Gone With the Nerd

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  Not only was that the tackiest and most insensitive move on the planet; it would change Zoe's green light to red immediately. If he so much as spoke Kristen's name, Zoe's green light would change. She had a pretty active conscience herself.

  Therefore, he couldn't make that phone call, for a bunch of reasons. What then? He pictured himself doing the noble thing and gently declining the invitation Zoe was making with those flushed cheeks and parted lips. If he could turn away, then he could break up with Kristen later this week knowing he'd done everything in order.

  Normally he preferred doing everything in order. He preferred a balanced approach to life. But when he weighed sex with Zoe against denying himself that chance, maybe forever, so that he'd have a clear conscience when he told Kirsten it was over... well, sex with Zoe tipped the scales. It practically broke the scales, to be honest.

  He was about to sin. He was about to demonstrate that he was fallible, that when presented with a temptation of this magnitude, he couldn't resist. For such a momentous decision he would have expected thunder and lightning or at least a dramatic wind to blow across the porch, signaling that life as he knew it was about to change forever.

  Instead, the moment was incredibly simple. No fanfare whatsoever. He stood, held out his hand, and said, "Let's go in."

  Zoe put her hand in his, and that was when he realized she was trembling.

  He began to shake, too, as he started toward the door. The porch was wide, yet he walked across it as if balancing on a tightrope. This was far from being a done deal. One mistake in judgment, one awkward moment, and she could change her mind. He knew that as surely as he knew that right now she was all systems go.

  The mood breaker might not even be his fault. They had three telephones that could ring. If some idiot was playing tricks on them, another prank could interrupt them at any time. Margo could show up with more news about Kristen. Luanne might decide she couldn't wait until tomorrow morning to come back. Bigfoot could make a surprise daytime run through the forest.

  The potential for sexual disaster was huge, and that wasn't even counting his own likelihood of screwing up. He had a decent record of making women happy in the bedroom, but because he was so eager to make this particular woman happy, he could easily do something stupid. In fact, the odds of him doing something stupid were way lower than the odds that he'd ever be in this situation in the first place. Way lower.

  First of all, he had to decide the door issue. Hand in hand, they couldn't go through together or they'd get stuck. He'd read somewhere that under stress, people's bodies tended to swell. They could get stuck in the door and stay that way until Luanne showed up in the morning. Getting stuck in the door would pretty much rule out sex.

  But how to proceed? A man was supposed to let the woman go through a door ahead of him, but that put Zoe in the lead, taking him by the hand through the door. That wasn't the optimal dynamic.

  So he led the way through the door, because he also had to figure out which bed to use. Hers had more room, but his was closer to the condoms. He couldn't imagine leading her down the hall, making a side trip to his room for condoms, and then setting off hand in hand for her room. Inelegant—too much like running errands.

  So they'd have to use his bed, short and narrow though it might be. He'd work around that restriction and hope he wouldn't fall off the bed at some critical point in the action. This might have been the easiest seduction in his sexual history, but the follow-through was turning out to be damned complicated.

  Then, as they started down the hall, she squeezed his hand.

  He stopped breathing, sure that she was about to call it off. Well, if she did that, he'd back her up against the wall and kiss her until she changed her mind again. He'd come too close to give up that easily.

  Glancing down at her, he braced himself for a battle. "What?"

  She smiled, and her eyes were still that encouraging deep blue. "Which room?"

  Thank God he'd figured that one out. "Mine."

  "Mine's bigger."

  "I know, but I have the—"

  "I'll meet you in my room."

  His breath came out in a rush. "Sure." His voice cracked, but at least he'd been able to speak. With his tongue feeling about twice its normal size, any speech at all was amazing. He wanted her way too much. Even knowing that, he couldn't seem to get any perspective on the matter.

  Reluctantly he released her hand so she could continue on down the hall without him. Maybe letting go of her had been a bad move, though. Maybe he should have insisted on using his bed so he could keep that connection. He watched her start to go into her room and wondered if he'd blown it.

  Then she turned, and of course he was still standing motionless as if someone had glued his shoes to the floor. He fully expected her next words to be Forget it. Instead he noticed something absolutely incredible. On the way down the hall she had unbuttoned her blouse.

  It hung open, giving him a generous view of what lay beneath—heaven cradled gently in stretchy cotton. His erection, which had been making its presence known for the last few minutes, snapped immediately to attention.

  She rested one hand against the door frame, which made the blouse gape open a tantalizing bit more. Then she took off her glasses and glanced at him, her color high. "Don't be long," she said.

  And it dawned on him that he was wasting time. While he'd stood there like a kid playing a game of statues, she'd been making good progress, closing the distance to the party bed and starting on the undressing. He, however, had achieved nothing but a hard-on. If he didn't correct his tardiness, she might dump him for dawdling.

  Charging into his bedroom, he wrenched open the closet door and pulled his suitcase down from the top shelf so fast that it hit him on the head. He didn't even flinch. Unfortunately, his coordination was off and it took two tries before he successfully unzipped the pouch containing the box of condoms.

  Once he had the box in hand, he started to race out of the room again. Then a shred of reason floated through his fevered brain and brought him up short. Coordination was important for the activity he was about to engage in, so he'd better slow down and get a better grasp on his reactions.

  Damn, he was usually much smoother than this. The thought of having sex with Zoe Tarleton had him rattled. Sure, he needed to hurry down to that bedroom, but he didn't want to slide through the door like Cosmo Kramer.

  Taking several deep breaths, he finally had the oxygen his brain required to think rationally about the box of condoms in his hand. Taking the entire box down might send the wrong signal, not to mention that it might remind Zoe of when she'd first seen it. He'd rather she forget all about the origination of the condoms.

  Easy enough to fix. Opening the box, he took out one and stuck it in his pocket. He could always come back for more if the first time went well, but arriving in her bedroom with a boxful, or even a handful, was presumptuous. If they should be unfortunate enough to have bad sex they might be able to laugh about it, as he'd said, but he wouldn't be needing any more condoms. Leftovers would be embarrassing.

  All right. He was as ready as he'd ever be. Now-or-never time had arrived. Improbable though it still seemed to him, he was about to enter the bedroom of one of the world's great beauties. He prayed he'd make a good impression.

  Heart thudding, he took the long walk from his room to hers. In reality it was only about fifteen feet, but it felt like fifteen miles. He wondered if she'd be in bed yet and, if so, whether she'd have the covers pulled up to her chin. If she had the covers up to her chin, would she still be wearing underwear?

  Or maybe... His brain shut down as he stepped through the door and found her stretched on the bed, sans covers, sans clothes, sans everything except an allover tan and a come-hither smile. And she was waiting for him.

  Zoe barely made it to the bed before she heard Flynn coming down the hall. When he walked in and found her there, the expression on his face was worth all her efforts to strip before he arrived. Her dra
matic training had prompted her to do it, although she'd never tried such a bold move.

  Flynn looked like a man who had accidentally grabbed hold of a high-voltage wire, the ones the electric companies warned people not to touch. His eyes widened and his body shook. She even imagined his hair stood up a little. As for the action going on below his slender silver belt buckle—very gratifying.

  She should probably say something, something sultry, but she couldn't think what. Frantically she tried to remember a movie scene she could draw from. A snatch of dialogue came to her, and she used it.

  She propped herself up on one elbow. "I decided to get the party started."

  He swallowed. "So I see."

  "You, uh, might want to do the same." If he undressed himself, then he wouldn't find out that she was shaking and might fumble the job. Having him do it would preserve her image as the cool babe.

  He nodded, reached into his shirt pocket, and pulled out his PDA.

  "You have an appointment?"

  "No." He seemed to be having trouble concentrating on what he was doing, though. He kept glancing from her to the PDA in his hand. "I need a place ... a place to put it."

  She was incredibly touched. He really cherished that PDA she'd given him. "On the chair, maybe." A ratty wicker chair next to him was piled high with her clothes, but there was room for his PDA and his clothes on top. She hadn't had time to neaten up the room. She hoped he wasn't turned off by the mess.

  Judging by the jut of his penis under his slacks, he wasn't even slightly turned off. He laid the PDA on top of her clothes and started on the buttons of his shirt. He kept his gaze firmly on her as he progressed. "You look. . ." He paused to clear his throat. "Incredible."

  "Thank you. I work out." It occurred to her that the actors she'd dated mostly took it for granted that the women in their bed would have a toned body. Flynn didn't seem to take anything for granted.

  "I've ... uh ... been to gyms before," he said. "Nobody I've seen . .. looks like that." He took off his shirt. Underneath that was a regulation white T-shirt.

  By observation Zoe had figured out there would be a T-shirt layer to get through, and she waited for him to peel it off over his head. Instead he reached for the buckle of his belt.

  Most Hollywood types could hardly wait to show off their manly pecs. But Flynn seemed to be getting undressed in the same order he got dressed—outer clothes, then inner. But once his belt was unbuckled, he stopped and frowned.

  "Is something wrong?"

  "Shoes." He leaned over and glanced down at his feet, as if he'd forgotten he had any.

  She could see how that could happen, given the bulge that currently blocked his view. Of course he wore laceups. He'd probably have to sit down somewhere to take them off, and he couldn't very well sit on the chair piled with clothes and his precious PDA.

  Desperate to solve his problem, she patted the bed beside her. "You can sit here."

  He shook his head. "If I come over there, I'm liable to climb right in there with you, shoes and all." Instead he dropped to one knee and untied the first shoe.

  Seeing him like that had the oddest impact on her. Flynn would be the kind of man who would get on his knee to propose. And the thought of him doing that with another woman made her heart turn over. She'd thought lust was the only emotion driving her. Maybe not.

  He managed to get his shoes off without too much delay. When he stood and reached for his belt buckle, her pulse rate picked up. Then he stopped again and put one hand in his pocket. That's when she realized that he hadn't come into the room holding a box of condoms. Obviously he'd transferred some to his pocket and he wanted them available.

  "I can take those," she said.

  "I only brought one."

  "One?" Disappointment washed over her.

  "I thought that might be my limit." His gaze grew hotter the longer he looked at her. "I can get more later."

  "Good." She swallowed. "That's good."

  "In the meantime..." He seemed uncertain what to do with the condom.

  "Throw it to me. I'll keep it."

  He tossed it over and somehow she managed to catch it. Then she had to decide what to do with it. The logical place seemed to be tucked between her thighs, so she put it there.

  He stared at the foil packet pressed between her thighs as he unbuckled his belt and pulled it through the loops. She would have expected him to move faster, but he seemed mesmerized by her. After dropping the belt on the chair, he unfastened his slacks.

  Now they were getting somewhere. She licked her lips as he pulled down the zipper and stepped out of his slacks. Oo-whee, the man sure filled out his tighty whities. If Flynn would be willing to model the retro-styled briefs, they could well come back into fashion. Zoe's heart beat faster with every second she gazed upon that form-fitting cotton.

  He still wore his black socks, reminding her of some sleazy videos she'd seen, which only served to crank up her response. The black-sock-wearing guys in those videos always had an impressive package.

  Next came his glasses. Once he'd taken those off and set them on top of his slacks on the chair, she was treated to a whole new version of Flynn. The only other time she'd seen him without his glasses he'd been a few inches from her face.

  Now she had the whole man to gape at, and she visually devoured every bit of his long, lean body. Flynn with his glasses was sexy in a Wall Streetish sort of way. But Flynn without his glasses was . . . amazing.

  The socks came off next. At last he reached for the back of his T-shirt, pulling it up and over his head. His dark hair came out mussed, and she loved that look. Then he peeled the shirt from his arms and tossed it on the chair.

  Predictably, he combed his fingers through his hair, but that didn't completely tame it. He still looked sufficiently rumpled to be sexy as hell, plus now she had a full view of his chest.

  Yum. Exactly the right amount of hair and the perfect muscle definition to make the view interesting. The more clothes Flynn took off, the less he looked like her lawyer.

  And now for the main event. He shoved his thumbs under the waistband of his briefs. She held her breath and said nothing, although inside she was yelling like a customer at Chippendales: Take it off; take it off; take it off.

  But he didn't. Instead he paused, let go of the waistband, and started toward the bed.

  "But... but you're not done."

  He stopped moving. "It seemed safer to leave them on." "I'm not sure I want safe."

  "I thought women weren't visually stimulated. All the research says that."

  She gulped and gathered her courage. "Visually stimulate me, Flynn. Please."

  "If you say so." He shoved down his briefs.

  She had no idea what happened to the briefs after that. He might have picked them up off the floor and put them on the chair. He might have left them lying there. He might have grabbed the butane lighter and set fire to them.

  She didn't notice. All her attention was fixed on the impressive equipment he'd unveiled. If the lawyer trade didn't work out for Flynn, he could have a fine career in the X-rated film industry. The camera would love him.

  Someone let out a soft sigh. A moment later she figured out it was her. Sighs were understandable, when faced with such an exciting prospect. In all the years she'd been going to Flynn's office for legal consultation, she'd never suspected the treasure he'd kept hidden behind his desk.

  He cleared his throat. "I... uh ... guess the research was wrong. You look... very visually stimulated."

  She raised her hot gaze to his, lust making her bold. "Damned straight. Now let's get this thing done."

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Flynn was trying not to feel intimidated, but from the moment he'd stepped into Zoe's bedroom and found her naked, he'd worried that he might not be experienced enough for her. Maybe naked wasn't such a big deal for her. After all, she'd acted in nude scenes, so lying here in her birthday suit with a man she'd never had sex with wasn't so unusual.

/>   But her willingness to display her body had driven him to a frenzy of lust that might make him clumsy. Or too quick. If only he hadn't opened his big mouth and mentioned the concept of a forty-five-minute session. The way he felt right now, three minutes would be a miracle of self-control.

  He'd thought leaving on his briefs would be of some help, but she hadn't wanted that. And whatever Zoe wanted she would get if he had anything to do with it. But he had to be careful not to overstimulate himself. He needed to maintain a certain amount of objectivity.

  Oh, sure. Just look at those breasts, so plump, so golden, and tipped with raspberry nipples. He knew what her nipples felt like in his mouth. He wanted more of that, but he was afraid even the slightest nipple nuzzle would make him come.

  Only one option seemed open if he planned to keep his forty-five-minute timetable intact. There was a small clock on the bedside table. She could see it easily if she wanted to keep track.

  Too bad he hadn't thrown his briefs over it. The trick was to keep her so busy she wouldn't think to look at the clock. But first he'd need to remove that condom she held between her thighs.

  Leaning down, he braced one hand beside her head as he lowered his mouth to hers. She tasted so good—too good. He could come just from kissing that full mouth and feeling her tongue slide against his.

  She leaned back on the pillow and cupped his head in both hands. He became so involved in kissing her that he forgot his goal of getting the condom and putting it safely on the bedside table before he instituted his plan. Instead he found himself stroking her breast, which felt like velvet and would taste like honey. He remembered that.

  But he mustn't taste. Yet how he wanted to. Besides, that was the logical order of things, the natural progression, to kiss her lips and her breasts before moving south. He had to forget about order. Forty-five minutes was a long time. Maybe if—