Love the One You're With (11 page)

Grace didn't feel any remorse about the suggestive text, though. She'd needed to bait the man. So yeah, she
may
have implied she'd had a sexy dream about him …

“I admit, you've got me curious about the details of this dream,” he said when she didn't immediately elaborate.

She licked her lips as though nervous and embarrassed. “I'm sure it didn't mean anything. I just got out of a relationship, so I'm a little … parched, you know?”

His eyes went hot then, his hand once more reaching for hers and doing that trademark little rub of the thumb over her wrist. Grace let him grasp her hand just long enough to make sure
the camera would catch the blatant lust on his face. And the shy nervousness on hers.

Gotcha
.

Then she pulled her hand away slowly.

“If you'll excuse me, I need to use the restroom.”

She heard one of her friends give a disappointed sigh in her ear. Grace's retreat to the restroom was the signal that the video recorded portion of this date was over. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Emma move her camera clutch to her lap before signaling for the check.

Riley and Julie weren't so amenable. “Grace, you little tease. We want to hear the rest.”

“Now, girls, you know I never kiss and tell. All I wanted was one lusty look from this guy. And I got it.”

“Oh, you definitely got it,” Emma murmured.

Smiling in victory, Grace pulled out her earpiece and flicked the tiny switch to off. Okay, so the earpiece had been overkill. But it had been the easiest way for Emma to let her know if there were any unanticipated obstructions blocking the camera shot.

No remorse on that front either. Baiting him with sexy talk wasn't exactly her classiest move, but she was pretty sure Jake Malone could withstand the itsy-bitsy blow to his ego.

Lord knew there'd be a dozen women willing to heal his wounded pride.

Which wasn't her business, no matter how curious she was about the body under those perfectly tailored shirts.

Stalling for time, Grace paused at the vanity and needlessly touched up her makeup. She'd taken Riley's advice and had been amping up the eye makeup a little bit from what she used to wear when she was with Greg, and she wasn't quite used to it. Her hazel eyes had always seemed too wide to be interesting—they lacked Riley's cat-eyed mysteriousness, or even Julie's long-lashed flirtatiousness.

But she liked the way the extra smudge of dark eyeliner contrasted with the lightness of her green eyes and also made her chocolate-brown hair seem less blah.

A sex kitten she was not, but apparently she had enough going on to make Jake's eyes go smoky.

And if the tug of satisfaction in her belly had nothing to do with the article and everything to do with
him
, well … it didn't matter.

Grace 2.0 would have her head if she even thought about having sexy times with this guy.
With
any
guy.

Even if she wasn't on a six-month hiatus from men, Jake Malone wasn't for her. When she was ready to date again, it would be with someone tame. Someone who wouldn't have her continually checking the bed for panties not her own.

Emma was gone by the time Grace returned to the table, although a quick glance at the table by the window revealed that Julie and Riley were still there. Riley would never pass up the chance for food, even if the day's entertainment was over.

Jake moved to pull out Grace's chair for her.

“Nice moves,” she said, placing her napkin back in her lap. “Your army of sisters taught you well.”

“Nah, that was all my dad,” he said. “He was determined that all of his daughters be little ladies and his son be a gentleman.”

“It must have been hard on you to have to disappoint him.”

Jake let out a little surprised laugh. “You don't think I'm a gentleman?”

Grace lifted an eyebrow. “Are you?”

“I'd like to think so.”

“So all of those articles about you … the overlapping women, the married women, the scorned women …?”

He lifted his wine and studied her over the rim of glass. “Embellished.”

Grace was annoyed to realize that she wanted to believe him. Badly. But of course, he had every reason to lie. All men seemed to find reasons to lie.

“What about you?” he asked.

“What about me? You want to know if I sleep with married women too?”

“Did your parents raise you to be a little lady?”

She fluttered her eyelashes. “Isn't it obvious?”

He didn't flirt back. “It is. The excellent posture, the tailored clothes, the small-talk skills … you reek of class.”

“Good nose, Mr. Journalist. I grew up in Scarsdale.”

He whistled. “Whew, so your umbilical cord was basically made out of hundred-dollar bills?”

Grace laughed, not the least bit offended. Scarsdale, New York, was a notoriously
wealthy town, and her family had fit right in.

“It was pretty much like you're thinking. My dad's family is old money, and my mom's family is even older money. Athletic participation translated into tennis, golf, or horseback riding. And forget about that pesky process of deliberating on where to go to college. Cornell alumni dominated the family tree on both sides.”

“And you never questioned it?” he asked as their lunches were served. “You just swallowed the prepackaged life?”

“You make it sound like I was a robot. But yeah, I guess I went with it. But I also liked it, you know? I didn't know anything else. And while I'm glad I don't live there now, I can't say I regretted any of it. It was a good childhood.”

Jake slid one of his ravioli onto her plate and then sampled her pasta. Grace blinked a little in surprise. Greg had
hated
sharing food.

“Come on, not one little moment of rebellion?” he asked. “Tell me you at least have a microscopic tattoo, or went to prom with a boy who rode a motorcycle …”

“I painted my nails navy once. Does that count?”

Jake groaned and topped off her wineglass. “You're worse off than I thought.”

“What about you?” she asked. “Were you the boy on the motorcycle that took the nice girl to prom?”

“Nah. But I
did
look pretty cool picking Leslie Kalutz up in my parents' station wagon, if I do say so myself.”

Grace fanned herself. “Wow. Well, I'll sure be putting
that
in my article under the ‘sexy moments' section.”

A strange expression flashed across his face, and he dropped his gaze to his plate, stabbing at a piece of ravioli.

“Did I say something wrong?” The question was out before she could rethink it. Twenty-something years of being a chronic people pleaser was a hard routine to shake.

“Not at all,” he said, giving her a smile that didn't reach his eyes. “You were doing your job, focusing on the article. I, on the other hand, had forgotten all about it.”

Grace ordered the butterflies in her stomach to evacuate, but they stayed put. She had him exactly where she wanted him—where
she'd
been on the debacle of that last date. She should feel elated.

Instead she felt … flustered. Maybe a little longing.

Meanwhile, Grace 2.0 was taking notes on all the things she was doing wrong. The list was massive, and they hadn't even hit dessert yet.

“You have to admit, it's only fair,” she said, smiling to put him at ease. “You had me practically swooning on the last date.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh, come on—you read my article. You know I fell just a tiny bit before I caught wind of the game.”

He helped himself to more of her penne. “Tell me something, Grace … I imagine you're doing this whole dating article for the same reason I am. Boss's orders … but is this fake dating interfering with the real thing? I mean, is there someone for real, someone you're seeing because you want to? Not because you're getting paid to?”

“Definitely not,” she said decisively.

“Aha,” he said, pointing his fork at her. “I knew it. I'm your shield.”

“My shield?”

“As long as you're in this little competition with me, it gives you an out to not see anyone else.”

She wiped her mouth daintily, relieved that for once he could be wrong about something. “Actually, Mr. Malone, I'd be single with or without this assignment.”

“Why's that?”

“Sabbatical. No men for six months.”

He choked a little on his wine. “You mean no serious relationship, right? You don't mean no
men
.”

“Are you trying to ask me if I'm going on a sex hiatus?”

“Hell yes, that's what I'm trying to ask you. For the sake of the story, naturally.”

“Naturally,” she said, her smirk telling him she knew better. “But to answer your question, I have no intention of getting involved with a man in
any
way for six months.”

“You're involved with me.”

“Um, no,” she said, treating herself to a chunk of bread that she dunked into his creamy pasta sauce. “I'm
working
with you. There's a big difference. It's not personal.”

“Is that why your pulse jumps every time I touch your wrist?”

“My pulse jumps because that's a nice move,” she said candidly. “I'm sure every woman's pulse jumps when you do that.”

Jake looked a little stung. “That's not a move. Believe it or not, that's not something I do to every woman I meet.”

It's not?
“But you did it that night at the bar when you were twisting me around your finger like I was a stupid groupie.”

He ran a hand through his hair, the spontaneous gesture surprisingly appealing. “That night wasn't entirely manufactured. Did I say a couple things that I knew you'd like? Sure. Because I can read women. Isn't that the point of all this?”

Jake leaned forward then, his expression more serious than she'd seen it. “But here's what I
didn't
put in the article. That night wasn't about reading women. It was about reading you. I liked what I saw. So yeah, I did what I could to make sure you'd like me back.”

His hand snagged hers hard before she could pull away, but the gesture gentled immediately as his thumb brushed over the inside of her wrist. “And this? This little jumpy flutter right here? This tells me I was successful. Then
and
now.”

Well, damn … why the hell had she sent Emma away with that video camera?

And the more important question—why was she so relieved that she had?

Jake couldn't remember ever being mad at a woman. Annoyed, sure. A little exasperated, probably.

But there was a first time for everything, and he was most
definitely
angry with Grace Brighton.

“Is she expecting you?” a polite doorman asked an impatient Jake.

She should be
, he thought darkly. Grace was too smart to think she could pull a stunt like that and not piss him off.

She'd known that he'd respond to that provocative text message about the dream with more than polite curiosity.

She'd known that he'd liked touching her. Had known that he wanted her, even though his first article hadn't been entirely forthcoming about that.

And then the woman had gone and caught it all on freaking video.

Oh, and then she'd gone and put it on the Internet.

Along with a poll: “Does This Man Want This Woman?”

The results were in. Ninety-four percent of genius
Stiletto
readers had voted yes.

Jake knew that she'd wanted him too. It had been in the way she'd crossed and uncrossed her legs. The way she'd watched his mouth every time he took a sip of wine or smiled at her.

The way her pulse had fluttered under his touch.

But he had no proof.

His words were nothing compared to what she'd caught on camera.

Making things worse, Alex Cassidy was pissed. Here was his star womanizer staring across the table dopily at the woman who was conning him. Then Jake had reached out to touch her not once but
twice
.

And the real nail in his coffin was in the final shot—the way his hungry eyes had followed her shapely ass all the way to the bathroom before it had blissfully cut to black.

Thank God her accomplice hadn't caught the end of the meal when he'd been
this close
to asking Grace Brighton out for real.

“Yeah, she's expecting me,” Jake growled at the expectant doorman, who was already lifting the phone to his ear to call Grace.

After a hushed conversation between doorman and tenant, the short gray-haired man gave Jake a polite smile. “She says to go right on up.”

“Thanks,” Jake said curtly as he made his way to the high-rise apartment building's elevator. Classy place for a classy lady.

Although
classy
wasn't the only thing the building and the woman had in common, he thought snidely as his eyes searched for and found the discreet elevator camera. They both had a thing for hidden cameras.

His knock on Grace's door was sharp and decisive, and he wasn't surprised that she made him wait.

He
was
surprised by the version of Grace that awaited him on the other side of the door.

Grace Brighton in that tight pencil skirt on that first morning in the cab had been intriguing. The version in the sexy dress? Seductive as hell. And the other day in the deceptively demure shirt and slacks? She'd been pure, cool sophistication.

But Grace Brighton in a short—
very
short—blue robe that managed to look slinky and cozy at the same time …

This Grace was dangerous.

Dangerous to him.

Damn it
. The 94 percent of women who'd voted in that idiotic poll had been right. He absolutely did want this woman.