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2

ADAM RAFAEL JARVIS, AJ to friends, Rafe to the world, pushed into the hotel lobby, his work for the day done. Thank God. He ran his fingers through his hair, weary to his bones. He’d been as gentle as he could with the staff at Phoenix Rising, but he’d given them the reality check they needed. No point ducking facts when they came with negative dollar signs. The pub’s circulation was in the toilet and the Man’s Man formula was its only hope.

He’d done his best to minimize the pain. There would be changes—more salespeople, fewer columnists, less news, more features—but if everyone went along with what he’d laid out, no one would lose a job.

He enjoyed working with the managing editor, Will Connell, a savvy guy and seasoned editor. Still, the staff’s pale faces and the tension in the air had drained him. He was getting soft in his old age. He was only thirty-five, but lately, that felt old.

He needed a drink, so he angled off to the bar for a quick Scotch to ease the tension of the day.

He sat at the end of the bar, where he could check out the clientele—an old reporter habit—and ordered a Scotch rocks.

The place was busy with conventioneers—identifiable by their plastic name badges—and locals from nearby offices, wearing business clothes, drawn by the happy-hour prices, no doubt. There were a few unattached women, he noticed—a cluster near the bar and a few in booths.

One woman in particular caught his eye. Dressed to kill in a clingy blue dress, she moved toward the restroom alcove with a determined stride, but wobbled in her heels, like a kid wearing her mother’s pumps. Driven, but shaky. Hmm.

Great curves, firm-looking breasts, her hair swept up in a style that invited a man’s hands, but as she passed, he saw it was held in place by a barrette in the shape of a cartoon kitty.

A hot babe with a child’s heart? Interesting contradiction. And a great ass, he saw, as she disappeared from view.

He turned his attention to a guy flirting sheepishly with three women at a booth. He was either married or their boss. Rafe would love to get close enough to eavesdrop and verify his hunch. He smiled at himself. More knee-jerk reporter stuff. He was obviously bored.

He took a drink, welcoming the smoky burn. He liked travel, liked visiting the other MM properties, liked making his mark on the magazines they snapped up. But the rest of his job was getting predictable and he was tired of charity events, stakeholder meetings and advertising revenue reports.

Strangely enough, he found he missed journalism. He’d been thinking a lot about his days at the Miami Tribune, where he’d been the lead reporter on an investigative project about funeral companies. He’d dug through piles of records, coaxed reluctant bureaucrats to spill, uncovered the kernel of the crime and then helped write the series that sparked an over-haul of the industry, new legislation and a Pulitzer nomination.

The work had been rewarding, but at the time, he hadn’t realized how much it meant to him. He’d been a restless guy in his twenties. A couple of feature assignments further raised his profile, and he’d gotten an offer at Man’s Man as a feature writer. The money was great and he liked the Bay area. Before long, he’d moved into editing, a new challenge, and then into management as a vice president.

Where he now felt stuck. He’d made his choices, though. The publisher counted on him. Maybe he was just going through a restless period that would pass.

He’d spend one more day in Phoenix, during which he’d go over details with Will and talk to the last writer—E.M. Samuels, the entertainment columnist, who was coming to the magazine offices for her check and mail.

He wasn’t looking forward to the meeting. The woman’s work epitomized what was wrong with the pub. She reported on food, wine and clubs with a sort of Town and Country flavor that was passé for the target demographic—and the times. Connell, who seemed protective of her, wanted to keep her on as a feature writer because she had a flair for words and lots of talent. Rafe was willing to offer her that option, but she would have to leave the column behind.

If only she wouldn’t cry. Her genteel writing made her seem the type who might. He hated making women cry. Which was why he steered clear of any female who even hinted at getting serious.

Actually, he’d steered clear of all women lately. He took another swallow of Scotch, not allowing himself to think about what that meant, focusing instead on the changes at Phoenix Rising.

Until Will could find someone with the right spice to take Em Samuels’s place, Rafe would have the “Man’s Man Gets Some” columnist, Zack Walker, do a few guest pieces.

In two days, he’d be back in the home office in San Francisco. Just in time for a big shareholders’ meeting, followed by a charity golf tournament and a week of work on a strategic business plan. Truly tedious and deadly dull.

Unlike the woman with the kitty-cat barrette, who’d emerged from the bathroom. She caught his gaze, smiled a smile that lit her eyes, then flew past, as if afraid he might speak to her.

He felt the urge to do that—just to get the scoop on that barrette—but she lighted at a table with a morose guy. No doubt the boyfriend, though how he could look so glum with a dish like her in his grasp was a mystery to Rafe.

She said something to the guy, who answered, then grinned, stood and hurried away. Had she sent him on an errand? She smiled him off, then her shoulders slumped. She’d been faking her cheer?

She got up from the booth, seemed to hesitate, then moved toward the rest rooms again. She didn’t even glance at Rafe this time—too busy fishing a phone out of her handbag. He shifted so he could watch her—and listen.

“Sara?” she said, standing in the alcove, one hand over her ear. “Except for the drinks, this was a complete bust…. What?… I did meet a guy. Yes. Except it turns out he just had a fight with his girlfriend…. Yeah. See what I mean? It’s hopeless… What do you think? Of course I helped him. Plus, I suggested a gift. Roses are on sale at that shop on Central, and if he puts them in a vase from the final clearance table at Osco’s, he’ll have a sixty-dollar gift for less than thirty…. What?… I was not sabotaging myself. The point is that I cannot do this…. I do too want to get laid!”

She covered her mouth, chagrined, and looked up—not in Rafe’s direction, thankfully, because she’d have seen him practically choke on his drink in reaction to her words.

Had her friend dared her to pick up a guy? And she’d zeroed in on a loser on the rebound? He shook his head, amused, and listened harder.

“I’m not the kind of woman men pick up,” she continued. “I’m the kind they ask for advice about their girlfriends. I’m going home. What else can I do?… I know…. I know what I said. Yes, I know it will be good for me.” She chewed her lip, listened to her friend. “Okay, okay. I’ll try one more guy.”

She hung up and walked slowly down the length of the bar toward her booth.

One more guy, huh? To have sex with? Hmm. Could it be him? The possibility gave Rafe a charge he hadn’t felt in a long time. The woman had a girl-next-door freshness with an undercurrent of hot babe he wouldn’t mind tapping into.

How to approach her? He noticed that a ballpoint pen lay on the floor beside her table. It was a place to start. He eased off the bar stool and headed her way. He’d get the story on that barrette, one way or another. And maybe a whole lot more.

“IS THIS YOURS?” THE HUNK who had smiled at Beth on her way back from the rest room extended a pen in her direction.

“Uh, no. Not mine. Maybe the waitress’s?” She pointed to where the woman stood.

He smiled down at her, confident and handsome, his eyes a fierce blue. “Mind if I wait for her?” He seemed to be teasing her.

With a jolt, she realized the pen and the waitress had been a conversational ploy. He wanted to join her. “Oh. Sure. Have a seat.” What luck.

He sat and reached to shake her hand. “I’m AJ.”

“Beth.” His grip was firm but not overwhelming, and his hand was extremely warm. That was the reason Sara’d had sex with Rick—high body temperature. So insane. But it’s just sex, Sara would say, not the meaning of life.

Beth watched as her new companion sized her up in a masculine way. Unsettling, but pleasant. Flattering, really.

There was an edge to his face—he had a square jaw, a straight, strong nose and an intense, almost hard expression—but his broad mouth, easy with a smile, softened the effect.

His most dramatic features were his eyes—blue and sharp-edged as shattered glass, but there was humor and intelligence in their depths and wry crinkles at the edges.

Just as the mutual appraisal began to seem unnaturally long, the waitress breezed over. “What can I get you?” she asked AJ, smiling down at him more broadly than she had with Beth.

“What are you drinking?” he asked, indicating Beth’s nearly empty martini glass.

“Tutti-Frutti Martooti,” she said, the name sounding more foolish than it had when she’d selected it. She’d come to Grins for its specialty drinks for her sidebar on the top ten froufrou cocktails. Oh, and to meet a man.

“Want another one?” AJ asked, looking doubtful.

“I should try something else.” She grabbed the drink menu. “I can’t decide between the Licorice Twist and the Hot Cha-Cha. Will you try one for me?”

“Sorry,” he said, lifting a brow as if she’d asked a crazy question. “Scotch rocks, please,” he said to the waitress as though they were old friends.

“You got it,” she said, winking at him. Brother. The woman was either aiming for a big tip or an after-shift date. She made it seem effortless.

“I’ll have the Licorice Twist,” Beth said.

“Sure.” The waitress wrote it down, then gave AJ a departing smile.

“The pen,” Beth said to AJ.

“I think you dropped this,” he said to the waitress, holding out the pen.

She accepted it, her fingers lingering on his. “Thanks for watching out for me.” So obvious.

“My pleasure,” AJ said, flirting back.

Some people could flirt as easily as breathe. Not Beth. Sara had given her tips, but they’d flown out of her brain the minute this man dropped into her lap—well, booth.

Her stomach tightened. She felt as though she was in over her head. She didn’t have to actually sleep with him, or anything. They would just chat, joke around, maybe get friendly enough to kiss. Just enough to make her column sparkle. Sara, of course, would go for sex. He had warm hands, after all. What about Em? What would Em do?

She was about to find out.

“So what brings you here?” AJ asked her, leaning closer on crossed arms, his scuffed leather bomber jacket creaking deliciously.

I’m picking up a man. You interested? “Just getting out…sampling some cocktails,” she said, lifting her empty Martooti glass.

“Sorry I couldn’t help. Tiki drinks threaten my masculinity.”

She smiled. “I can’t imagine anything doing that.” Not bad. Something was giving her the courage to stretch a bit—either the warmth of his expression or her determination to extract a column out of this at any cost.

“So I seem too macho to you?”

“No. Just very male.” The candlelight polished his blond hair and gleamed on the leather of his jacket. Underneath, he wore a V-neck silk knit shirt in a rich brick red. The contrast of leather and silk begged to be touched. So did the muscles swelling under the shirt, pulled taut by his position.

“I think I have a feminine side in here somewhere.” He pretended to pat his jacket pockets, then shrugged. “Hopefully, it’ll show up when I need it.”

“And when might that be?”

“When a woman wants to know what I’m feeling inside.” He shuddered in pretend dismay.

“I’ll try not to pry.”

He wasn’t really joking, she could tell. For all his friendliness, there was a guardedness about him. His piercing eyes, warm on her now, still managed to say, Don’t get close. “So what do you do, Beth?” he asked.

“I’m a technical writer.” That was one of her jobs, anyway. Sex columnist working on her first article would change the entire flavor of the encounter. She never revealed her identity when she reviewed venues, so why start now? With her nondescript appearance and subtle research techniques, she slipped in and out of hot spots like a ghost with taste.

“That sounds interesting.”

She laughed. “You’re too kind. It sounds boring, but it’s fascinating to me. I like the challenge of turning engineering jargon into something ordinary people can grasp.”

“Having once assembled a stereo system, I salute you. Do you have an engineering background?”

“Not really. My degree is in English, but I took lots of math and science.”

The waitress arrived with their drinks and after she left, AJ lifted his Scotch in a toast. “To tiki drinks and talking,” he said, studying her over his glass.

Something hot vibrated along her nerves, connecting between her legs, which she nervously crossed. They were only discussing cocktails and technical writing, but she felt on the brink of something thrilling. And scary.

Raising her Licorice Twist in its tall glass, she said, “To getting to know each other.” And more?

Only if she dared. And if he was interested, of course.

The proportions of anise and chocolate in her drink were off, and the liqueur was a cheap one, so the effect was sickeningly sweet without an alcohol bite. She mentally crossed Licorice Twist off her top ten list. That part of her column was moving along. For the rest of it, the important part, she should say something flirty, but she settled for the predictable. “And how about you? What brings you to Grins?”

“I’m staying here, in the hotel.”

“Where are you from?”

“San Francisco.”

“And you’re here on business?” He nodded and something flickered in his eyes, some discomfort, but she asked the next question anyway. “And what work do you do?”

“I’m a transition expert. I help, uh, reorganize companies, redeploy staff, all that.”

“Far more interesting than technical writing.”

“It hasn’t been much fun today and I actually dropped in here to stop thinking about it.” He lifted his glass as proof.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude.” She’d been practically grilling the man. Any second she’d ask for his social security number so she could run his prints.

“Let’s just stick with keeping each other company.” He tapped his drink against her glass and studied her again. “That’s what I find interesting.”

“Okay. Sure.” She had to look away, uncomfortable with how closely he was looking at her with those laser blues. But part of her liked it. The tingling between her legs intensified. She could see that if a woman went with certain impulses, she could end up in bed with a man like AJ with no effort at all. Some women, anyway.

“Actually, you caught my interest just walking across the room a while ago,” AJ said.

“Really?” That might be a line, but there was something so direct about AJ that she was sure there was more to it. He had looked intrigued when he’d caught her gaze near the rest rooms. “How so?”

“You seemed, I don’t know, contradictory.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re dressed very hot, but you’re unsteady in your heels and you’ve got a little-kid barrette in your hair.”

“Oh.” Her hand flew to touch the Hello Kitty clasp she’d borrowed from her neighbor’s daughter to hold her hair up. “I borrowed this. And I’m just getting used to new shoes.” The truth was that she never wore heels. AJ had seen right through to her inner librarian.

“Don’t apologize. The contradictions suit you.”

His scrutiny and flattery unnerved her, so she decided to joke away the feeling. “Excellent. I’m completely charmed. And what’s my line? ‘No one’s ever noticed that about me before’?”

“You’re catching on,” he said, but a flicker in his eyes told her she’d hurt his feelings.

“I’m sorry. I guess I’m not good at this.”

“At what?”

“You know. Snappy repartee, flirting, all that. I prefer to be more direct. I like people to say what they mean.”

“Me, too.”

“But you’re good at the other. You were great with the waitress, and that dropped-pen bit with me was very fresh.”

“I guess that’s a compliment?”

“Absolutely. I’m just interested in how this all works.”

“Why is that?”

She couldn’t exactly answer that, but she could come close. And get some data on the male point of view on dating. If she wasn’t going to sleep with the guy, she could at least interview him. “The thing is, I haven’t dated in a while. I’m kind of, well, rusty. So, I have questions about the whole process.”

“You haven’t dated for a while, huh?”

“No. I was in a relationship that ended. And I’ve been out of, um, circulation for quite a while.”

“Our loss, I would say. Speaking for men in general.”

“Thanks. So, can I ask you about how all this works?”

He seemed amused by her question. “It’s not like I’m an expert, but ask away.”

“Great.” She wiggled into her seat, feeling better wearing her reporter hat. “Here goes. How do you decide what to say first when you want to meet a woman?”

He shrugged. “It depends on the woman and the situation.”

“No tired lines, right, like, ‘Did it hurt much when you fell out of heaven’?”

“Hell, no. That’s for amateurs.” He winked, clearly teasing her. “The first line is just to break the ice. It should be funny or intriguing and certainly not sexual.”

“Too offensive, right?”

“Exactly. And the first line isn’t make-or-break. It’s the second line that counts. By the second line, you’ve got a conversation on your hands.”

“Oh, very true.” She wished she could flip on her tape recorder, or at least take notes. “So, how do you figure out what to talk about in that conversation?”

“It varies. Say I’m at the airport and I see a woman I want to get to know. I might ask her about the book she’s reading, or how she likes her laptop, whatever seems natural. Assuming I’m not intruding. You pick up the vibe if someone would rather enjoy her privacy than talk.”

“I see what you mean.” That would be her he was talking about—the woman giving off privacy vibes. Except even she might succumb to AJ’s overtures. Something about him made her feel comfortable, as if she’d known him for years, instead of moments.

“Okay, here’s something I’m curious about…” She paused, wondering if she dared ask the question flashing in her head. Oh, what the hell. “How often do these encounters lead to more? A date…and um…?”

“You mean sex?” He grinned again. “Depends on the chemistry, on how we both feel.” His smile faded and he became thoughtful. “Lately, not often, to tell you the truth. I’ve been traveling a lot and just haven’t been that interested.”

“I can imagine.” Darn. That meant tonight would be just talking. But that was good, too. She had something for her column, at least—“pickup lines and possibilities.” But would that be racy enough to dazzle Will and the VP at Man’s Man?

“Until I saw you and your kitty barrette, that is,” AJ said, startling her. “You’ve got me very interested.”

“I do? You are?” Little, fizzy sparklers began to sting her stomach. She took a big gulp of her drink to put them out. Except the drink was nastily sweet. She made a face.

“Try this.” AJ handed over his Scotch.

She took a swallow, but it was too much and too strong and she choked.

He leaned across the table to pat her back. “You okay? I didn’t mean to shock you.”

She nodded, gasping for air. “F-fine.”

“You like people to be direct, right? To say what they mean?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. I want to take you to bed, Beth.”

Her entire body went electric. She couldn’t believe her luck. She’d not only met a hot man in a bar, but also not fifteen minutes into the conversation, he’d asked her to sleep with him. This was way easier than even Sara had said. She must have stepped into some magic wish-fulfillment time warp. The Em Zone. Maybe the universe wanted her to keep her column.

“Beth?” AJ said. “You okay?”

“Yes. Very. I’m better than okay. So, you want to…?”

“Take you to bed? Very much. So, are you interested?” His eyes flared with heat.

Even though she hadn’t even dreamed she’d get this far, she’d come prepared. At Sara’s suggestion, she had a pre-pasted travel toothbrush and a selection of condoms—ribbed, flavored and ultrathin—in her handbag.

Even more amazing, she did want this man, with his intense eyes and easy smile, square jaw and warm hands. Her whole body lifted with the pleasurable possibility of being with him. It wasn’t because of her sex column or Sara’s challenge, either. She just wanted him. From somewhere deep inside, where she wasn’t nervous or embarrassed or clumsy. Where she knew what she wanted and why, and exactly how to get it.

But could she do it? It could be a disaster. Awkward and awful. Or it could be heaven.

“If this isn’t a good time, don’t feel pressured,” AJ said, seeming to pick up on her doubts. “I’m just telling you that I’m available. And you should know that you could crook your finger and get every unmarried guy in here—and some of the married ones—into your bed or anywhere else you wanted them.”

“That’s kind of you.” The man had managed to read and erase her doubts in one sentence. She wanted to kiss him in gratitude.

“It’s all true.”

How could she pass up a man like this? A chance like this? She wasn’t a coward or a quitter. She was going for it, dammit.

“Actually, AJ, I think I am interested. I would like to, um, go to, uh, bed with you. I think.” Her face flamed.

“You sound like you just accepted a dangerous assignment.” His eyes twinkled at her, inviting her to loosen up. “As always, Mr. Phelps, should you or any of your IM Force be caught or killed, the Secretary will disavow any knowledge of your actions.”

She laughed. “Like I said, I haven’t dated in a while. And meeting a man like this and…pursuing something so fast…well…it’s just…”

“I’m out of practice, too, if that makes you feel better.”

Out of practice? She’d never done it. But she wasn’t about to admit that. At least not right off the bat. “So, good then. We’re together on this.” She bit her lip. “So I guess now we should go up to your room?”

AJ covered both her hands with his, his hot palms suffusing her with warmth, and met her gaze. “Let’s finish our drinks, Beth, and talk a little more, then see what we feel like.”

“But you think we’ll feel like going upstairs?” She liked to have a plan.

He considered her question in mock seriousness. “Maybe we’d better be certain. So we don’t waste our time.”

He moved out of his seat and came to sit beside her on the banquette. He took her face in his palms and kissed her. She was stunned. Motionless with the thrill of it. His lips were gentle and he took his time, touching the seam of her lips with the tip of his tongue in a friendly coax. I’m here with more if you want.

She moved her tongue to barely touch his, relishing the taste and softness. Her sex began a steady pulse that made her want to squirm. A shudder passed through her body and she closed her eyes. This man understood the pleasures of a good kiss.

AJ slid his fingers into the hair at the sides of her head and turned her face at a different angle. She breathed in his cologne—something elegant that seemed natural on him.

After a delicious minute of sliding lips, touching tongues and exchanging hot breath, AJ released her. “Well?” he asked. “Think we’re going to want to go upstairs later?”

She slowly opened her eyes. Was he kidding? She was melting like a frozen margarita on a tongue. “Uhhuh,” she managed.

“Maybe we should be positive,” he said and leaned in for another kiss. There was more suction this time. His lips tugged and pulled at hers, massaging them with a hypnotic, back-and-forth rhythm. He moved with care, as if he sensed her skittishness, but his breath rasped in her ears, so she knew he was as aroused as she was.

Her entire body seemed to warm and loosen, as if she’d been frozen solid and was now thawing out all over this man, dripping onto the banquette and the floor beneath them.

She moved closer, wanting to crawl into his lap, her mind hazy, but she bumped the table. The rattle of glasses reminded her that they were in a crowded bar, making a spectacle of themselves. She broke off the kiss and looked into his blue eyes, which gleamed with heat. “Let’s go upstairs,” she said in a rush of lust.

But he might assume too much. “For privacy, I mean. So we can do this some more.” Maybe they’d go further, maybe they wouldn’t. All she knew was that here was her column, her man, her moment. Em’s moment.

AJ climbed out of the booth and gave her his hand to help her slide out. She wobbled a little—a combination of arousal and high heels—and he pulled her tight against his body. “You okay? You’re not acting faint just to make me feel manly, are you? Because of that tiki drink remark?”

“It’s just the heels,” she said, not wanting to let on how weak-kneed he’d made her. She felt safe with him. She trusted her instincts on that, though her self-defense training gave her extra confidence if those instincts proved off-kilter.

She knew her only danger was from her own nerves. Sara did this kind of thing all the time. So could Em.

They walked across the lobby and in seconds were riding the elevator to his room. Hotel bars were the perfect place to meet men if you tended to jitter, she realized. Just say the word and you were in their room. No time for second thoughts.

They swooshed upward, alone in the elevator, AJ’s eyes hot on her body. His hands slid up and down her sides, bunching up her dress, exposing her thigh to the air. Everywhere he touched went liquid with heat. Out of the elevator, she Jell-O-walked her way to his room, grateful for his arm around her waist keeping her upright.

He key-carded the door and guided her inside. The room was impersonally elegant. Cherry wood faux antiques and naturalist watercolors surrounded the centerpiece of the room—a huge, pillow-top sleigh bed, where they would soon be engaged in, gulp, intimacy. No, sex. Beth got intimate. Em had sex.

AJ led her to the bed in question, where she sat, nervously running her fingers across its quilted expanse. He went to turn on the stand-up lamp, then flung open the night blind and sheers to reveal a sparkling view of the city. He tossed off his jacket, then returned to help her to her feet and into his arms, pleasurable anticipation on his face.

Her courage failed her for a second. What if he expected her to be good? Her purse had gotten trapped between their chests, and that reminded her of what it held. “I, um, have protection. Three kinds, depending on your preference—ultrathin, ribbed or flavored.”

His eyes twinkled. “Let’s make that lady’s choice.”

“Oh. Right. Okay.” She’d decided to do this in a haze of lust, but now she’d have to face the awkward newness, the fact they were strangers. All she knew was that he kissed well.

“I’m glad you’re prepared,” AJ said, clearly trying to calm her. “The use-by date is long expired on whatever I have in my toiletry kit.” He studied her face. “It’s just us here, Beth. We can stop anytime. You’re in charge.”

“Right. Good,” she said, releasing a shuddery breath. “I have to use the bathroom.”

Mostly, she needed to calm down, figure out how she’d gone from barely being able to listen to Sara describe an orgasm to waltzing into a stranger’s hotel room ready to leap into the sack with him.

Had her column made her bold? Or was it something about AJ? Or was Em just ready to step out? Em might be ready, but the woman who’d just ducked into the hotel bathroom was Beth all the way.