there and there are always business conventions. Don’t worry about me,” she said, shoving at him gently. “I’ll be fine. I’m a big girl.”
“Okay, I guess.” He looked her over again. “Don’t settle for just any guy. You really are hot. I hope you don’t have any doubt about that. Ditch the water bra. And make sure to use a condom or see proof of a blood test.”
“Okay, okay, Dad. Thanks for being my friend.”
“Too bad I couldn’t be your stranger.”
“Yeah, too bad.” If she could meet a stranger who kissed like Ross… That would be too perfect to be possible.
3
ROSS SPOTTED Kara right away. She sat at one of the high round tables in the middle of the Hyatt bar, looking very hot in a black dress as tight as a second skin, with a scooped neckline that revealed lots of creamy breast. Her fair skin looked luminous in the dim light.
He ran his fingers through his moussed-back hair. She wanted to sleep with a stranger, so he was giving her one—a South American playboy, to be exact. He’d bought a European-style collarless black silk shirt and a burnt sienna linen suit, borrowed a gold bracelet from a friend, and practiced his Spanish. He’d stopped short of a fake mustache, figuring it would interfere with his kissing and what if it peeled off?
Why was he doing this? For one thing, the thought of her flashing her shy smile at strange men just about killed him. What if she got into trouble? He had to watch out for her.
There was something more, something primitive related to the night before. Holding her—even while she giggled—had reminded him how attracted he’d been when they’d first met, and if she hadn’t burst out laughing, he would have gone for it. Her skin had tasted great—like vanilla and cinnamon and she’d felt delicate but sturdy. He wanted to hear how she sounded when she came, listen to her make those soft, desperate noises of pleasure. Couldn’t wait for them, in fact.
She needed a stranger, so he’d be a stranger. Of course, he could just pick out a nice guy for her, set them up on a date—first threaten the guy’s life if he hurt her, of course—but who better than him to help her out? They’d gone through the ground rules. He knew how to keep it simple and carnal. He just wanted to do it.
He hoped Kara would get into the game right away. He didn’t want to look too closely at his motives.
There she sat, looking nervous as hell, completely oblivious to how sexy she was. He found that delightful. Plenty of men were checking her out, too. A car-salesman-looking guy at the bar had just caught her eye. He looked the guy over. Used cars, for sure.
She smiled tentatively, nervously wagging her crossed leg—spike heels on her feet. Mmm. She sure as hell didn’t have on granny panties tonight. Probably lace—red or black? He hoped it wasn’t a pair of those edible things she’d bought yesterday. Just thinking about Kara’s underwear got him aroused.
The car salesman smiled at her and rose from his seat.
You can do better than him, Kara, Ross thought. Don’t settle. He had to act quickly before she was tempted to take this sleazeball home for a peek at her red lace panties. He rushed forward, tripped, but caught his balance on a table before anyone saw him acting uncool.
The lounge lizard noticed him heading for Kara and sat down, frowning.
Sorry, guy. The best man just won.
“May I join you, señorita?” he asked Kara in his best Spanish accent.
“Excuse me?” Kara glanced at him, then away, then back. “My God. Ross? What are you doing—?”
“Perdóname, señorita. I do not know this Ross person. My name is Miguel. I am from Argentina. I am a stranger here in your city. Business brings me here and I am, sadly, alone.”
“You’re what?” Kara couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Ross had smoothed back his hair, bought a stylish suit and now was pretending not to know her. He wasn’t grinning, so he wasn’t teasing her. He looked absolutely serious, this Miguel.
He was being her stranger, she realized. Bless his heart. He certainly looked different. He’d moussed his hair back, revealing his high, elegant forehead and making his swarthy complexion seem more dramatic. He’d even worn a different cologne, something more musky than usual. Dressed this way, he seemed mature and exotic and devastatingly sexy.
“Please, sit,” she said, patting the stool beside her. She was intrigued that he’d come—and relieved, she had to admit. A creepy guy at the bar had been about to head her way, and her heart had begun to pound. She’d been losing her nerve. Meeting a stranger just for sex seemed too chancy, too awkward. But here was Ross. Thank God.
“Es mi honor,” Miguel said, sliding onto the chair. He leaned close to her. “Can you tell me something?” he asked. His eyes, gleaming in the candlelight, were gorgeous. Together with his dark hair, they made him seem mysterious and a bit dangerous. And he smelled so good.
“Anything,” she said in her sexiest voice. She leaned forward the way Tina always did to emphasize her cleavage. Her nervousness had evaporated, she realized. If Ross could become a stranger, why couldn’t she?
“How is it that a woman so beautiful is alone on such a night as this?”
“I was waiting,” she said, then paused for effect. “For you.” She almost laughed at the B-movie line, but then Ross—Miguel—looked into her eyes, and said, “I am so happy,” and it became the perfect thing to have said. “Shall I buy you something to drink?” he asked.
“I have a better idea.” And then she did the most amazing thing. She took him by the lapels of his expensive jacket and pulled him close and planted her lips on him, even pushed her tongue forward a little. She was shocked at herself, but maybe not really. This exotic stranger was also her dear friend, after all. He was exciting, but safe, too. And his being a different person gave her permission to be different, too.
Ross—Miguel—made a sound low in his throat and kissed her back, even better than last night.
She felt so weak she feared she might slide off the stool and fall to the floor. “Is there somewhere we could go?” she gasped, breaking off the kiss.
“I have a room in the hotel.”
“You’re kidding!” she said.
“Would I joke about a thing like that?” he said in his own voice.
“I guess not,” she said. “I can’t believe you’re doing this for me. And you bought new clothes, too.” She felt emotions rise in her—tenderness and gratitude and lust. Lots of lust.
“I’m doing this for both of us, señorita,” he said, resuming his role as a Latin lover. “What may I call you?”
“Kar—no, Katherine,” she said, choosing the first elegant name she could come up with. “Take me to your room, please.”
“My pleasure,” Ross-Miguel said, and tucked her snugly against his waist and walked her out of the bar to the glass elevator that led to the guest rooms.
She couldn’t believe she
