Just About Sex (10 page)

Maybe she should throw Juan a bone. “But you know who loves Puerto Rican food?” she asked him. “One of my girlfriends from college. I’m happy to give you her number and—”

This time Juan laughed. Pulling up to the curb, he stopped the car and turned to her, determination gleaming in his dark eyes. “I like ju, Simone. I no’ take no for my answer.”

“You’ll have to.” This time Simone laced her voice with a distinct chill. Enough was enough.

She’d just opened her door and started to climb down—she practically needed one of those wheeled staircases to get out of this thing—when Greene jumped out the back and slammed his door with a reverberation that rocked the Hummer. He strode off to lean against his car and—big surprise—glare at her.

Juan came to her side and opened his arms to hug her again. She quickly thrust her hand out to shake his; one hug and kiss per day from a near perfect stranger was pretty much all she could handle.

“Thanks so much for your help, Juan,” she said when he took her hand. “I think we got a lot done today, don’t you? I’ll send you a notice about the next meeting.”

Chuckling, he kissed the back of her hand, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. “I call ju, okay?”

Oh, for crying out loud!
Ignoring his question, she extracted her hand. “Bye!” She gave him a little wave for emphasis.

Still laughing, Juan swaggered back to his side, raising a hand to Alex as he went. “Aleex! Next time we ride in the leetle Saab, okay?”

Greene, still leaning against his car, grunted.

Simone watched Juan drive away. She felt no attraction to him even though she recognized, in a detached, clinical sort of way, how handsome he was. Maybe other women fell at his feet because he was big and bulky and had played a professional sport, but she never would. He was exactly—
exactly
—the kind of man her mother fell for, so it went without saying that he was the last man Simone would ever get involved with.

She turned nervously to Greene, whose narrowed gaze remained glued to her face. Why didn’t he leave too? Did he want something? She hitched her purse higher on her shoulder and wondered again what had upset him, not that she cared.

“Well,” she said, nodding for no apparent reason.

He said nothing.

Antsy, she shuffled on the balls of her feet and folded her arms across her chest. “I know you liked the other ballroom better, but I think the gardens will be much prettier—”

He shrugged and stared at some distant point off over her shoulder. “Doesn’t matter. You and Romero voted me down. As long as you know that’ll put us over budget for the auction.”

“A little, maybe, but—”

“Eight percent,” he said flatly.

“But since it’s at the gardens, we can trim a little fat from what we’d allocated for flowers and—”

Greene’s sharp, glittering gaze swung back to her. “So he’s special enough, then?” he asked abruptly. “Romero?”

Chapter 9

S
imone’s heartbeat, always a little unpredictable around Greene, skidded to a stop. She stiffened and made a show of watching a cyclist pedal by, his black helmet gleaming in the bright sunlight.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s a simple question, Simone.”

“It would be simple if I knew what you were talking about.”

Irritation crept into his voice. “Well, he’s got the money, the car. The flowers. The accent. Isn’t that what women go for?”

“Some women do, yes.”

One side of his mouth went up in a lopsided smile. “What about
you?
”

This conversation terrified her, as did everything about Greene and her reactions to him. Anger—mostly at herself—clouded her vision. “If you’re asking me if I’m sleeping with Juan, that’s none of your business. Goodbye.”

She marched up the walk past him, but some invisible and undeniable force made her stop, pivot, and march back. His unruffled, arrogant stance infuriated her.

“And for the record,” she said, jabbing her index finger at him for emphasis, “I
don’t
sleep with men I’ve known a grand total of three hours, okay? And I
don’t
sleep with men because I like their car or they bought me flowers.”

He leaned farther back against his car and crossed his ankles in a gesture of extreme relaxation and boredom that annoyed her beyond all reason. “No? I noticed you drooling all over the gas-guzzler earlier.”

Her jaw dropped. “I was
not
drooling over that environmentally incorrect car! If anything, I was wondering how much it cost to fill up the tank!”

Shrugging, he studied his nails. “Why the hard-to-get routine, Simone? A man like that would give you whatever you wanted in exchange for your sweet little body. Why not let him buy you a few pieces of jewelry? You’d be set for a good long while, wouldn’t you?”

Speechless, Simone gaped.

Images scrolled through her mind, one after the other, until she began to vibrate with anger and humiliation. Her mother sitting by the phone, waiting for a call from her latest man that would never come. Her mother dropping everything in her own life to be at the beck and call of some actor, director, or athlete. Her mother spending endless hours in front of the mirror, obsessing over every wrinkle and gray hair, wondering when her current man would replace her with a younger model. Her mother refusing to eat cake on her own birthday because some lover had said she’d gained a few pounds.

“I’m not sure what kind of ho you think I am,” she said, her low voice thick and hoarse, “but in case you haven’t noticed, I work very hard to make my own way in the world. I can take care of myself. I don’t need to sell myself to the richest man. Or to
any
man.”

Greene’s eyes widened with obvious shock. For once he was kind enough to keep his mouth shut.

They stared at each other for what felt like hours. Finally Simone felt her chin tremble. Unwilling to let anyone see her cry—
ever—
she again turned to go. “Goodbye.”

Greene leapt away from the car as if he’d been launched from a catapult. He grabbed her arm, stopping her. Simone froze, waiting, unable to look away from those flashing eyes. A car passed, and then another. Neither of them moved.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you.” Looking frustrated, he scrubbed his free hand over his tight jaw. “I don’t think I know anything about women.”

Simone’s senses went haywire. She became exquisitely aware of the warm sun on her face and the light breeze ruffling her hair. The heavenly scent of the blooming magnolia tree on the corner. The weight and heat of Greene’s hand, still on her arm.

The longing in his eyes and in the pit of her belly.

Flustered, she pulled away. “You may know something about women, Greene—”

“Alex.”

“—but you don’t know anything about me.”

“I—I want to.”

Another long moment passed. A voice in her head screamed that she should go inside, that she had clients to see, things to do, but she couldn’t make her feet walk away from him.

“You stutter,” she said.

Though she’d been careful to keep her voice gentle and free of anything remotely approaching mockery, his eyes darkened. He nodded as if he didn’t trust himself to speak.

“But you don’t do it all the time.”

His lush mouth twisted into a self-deprecating smile. “Only around you, Simone.”

His words touched a chord deep within her, stirring something hot and compelling to life. Determined to ignore whatever it was, she backed down the path away from him. “I have to go.”

“Have dinner with me.”

Simone’s longing intensified, stretching out from her belly until it reached every far corner of her body. It didn’t matter. She wouldn’t give in to it. Too much was at stake.

“No.”

When Alex got back to his twentieth-floor office he discovered, much to his annoyance, two of his partners waiting for him. Mitch Adams, his short red hair streaked with gray, lounged in the tall leather chair behind Alex’s huge maple desk. His wingtipped feet rested on top of a stack of files next to the keyboard. Derek O’Neal sprawled on the tan sofa in front of the long wall of windows overlooking the river, absently running his hand over his bare brown head. They’d been chattering and laughing, but when Alex walked in they shushed each other and sat up straighter.

“Ah, yes.” Alex threw his keys into the glass bowl on his neat desk and propped his briefcase against the corner bookshelf. “Two of the firm’s finest young lawyers, hard at work again. At this rate you’ll both bill your two thousand hours by June.”

Mitch and Derek both laughed. Alex came around the desk and smacked Mitch on the shoulder; Mitch got out of Alex’s chair and chose a leather armchair in front of the desk instead.

Alex sank gratefully into his chair, exhausted after his encounter with Simone. It was going to be a very long afternoon since it was only three o’clock and he had a ton of work to do. He’d give his right arm if these clowns would take off and leave him alone, but he had a better chance of being elected king of Russia.

“What do you two want?” Alex snapped. “You been rifling through my desk looking for candy again?”

Mitch’s freckled face went pink around his wide, mischievous smile. “We’ve got something for you, Alex. We figured you’d need it.” Reaching into the breast pocket of his gray suit, he extracted a small white vitamin-type bottle and handed it over the desk to Alex.

Alex sighed harshly and looked at the label. Not wanting to ruin his friends’ fun, he read it aloud. “Growz: The Herbal Formula for Natural Male Enhancement.” He pressed a hand to his heart as if he was touched. “Fellas. You shouldn’t have. Is this the stuff that keeps your wife smiling every time I see her, Mitch?”

Mitch and Derek collapsed into whooping hysterics and high-fived each other. Alex held the bottle over his head and, with a flick of his wrists, tossed it into the trash can where it clattered noisily.

Finally Mitch and Derek quieted down. Derek swiped the back of his hand under his eyes, blotting tears. “Oh, man! That’s the funniest thing I’ve seen all year.”

Alex flipped open a file on his desk and rattled papers, pretending he had something urgent to do. “If you’ve had enough fun for now, you can get out and go work on some new material. That’s about played out, don’t you think?”

“Not quite yet,” Derek said, still chuckling.

“What about a drink after work?” Mitch asked Alex.

Alex kept his head bent low. “Sorry. Can’t.”

“Come on, man, don’t be a poor sport. You didn’t go last week, either. What’s wrong with you?”

I’ve got a jones for a woman who barely knows I’m alive.
“Nothing.”

A long silence followed, during which Alex felt them staring daggers at the top of his head. Finally they gave up. Grumbling, they got to their feet and shuffled to the door.

Derek looked back over his shoulder at Alex. “I don’t know what’s wrong with you lately, man,” he said, “but you need to get it worked out.”

Alex shot him a quick glance and a brittle smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

A flutter of activity in the hallway caught their attention and they turned. “Hey, guys!” Laurel, smiling and wearing some blue flowered muumuu today, appeared. “I’ve been wondering what’s wrong with Alex myself.”

Alex groaned aloud but no one seemed to notice. Could this day get any worse? Now Laurel would subject him to the third degree, vetting him as if he’d been tapped for the Supreme Court. At this rate he should brace himself for an IRS audit.

“Hey, Laurel.” Derek pecked her on the cheek. “Talk to him.”

Mitch kissed and hugged her. “Yeah. We’re about ready to kick his butt outta here.”

They sauntered off down the hall, leaving Alex to face his sharp-eyed sister alone. Alex tossed his pen on the desk and scowled. “Don’t start, okay?”

Laurel ignored him. She shut the door, took the chair Mitch had just vacated and flattened him with a look. Alex always said as little as possible when she got like this.

“Turns out I’ve got a fairy godmother,” she said through pursed lips. “Paid my rent for the next three months.”

“Congratulations.” Knowing it was best never to look a snarling dog in the eye, Alex swiveled his chair to face the computer screen and clicked his e-mail icon.

As it turned out, this was a bad strategy. Laurel jumped to her feet and slammed her palms on the desk with a loud smack. “What on God’s green earth are you trying to do here, Alex? I told you I don’t need your help! I can manage on my own!”

Man, she pissed him off—almost as much as Simone did. He’d never understand anyone with two X chromosomes, so he should just do himself a favor and stop trying.

“Heaven save me from independent women today,” he muttered.

Arrested mid-rant, Laurel scooted to the edge of her seat and raised her brows. “Who are you talking about?”

“No one,” he said, already regretting his foolish words.

“Simone?”

“No.”

Jittery now, Alex jumped up and stood in front of the windows.
Simone.
Punk that he was, the mere mention of her name kicked his pulse rate up an extra twenty beats per minute.

It was time to face facts: he burned for that woman, and it wasn’t a little flickering candle flame, either. Uh-uh. Seeing her for the first time had lit an inferno inside him, and it burned brighter every time he saw her. He couldn’t control the fire, and didn’t particularly want to. Getting incinerated seemed like a perfectly reasonable price to pay for the pleasure of being with her.

Every second he’d spent with Simone today played in an endless loop in his mind: her fury when he’d wondered why she didn’t let Romero take care of her, the unexpected softness on her face when he’d told her how beautiful her eyes were, and again when she’d said she wouldn’t have dinner with him.

Simone was a puzzle. As with all puzzles he came across, he couldn’t rest until they were solved.

She didn’t sleep around; that much he knew. Of course this was good news and bad news. Bad news because it’d take him a while to get her into his bed. Good news because he certainly wasn’t planning to share her once he got her.