Just One Kiss (7 page)

“Okay.” Jack flicked the top off, still watching her. “Another time maybe.”

“Sure.” She took a step back, then turned and disappeared through the apartment’s front door.

“Brrrrr.” Jack hugged himself. “A certain chill every time she’s in the room.”

Bonnie’s eyebrow lifted. “Except when she was looking at you, Jack.”

“Ha.” He dropped into his chair for a
GQ
pose, hand on his knee, head tilted sexily to one side. “Can you blame her? Seriously?”

The room erupted into groans and snorts of derision.

“What is her problem?” Bonnie asked. “I can’t believe Caroline stuck us with her when she moved. What was she thinking?”

“She was thinking she had to sell her business fast, and this woman was buying,” Seth said.

“Aw, come on, Bonnie,” Angela protested. “We barely know her.”

“Whose fault is that?”

Angela shrugged. “Maybe she’s really shy.”

“Maybe she’s really stuck up,” Bonnie said.

“See, this is why I worry about you.” Jack pointed to Angela with his beer. “You always look for the best in everyone, which makes you a target for creeps and liars if you’re not careful.”

“Like my ex, who was both?”

“I want to hear more about this Daniel guy,” Bonnie said. “How did you leave it? Are you going out or not?”

“We are.”

Jack snorted. “Whaddaya know, he managed to suspend his monastic vows, ju-u-ust this once.”

“And the other forty times,” Seth said.

Angela grinned slyly. “I told him I wasn’t asking him out on a date necessarily, that I was hoping to get my bakery in to his company.”

“Oh, ho! She’s playing her own game. I like that.” Seth laughed, a white-toothed guffaw that turned his fierce masculinity into endearing goofiness.

“Actually it is sort of true,” Angela said. “I could do worse than cater for Slatewood.”

“How did he react?” Bonnie asked.

“He said maybe we could get together sometime and brainstorm how to make that happen.” Angela waggled her eyebrows suggestively.

“Woo-hoo!” Bonnie jumped off the couch again and did a victory dance. “This is fabulous.”

“What, like over coffee or something?” Jack asked.

Angela’s triumphant grin could not be held back any longer. “Dinner.”

“Yes!” Bonnie pumped her fist. “You’re in.”

Seth and Jack exchanged glances. “This is not good.”

“Aw guys, come on.” Bonnie flopped back down on the middle cushion, just about sitting next to Seth.

“You watch.” Seth shifted his position casually, turning toward Angela, now close enough to touch Bonnie’s shoulder with his bent arm along the back of the couch. “He’ll spend the whole meal acting like he can’t believe what a great time he’s having. He’ll order cocktails, then wine and make sure you have plenty. At the end of the date, he’ll suggest a nightcap. Then on your doorstep, an I-can’t-help-myself kiss and ‘Oh, my God, Angela, this is like nothing I’ve ever felt before,’ while he’s counting on you to be thinking, ‘Oh, gosh, I’m so
special
to him, what we have is really
special,
’ and bingo, he gets what he was after the whole time.”

“God, you are disgusting.” Bonnie shoved at him. “Don’t listen to him, Angela. It’s great news you’re going. I’m proud of you for putting yourself out there.”

“I guess. Even if things don’t work out it’s worth getting a shot at Slatewood. I really want to move the new line of pastries.”

“Good for you.” Jack grinned. “If you can’t get laid, at least get hired.”

“Seriously?” Bonnie smacked her forehead. “Seriously, Jack?”

Angela shook her head, laughing. “Are you guys this horrible with other women?”

“Of course not.” Seth was grinning. “We’re trying to
sleep
with
them
.”

“What he said.” Jack’s smile came on full force, warming his eyes. Bonnie and Angela dissolved into giggles. Who could do anything else when Jack and Seth turned on the man-charm? Angela was sure they regularly dropped women in their tracks.

She also knew Jack was incredibly solid, one of the really good guys in spite of his tendency to strut, especially when he and Seth tried to outdo each other with the Cro-Magnon routine. But underneath he had a sensitive, vulnerable side he rarely showed anyone. She knew it was there. Bonnie, too. But Angela would guess few other women had glimpsed anything but his tough-man act.

Seth on the other hand…Seth was a really, really nice guy who needed to grow up and get a clue. Given that he was pushing twenty-seven, like the rest of them, Angela wasn’t laying great odds that would happen.

She looked meaningfully at Bonnie, noticing again that she looked too thin, too strained. “The
best
part is that I’m really breaking away from the mess of getting over Tom. Now I can get out there and find someone who won’t treat me like crap, who won’t play mind games by toying with other women while taking me for granted.”

“You go, girlfriend.” Bonnie pumped her fist, Angela’s message obviously having blown straight over her head. Jack, however, lifted an eyebrow. He got it.

“So when is this epic battle of the manipulators?” Seth asked.

“Thursday.” She laughed at the thrill, and at the irony of Seth looking at her with admiration for something other than her scones, the chocolate-chip version that could reduce him to begging.

Even a few weeks ago, the idea of going after a guy, any guy, would have made her panic. Now she was not going after “any guy,” she was going after one of the hottest she’d met in a long time, deliberately, and with as much anticipation as nerves. Had she blossomed this much in such a short time, or was there something particularly powerful about her attraction to Daniel? Maybe Tom’s engagement had set her free in some way. Or maybe it was the safety represented by Daniel’s vow of chastity, making it unlikely he and Angela would go far. Perfect situation for taking that first tentative step.

Angela had gone from the protection of her parents to the protection of dorm life, straight to Tom. Emerging battered and bruised from divorce, she’d worked up to starting her dream job, which, while not setting the town on fire, showed the possibility of solid success. So much of the past three years had felt like clawing her way through the pain, step by step, just trying to survive.

Survive she had. And now, for the first time, she felt as if she were no longer just happy to be back on her feet, but ready to run fast and faster, until she could take off and really start living.

6

“N
O
,
NO
,
NO
.”
Angela took off her six thousandth outfit and looked despairingly into her closet. She was meeting Daniel downtown at Fischer Grill in an hour, and the stunning ensemble she’d assembled in her mind hadn’t looked anything like stunning when she was actually wearing it. Nothing else suited her mood or the weather or her figure or the way she wanted Daniel to see her: as The Irresistible Seductress. But she couldn’t
look
as if she were trying to be The Irresistible Seductress, she had to look as if she was The Networking Professional arriving for a business meeting.

Which meant, for one, she’d need to keep her tongue from hanging out when she saw him.

Rose-colored suit with low-cut black top discarded. Too conservative, and her broad shoulders meant she couldn’t wear a suit jacket without feeling like a linebacker.

Floral sweater over camisole with full ankle-length skirt discarded—too sweet.

Little black dress that made her look fabulous—too formal.

Slender figure-hugging pants with tunic top—too casual.

Miniskirt—too much leg. Long skirt—not enough. Pants—too masculine. Shorts—too seasonal. Linen—too uptight. Cotton—too girlish. Tight was too sexual, loose was too unappealing. This didn’t go with that, that didn’t go with the other.

She’d worked late at the bakery, helping Alice troubleshoot a new cranberry-lemon muffin recipe, and now…an apparel crisis. Forty more minutes. Still no makeup. Only vague plans about how she’d steer the evening.

Time…to…
panic!

No, no, she didn’t have time to panic.

Her eye fell on a purple flowered camisole she’d already tried paired with a short-sleeved close-fitting purple sweater. Great top, but wearing it over pants made her look like a flight attendant, and over a full skirt she looked like a Swiss Miss gone horribly wrong.

Maybe with a slimmer skirt?

Twenty minutes later, she was made up—not too much, not too little—wearing the outfit—not perfect, but the best yet—with her hair pinned up in a French twist she’d be able to release with the pull of a pin or two or three in a sexy flourish, letting her hair tumble down in a glorious mass about her shoulders. Or that was the plan anyway. On her legs, sheer black hose. On her feet, high black heels she hadn’t been able to wear with Tom because he didn’t like her being so close to his height.

She’d be late. No two ways about it. But if she found a parking place close to the restaurant, she wouldn’t be rudely late, just coyly.

Half an hour later, she practically pushed someone’s car out of a spot he was just leaving, wrenching her little Kia into the space the second his rear bumper cleared the car in front of him.
Yes.

She turned off the motor, shot out of the car into air still chilly in mid-April, turned to slam the door and noticed white powder on the front seat.
Oh, no.
It looked like confectioner’s sugar from the emergency load she’d hauled the previous day. Which meant the rest of it must be clinging to her ass. Black skirt. Not good.

She twisted around, swiping back and forth at her butt, which of course she couldn’t see, and which made her teeter on the heels and catch her shoulder painfully on the open car door.

Super.

At least the parking spot was decently close to the restaurant, which was a small miracle given the parking situation in the city. Otherwise she’d have to sprint for it, and risk arriving breathless and sweaty.

A deep breath, and she headed down Sixth Avenue in an elegant saunter, aware that Fischer Grill had solid glass all around, so that if Daniel were watching, he’d see her approach.

A quick glance showed a familiar, very masculine blond head outlined by the entrance, face turned in her direction. Her stomach somersaulted. It was Daniel. Had to be.

She drew herself up, made her saunter even more elegant, concentrated on looking wildly and confidently sensual.

Until her heel caught in a crack in the pavement and brought her down. And her pride. And her hair.

Ow.
She’d landed hard on her right knee and hands, scraping all three on the rough cement. Her right stocking was shredded. Blood beaded around bits of dirt over the burning pink mess that had become her kneecap.

Super.

Even better? Here he came, loping down the sidewalk toward her, not blown away by her blatant sexuality, but concerned for his clumsy date who’d gone “boom” and skinned her knee like an eight-year-old.

“Angela. You okay?”

“I’m fine.” She rubbed her palms together to brush off the dirt, wincing at the sandpaper effect on her raw skin. “Just a klutz.”

“You came down hard. Let me see?”

She held out her hands on either side of her knee. “It’s nothing. Really.”

“Ouch. Those wide, shallow scrapes can be brutal. I fell off my bike last year, going fast. It was not fun.” He took her elbow, helped her gently to her feet. “There’s a drugstore down the street. Let’s get that dirt off you before it causes trouble.”

“Okay.” She let him help her up, embarrassed to find her body shaking, typical overreaction to pain. If she ever got pregnant, she was asking for medication during the entire last month just in case.

A picture flashed into her mind of her in labor, Daniel holding her steady, as carefully and calmly as he was now.
There’s a hospital down the street. Let’s get that baby out of you before it causes trouble.

She must be slightly hysterical.

“Thank you, Daniel.” She laughed breathily, still having trouble calming down. “I’m sorry about this. It’s not at all how I wanted to start our da—”

No, Angela.
As far as he was concerned, this was not a date. Remember?

“Not a problem. Whoa, hold on.” He pulled her back from the curb, which she’d just stepped off of without checking for cars, and nearly got run over by a speeding Prius.

Her heart sank. By now it was official: Project Seduction was a failure. In the back of her mind, Tom’s voice again, accusing her of overreaching.
Why didn’t she recognize her limits and be content with them?

No.
Tom was a self-serving prick whose main interest was in keeping Angela down so he could feel superior.

She straightened her shoulders to cross the street, forcing herself not to limp. The evening was only over when it was over.

In the store, she ditched her ruined pantyhose in the bathroom and grabbed a new pair from a nearby display. Then she and Daniel searched the shelves together and picked out a bottle of antibiotic spray, a small package of gauze and a box of extra-large adhesive bandages.

Being in the store with him felt strangely intimate, more than being together at the bar would have. Strangers belonged in bars. Buying everyday items in a drugstore was for established couples. It had been a long time since she’d enjoyed doing ordinary, everyday things with someone special.

Don’t get used to it. Not with this one.
Daniel was about getting her dating feet re-wetted, and about helping him escape the monastery his self-centered ex unreasonably imprisoned him in.

After he insisted on paying for supplies only she’d be using, Daniel led her to a bench on the street where he gestured her to sit.

She peered up at him with faux suspicion. “So we’re going to play doctor now? Do I know you well enough for this game?”

His grin made her catch her breath. His blue eyes had caught the late evening light. His white teeth were surrounded by golden, smoothly shaved skin that looked as if it smelled and tasted wonderful. Angela sat, paralyzed, as if her body had stopped functioning. Certainly her brain had.

Daniel knelt at her feet; his fingers landed softly on her bare knee, shooting Angela through with arousal as if he’d touched her…somewhere else.

“I think we’ll have to play doctor, Angela, even though we hardly know each other.” His voice was low and slightly husky, his eyes didn’t leave hers, so blue and so serious, humor dancing at their edges. “I promise I’ll be gentle.”

The drugstore plastic bag swished as he withdrew the spray, opened the nozzle. She watched his hands work, feeling breaths lodge in her throat, a solid mass.

“Palms first?”

She held them out. He took hold of her fingers and with a gauze pad wiped away the remaining dirt before he sprayed. The liquid was cool and comforting, soothing the sore heels of her hands, dripping between her fingers onto the sidewalk.

“Better?”

“Mmm.” Her voice barely sounded. “Much.”

The cool spray landed on her knee next, once, twice and again as he used the stream to dislodge black bits of Seattle’s street. “Am I hurting you?”

“No.” He could have been, she had no idea, felt nothing but the wild tension in her body, urging her to lean into him, touch his skin, feel his body’s warmth.

Oh, my.

A trickle of antiseptic made its leisurely way down the top of her thigh. Daniel chased it with gauze, absorbed it with gentle pressure.

Angela swallowed audibly.

Wait, audibly? Weren’t there street sounds? People around them? How could the city have quieted to the point where a swallow got air time?

She remembered the scene in the movie
West Side Story
, in which the hero and heroine met at a dance, and the frenzied crowd around them turned to a darkened, muted blur in the background, while Tony and Maria, vividly lit, had eyes only for each other, and the audience only for them.

The bandage emerged from its crackly paper wrapping, Daniel’s large hands pressed it onto her knee, then lingered. “Okay now?”

She managed to meet his eyes.

“Yes,” she croaked. “Thank you.”

For another beat he stayed still, fingers warming her knee, eyes on hers. Then he reached for her.

Tonight, tonight, it all began tonight…

Angela held absolutely still, only breathing when she realized he was retrieving the pins that still clung to strands of her hair. One. Two. Three. He handed them to her.

“Thank you, Daniel. Again.”

“You’re welcome.” His voice had risen to normal volume and steadiness; he stood abruptly. “Ready for dinner?”

“Yes.” Angela shook herself into brisk reaction.
Boom,
it was over, regrettably, though she supposed they couldn’t keep that intensity up all night, and too bad. “Absolutely. Dinner.”

And a seriously stiff drink. And a happy reminder that all was clearly not lost. Her tumble seemed to have turned from disaster to gift. She and Daniel had established a connection; he’d been attentive and caring, and they’d gotten to play doctor… .

All good things.

Inside the restaurant, after they were shown to their table, Angela excused herself to the restroom, where she put on the new pantyhose. Sheer black didn’t look too hot stretched over a pink bandage, but it was better camouflage than nothing. She repinned her hair, smoothed it back and smiled. Her fall had been a slight glitch; now the rest of the evening would go on as planned.

Back at the table, she suggested martinis, only slightly ashamed of her intention to get Daniel tipsy so she could seduce him more easily. How would she feel if some guy got a friend of hers drunk with the intention of taking advantage?

Happily, she had a quick answer: if that friend was Bonnie and the guy was trying to set her free from Seth’s hold on her, Angela would offer to pay for the drinks herself.

“So, tell me about your job at Slatewood.” She folded her arms and leaned forward to expose her cleavage, gratified when his eyes flicked discreetly down to the display.

“I keep our data out of the hands of people who keep developing more and more different and sophisticated ways to get at it.”

“A computer superhero, defending the innocent user from evil.”

“More like a guy in an arcade playing Whack-A-Mole. You smack them down in one place, they pop up another.”

“You enjoy it?”

“I get frustrated sometimes, always fighting people trying to do things I can’t understand and don’t respect, but from a technical standpoint, it’s an always changing challenge and I do enjoy that, yes.”

He appeared nervous, rubbing his hands on his thighs under the table, glancing around the restaurant. Maybe sitting across the table from a woman was feeling too date-like, and Angela should have suggested a bike ride or roller skating, or a walk, which would seem more platonic and therefore safer for him.

She willed the waitress to come with the drinks, so Daniel’s inhibitions would relax, so she could work out a way to steer them back to the exciting intimacy and chemistry they’d had outside.

“How long have you been at Slatewood?”

“Two years. We moved out here from Chicago when Kate was due to start at U Washington’s Foster School of Business.”

“Oh, I see.” Angela smiled overenthusiastically. Must avoid topic of Her Holiness at all costs. “Where did you grow up?”

“Highland Park. Outside Chicago.”