her family’s business.
Some people wondered why she lived here, in a small apartment in an old house, when she could afford to buy her own home, or sponge off her parents at their estate. But Mimi loved this place, loved the history of it. More importantly, she loved the sense of community she found here, where she was free to be herself and didn’t have to wear the socialite hat, or the business executive one. She could just be Mimi.
“Oh,” Anna said, snapping her fingers as she remembered something. “You’re going to have new neighbors. My daughter, Helen, and her little boy are moving from Atlanta next weekend, taking the vacant unit on two. And I rented the apartment across from yours today.”
“Really? That’s wonderful,” Mimi said, surprised.
“I invited the new tenant to come tonight, but he didn’t want to intrude—he moved in this afternoon.”
“You must be so glad,” she said, relieved to know one financial burden had been lifted from her landlords’ shoulders. She doubted they’d take rent money from their daughter, who had gone through a bad divorce last year.
“One B is a real hottie,” Anna said, her eyebrows waggling.
“There are more important things than hotness.”
Definitely more important. She’d been involved with superhot guys in the past and had the psychological burn scars to prove it. The last supersexy, relied-only-on-his-looks guy she’d dated had ended up “borrowing” her credit card and buying a matching pair of his-and-her motorcycles.
That had been bad. Worse? Mimi hadn’t been the her.
No way was she stepping close to the flames again. Now when she looked at a man, she was more interested in steadiness, self-confidence and brains. If those things came in nice-looking packages, okay, but looks alone just didn’t cut it.
Fortunately, it was possible to have all of the above. She only had to look across the crowded party at her own golden-haired escort to see that.
Dimitri was perfect. He was everything she’d been telling herself she needed, and was nothing like the men who’d hurt her in the past. He’d also been hand-picked for her by her own father, who was notoriously hard to please. Normally, that would be a bad thing; she didn’t like doing what was expected of her, and knew her father to be a bully. But considering her bad luck with romance, and her efforts to improve her relationship with her dad—who stood firmly in the path of her going where she wanted to go professionally, i.e., right into his office once he retired—it seemed like a smart move.
The icing on the cake? Dimitri was also very handsome.
But handsome doesn’t always equal hot. And enjoying being with someone definitely doesn’t always lead to physical heat.
She sighed deeply, wishing that little voice in her head would shut up, even while acknowledging the words were true.
But it didn’t matter—handsome was enough. Handsome was movie-star good looks, good manners, holding the door. Handsome was every hair in place, jaw smoothly shaven and a nice suit. Handsome was self-confidence borne of being admired by everyone who knew him, and inspiring fantasies of Prince Charming in just about every woman who saw him. Handsome was a good-night kiss with enough tongue to be provocative but not enough to be impolite.
Handsome was Dimitri.
Hot was … something else.
Hot was sexy, rugged and edgy. Hot was unpredictable. Hot smelled sweaty and male, not doused with expensive cologne. Hot had thick muscles that gave proof of utter strength and could make any woman feel feminine by contrast. Hot had an edge of danger, wasn’t always courteous, didn’t treat a lover like a fragile object. Hot had a deep voice, knowing eyes and a stubbled jaw that every woman wanted roughing up her inner thighs. Hot would ensnare a woman … mind, body and soul.
She fanned herself, acknowledging the truth. Handsome she had. Hot she hadn’t seen in a very long time.
More importantly: handsome she should have. Hot she should stay away from.
She shook off the mental images. Enough with the hot fantasies. Handsome reality was bringing her a glass of wine, drawing the appreciative stares of every person with a uterus.
He was hers if she wanted him. And you want him. Damn it, you’d be crazy not to want him!
But she was beginning to wonder. Heck, she hadn’t even been the one to invite him here tonight. Anna had bumped into him at the store and extended the invitation. Mimi had no idea why he’d accepted, considering he didn’t know anybody here except her. Since he’d said yes, he’d naturally expected Mimi to be his date, which should make any woman extremely happy.
“Okay, Miss Smarty-Pants, if you’re not about looks, care to explain your date over there?”
“You invited him,” she pointed out.
“Only because you’ve gone out with him a few times.”
“I know, my family swears he’s perfect for me. And he is very good-looking,” she admitted. Then, speaking more to herself, she voiced the concern that had been niggling at her. “But there’s also something called chemistry.”
“Hate to break it to ya, but you two ain’t got it.”
She sighed. “Is it that obvious?”
“Only to an expert like me.”
And to Mimi. She’d already figured out that good looks didn’t always inspire sparks, and dating someone wasn’t the same as wanting to go to bed with him. If it were, she and Dimitri would probably be sleeping together, or perhaps even engaged, which was what her father was pushing for. Pushing hard.
Dimitri was a new executive with Burdette Quality Foods, the family business. He was also her Dad’s right-hand man. Cultured, handsome, well-educated. The perfect guy in every way.
But perfect for her?
Anna shook her head and tsked. “Honey, it’s obvious you’re experiencing a small sexual dry spell.”
“Small? Try Sahara-sized,” she admitted, wondering, not for the first time, if there was something wrong with her.
“So, sex camel, what are you looking for, a Brad Pitt or Johnny Depp oasis?”
Dimitri would probably be considered every bit as handsome as those men. Still, there was no fire. When he kissed her, she always thought, well, that’s nice. But she never had the urge to rip off his pressed shirt, shove him against a wall and thrust her tongue down his throat. And they’d never done anything more than kiss. He hadn’t pushed, and she hadn’t wanted him to. Because, for a sex camel, nice sex wasn’t an oasis, it was just the last few drops of water from a nearly empty canteen.
If she really wanted an oasis, she needed hot.
Forget it. Heat burns. A lukewarm canteen is good enough.
“I honestly don’t know,” she finally admitted. “He’s everything I should want.”
“But not what you need?
