wall. She picked up a berry, licked her lips, then slid the fruit into her watering mouth, savoring the mixture of sweet, smooth chocolate and tart strawberry.
Oh God, that’s good.
After several moments of delectable bliss, the hair on the back of her neck began to prickle. For the past thirty minutes, she’d had the strangest sensation of being watched, and the feeling became too strong to ignore.
She grabbed another berry and casually scanned the crowd. She’d just bitten down, once again enjoying the near-orgasmic feeling of the thick chocolate rolling across her tongue, when she stumbled across a brilliant-blue gaze boring straight into her.
Ohmigod!
Her heart stuttered, her stomach plummeted, and she gasped at the sight of him. Chocolate and strawberry juice shot to the back of her throat, and she began to choke. She yanked the mangled strawberry from her mouth, stifled the coughing as best as she could, then grabbed her glass of water. After a few sips, she had the coughing under control, but her heart rate and breathing remained out of step.
She’d give just about anything to convince herself it wasn’t him, but she’d never mistake or forget those eyes. She saw them every night in her dreams and often in daydreams. Even on a cellular level, she recognized them, and everything feminine within her came alive.
Maybe he doesn’t recognize me.
Just because she’d spent the last thirteen months reliving every second of their incredible night together didn’t mean he had. However, as she flicked her gaze back to him, that tiny fragment of hope slipped away and was replaced with dismay.
The million-watt smile that had played so easily on his mouth the night they’d met was gone, and a severe scowl took its place. Oh yeah, he recognized her and he wasn’t happy. In fact, he looked downright pissed.
She didn’t know which was worse: him not recognizing her, or him recognizing her, but being so obviously unhappy to see her. A heavy sadness settled over her as she dropped her gaze to the floor, righted her shoes, and slipped her feet into them.
What’s a girl gotta do to catch a freakin’ break?
The last two weeks had been hell. Betwee
n quitting her job—the only job she’d known since college—packing her apartment in a heated rush, and moving from the big city of Charlotte to the small, coastal town of Riverside, where she didn’t know anyone besides her new boss, she was operating on a tightly stretched rope.
And at this moment, she heard the faint tearing as a few more strands unraveled and gave way beneath her.
She spotted Maggie and Seth, two of her coworkers, talking with a sales rep from a local radio station that she’d met earlier in the evening. Needing to know Erik’s connection to the agency, she casually made her way to them. If luck was on her side, she’d find that no one knew him. He’d be a lost soul who had wandered into the wrong party and decided to stay for a beer.
She slipped into a space between Seth, the very talented and very gay art director, and Maggie, the equally talented and very northern copywriter. She patiently waited for a break in the conversation and when the opportunity presented itself, said, “I think I’ve been introduced to almost everyone, but there’s one gentleman I haven’t met yet. I wondered if anyone could tell me who he is.”
“I’m sure between all of us,” Maggie said, waving her hand around the circle, “we know everyone here. Riverside’s not that big a place.”
In addition to being talented and northern, Maggie was also, apparently, the queen of understatements. Kat’s previous apartment complex had been bigger than the entire town of Riverside.
“I don’t want to turn around and be obvious, but he was standing with Elise a minute ago. Around six feet tall, dark hair that’s kind of curly and unruly—”
“Rock-star stubble covering a strong jawline and gorgeous blue eyes?”
Kat bit her bottom lip and cut her eyes to Seth. He didn’t hide his sexual orientation, but never had his excessive gayness been more evident.
“Damn, Seth,” Maggie said. “Even men think Erik’s hot?”
Seth looked offended. “Of course. Every gay man in town has the goal of being the one who turns him.”
Last Call (Book #2 - Heat Wave Series) Page 26
