Cover Copy
Texting and tweeting can lead to trouble when the truth gets out…
Dating your boss is bad. Finding out he’s married with a baby on the way is a whole lot worse, but losing your job when you show him the door really sucks. And when he knows all your family secrets, there’s bound to be trouble. But the job Samantha’s got lined up can put her life back on track. One last date for research purposes before she can finish her article on online dating–then she’s a man-free zone, and it’s serious journalism all the way.
Ben has only one thing on his mind: to keep the promise he made to look after Sam. All he has to do is work out how he can support a girl who distrusts men, hates charity, and definitely doesn’t want rescuing. He thinks he’s come up with the perfect solution, until he realizes it’s his heart, not his money he needs to invest.
But can Sam see past the lies and learn to trust a man again? And more importantly...will Ben still want her when he learns about her past?
CONTENT WARNING: Contains hot texts, sexy showers, a girl who can pack a punch, and lasagne.
Highlight
“Sam.” He reached out to unbutton her top, but she stopped him. She had to do this herself; it had to be her choice. He slowly stripped the rest of his clothes off, flicked the jet of water on. Not saying anything.
She could stop now. Ignore him and walk away. Or she could join him, in his shower, next to his office with his perfect secretary still typing away on the other side of the wall.
He stepped in. She couldn’t help herself, she walked over and her gaze locked onto his back; broad shoulders and perfect slim hips. Perfect toned ass. As she’d known it would be.
He stood perfectly still, his face raised to let the water stream over it. His eyes closed, only his erection betraying his awareness of her.
Text Me, Tweet Me, Need Me
By Susie Medwell
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Dedication
To my very own hero, who gave me the inspiration for this story.
Chapter 1
“Shit.”
The coat Samantha Farrington had been hanging on to finally gave in to the pressure and flew off the coat stand, ending up in an untidy pile on the polished wooden floor. And so did she. Sam tried her hardest not to swear too often, but this was one of those times when even her mother couldn’t have disapproved.
Not that her mother would have approved of her current assignment, which was the reason for her presence in the swanky wine bar. And the reason she was wearing the shorter than decent dress and higher than normal heels. And the reason she had been lurking behind the coat stand trying to spot which of the characters propping up the bar was her date for the night.
She was a serious journalist, wasn’t she?
Serious journalists didn’t agree to researching articles on social networking and online dating, especially when it involved actually dating and, even more especially, when they had sworn off men for the foreseeable future. In fact, only a man could have thought up a punishment like this.
Common sense told her she should give up and go home now. Except Sam never gave up. Ever. But she must have been mad to agree to do this, or desperate more like. Bread and butter pieces like this did at least pay the bills. Paid for the bread and butter in fact which was just about all she could afford at the moment.
She suddenly realised she was holding her breath, not daring to move. The world hadn’t stopped; the music and chatter hadn’t paused in the bar. No one had noticed. Her breath escaped in a relieved whoosh.
“Do you often use coats for camouflage?”
Well, almost no one. There had to be one didn’t there? And it had to be a man. Just had to be, didn’t it? But at least he wasn’t laughing, which made her swallow the ‘sod off’ which was teetering on the tip of her tongue, and risk glancing up. Straight into a pair of chocolate-brown eyes, that for a second reminded her of a Labrador. Except these eyes were partnered by a long straight nose, clefted chin, square jaw and firm lips. There was something very masculine and very un-Labrador like about him.
He was looking at her quizzically, which was probably because of (a) the ‘ooo’ that she’d been desperately hoping she hadn’t actually said out loud, and (b) because she was definitely staring. Like a simpleton.
“Are you okay?”
“Erm… I’m fine thanks and I wasn’t using the coats as camouflage.”
“You were. You were hiding in them.”
She could swear his eyes were actually twinkling, if eyes could actually do such a thing which she had always doubted before, and they were starting to crinkle at the corners. If he laughed now he’d be in trouble, even if he was so gorgeous her brain was turning to mush.
“Rubbish.” She glanced back down, at least she wasn’t showing her knickers, and her dress was still just about covering the rest of her. But sitting on the floor wasn’t a good look.
“Here.” He seemed to have read her mind and held out a hand, hoisting her effortlessly to her feet, which led to a dangerous wobble on the killer heels. A dangerous wobble in his direction, which wasn’t such a bad thing. A subtle hint of aftershave, clean and masculine, teased at her senses, and a fuzzy warm feeling seeped into every pore of her body as his steadying hand tightened on her waist. She probably should move away, except this was the most stable she’d felt since putting the shoes on. She liked heels, really liked heels, they just didn’t like her.
“I’ve been watching you, I thought you were about to chicken out.”
“Sorry?”
“Of the date.” Soft brown hair flopped onto his forehead, begging her to reach out and touch it. But she didn’t. “I’m Ben by the way, and you’ve just got to be Sam.” He was smiling in a very disarming manner, sexy lips just inches from hers, which was probably why her brain wasn’t functioning properly. Ben? He had the same name as her date? That just had to be a million to one chance, how weird. Oh, and he knew her name.
Oh. My. God. She shut her eyes briefly and then reopened them. He was still there, looking the same. It wasn’t a dream. “Ben? You are Ben? You have got to be kidding me.” Which probably wasn’t the smartest thing to say, but then she hadn’t been expecting pure sex on legs. If she had, she wouldn’t have been hiding in the coat stand. She looked at him more closely. No, it must be a joke. Her date was always the frog, not the prince.
“Nope. No joke, I’m deadly serious.” His smile slipped slightly, making him look even sexier. “Why, is that a problem?”
Damn. The whole scene was up there in her head. Everything. The words, actions, even the expression she’d have on her face. He was supposed to be a disappointment and then she could explain. They would laugh about the weird situation and agree that expecting to find true love online was a bit of a pipe dream. She’d explain it wasn’t a real date, she didn’t do this type of thing, it was just work. They’d share a drink, have a laugh, and dream up a good headline. Mission accomplished. Simple.
Except she didn’t want to tell him. He was too damn gorgeous. He was a gift from the gods, Christmas come early. She couldn’t tell him. No, she just couldn’t. Shoot. She wanted her date. Just one proper flirty date before she swore off men for life. Or at least for the next six months. One stand-alone date then she would never have the chance to discover he was a no-good double-dealing waste of space like every other man on planet Earth.
He stil
l had his hands on her waist, bedroom eyes gazing straight into hers.
“So are you staying for a drink, or were you about to…” He tipped his head towards the door.
“Yes. I mean no. I mean I think I need a drink.” What the hell, she could do this. Screwing this up wasn’t an option, gorgeousness aside, this article still needed to be written and printed. There were bills to pay, lots of bills. And she had to prove to that two-timing rat Andy that she could manage fine without him, his money and his crappy job.
“You sure?”
What would be the harm? Except she didn’t want to deceive him, she had a laundry basket full of faults but lying wasn’t one of them. She’d have one drink and then tell him. Yes, that would work. Anyway, he probably had a different date every night of the week. Why should he care that she was using him purely for research? Yes, one drink.
There was already a bottle of wine and two glasses on the bar, which figured. He looked like an organized, in control type of guy. She pulled herself up onto the bar stool, cursing the tight satin that was edging its way up her thighs. How the hell did other girls make this look easy?
“How did you know it was me?”
His gaze drifted up to her hair. “Flower in your hair.” She must have looked as confused as she felt because he paused with his wine pouring. “You said you’d put a flower in your hair so I’d know you.”
Ah yes, those last texts they’d exchanged.
‘You could wear a kiss-me-quick hat?’
‘Kiss-me-slow would be better.’ Shit, had she actually said that to a guy she’d never met?
‘Slow could be tricky, it might have to be hard and passionate.’
‘Soft, slow, then hard and demanding until I can taste how much you want me.’
‘Oh I want you and I want to taste more than your lips.’
‘What do you want to taste?’
‘Every last inch, I want to explore you inside and out.’
‘You need to make sure you’ve got the right girl first.’
‘Guess I’ll soon find out if I grab the wrong one.’
‘Ha. I’ll have a flower in my hair - floor you with my flower power.’
‘Mmm I sense deflowering ahead.’
An involuntary shiver set a tingle of goose bumps down her arms. Oh God, that seemed a lifetime ago now, and she’d been so, well so flirty. And she didn’t even know him.
Her hand went up instinctively to her hair; how on earth it had stayed put she didn’t know.
“It is looking a bit bedraggled.” He grinned. “So were you about to do a runner?”
He was cute as well as gorgeous. And he really didn’t look like a serial rapist, or the complete dork she’d expected him to be. This was bad because it messed up the plan. Seriously. But it was good, because well, it was just good. The steady brown gaze was unnerving, as well as nice.
Arghh… get a grip, Sam.
“I think this is a bit of a mistake. I don’t do dating really, not any kind of dating but especially not with men I don’t even know.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“I was going to text you actually. Tell you it was a mistake. Then I thought texting would be a bit lame and I should call you, because really I should be working late tonight.”
I really should because I’ve got an important interview tomorrow, one I can’t screw up, one that is serious journalism, not dating sexy men under false pretences.
“Oh.” He paused. “But?”
“But? Oh but. Well, the reception was a bit dodgy, so I was messing with my phone, which is why I lost balance, and…”
“Fell out of the coat stand.”
“Yup.” She really shouldn’t be doing this. Every instinct was screaming at her not to do it. It was supposed to be research, not real.
“So why did you change your mind about meeting up? Aren’t I what you expected?” He said it like he knew it wasn’t true, which she liked. False modesty in a man stank; there was nothing more pathetic than a man fishing for compliments. Ben obviously didn’t feel the need.
Right, this was the bit where she ‘fessed up. She should tell him. Now. Follow the plan, except the plan already needed a bit of a readjustment. It hadn’t worked from the start; the whole thing had been fun. She frowned, it was all wrong; cute messages, flirty texts, word association taken to a whole new level….
‘What goes with high heels?’ ‘No knickers.’
‘Summer breezes?’ ‘Short skirts.’
‘Cold showers?’ ‘Hot sex.’
‘Satin sheets?’ ‘You!’
Shit she’d wanted to, needed to, meet him. She’d even tweeted to the world that she’d met a cyber sex god. She had practically had sex with him, in a hands free kind of way. Remote Tantric sex if that was possible. They’d discussed all kinds of well, stuff. Even her satin bed sheets. Christ, had she even told him about those?
She bit her lip anxiously. Oh God, what had she gotten herself into? She was normally pretty reserved, but it had been so easy to chat online. Anonymous. This was probably how people got themselves murdered. Or shagged.
He was leaning closer, passing her a glass of the chilled Chablis they’d joked they would share one day. For some reason her fingers were trembling as she took the glass. Not much. Just enough for her to know. For him to know. His fingers brushed hers and her stomach clenched. They’d more than connected online, the heat had been building, but she’d expected disappointment. Thought it had just been clever words. She’d felt like she had known the faceless stranger all her life, except she’d only had one expectation on the looks front–that he’d be a letdown. The bubble would burst and that would be that.
“So you’ve not been here before?” He was cradling his wine glass, studying her intently with warm brown eyes, full-on attention.
“It’s not my normal type of place.” She laughed nervously, suddenly feeling dangerously out of her depth. Men didn’t concentrate on her like this–they let her keep it light and superficial.
“Hiding, or…” He paused mischievously. “Married?”
“Hell, no.” The question caught her off guard and the sharp words were out before she could stop them. “I mean.” She took a deep breath, “No.” A gulp of the icy wine slid down her throat, not quite cooling her down as much as she’d hoped it would. Humor fanned out from his brown eyes, wrinkling out in a way that made her throat dry. “Why? Do I look married?” He laughed easily and topped up her glass, which she was hanging on to for dear life.
“You look jumpy. Not married.” He took a sip of wine and leaned forward. “Jumpy and far sexier than I imagined.”
She decided to ignore the sexy bit and tried to give him her serious look. “I don’t usually meet strange men in bars. In fact I’ve never done it before, and I’ve got a list of friends I have to check in with every half an hour.”
“Sensible.” He raised his glass. “Let’s drink to that. Sensible, but hopefully not too sensible.”
She looked down at her glass. Empty. Now how the hell did that happen? “Yup, that sounds good to me, sensible but not too sensible.” She was talking gibberish, she knew she was. Not her normal educated journalist’s drivel, but total rubbish. It must be the drink. Not the somersaulting stomach that was setting her whole body on edge. And how the hell had she managed to edge so close to him? The heat of his thigh burned against hers, shock waves were travelling up her leg. She tried to edge away, caught her elbow on the bar and sent a splash of Chablis flying.
His finger was on her knee, wiping the drops away. Tasting it. She swallowed hard, trying to ignore the shiver running through her, all the way from top to bottom. Making her want to wriggle on the stool. God, he was sexy.
“I’ve been waiting to touch these knees.” He was near enough to touch, near enough to kiss. He smelled nice. Expensive. Pull yourself together. This is work. Breathe, dammit. Just breathe, nice slow breaths. Then say something. Sensible. Not flirty.
“So why did you do something
as daft as go online to meet someone?” You don’t look like you’d have trouble finding a date, no trouble at all. The words were out before she could stop them. Sensible, yeah right. But at least it was a distraction from his warm hand.
“I could ask you the same?” His tone was teasing.
“Ah… but I asked first.” She leaned forward. Probably giving him a good view of her cleavage from the way his gaze dipped, but for a second she didn’t care and give him his due, he didn’t linger down there long. He laughed and traced a lazy finger up her thigh.
“Oh boredom, needing to experiment, danger… take your pick. I like to have something a little unpredictable in life sometimes.” For a second, the progress of his hand faltered and the warm brown gaze clouded. “I suppose I just needed to try it.”
“Same here.” Tell him, tell him the little voice of conscience in her head urged. No, not yet, just let me enjoy this for a bit longer. Just one evening. “I wanted to see whether this cyber dating was all it’s cracked up to be. Guess I didn’t believe it was possible to meet someone you actually liked.”
He laughed then, waving a hand to order another bottle of wine. “Well, it’s probably pretty long odds. There’s lots of weirdos lurking. Which reminds me, have you checked in with the sisterhood or will the heavies rush in any minute to save you?”
“They’re probably at the door now watching.” She glanced round. It was busy, a popular place, one of the new ‘in places’ to be seen, which was why she hadn’t been here before. Andy hadn’t liked her going out with mates. And Andy hadn’t liked taking her out; he said he liked to spend intimate time in together. The lying bastard, or invisible man, as her flatmate called him. In fact, come to think of it, it surprised her now that he hadn’t insisted she put a rug over her head whenever they went out. Just in case they bumped into someone he knew. Or someone his conveniently forgotten wife knew. Or his wife.
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