by Cara Summers
“Yes.” Relief streamed through her. He wasn’t going to press her about the list.
“You’ve already selected a lover then?”
“No,” she said as a knock sounded at the door and Zoë McNamara, her research assistant, peeked in.
“I was hoping I would catch you,” Zoë said.
“Can you hold for a minute?” Sierra said into the phone.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” her assistant said.
“You haven’t.” As she gestured her into the office, Sierra studied the small brunette in front of her. In terms of looks, she and Zoë were polar opposites. Her assistant was a short, slender woman with brown hair that she wore pulled back into a braid. But Sierra could see herself in Zoë’s total dedication to her studies and to the project they were working on. Zoë wore reading glasses with large dark-framed lenses that made her look like a total, academic nerd—exactly what Sierra had been for the last eight years.
She was determined to change that.
“What is it, Zoë?”
“I came for the reports you wanted me to look over.”
“I haven’t gotten to them yet,” Sierra said. They were somewhere in the pile of work on her desk.
Zoë reached into one of the pockets in her baggy sweater. “You left this on my desk.”
Sierra stared down at the blue note card that contained the questions she needed for her speed dates. How could she have possibly left it on Zoë’s desk? If she’d gone to the Blue Pepper without them, the evening would have been a complete waste.
“Thank you.” Sierra reached for the cards.
Zoë hesitated, then cleared her throat. “Is anything wrong? I mean…you never forget things. And I’ve never known you to fall behind on your work.”
“Maybe I’ve been working too hard,” Sierra said. But she was pretty sure that the reason for her distraction was right now on the other end of her cell phone. The thought made her frown.
“Well, then…” Stuffing her hands in her pockets, Zoë backed toward the door and then turned and scurried through it.
Sierra sighed. Looking at Zoë was too much like looking into a mirror, and she was tired of the image.
As she lifted the phone to her ear, she took a quick glance at her watch. “Hi. Look, I have to go. I’m late. And I hate to be late.” She grabbed her canvas bag and slipped the blue note card into it.
“You’d better take your umbrella. I’d say it’s going to start to rain in DC within the next twenty minutes or so.”
As if to confirm his prediction, a roll of thunder sounded. Sierra glanced out the window and saw the sky was growing steadily darker. Where had she put her umbrella? Not in her bottom drawer where it should be. Not on her bookshelves. Turning, in a complete circle, she spotted it leaning in the corner next to the door. Tucking her cell phone under her ear, she scooped the umbrella up and stuffed it under her arm.
“So who’s the ‘sort of’ date with?”
“I don’t know.” After stepping into the hallway, she set the canvas bag and umbrella down so she could lock her door. “It’s sort of a blind date.”
“Why in hell does a woman who looks like you have to go on a blind date?”
There was such astonishment in his voice that Sierra stopped at the head of the stairs. “Thank you. I think that’s a compliment.”
“You don’t have to thank me for speaking the truth. But blind dates can be dangerous. What do you know about this guy?”
Sierra smiled as she reached the first landing. “You sound like my sister Natalie. She’s a cop. And it isn’t just one guy I’m going to meet tonight. I’m going on a sort of group blind date. Have you ever heard of speed dating?”
“No.”
Sierra stepped out of the Whitman Building and cut across the quad in the direction of P Street. “It’s kind of like musical chairs. I’m going to meet and talk with a series of men. I get ten minutes with each one. Then someone blows a whistle and we each move on.”
“So you’ve got ten minutes to make your impression?”
“Yes.” Sierra gave the sky a wary glance.
“Sounds like you gotta judge a lot of books by their covers.”
“True. But this process eliminates much of the pressure of a regular blind date.”
“And you haven’t had to spend a whole evening with a dud as you might on a blind date.”
“Something like that.”
“Do you do this a lot?”
“This is my first time. I’ve observed the ritual as part of my research on a book I’m writing, and I’ve come up with a few questions to utilize the time efficiently. But I’m a little nervous.”
“Why don’t you practice on me?”
“What?” Sierra nearly stumbled as she turned onto P Street.
“You know. Give the questions a dry run. I’m stuck in a traffic jam that shows no sign of clearing, and I’ve got an alarm on my watch. Let me just set the time for ten minutes. There. No, wait. What kind of music do you like?”
Sierra couldn’t prevent a laugh. “What does that have to do with—?”
“I’m not there in person, so I want to set the mood. Just name your favorite kind of music.”
“You’re serious.”
“The seconds are ticking away. We only have nine and a half minutes left.”
“Okay. Okay. I like Bach.” This was ridiculous. When an oncoming pedestrian bumped her elbow, Sierra moved to the edge of the sidewalk, out of the stream of traffic.
“That’s it? Bach? I have to come up with Bach on a car radio?”
“No.” She grinned. “I also like Sinatra, Count Basie, the Beatles, the Beach—”
“Stop right there. The Beatles I can handle. They were having a retrospective on one of these stations. Hold on.”
Thunder rumbled overhead again, and Sierra edged closer to the wall of a building. It occurred to her that she was having a ridiculous conversation with a stranger she’d kissed in a bar, and she was enjoying it. The sound of “I Wanna Hold Your Hand” thrummed in her ear.
“Can you hear it?”
Sierra very nearly giggled. “Yes.”
“Okay. I’m resetting my watch for the full ten minutes.”
Sierra glanced at her own watch. If she gave him the full amount of time, she ran the risk of being late.
“What do we do first?” he asked.
Sierra drew in a deep breath as she pulled out the blue card she’d written her notes on. “We introduce ourselves and shake hands. I’m Sierra Gibbs, and you’re…?”
“Ryder Kane.”
“Oh.”
“You don’t like my name.”
“No. That’s not it at all. I just remembered that I didn’t even know your name until now. But I do like it. It…suits you.”
“Thanks. I think.”
“You don’t have to thank me for speaking the truth.”
His laugh began deep in his throat and blended into the building crescendo that the Beatles were providing in the background. “Touché. I like you, Dr. Gibbs.”
“I like you, too. I don’t understand it.” To her surprise, Sierra found herself relaxing and leaning against the wall. She didn’t understand that either. She hardly ever relaxed around men. The first raindrops fell, and a few stores down, a young woman gathered up the pieces of colored chalk her little girl had used to make a drawing on the sidewalk.
“No doubt, it’s my charm,” Ryder said.
Sierra giggled. “No doubt.” The raindrops began to fall harder, and she backed into the recessed doorway of a shop entrance where the owner had already put up a closed sign. “We don’t even know each other.”
“Well, that’s the purpose of a speed date, right? So do you like movies?”
“Love them.”
“What’s your favorite movie?”
“I’m supposed to be asking the questions,” Sierra said.
“Humor me. I’m cu
rious.”
“Casablanca.”
“That’s my favorite too. What’s number two on your list?”
“Raiders of the Lost Ark—the whole trilogy.”
“Good choice,” Ryder said. “George Lucas is a great filmmaker. He made my top ten. And you can’t beat those films for rip-roaring adventure. What’s in your number-three slot?”
“Hitchcock. Psycho, Rear Window, North by Northwest, To Catch a Thief.”
“That’s amazing. They’re all number two on my list. Now for the big question. Why do you love to watch movies?”
Sierra bit back a sigh. “That’s easy. I love movies because they allow me to do all the things that I can’t do in real life. How about you?”
“I like them because they end happily. That’s something that you can’t always get in real life either.”
“True. I’m a fan of happy endings too.”
“Seems we have something in common, Doc. What about books?”
“Is it my turn to ask questions yet?” Sierra asked dryly.
Ryder chuckled. “Sure. Go ahead.”
Sierra glanced down at her blue card. “If you were a musical instrument, which would you choose to be—a guitar, a keyboard or drums?”
“That’s easy. Depending on my mood, I’d be all three.”
A little arrow of heat shot through Sierra even as she turned over the card. According to her notes, a man who favored a guitar was not only very good with his fingers, but very attentive to details. A master at foreplay. The man who preferred a keyboard would also be clever with his hands and very skilled at improvising. He’d provide a lot of fun in bed. The drummer would be more demanding. And he’d provide earthy, down-and-dirty sex. As her knees went weak, Sierra leaned against the wall of the building. Was it possible for a man to embody all three styles of lovemaking?
“Earth to Sierra,” Ryder said. “How’d I do on that one?”
“Fi—” Sierra cleared her throat and tried again. “Fine. You did just fine.”
“So, tell me—what did you learn from that question?”
“Learn?” Thunder rumbled overhead and Sierra backed further into the shop entranceway.
“C’mon, Doc. This is some kind of psychological test, right? I say guitar and you slip me into a neat little category.”
Sierra blinked. Ryder Kane’s easy, laid-back manner hid a very sharp mind. “Sort of. Is that why you said you could be all three? Because you don’t like to be categorized?”
“Nope. I said all three because it’s the truth. Now it’s my turn. Which one of those instruments would you be?”
“You’re not supposed to ask that yet. I have more questions.”
“Aw, c’mon. Bend the rules, Doc. I’m curious. Would you be a guitar, a keyboard or a set of drums? Wait. Give me a minute. Let’s see if I can guess.”
Sierra glanced up from the note card and saw that the rain was pouring down in earnest now. Pedestrians were huddled beneath umbrellas and hurrying to their destinations, and traffic on the street had slowed. She really should go. Her plan had been to arrive at the Blue Pepper early enough to review her notes and run through her introduction in her head. But the urgency she usually felt about arriving early had washed away as easily as the traces of chalk on the sidewalk nearby.
“You’re definitely not drums,” he said.
“No.” Sierra nearly smiled at the idea. According to her notes, “drums” were aggressive, loved fast, hard sex and could last all night. She had no problem imagining Ryder Kane being all of those things. Doing all of those things. To her. The images tumbling into her mind sent rays of electricity right to her core.
“I’m betting on the guitar over the keyboard,” he finally said. “But it’s a close call. Am I right?”
Sierra tried to gather her scattered thoughts.
“Are you still there, Doc?”
Sierra moistened lips that had gone as dry as her throat. “The truth is….” Pausing, she cleared her throat. “I have trouble imagining myself as any one of the three. Of course, I’m aware of what each instrument represents.”
“So it’s hard to give an unbiased answer.”
“Exactly.” Sierra found herself relaxing a bit. It occurred to her that she’d never felt this comfortable talking to a man before. On the street, rain was pouring down in sheets. Pedestrian traffic had cleared, and her position in the recessed entryway made her feel as if she were alone with Ryder.
“What are the three instruments an indication of?”
“They’re supposed to suggest what your style is as a lover.”
“Ah. Well, the only true way to discover what style a person has as a lover is to experience it. And even then, the person’s style might change depending on the two people involved and the particular moment.”
There was a pause while neither of them said anything, and the Beatles sang merrily about loving me, do.
“I’ve given a lot of thought to what particular style I’d like to use with you, Doc. You interested?”
More images flashed through Sierra’s head—each one of them some variation of Ryder Kane, his naked limbs tangled with hers.
“I’ll take that as a yes. First, I’d want to kiss you again. You have the most amazing mouth, and I bet there are flavors that I haven’t yet discovered.”
Sierra pressed fingers to her lips.
“Then I’d want to touch you—all over—for a very long time. Your hair first. I wanted to run my hands through it the moment it came loose.”
An image formed in her mind of Ryder doing just that.
“Then there’s a spot right in the hollow of your throat where your skin is so delicate that I can see your pulse push against the skin. Touch it for me, Sierra.”
She already had. The frantic beat of it against her fingers sent ribbons of heat radiating through her entire body.
“And then I’d want to run my fingers over the skin right above your breasts and slowly around and beneath them. Do you like to have your breasts touched, Sierra?”
“I…you…” Words were eluding her, blocked out by the images in her mind and the sensations streaming through her. But her answer seemed to satisfy him, because he went on. And on. And she went on imagining what it would feel like if he traced little patterns between her breasts and on her stomach.
She pressed her hand to her waist. Her body was on fire one second and icy the next. Then he was tracing patterns on the back of her knee, on the inside of her thigh.
She sighed as explosions of pleasure shot across her nerve endings. Her eyes closed. Her bones began to soften. In some far corner of her mind, she knew where she was and that an occasional person still passed by with an umbrella tipped against the pouring rain. But she was trapped by Ryder’s words in an alternate reality.
“And then, I’d have to touch you inside. I wouldn’t be able to help myself. I’d have to slip my fingers inside you.”
It was a good thing that she was leaning against the door of the store because she felt dizzy. And the fire burning in her center had become so intense it was a wonder she didn’t melt.
“I’ve been fantasizing about what your eyes will look like when I make you climax.”
She was fantasizing, too, and Sierra felt herself slipping. In another few seconds, she would be sitting on the street. She struggled to get a grip.
“Imagine that my fingers are inside of you right now, Sierra. Can you feel them?”
She could imagine it all right, and the sensations that sprang from the image were so real that she couldn’t suppress a moan.
“I’m going to start moving them slowly—in and out. Can you feel that?”
She felt such heat—huge waves of it—and every muscle in her body was tightening, reaching for that promise of pleasure…. In an effort to remain standing, she pressed her legs tightly together.
“Would you like me to go deeper?”
“Yes.” She could almost feel the pressure of his fingers—right where the
tension was coiled tightest at the center of her body. She wanted—no, she needed—to be touched right there, at that farthest point.
“I’m going deeper, Sierra.”
His voice was so low, and in response to the words, every muscle in her body strained toward the climax, which built and built until the release shot through her in one, long widening wave of pleasure that went on and on.
Reality trickled back in bits and pieces. Her breath was coming in short gasps, and she was still standing, thanks to the solid door at her back. She felt…weak, but…wonderful.
A car honked on the street. Another answered, and then a third. Sierra opened her eyes to see a man roll down the window of his car and wave a fist in the air at the vehicle in front of him. “You idiot!”
The man in the car blocking the intersection opened his window and made a rude gesture.
As the discussion on the street increased in volume, Sierra became very much aware of her surroundings. She was standing in the doorway of a shop in the middle of Georgetown and she’d just…
“Sierra?”
She’d just…he’d just… Some of the heat in her body flooded her cheeks. “You…I…we just had phone sex.”
“Just trying to make the most efficient use of my ten minutes. How’d I do?”
Phone sex. She’d never in her life done anything quite that…wild before. And it certainly hadn’t been in her five-step plan. But then she’d known that this man would be hard to follow a plan with. And there was a part of her that had enjoyed every minute of it.
She wanted to laugh. “You’re…” She paused to search for the right word.
Just then, she heard an alarm sound.
“Our time’s up. As a speed date, how would you rate me, Doc? And remember that I have a very fragile ego.”
“Right. I’ll bet it’s about as fragile as a steel-rein-forced door.”
Ryder laughed. “Good one. If you were here, you could see me pulling the imaginary arrow out of my heart.”
As the picture formed in her mind, she smiled—until she glanced down at the blue card she’d dropped. Stooping to snatch it up, she said, “I really do have to go.”
“Remember me during those speed dates.”
