by Aimee Carson
A breeze blew the fronds of a palm tree, shifting shadows across Cutter’s face. “So how was the Viagra-totin’ Mike?” One lid cracked open as he peered up at her. “Prince Charming material?”
The memory of last night swooped in on her, and defeat tried to rise like the undead. Jessica flopped back, stretching out beside him and staring up at the blue sky. Why did her every date seem destined for disaster lately? “More like the Prince of Darkness.”
“The Ozzy Osbourne, bite-off-the-heads-of-bats kind?”
“No. A depressing the-end-of-the-world-is-near and I-can’t-wait-for-it-to-happen kind.”
“Not a happy guy, huh?”
She rolled onto her side and propped her head on her hand, looking across at him, his gaze now fully on hers. “Let’s put it this way. He spent the whole evening talking about his ex-wife. And every time he veered off to rehash his breakup—yet again—he started crying.” Jessica rubbed her brow with the tips of her fingers. She should have spotted the signs in their earlier emails. “And we’re not talking silent sniffles. They were outright sobs that drew the attention of every table around us.”
His lips twitched, yet no grin appeared. But there was a definite light in Cutter’s sea-green eyes, and Jessica wondered what ocean depth the shade represented.
Certainly nothing deep.
The crinkle of his brow betrayed his amusement. “I could see that coming a mile away.” He sent her an innocent look that was so blatantly not Cutter it was ridiculous. “At least he was in touch with his feelings.”
She flashed him a you’re-so-not-funny stab of her eyes. “In touch is good,” she said dryly. “Enmeshed is bad.”
“Apparently your method for picking your dates is flawed.”
If there was one thing she was an expert on, it was dating. She lifted a brow. “I hardly think yours is better.”
“You don’t even know what it is.”
“Sure I do. If you like what you see, you go for it.”
As he lay on his towel looking up at her, his expression was patently amused, as if waiting for the punch line. Of course he’d see nothing wrong with his procedure. She, however, refused to be ruled by lust. She’d heard too many stories from her customers about that potentially ugly blunder. She’d made plenty of mistakes on her own, letting her self-centered libido run the show would be worse.
And signing one set of divorce papers was enough—never again, thank you very much. The murky shadow of sadness peeked from behind her usual positive thoughts, and she shoved it back.
If she stuck to her plan, everything would be fine.
“You are reactive.” Her tone left no doubt to her meaning. “However I am proactive. I don’t accept dates with men unless I know we’re both on the same page.” His eyebrows crept higher, and she could sense his sarcasm coming. She brushed her hair from her cheek. “Ask any online dating service and they’ll tell you finding your match is a numbers game. I choose from the database very carefully.”
One corner of his lips curled. “Must get tiring kissing all those frogs.”
After yesterday, it seemed important to retrace that line in the sand between them. Or, given her previous lapse in good judgment, maybe construct an impossible-to-scale wall. Jessica shook her head. “I don’t engage in a physical relationship until well after I’ve established a firm emotional connection.”
His look started out puzzled and then landed on disbelief. “You’re kidding.”
Something in his tone made her defensive. “No. And I don’t initiate email conversations until I’ve ensured a man meets my profile.”
After a brief pause—and more disbelief—he said, “Seriously?” Cutter rolled onto his side to mirror her position, elbow on his towel, head propped on his hand.
The proximity of those beautiful shoreline eyes was disturbing, and she buried her trembling fingers in the white sand between them, sifting some through her fingers.
His mouth tap-danced around a grin yet never engaged, but his eyes were clearly amused. “Profiling? Isn’t that what the FBI uses to track down criminals?”
He certainly seemed entertained by her process. But since her divorce, she’d honed it until it sparkled like a diamond in the sun.
When she refused to dignify his comment with a response, he finally went on. “So you mean to tell me your every relationship begins with the future in mind?” he said. “You never just kick up your heels and enjoy the moment?”
“Cutter...” Giving up on the glares, Jessica tried the feigning-patience route. “I’m not like you. I have emotions. Feelings. Sex is an intimacy that should start with caring. And I don’t want to waste my life with men who are inappropriate.”
“This is why you’re still single. You’re too picky.”
She lifted her gaze skyward. “I’m discerning.” She sent him a pointed look. “It’s also useful in weeding out the men who are only interested in one thing.”
“Sunshine,” he said softly. “They’re all interested in that one thing.”
Heat filled her belly and rubbed between her legs, steaming up her insides, fogging her brain and making it difficult to breathe. If relationships were built on animal attraction, Cutter would be the man for her. But they weren’t. And he wasn’t.
Because sex appeal didn’t have staying power, nor was it willing to engage in an intimacy that was a foundation for lasting commitment.
And she would keep rephrasing that reality until her body understood the message.
Unfortunately, the look on his face was almost as mesmerizing as the well-defined muscles of his chest, and she was getting pulled deeper into his gaze. All her good intentions about the need for reality were getting lost in the heat coursing through her veins.
Cutter’s phone beeped, breaking the spell, and he reached to pull his cellular from his pants pocket. As Jessica gave her body a stern lecture on the rules, Cutter scanned the screen before glancing up at her. “Too Hot says when two people share a bond, that’s all the spark they need.” Without a word of discussion, Cutter began to type in his reply.
A waft of concern filled her. “What are you typing?”
He kept his eyes on the screen. “Just my response.”
Her anxiety expanded. “Which is?”
A faint lift of his lips appeared, his fingers moving across the keys. “Don’t worry. I’m just giving her that honesty she values so highly.”
Her frown was instantaneous. “Let me see.” Jessica reached for the phone, but he held it just out of her reach. “Cutter.” Her voice was sharp now as she wildly sought the phone high in the air. “What are you saying to her?”
The rare sighting of a grin so wide it split his face left her staring in awe, and the sexy rumble of his voice curled her toes. “Just that I hope the kind of bond she’s talking about involves whips, chains and handcuffs.”
A squeak of dismay escaped her throat. Eyes hurling daggers, Jessica lunged for the phone, and Cutter rolled onto his back with a gravelly chuckle, holding the cellular well out of her reach. His laugh died when she lost her balance and landed with an unladylike thump on his chest.
As she sprawled atop his torso, her heart lodged so high in her throat it blocked all hope for air. Cutter looked up at her, and Jessica’s sensory input narrowed to his body beneath her hands, the thud of his heart beneath her palm. The crisp hair. Hard muscle. Hot skin.
The pause was torture. “You know what your problem is?” he said, staring up at her.
Outside of enjoying the cynical man’s company?
Or craving his rare smile?
Or the mind-bending, soul-consuming lust that was pumping in her veins this very moment?
Her head swam, and her voice came out as a croak. “What’s my problem?”
“You need a guy’s perspective while p
rofiling your potential dates.”
Jessica gaped at Cutter as she pulsed with an energy that threatened to turn her very existence inside out. A total body inversion. She was fantasizing about the two of them having sex on the beach—and not the alcoholic-drink kind—and he was giving her dating advice?
The impassive face was paired with an amused glint in his eyes. “But this is your lucky day.”
Lucky.
The carnal potential to the words didn’t bear thinking about.
“How so?” she asked, afraid of his answer.
Another rarely dispensed grin broke on his face. “I’ve decided to help you choose your next date.”
* * *
The next day, Cutter parked his car in the driveway of Jessica’s quaint, Cape Cod–style home. Immaculately maintained, painted a bright yellow with white shutters, it sported a cozy front porch. The cheerfulness exuding from the house was the perfect reflection of its owner, and Cutter settled back in his seat, amused.
Yesterday, when Jessica had landed on his chest, it had required every scrap of willpower he possessed not to act on the need pounding his body. And it was pretty easy to make out that the feeling was mutual. The rich, hot-chocolaty eyes brimmed with lust. But it was the simultaneous horror in her expression that stopped his raging impulse to roll her over and take what he needed, to give her what he knew she desired.
Because she didn’t want to want him.
Staring at the brightly painted, sunny house, Cutter was less than amused now. When he had sex, it was with women who wanted him as much as he did them—no, actually more. He’d never pursued a woman in his life. And he wasn’t about to start now. The last time he’d chased somebody he’d been a seven-year-old kid in hot pursuit as his father had driven away for good. Cutter gripped the gearshift as the unwelcome memory resurfaced.
The day had started out perfect. With his dad’s visits growing farther and farther apart, Cutter had been waiting for months to see him. The temperature was warm, the cotton candy was plentiful and the raceway was packed with fans. It was every boy’s ultimate fantasy.
Until his father started buying him everything he’d asked for, and Cutter had known something was up. When the race was over, his dad pulled up in front of his mom’s house...and finally dropped the bomb. He was moving out of town.
And Cutter had instinctively known he’d never see him again.
Of course, his dad had denied it. And no amount of begging, pleading or tears would change the man’s mind. As he watched him drive away, Cutter panicked and took off, chasing the car down the street. And as the taillights disappeared around the corner, Cutter was too winded to keep going.
A car honked somewhere in Jessica’s neighborhood, and Cutter’s fingers tightened on the gearshift. Damn, he hated that memory. He hated his father for leaving, but he hated himself the most for begging him to stay.
He forced himself to ease his grip and stared at Jessica’s door. He was certain they would eventually engage in a hot and heavy affair. But he sure as hell refused to push. He wanted her so ready for him that she hunted him down and demanded he take her. He wanted her actions to be deliberate. Well thought out.
Not an impulsive, spur-of-the-moment decision that would be easy to dismiss as a passing hormonal fluke.
He craved Jessica more than a caffeine addict craved a hit of double espresso at 4:00 a.m. And the spark between them was powerful. Any date she went on now was sure to feel washed-out in comparison to the boiling beaker of chemistry they shared.
So offering some helpful advice about who to meet next in her never-ending line of possible Mr. Rights was a safe course of action. The more time she spent with the soft, touchy-feely, let’s-talk-about-our-feelings specimens she chose, the quicker she’d succumb to the sensual vortex pulling them closer.
Pleased with his plan, Cutter climbed out of his car just as a very sleek Italian sports car pulled up to the curb. A black-haired man in a dark suit stepped out, but Cutter ignored him until, a moment later, they were strolling beside each other up the walkway to Jessica’s house.
Maybe he was too late to choose her next victim.
“Are you Jessica’s date for the evening?” Cutter asked.
The man shot Cutter an assessing look. “I’m her ex.” He stuck out a hand but kept on walking. “Steve Brice.”
The ex-husband she owed. The one she went out on a limb for.
Nothing about Steve Brice screamed touchy-feely. Business, yes. Sophisticated, most definitely. But certainly not soft.
Cutter warily returned the shake. “Cutter Thompson.”
“I recognized you from the paper.” Long and lean, Steve cast him a guarded look. “Are you here to take Jess out?” he said, as if sniffing out Cutter’s intent.
Why the look? Was he jealous of Jessica dating? Cutter wasn’t here to sleep with her—not yet, anyway—and he could take the guy, but he didn’t relish the idea of duking it out with Jessica’s ex on her front lawn over a misconception.
They climbed, side by side, up the front steps. “I’m here to help her select the perfect next date,” Cutter said.
“Yeah?” The laugh from Jessica’s ex was neither expected nor malicious. More of a you-have-no-idea-what-you’re-in-for kind of chuckle. Jessica opened the door, and Steve’s voice dropped to an amused mutter. “Good luck with that.”
* * *
Fifteen minutes later, a jazz song played softly in the background, Jessica’s laptop rested on the coffee table and Cutter sat on her overstuffed couch, waiting in the living room. The soft colors—muted lavenders and greens—and the presence of enough wicker furniture to fill a Pottery Barn made Cutter feel like a diesel truck in a race with a pretty Mini Cooper.
“I opened a sauvignon blanc if you’re interested.” Jessica emerged from the kitchen with a bottle of wine and two wineglasses. “Chilled to a perfect fifty degrees.”
Steve followed with two bottles of beer, one of them half-empty. “You struck me as more of a beer guy.” He held out the full bottle. “I don’t know the temperature, but it’s cold.”
Amused, Cutter gratefully accepted the man’s offer. “Cold is good.”
Up until now their interactions had been relatively guarded. And when the talk had turned to the new gym Steve’s foundation had funded at the local Boys and Girls Club, Cutter had left them in the kitchen to finish their discussion about its grand opening party. Apparently, they were attending it together.
Steve nodded at the photograph of the thirty-year-old Hispanic man displayed on the laptop. “Did you choose the doctor or the lawyer?” He sat on the loveseat across from Cutter.
Jessica took the spot next to Cutter on the couch, and he ignored the instant sense of male satisfaction. “Lawyer,” he said. Steve winced, and Cutter bit back the smile. “Environmental law,” Cutter added, just to be clear. “He’s been a champion for protecting the Everglades. Won the coveted Green Goals award just last year.” His lips twitched. “So he’s a do-gooder, too.”
Steve gave a nod. “Good choice.” The man’s eyes danced merrily as he sipped his beer. “She does have a soft spot for the altruistic ones.”
Like her ex—a man famous for his charitable work. Which brought up a whole host of questions Cutter had been mulling over since yesterday. Jessica’s take-no-prisoners attitude toward dating was impressive, and it led him to assume she was either an over-the-top organizational freak...or she’d been massively mucked about during her marriage.
After meeting Steve, Cutter’s curiosity about their married life had grown a thousandfold. Just because the man seemed decent didn’t mean he was husband material, but Steve obviously cared about Jessica and wanted to see her happy. So what had done their relationship in?
The thought was cut short when Steve gestured towards the computer. “I told her a lon
g time ago I’d help find the right guy.”
Jessica shot her ex a dry look. “There is something inherently wrong with husband number one choosing my dates.”
Cutter eyed her over his beer. “Definitely not romantic.”
“No.” Jessica’s gaze cut to him. “It isn’t.” She paused, and then her face grew curious. “And what do you have against the doctor, anyway?”
“His paragraph stated he’d worked in Angola, Afghanistan, India and Somalia,” Cutter said.
She stared at him, as if waiting for more. When he didn’t go on, she said, “So he likes to help people, too. What’s wrong with that?”
Steve answered for him. “Difficulty focusing.”
“Trouble with commitment,” Cutter added.
“Probably has a girl in every port,” Steve went on.
Jessica poured her wine, picked it up and shifted her gaze between the two men, eyeing them both warily. “Do I get to participate in this discussion at all?”
Despite the fact that Steve had responded too, her gaze settled on Cutter. Another intensely satisfying moment. These two might have been married, they might still be friends, but Jessica’s full attention remained on Cutter.
As their gazes remained locked, the tension in the room stepped up a notch, yesterday’s conflict, today’s goal—and the delicious potential always stirring between the two of them—all rolled into one. The room vibrated with an energy that should have left the walls shaking.
“You can participate in the final decision,” Cutter said. “But if the Prince of Darkness is any indication, I think your track record speaks for itself.” As an afterthought, Cutter threw a glance at Steve. “Present company being the exception, of course.” After all, the man had saved him from being stuck with a glass of perfectly chilled sauvignon blanc.
Steve raised his beer in a silent salute of thanks, but Jessica kept her eyes on Cutter as she went on with a hint of defiance. “There is nothing wrong with my track record.”
Cutter hiked a brow. “Not if you like weepy men.”
