classic rock he loved to listen to late at night, alone in the dark after his show.
“So it’s pretty common for your dates to proposition you before dinner even begins? That’s good to know.”
Her ability to laugh at herself and their unusual situation impressed him. And her strength astounded him. Unless you knew what signs to look for, you’d never guess that she was anything but relaxed.
“As a matter of fact, I’m pretty used to that.” He flashed her a smile meant to bring back that laugh. “But I don’t usually agree to dates with those women, so you’re a first.”
He regretted the words the moment they left his mouth as the spark in her eyes dulled and her cheeks bloomed red. “However, I have been on a ton of first dates and, as you can see, have lived to tell the tales. I promise this won’t hurt. You might even find you like me.”
“I already like you, Chris.”
“You like my public persona. That guy isn’t all I am.”
Now why had he said that? It didn’t matter. She could like whoever she wanted—Dr. Desire, Chris Faulkner, the waiter. After this night it wouldn’t make a damn bit of difference. No matter how appealing and beautiful she was, he wasn’t getting involved. End of story.
“I’d like to think I’m not that shallow. I realize your job isn’t all there is to know about you. But I’ve learned a lot, more than you probably think, by listening to the advice you give.”
“Like what?”
“I know that you have a wickedly sarcastic sense of humor.”
Chris rocked back into his chair, dropping the menu he hadn’t really been looking at anyway.
“Usually those comments are at the expense of someone’s pride, and afterward I feel horrible.”
“See, I knew it. Under that tough, man’s-man persona there’s a softy. You’re a nice guy.”
“No. A nice guy wouldn’t say the stuff in the first place. Or wouldn’t continue saying it. I said I feel guilty, but only for a second.”
“Well, that’s because the person on the other end usually needs some sense knocked into them.”
Maybe she did understand him. He’d often thought he’d carefully compartmentalized his true persona from the polished, charming Dr. Desire, the voice and personality that garnered ratings and multiyear contracts. Maybe not.
“That’s one reason I called the show. Not because you were soft and nice. But because you’re hard and tough and usually right. I trust you to tell me what I need to hear.”
“What do you need to hear?” His voice dipped lower than he’d intended. He hoped she hadn’t noticed. The last thing he wanted to do was make her uncomfortable.
She waved her hands between them. “This is not supposed to be a pop psych session. Just dinner.”
She was right. He’d walked into the restaurant intent on proving to Karyn she could enjoy a nice dinner out with a man, a stranger, without having to deal with the complicated issues. He’d specifically set out not to turn on Dr. Desire. He wanted to stay as far away as possible from that proposition she claimed had just slipped out. He didn’t want to give her another chance to mention what she needed from him, how he could help solve all her sexual problems.
He couldn’t solve anything. At the moment, however, his libido was sorely tempted to try.
4
ALL THROUGH DINNER Karyn felt as if she was walking a tightrope. Despite the fact that every cell in her body seemed swollen, excited, expectant, somehow she managed to keep her reaction to herself. Or she hoped she had.
Leaning toward him across the table was normal, right? She wanted to hear him over the kitchen clatter coming from behind the doors. And so what that she’d forgotten and let their hands touch. Accident. Pure accident. She just hoped Chris hadn’t noticed that when dessert arrived and her tongue darted across her lips in anticipation, she hadn’t been staring at his chocolate tart.
“You should try this. It’s wonderful.” Chris looked at her across the table, his fork halfway to his almost-empty plate, a thoroughly satisfied smile on his face. Chocolate could do that to a person.
She started to protest, opening her mouth to insist she was full already. But he didn’t give her a chance. Chris reached across the table, putting his fork loaded down with rich creamy mousse and a buttery, flaky crust into her mouth. Her lips closed around the cold metal in reflex. The sinful treat melted on her tongue.
Their eyes collided. Electricity snapped from his hand to her lips through the conduit of the fork. He jerked back, pulling it through her still-pursed lips. It stayed suspended between them, wavering slightly from the force of his hold.
She swallowed, not tasting the rich pastry anymore, but what she imagined his kiss would be like, spicy with a hint of sweet temptation.
He cleared his throat, the sound seeming to break their connection. “I’m sorry.”
“No. It was wonderful.”
Karyn dropped her eyes to the tablecloth before her, trying to regain her focus.
This is not a date.
She let the words swirl around in her brain. Maybe this time she’d remember them.
Life was so unfair. The first man she’d been attracted to—and if that wasn’t the understatement of the century, she didn’t know what was—in five long, lonely years, and she’d had to blow it by propositioning him on the radio. She was going to kill Anne.
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