The Sassy One

by Susan Mallery

  “I’m not pregnant,” she said.

  His gaze never left her face. One point for his side. She pulled off her glasses and tossed them on the table. It was a small gesture of vanity, but under the circumstance—wearing the world’s ugliest dress, sensible shoes, and an unflattering hairstyle—it was the best she could do.

  “I’m a grad student studying social psychology. I observe how people react under different circumstances. In my work I’m trying to see if social standing, appearance, or gender influence behavior.”

  Sam tucked his notepad back into his jacket pocket. One eyebrow rose slightly. “Will busy people eager to get home on a Friday afternoon stop and help a pregnant woman?”

  “Exactly.”

  His eyes narrowed as he studied her face. She wanted to say something stupid, like she cleaned up real well, but held back.

  “What’s in the boxes?”

  She cleared her throat. “Mixed paper recycling.”

  “You deliberately chose to address them to a company that had recently closed?”

  “Yes.”

  This time his gaze dropped to her protruding stomach. “And that?”

  “A medical condition.”

  His eyes widened.

  She laughed softly. “Just kidding. It’s a device to simulate pregnancy. I borrowed it from a maternity store. Women use it to see how clothes will look as the baby gets bigger.”

  He picked up the glasses and glanced through the lenses. “Clear.”

  He smiled. A slow, sexy smile that made her long to trade in her black sensible shoes for a pair of red strappy sandals.

  “I’m not an easy man to fool, Francesca,” he told her. “In fact, I can’t think of the last time someone did. You’re impressive. The fainting was a nice touch.”

  She shrugged. “Actually that part was real. I haven’t eaten all day and that messes with my blood sugar.”

  He motioned to her protruding belly. “You spend your day like this in the name of scientific research?”

  “I don’t always dress up with a pregnancy belly. Sometimes I go out in a wheelchair, or tattoos and black leather.”

  He leaned back against the sofa. “That would stop traffic.”

  She smiled. “That depends on where I am.” She reached for the tea. “There have been dozens of studies done about the effect of appearance on behavior. Do you know that more people will stop to help an attractive person than an unattractive one?”

  “Men are visual creatures.”

  “But it’s not just men. Women do it, too. I’m studying—” She stopped and put down her tea. “Sorry. I get on a roll. My studies fascinate me.”

  “I can see why. Who are you going to be tomorrow? If your costume involves black leather, feel free to stop by.”

  She laughed. “Actually I’m supposed to be done with the research phase. My project for the summer is to write my dissertation. But the thought of spending all that time at the computer makes my skin crawl, so I’ve been putting it off.”

  “What do you want me to do with the boxes?”

  “Oh. I can take them with me. I need to return the cart, too. I borrowed it from the building maintenance guy.”

  “So he gets full points for helping out the pregnant lady?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “What about me?”

  Sam had a great voice, Francesca thought as a shiver rippled through her. Deep, rich, seductive.

  “You get bonus points,” she told him.

  “Good to know.” He angled toward her. “How about I let you keep the points and in return you join me for dinner tonight?”

  • • •

  Under normal circumstances Francesca never would have accepted the invitation. She didn’t know Sam Reese from a rock. Yes, he was plenty appealing, but in the scheme of things, did that really matter?

  “Dumb question,” she murmured as she maneuvered her truck through the early evening Santa Barbara traffic. It was early June, with the tourist season in full swing. Sidewalks were crowded, restaurants full, and traffic moved at a crawl down State Street.

  “Appeal matters.”

  So did those cat eyes, the tempting smile, and easy conversation. But the real reason she’d said yes was she needed to have sex. After all, a promise was a promise.

  Francesca grinned as she thought of Sam’s reaction if she’d told him that particular truth. Would he have bolted for safety or started unbuttoning his shirt? She liked to think it would be the latter, but she’d taken a good look at herself when she’d gone home to change and her out-loud shriek hadn’t been from pleasure. Nope, the man would have run for his life.

  One shower with three shampoos to get the powder out of her hair, a quick change of clothes, and a light dusting of makeup later, she was ready to if not dazzle, then at least intrigue. She figured with as bad as she’d looked before, anything would be an improvement.

  So she was off to dazzle Sam Reese and see what she could do about keeping her promise… the one she’d made to have sex with the next attractive, single man to cross her path.

  2

  Francesca knew she wasn’t in Kansas anymore when the restaurant’s valet parking cost more than a recent lunch at McDonald’s. She smiled brightly as the well-dressed, blond surfer valet looked disgustedly at her ten-year-old truck, then took the keys with a shake of his head. She could only imagine what the guy would have done if she’d still been pregnant and, well, ugly. No doubt he would have shown her to the back of the restaurant.

  Francesca dismissed him from her mind and instead focused on the beauty of the evening. The sun hovered at the horizon, casting a golden glow over the courtyard entrance to the restaurant. She was about to have dinner with a very nice man who, if he played his cards right, would help her fulfill the commitment she’d made to her sisters.

  Two months ago, after too much wine and way too many cookies, she’d promised Katie and Brenna she would do the wild thing with the first normal single man she met, thus ending a self-imposed three-year celibacy. Her willingness to do something so completely out of character had a whole lot more to do with the lack of romance and fun in her life than it did with the dare itself. Not that she wanted a commitment. Been there, done that. But a sexy man and warm summer night… that was another matter.

  In the past sixty-three days she hadn’t come across one appropriate candidate, which said something about the state of her social life… or lack thereof.

  Then Sam had appeared. He’d rescued her, made her pulse quicken, and asked her to dinner. She didn’t need her tea leaves read to recognize a sign when she saw one, she thought with a smile. As this one had been in all capital letters and italics, she couldn’t have missed it.

  “What’s so funny?”

  The smooth red-wine-and-chocolate voice came from behind her, causing her to jump. She turned and saw Sam standing next to a gleaming silver car. She couldn’t quite see the type of sedan, but she didn’t doubt that it was expensive.

  “How do you do that?” she asked. “This is the second time you’ve been able to sneak up on me.”

  His tawny gaze settled on her face… which gave her a distinctly unsettled feeling. He stood about six two or three. She was five nine and had put on two-inch heels, but still had to tilt her head slightly to study his face.

  “I sneak by profession,” he said. “You look terrific.”

  She glanced down at the black dress she’d pulled on. She’d bought it on impulse from a guy selling them out of the back of a truck on campus. With the designer label cut out and not a tag in sight, she’d had a feeling the merchandise hadn’t been exactly legal. But the price had been amazing and the dress made her feel elegant and sophisticated. Two things she knew she would need tonight.

  She held out her arms, sucked in her stomach and turned slowly. “The miracles of modern medicine.”

  “Did you have a boy or a girl?” he asked.

  “It was more of a beanbag mound. Undetermined gender.”<
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  As she came to stop in front of him, she flipped back her long hair, a gesture she’d perfected at age fourteen and hadn’t had reason to use in years.

  This was fun. Maybe she’d been too hasty in settling in to her years of celibacy. There was something to be said for appreciation in a man’s eyes.

  Sam took her hand and placed it in the crook of his arm.

  “Shall we?” he asked, motioning to the open courtyard of the restaurant.

  “Why not?”

  Why not? Well, for one thing, there was a growing knot of nerves in the pit of her stomach. Sam was smooth. The men of her acquaintance didn’t dress like GQ and act like James Bond. The guys in grad school were more jeans and Taco Bell.

  Oh, well. She’d said she was going to get back in the swim of things and had decided throwing herself in the deep end was the quickest way. If her plan backfired, she would dog-paddle to the side and drag her wet butt out of the pool.

  The visual metaphor made her smile.

  As they walked into the restaurant, Francesca curled her fingers and felt the softness of Sam’s wool jacket and the hint of powerful muscle just beneath the fabric. Very masculine. Very not her life. Very something she might want to experiment with.

  They reached the podium, where the hostess smiled at Sam. “Good evening, Mr. Reese. Your table is ready.”

  “A man with his own table,” Francesca murmured. “Wow. If you come here often enough, do you get other pieces of furniture?”

  “Sure. Last year they gave me a chair and a sideboard.”

  She smiled. “I’m impressed you know what a sideboard is.”

  “I’m an impressive guy.”

  Sam placed his fingers over hers and squeezed slightly. The soft pressure, not to mention the heat of his touch, nearly made her stumble.

  “So you’re confident,” she said as they were shown to a table tucked into an alcove. Several tall, potted plants gave the space a sense of privacy.

  Sam released her hand and moved to hold out a chair. As she sat down, she tried to remember the last time anyone had done that for her, and came up with the answer.

  Never.

  He moved around the table and settled across from her. The hostess put menus on the table and left.

  “Always.”

  “What if you’re not sure? Do you fake it?”

  He leaned toward her. “I never have to fake it.”

  “One could think all that bravado was covering up for something.”

  “Then one would be wrong.”

  She laughed. “Fair enough. Although I can see I’m going to have to be on my toes with you. I’m glad I have a background in psychology.”

  “It’s not going to help.”

  “You say that because you’re not the trained professional.”

  “Sure I am.”

  The waiter appeared with a wine list. Sam waited until the server left, then held up the list. “Do you have an interest?”

  Francesca considered the question. “Not as much as my sister, but I’ll look.”

  Sam watched Francesca slowly turn pages. Her long dark hair rippled with her every movement and caught the light. The rich brown color was a contrast to the mousy brown it had been earlier.

  She’d discarded her glasses, the pregnancy belly, and the unflattering dress. In their place she wore a black dress that hugged slender curves and long, sexy legs. Her skin was clear, a pale olive color that appeared luminescent. Hazel eyes—more green than gold or blue—widened as she read an entry. She had the kind of mouth that got a man in trouble, and he found himself wanting to be first in line for whatever she might be offering.

  On the way over he’d told himself he was an idiot for asking her to dinner. He’d first offered to help because she’d been in trouble and that’s what he did.

  Then he’d looked closer and he’d seen… possibilities.

  She closed the wine menu and passed it to him.

  “You see anything you like?” he asked.

  “I’m going to let you pick.”

  “Is it a test?” he asked.

  “Maybe.” She turned her attention to her menu. “What’s good here?”

  “Everything.”

  “Do you already know what you want?”

  He waited until she’d glanced up before answering. “I know exactly what I want.”

  The words got the reaction he’d been hoping for. Her eyes widened and her take-me-I’m-yours mouth curved.

  “One point for your side,” she murmured.

  “Are we keeping score?”

  “I think I have to.”

  “What’s the prize for winning?”

  “What do you want it to be?” As soon as she said the words, she held up a hand. “Pretend I didn’t say that.”

  He chuckled. “Getting in over your head?”

  “A little. I’m not going to ask if you are. I can already guess the answer.”

  “Fair enough. What do you want for dinner?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Are you a vegetarian?”

  She frowned. “No. Why would you think that?”

  “Psychology major. It’s a touchy-feely fringe science. Attracts a lot of vegetarians.”

  She delighted him by laughing. “As long as you haven’t allowed yourself to be swayed by ill-informed stereotypes.”

  “Not my style.”

  “I’m not about to ask what your style is.”

  “I’d be happy to tell you.”

  “I’ll bet. So what are you ordering?” she asked.

  “Steak.”

  “That’s a little clichéd.”

  “I can’t help myself.”

  The waiter appeared and discussed the evening’s specials. Francesca chose a baked chicken dish, while he had his usual. He ordered a bottle of Wild Sea Vineyards Cabernet.

  “Interesting choice,” Francesca said. “The wine I mean.”

  “They’re local. Central California.”

  “I know.” She tilted her head, her hazel eyes bright with emotions he couldn’t read. “So, Sam Reese, why did you invite me to dinner?”

  “Easy question. You fooled me. That doesn’t happen very often. I was impressed.”

  “By my disguise?”

  “Sure. I should have been able to see through it and I didn’t. When you fainted, I was terrified we were going to be delivering a baby right there in the hallway.”

  “It would have been a shame to spoil such nice carpeting.” She smiled. “I was pretty unattractive. I’m surprised you didn’t run in the opposite direction.”

  Their waiter returned and showed Sam the bottle of wine. When Sam nodded, the young man opened it, then poured a small amount into Sam’s glass. He took a sip.

  “Very nice.”

  Francesca waited until the waiter had left before tasting her wine.

  “Do you like it?” he asked.

  “As you said, it’s very nice.”

  There was something in her voice. Something he couldn’t place. Amusement? Annoyance? Both?

  “Why did you accept my invitation to dinner?” he asked.

  “Because I wanted to.”

  Good answer, he thought as his gaze settled on her lush mouth.

  “Tell me what you do,” she said. “I saw a very nice office with lots of room, but no clues.”

  “I run Security International. We’re based here in Santa Barbara, although we operate all over the world.”

  “What kind of security?”

  “Personal. We provide bodyguards on a temporary or full-time basis. We have a security consulting division, and we will train other people’s bodyguards.”

  She looked startled. “Like the movie?”

  He knew which one she meant. “My people get fired for sleeping with a client.”

  “That seems harsh.”

  “They’re paid to stay alert, not get lucky.”

  “Any famous clients?”

  “Yes.”

  She wai
ted expectantly, then laughed. “You’re not going to give me any names.”

  “Not even a hint.”

  “That really big guy back at the office. Jason. He’s one of your bodyguards?”

  Sam nodded.

  “He wouldn’t exactly blend in.”

  “Sometimes that’s not what the client wants.”

  “Everybody armed?”

  “Sure.”

  “Even you?”

  He gave her a slow smile. “Especially me.”

  She picked up her wine. “Even now?”

  “Want to see?”

  Francesca was willing to bet Sam hadn’t spent more than fifteen minutes without a woman circling in his orbit. Her specifications had been clear—she would throw herself at the first eligible, attractive guy she ran into. She’d thought the situation might be nerve-racking and awkward; she hadn’t considered she would be a bush-league rookie playing with the pros.

  “I’m not sure you want to flash the staff,” she said. “This is an upscale restaurant, and they frown on that sort of thing.”

  She sipped her wine, which actually wasn’t bad. Not that she would be telling her sister.

  “Afraid?” he asked. “The safety’s on.”

  As if they were talking about the gun. “I’m cautious and sensible. Not afraid.” She put the glass down. “How long have you been in the security business?”

  “All my life. My grandfather founded the company.”

  She knew all about family concerns. “Any siblings to share the responsibility?”

  “No.” He shrugged. “My father died when I was a kid. My mom passed away a few years ago, though we were never close. Now there’s just my grandfather and myself.”

  The waiter appeared and set their salads in front of them. Francesca stared at the artful arrangement of baby greens, apple slices, blue cheese, and walnuts. Her mind whirled with possibilities.

  Married? No. That wasn’t an option. Her luck couldn’t be that bad. There was no way the first guy she’d been attracted to in the past three years could be—

  “You’re not married, are you?” she blurted.

  Sam paused in the act of bringing his fork to his mouth. He set the utensil down.

  She braced herself for a joke or teasing, or something snide. Instead his expression turned serious. “I wouldn’t have asked you to dinner if I were married or involved.”