Bad Boys Down Under (15 page)
Read Bad Boys Down Under Online
Authors: Nancy Warren
He walked back and she returned to the video camera, hoping her hands weren't shaking.
Steve stared right at her and said the words. And then he winked and she felt that wink right down to her toes. Sure, it was corny. But it didn't matter. When Steve Jackson winked at a woman, she felt winked at. More, she felt important, sexy, cherished.
The room was so silent she heard the whir of the videotape and the sound of the traffic down on Market Street, and even the quiet hum of the air conditioning system.
“That was great, Steve. I think we've got enough for today.”
“Will you go out with me tonight?” Steve asked, the lips that had just kissed her moving to form the words.
And reality snapped back.
He thought she was a party girl. What on earth was she going to do with him? She wasn't a casual woman who partied with anyone she felt like, who was winked at by gorgeous men on a regular basis.
She was a twenty-four-year-old professional who had far too much in common with a spinster twice her age for her own peace of mind.
Sonia's borrowed feathers couldn't have given a more false impression of the kind of bird she really was.
On the other hand, Steve didn't know that. And he wasn't going to be around long enough for it to matter. She might not be the most experienced girl on the block, but she knew there was sex in the air. A man like Steve Jackson didn't normally look at a woman like her twice, but he'd gotten it into his head that she was his kind of girl, and for a couple of weeks, she'd like to see what that might be like.
So she blinked, took a deep breath and a big fat gamble that she could be the bird Sonia's feathers proclaimed herâat least for a few weeks.
“Yes,” she said, with an assumed casualness that impressed her. “I'd like that.”
“Great.” His smile was so warm you could roast marshmallows.
“I've got, um, some things to do first.”
“No worries. I'll look around a bit. I was pretty tired yesterday, so I didn't see as much as I wanted.”
“Right. Of course. How's the jet lag today?” He'd looked so good she hadn't thought to ask.
“Oh, right as rain. What time do you want me to come and fetch you?”
Oh, no.
The last thing she wanted was him coming to her apartment. It was as far from party girl central as you could find. In fact, if she was honest with herself, it looked more like an office than a home, with her computer set up in the living room and the vast numbers of books and videos stacked on Ikea shelves pretty much giving away the truth about her social life.
The last thing she wanted was him coming to her apartment. It was as far from party girl central as you could find. In fact, if she was honest with herself, it looked more like an office than a home, with her computer set up in the living room and the vast numbers of books and videos stacked on Ikea shelves pretty much giving away the truth about her social life.
“I'll come to you. It's easier.”
“Right. I'll leave it to you where we go, shall I? I don't know the nightlife here yet.”
And he thought she did?
“Absolutely. Leave it all to me.”
Chapter Five
The minute she'd seen him inside the elevator and the doors had shut she dropped her I-know-what-I'm-doing act, turned, and sprinted for Sonia.
“Help!” she cried when she arrived panting at her friend's desk.
“Is the building on fire?” Sonia looked slightly alarmed and was already reaching for the desk drawer in which she kept her bag.
“What? No. The building's fine. Something much more important happened.” She paused to catch her breath. “Steve Jackson asked me out.”
“But this is good news. Why are you looking all in a panic?”
“Because I
am
all in a panic. I don't know what to wear, where to take him.” She looked at the indefinably sexy air Sonia emitted along with a whiff of spicy perfume. “I don't know how to be you.”
am
all in a panic. I don't know what to wear, where to take him.” She looked at the indefinably sexy air Sonia emitted along with a whiff of spicy perfume. “I don't know how to be you.”
“Well, chica, it's not me he's asking for a date, and believe me, I batted my eyes every time he went by.” She shrugged her bare shoulders and the straps of today's Latin sexpot dress rode up, hoisting her impressive cleavage along with them. “He likes you.”
For some reason, this made Lise feel worse instead of better. If Steve Jackson chose her over someone as sexy and voluptuous as Sonia, he must think she was even wilder. She was never going to be able to pull this date thing off.
She grabbed her stomach. “Maalox. Must have Maalox.”
“Would you just chill? You're a bag of nerves. If you ask me, an affair with a sexy hunk is the best thing for you.”
“But I don't know where to take him. I hate clubs and parties. They're too noisy. I don't know how to be wild and free. I've been serious and focused my whole life,” she wailed.
“And look where it's got you. Pain relievers and antacids are your two major food groups. You have way too much stress in your life. And sex,” Sonia reminded her in a sexy Latino teacher's voice, “is the best stress reliever I know.”
“If I'm not too stressed to actually have sex.”
“There is that.” Sonia sank back into her chair, deep in thought. “Okay,” she said. “Here's what you do. We go shopping, we buy you something you wouldn't wear to the office, we get hair and nails and makeup done.”
Lise glanced at her watch. “I hope you don't mean today. I couldn't possibly go today. I have a ton of work.”
“Name me a day when you don't have a ton of work.” She waved a hand toward Lise's office, where she could swear she heard the hum of her computer scolding her. “It will still be here tomorrow.”
Sonia was right. Intellectually, Lise knew it. She was too focused on work, too stressed about making sure everything went perfectly on each campaign. And when she'd finished the campaign, she only continued to stress about the sales of each product she'd helped advertise and market: Had their branding worked? Was the media reflecting good or bad news?
If the product did well, she worried it was a fluke and sales would soon drop, and if it didn't do wellâthen she had to move up from the over-the-counter stomach stuff to something her doctor prescribed. And even her doctor had taken to lecturing her about her stress level.
Fair enough, she could try casually dating a handsome surfer and see if it did anything for her stress level. And if it meant a few hours of preparation on her appearance, then she'd take them. After all, she told herself, it wasn't like she was cheating the company of her time. Steve Jackson was a critical part of one of the most exciting and ambitious campaigns she'd ever worked on. The hours she took off this afternoon she could make up by using their dinnertime to talk about his role in promoting Crane. “Okay. Then what?”
“You take him for dinner. You do those business dinners all the time. It's familiar territory.”
Already she was feeling calmer. Of course she could do dinner; she wined and dined clients with reasonable frequency. “Okay. Dinner. Then what?”
“Then you suggest a nightcap back at his hotel. There's a nice bar on the top floor. Lots of fun people go there.”
“Really? Do you?”
“Sure. Then you decide if you want to take it down a few floors to his place. Easy as pie.”
“I make terrible pie.” Lise was fairly certain that was deeply symbolic of how easy a time she was going to have with this dating-possibly-leading-to-an-affair business.
Still, it wasn't like she was a recluse or a nun. She'd just been on a temporary hiatus from men, fun, and sex for a few months or so. Around twelve months, in fact. Which brought to mind another problem.
“I'm not sure I remember how to have sex.”
“It will come back to you,” Sonia said with all the confidence of someone who's never gone without longer than a week. “You remember about safe sex?”
Lise rolled her eyes. “Yes.”
“You take your own condoms and you use them.”
Great. In between shopping for clothes for the woman she wished she was, getting her hair, makeup, and nails done, she had to squeeze in a trip to the Condom Shack.
Surely dinner with one man wasn't worth so much effort.
Then she viewed the final footage of Steve's commercial run-through and her kneecaps melted. Oh, yeah. He was worth it.
So Lise found herself several hours later standing outside Steve's suite in the only dress she and Sonia had been able to compromise on. One that was sexy enough for Sonia and acceptable to her: a soft, pink-rose wrap dress with geometric flowers on it. The neck was a vee, but not too big of a vee. However, the silky material clung to her shape and, as Sonia had helpfully pointed out, one pull of the tie at her waist and she was out of there.
The shoes were pink and strappy, with a heel that had her almost pitching forward. A ridiculous little bag, not even big enough for her palm pilot or cell phone, held her wallet, lipstick, breath mints, her house keys, and, tucked at the bottom, three brand new condoms.
She took a deep breath, reminded herself this was her chance to live life to its fullest for a few weeksânothing terrible could go wrong in such a short time. Even if he dumped her tomorrowâwhich she personally considered a pretty sure betâshe'd have had the experience of hopefully sleeping with the sexiest man she'd ever met.
She tapped on the door, wished she'd stuck at least a roll of Tums in her bag when Sonia wasn't looking, and waited. It seemed like a long time went by and nothing happened.
Maybe he hadn't heard her. She rapped again a little louder.
The door opened, and there was Steve in a hotel robe.
She blinked.
After taking in the glimpse of a chest so perfectly muscled that she almost whimpered, and musing that one tug on his robe would have him naked in exactly the same amount of time it would take her dress to come off, she realized that she might be a temporary party girl but she wasn't a call girl.
Had she misunderstood his request so completely?
Had he misjudged her so totally?
“What . . . ?” she began, still standing in the hallway feeling her anticipation of the evening drain away.
He blushed. The sexiest man she'd ever seen in her life blushed and looked uncertain. “I don't know what to wear,” he said. “Can you give me a hand?”
Suddenly she felt better than she'd felt in a couple of hours. Steve unsure made her feel a little steadier on her feet. Of course it hadn't occurred to her that a man who spent most of his life on a surfboard would have a tough time knowing how to dress for dinner. “Sure,” she said.
Ha
âlike she had a clue.
Ha
âlike she had a clue.
She followed him in and could see through the open bedroom door that there were clothes all over. It looked like he'd had a tantrum and tossed them around the place.
“What do you usually wear at home when you go out?” she asked. Sydney couldn't be that different from San Francisco, could it?
“My jeans, my boots, and a T-shirt.”
She felt happier by the second. “Then wear that.”
“But I want to look good for you.”
No worries there, as he might say. “You'll be fine. It's better to be comfortable.”
He snorted. “Are you comfy in those shoes?”
“No.” Emphatically, no. She was certain she could already feel a nascent corn on her baby toe, which was being squished hideously into the triangular toepiece of the shoes.
“Well, then. I can't wear jeans when you're all spiffy.”
An idea that Sonia would absolutely hate occurred to her. The hell with Sonia. Part of Lise Atwater's job was to keep Steve happy and satisfied. If he wanted to wear jeans out to dinner, she'd have to accommodate him. Sonia might think her idea was terrible, but her toes were loving it. “I've got some workout stuff in the car. Shorts and T-shirt and sneakers.” And thank goodness everything was actually clean since it had been so long since she'd had time to work out.
He looked so relieved it was her turn to laugh. “I'll run down and grab them. Be right back.”
So she found herself shucking the new dress within an hour of putting it onâand not for the reason she'd envisioned.
Oh, well. Her hair and makeup still looked good, she decided as she emerged from the opulent main bathroom of the suite.
He eyed her from top to bottom and she could have sworn his eyes warmed more than they had when she was wearing the fancy dress.
Steve wore those jeans he loved so much and a T-shirt advertising something with a lot of Xs that appeared to be a beer.
“If you're going to advertise a product, you should be wearing Crane casuals,” she said.
He turned to her with an expression as though he'd just eaten something moldy. “Have you seen those things? If I want to look like a tropical fruit, I'll put a pineapple on my head.”
She tried not to smirk. “They aren't all that bright. And the focus groups suggest they'll be amazingly popular when we launch,” she wheedled.
“Do you mind if we don't talk about business tonight? I know it seems like we ought to, but I'd quite like a night off.”
“I'm sorry.” When had this happened to her that she'd become so obsessed with a job? “I get a little carried away sometimes. Wear your beer shirt.”
“Right. Fancy a drink before we go?”
Well, she did and she didn't. It was so nice to be here alone with him and so scary to be here alone with him. Besides, he'd never been to the States before; he was probably dying for some nightlife. She had to think
party people
or she was going to blow this affair before it got off the ground.
party people
or she was going to blow this affair before it got off the ground.
“No thanks. Maybe when we come back later.” Realizing what she'd said, she blushed scarlet. “I meant . . .”
He chuckled and, walking toward her, looped an arm around her shoulders that was friendly and yet . . . not. She had a strong feeling he had the same ideas about later as she did. “Let's go get some food.”
As they headed for the door, she was looking anywhere except into the open bedroom door at the huge bed he'd miraculously emptied of clothes. A man didn't bother cleaning his bedroom unless. . .
A book caught her attention on the coffee table. She recognized the cover. Blinked, and blinked again. What was Plato's
Republic
doing on Steve Jackson's coffee table? Even stranger, what was it doing with a San Francisco tourist leaflet sticking out as a bookmark?
Republic
doing on Steve Jackson's coffee table? Even stranger, what was it doing with a San Francisco tourist leaflet sticking out as a bookmark?
Was it possible her surfer boy read philosophy?
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