by Lori Foster
“Not that bet. The private one. Are you worried you’ll lose that bet if you give in and have sex with him again?”
Was she? Lust versus intimacy. The line, once so clearly defined in her head, had blurred to become indistinguishable. Was she making her point by abstaining, as she’d intended? Or was it simply driving them both crazy?
“We’ll do it again,” she defended. “I mean, when I insisted we hold off and do the dating thing, that was to build up my point, you know? To prove that connecting, getting to know each other, would add an emotional element to the sexual encounter. I didn’t realize it would be this hard to go without, though.”
Since Mindy was currently going without herself, she just rolled her eyes. “How do you know who wins?”
Before Delaney could come up with an answer, the bakery owner swiped her plate away with a growl. Oops. She made a face at Mindy, who was trying to hold back a laugh.
“I don’t know,” Delaney finally said. She propped her elbows on the table, cradled her chin and considered the idea of losing. “I think it’s going to be a hard call. The more I think about it, the less I think it’s possible for there to be a clear winner.”
“So why aren’t you doing it like bunnies?” Mindy asked, throwing her hands up in exasperation.
Delaney licked her lips, dropped her gaze to the table, then met Mindy’s eyes.
“I’m not afraid of losing the bet,” she said slowly, “so much as I’m afraid of Nick seeing the real me. Without this makeover, this mask, he’d have no interest in me at all.”
Mindy gave her that “what an idiot” look but Delaney just shook her head. “Seriously, would he have had any interest in me, in our side bet, if not for the makeover?”
“You can’t ask that,” Mindy insisted. “That’s like asking which came first, the chicken or the egg.”
“Huh?”
“Nick met you, hit on you, because he was attracted to you, right?” Delaney nodded, but before she could say anything, Mindy plowed ahead.
“He came on the show specifically to meet you, because of your review of his books, right?” Delaney nodded again, opening her mouth to clarify the point, but Mindy shook her head.
“You gave the review as a part of your makeover interview, just like you were on the TV show because of the makeover.”
Delaney didn’t even bother trying to say anything this time, just nodded.
“You did the makeover because you wanted your rightful share of attention, so you could get a job you deserve, right?”
Delaney just raised her brows, her head starting to hurt.
“And your job is something you love, right? You’re a great teacher, you rock the lit courses. So, really,” Mindy summed up, out of breath from talking so fast, “Nick has the hots for you because of who you are, not the color of your eye shadow.”
Delaney counted to ten. Then, her head still spinning, she counted to twenty. Finally she shook her head.
“You might want to consider retaking that course in logical thinking and the development of the rational argument. I think you lost me in the first round.”
“You just don’t want to admit I’m right,” Mindy said, undaunted.
“I couldn’t even if I wanted to. I still don’t understand your point.”
The blonde heaved a long-suffering sigh. “My point is, you are who you are. Everything that brought you to this point, to this table having this argument with me, is all a part of the whole. It’s the whole Nick’s attracted to. Not just the packaging.”
Delaney heard the words, but they were just meaningless sounds. She’d spent twenty-seven years feeling invisible. Being overlooked. Even her own father felt she was too insignificant to pay attention to.
Her current run of popularity, of attention, all stemmed from the makeover. Sure, she was smart enough to realize no amount of makeup or hair products, or even an awesome push-up bra, could transform her into a confident, strong woman. But…well…they did.
“Delaney?”
“I know what you’re saying.”
“But you don’t believe me?” Mindy shook her head, confusion creasing her face. “How can a woman as intelligent as you think that a person’s worth is really based on their physical appearance?”
“I don’t question my worth,” Delaney defended. “But you can’t dismiss the results of the makeover, which you suggested. It’s directly responsible for every change happening in my life right now.”
“Do you think so little of him,” Mindy challenged, “or just of yourself?”
“Neither, of course.” Delaney had taken too many psych courses to be trapped that easily.
“Why not just let him see the real you, then? You’re the same person with or without makeup, in that hideous tweed suit or in classy linen.”
And take a chance at ruining their final round of hot, wild, prove-her-point sex? Hell, no.
“I think this is what the true basis of our bet comes down to,” Delaney said instead. “Lust is based on the surface, on flaring attraction and quick burning desire. Intimacy is more, it’s all that stuff you said. It’s bedhead and morning breath. It’s that flame that burns long and slow, that lasts past the initial flash of physical attraction. It’s emotions.” Delaney gave her a sad smile and shrugged. “The thing is, Nick doesn’t believe in any of that.”
With good reason, considering his upbringing. And as soon as she went back to being her real self and Nick found out she was a fake, he’d be gone.
So, despite the sexual frustration keeping her awake at night, it was just as well they would only sleep together one more time, in the name of proving her point, and then she’d go back to her real world and he’d continue with his.
She was sure that as great as the emotionally connected sex was going to be, she’d give anything for the lust-driven, do-it-just-for-fun encounter. After all, the next one was going to rip her heart to shreds.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“WAY TO GO,” Sean hooted when Delaney left the stage. “Your last review is kicking butt.”
“Yeah?”
Relief battled with surprise as Delaney scanned the printout he handed her. The online poll was definitely in her favor.
“The producer wants to bring Angel back next week,” Sean told her. “He’s thinking of doing a drawing at the end of this last segment of voting, picking two or three people who post on the blog to come be guests. You and Nick can do the whole debate thing again, we’ll get some reader opinions, wind up the bet and declare you the winner. You really should reconsider taking the producer’s offer, Delaney. The segment is growing, viewers love it. Last I heard, they were willing to go to three shows a week.”
It scared her how tempted she was. Delaney had come to love her “Critic’s Corner” segment. With only fifteen minutes of actual on-air time, the work she put into the reviews, the author interviews and reader interaction, it was so rewarding. It was like being a little kid in a toy store being told she could play with anything she wanted. Except, she had to keep reminding herself, she was a toy analyst, a teacher of the craft. Not a kid. She sighed and focused on the rest of Sean’s news instead.
“Nick’s agreed to reappear?”
“Not sure. I think that’s something they were hoping you could nail down. Apparently he’s not returning calls. His agent said he’s busy writing.”
Writing? She knew he’d be busy, he’d told her he’d be tied up for a week or so, which was why she hadn’t thought twice about not hearing from him. But he was writing? Delaney’s breath caught. What was he working on? He’d said she’d made him think. Had she really made a difference?
One more week and her bet with Nick would be over. And the side bet? They’d settle that, too. He’d sent her a note telling her to keep Saturday night open. She knew how the evening would end.
End being the operative word. As in the end of her and Nick. How did women do it? Go into a relationship knowing it had a limited shelf life?
“De
laney? Is this a bad time?”
She and Sean turned to see Mindy. Obviously liking what he saw, Sean puffed out his chest and introduced himself.
“Nice entrance,” she told Mindy after they left the drooling host. “You know he’s going to want to ask you out, right?”
“Ya think?” Mindy asked, glancing over her shoulder. “Guess the new dress paid off.”
They laughed and made their way to Delaney’s dressing room. Delaney’s mouth dropped as they stepped through the door. There, on the table, was a huge bouquet of red roses. With a soft oooh of delight she fingered the lush, velvet blooms. They hadn’t been there before. She spied the card tucked between the blooms and tugged it out.
You might have had a point…
Nick
A point about what? With a frown, Delaney turned the card over, but the back was blank.
A point about her reviewing ability?
A point about emotions?
“Well?” Mindy asked, poking an impatient elbow in Delaney’s side. “Who are they from?”
She snagged the card from Delaney’s fingers and frowned. “What’s the point?”
“No clue,” Delaney admitted as she looked at the roses, her smile so big it hurt her cheeks. A giggle escaped as she gave them a careful hug. Holding the card to her chest, she danced around the tiny room, laughing out loud.
Mindy gave her a baffled look of inquiry.
“I’ve never gotten roses before. Ever,” Delaney explained as she looked at the card again. “Nobody’s ever sent me flowers of any kind, let alone—” she counted “—three dozen gorgeous red roses.”
“Since your hands are full, I guess this is the perfect time to say I told you so,” Mindy announced smugly as she dropped into a chair.
Delaney just shrugged. She felt too good to argue, especially when her side of the debate depressed the hell out of her.
“A guy doesn’t send roses for lust,” Mindy pointed out. “Maybe you need to give yourself a little credit, Delaney. Look around, acknowledge where you’re at and what you’ve accomplished.”
After carefully setting the vase of roses back on the table, Delaney took the seat opposite Mindy and sucked in a deep breath.
Once, she’d have laughed at anyone suggesting she’d be in a place like this. On TV, publicly acclaimed for her brains and still commanding attention. Being sent a dozen roses from a sexy man who was not only interested in getting in her pants, but also respected her brain.
Her. Dean Conner’s mouse of a daughter.
Maybe Mindy was right? Maybe it was all a part of the whole. And, dammit, maybe Nick’s attraction to her, his interest in her, was more than just a surface thing?
She hoped it was. She was so crazy about the guy, it was making her stupid.
“Well?”
“Maybe,” Delaney hedged.
“What do you want? Really, really want?”
She wanted it all, Delaney confessed to herself. She met Mindy’s gaze, almost scared to say it aloud, to make it real. As if doing so would take away this last month, make it all as ephemeral as a dream.
“Fine,” Delaney admitted aloud, “I want it all. I want Nick, I want that promotion.”
She wished she could keep the TV show. But she didn’t say it aloud. Like having Nick, it was an impossible dream. Or at least improbable.
“Then get them.”
Delaney bit back a hysterical laugh. What were the chances? Was there any way she could get Nick? Not just keep his attention for another week or so while they wound up the bets, but really get him. Like, for good? She’d be gambling everything if she tried. Because losing meant not just having her confidence stomped to hell, but her heart as well.
But some things, some people, were worth risking it all for.
“How?” she asked quietly.
“For a start, quit worrying about what’s you and what’s due to the makeover. Just be yourself. Spend time with the guy. And,” Mindy said, nibbling on her thumbnail, “maybe you might wear tweed on your next date.”
Delaney snickered, even though she knew Mindy was serious.
She definitely wanted Nick. And she’d have to share, eventually, her real job with him. But there was no way the man had to know she was a tweed-wearing geek inside. No, she’d keep that part of her locked away, hidden. Because no matter what Mindy said, Delaney was sure Nick would run, screaming, if he ever saw the real her.
*
NICK FROWNED, HIS gaze blurring as he pictured the scene in his head. It, unlike the screen in front of his face, was crystal clear.
What next? Did the guy take the emotional risk and lay it all on the line or did he keep doing what Nick’s heroes always did, and kill the bad guy?
Like he’d done each time he’d found himself at a crossroads this week, Nick pictured Delaney’s face and asked himself what she’d do.
Then he blinked a couple times, bent his head and dove back into typing, letting his vision coalesce into words on the screen.
*
WITH A GROWL of frustration, Delaney tossed the book against the wall and jumped out of her chair to pace the office. She was due to interview an author by phone for the next “Critic’s Corner” segment and she hated the book. A thriller, it totally wasn’t working for her. It should. The emotions were plentiful. So plentiful they were exhausting, actually. The protagonist swerved from emotional high to devastating low with enough speed to leave the reader worn out.
After reading three-fourths of the book she was totally sick of the emotions. Where was the action, the movement, the excitement? Just do something, for crying out loud, without the wallowing and introspection.
Was this how Nick saw emotion in writing? In life? When there were so many emotions assailing the reader, they simply shut down in self-defense. Had he done the same?
For a woman who’d always searched for feeling in stories, it was a slap upside the head to realize sometimes what made a story work for her could be just the opposite. Had she ever noticed that before?
Or, she wondered with a sigh as she dropped back into her chair, was Nick teaching her a whole new way to look at books, and at life?
*
NICK READ OVER his last scene and winced. Not because it was pure crap. That would be okay. He could fix crap. But this…it made him feel naked. For a guy who had never hesitated to strip physically bare, it was a bizarre feeling.
Nick shoved away from his desk, needing to stretch and move. He needed a distraction. Sex came to mind, which automatically brought Delaney into his thoughts. Not that she was ever far. He felt as if this story had been written with her sitting on his shoulder, tut-tutting any time he skittered away from that deep well of emotions she wanted him to tap into so badly.
The stiffness of his body made him look at the clock. It was midnight? So much for sex. Just as well, he needed a shower and sleep.
He glanced at the glowing monitor, the story screaming for him to return. He’d settle for splashing cold water on his face and a ham sandwich.
*
DELANEY GLARED AT the dreck she’d written. She had to nail her review and interview questions, and this wishy-washy noncommittal garbage wasn’t going to do it. With a frustrated sigh, she hit the delete key.
Distraction. Maybe if she focused on something else for a while, she’d figure out a way to put her chaotic reaction to the book into words. She pulled up the college Web course and logged in. Might as well grade papers.
A half hour into reading first-year essays on the themes characteristic to Hemingway’s books, an inter-college e-mail popped up.
Delaney clicked to open it, then groaned. Nothing like pressure.
To: Professor D. M. Conner
From: Professor Ekco
FYI: The hiring committee is meeting a week earlier than planned. As promised, I’ll back your application as long as you’ve accomplished the goals as outlined. 1) Proven your reviews a success via the television show and online poll. 2) Secured an agreemen
t from Nick Angel to speak at Rosewood College as a part of your proposed course study of modern literature. I wish you the best, as I see a great benefit to us all in this new endeavor.
Secure Nick? That wasn’t part of the deal. Sure, she hadn’t said no when Ekco had suggested it, but only because she’d been in shock over the rest of the conversation. His assumption was typical, though, and not, she knew, anything he could hold her to.
Shit. She pulled up www.wakeupca.com and clicked on the poll. Yes, she was winning, but her lousy second review had definitely made it a close contest.
Her gaze landed on the e-mail again and she sighed. She didn’t have time for this. She had priorities and right now making her last few segments of “Critic’s Corner” rock was top of the list. She needed to nail this interview, her viewers were counting on her for an insightful, focused look at the author and his books.
She wanted to call Nick. To discuss the story with him, to hear his ideas. To hear his voice. And, maybe, if she were lucky, they could even play a few phone sex games. But he wasn’t available. She’d left him enough unreturned messages that she was starting to feel a little desperate and needy. She’d reached the point, she knew, of saying screw the bet, she didn’t care about proving anything. She just wanted to be with him. In every way possible.
But first she had to write this review. Because her current methods weren’t working and because so much was at risk, she was going to have to pull out the big guns.
The old Delaney. Geeky, plain and awkward, but hell-on-wheels at analytical reading.
She headed for the bathroom to scrub her face clean and tried to remember if her baggy-assed, threadbare red sweats were dirty or not. Time to let Dr. Conner back out one last time, since afterward Delaney planned to shove her in the back of a closet and hide her away forever. After all, she smiled as she scraped her hair into a knot and secured it with her pencil, she’d decided to keep Nick Angel.
*
NICK RUBBED THE grit from his eyes, then stretched his arms overhead. His back gave a satisfactory series of cracks, loosening the stiffness.
