being a realist. You want me to lie about it? Deny that men find me sexy? Well, I won’t.” A self-deprecating smile lifted both corners of her mouth. “I’ll also admit that I can be an unadulterated bitch. But that hasn’t yet stopped a guy from begging to show me heaven.”
“And that would be right about the time you tell him to go to hell?”
“For all the good it does.” She gave a quick shake of her head, scooping flyaway hair behind her ear, before adding, “I so don’t get it. I mean, I understand the concept of coming back for more. But it’s not like I’m giving out candy here. I can’t decide if their egos are that resilient or if they have some sort of rejection fetish.”
Eric considered her dilemma, considered, too, the shell of her ear and the tiny little Spock-like point now exposed. He gripped the steering wheel tighter. “Kick me, beat me, make me beg? Yeah. It can happen with some guys.”
“But never with you.” The tone of her comeback asked the question she’d stated as fact.
Time to get a few things straight. “Chloe. I never say never because life offers too few sure things. But I can say this. You will never know what I do or do not enjoy in bed until you’re there to find out firsthand. Then, trust me. I won’t hesitate to show you what I like, where and how.”
And then he bit his tongue before inviting her to take a trip into his fantasy. Because his imagination had taken on epic proportions, and all she needed to know he could teach her with a quick zip of his fly.
For the next few moments she remained unmoving and silent, the only sound in the car the muffled noise of the engine and that of Chloe’s breathing, ragged and more than a little bit out of control.
Eric could only imagine the matching pulse beating in her wrist, her chest, the base of her throat. He could only imagine because he had no intention of looking away from her eyes. He could see her considering the possibilities. How would they fit together? Would he like her best on the bottom or on the top? Would he prefer she take control or surrender? Would he get his first? Would he even be able to make her come?
He smiled at that, not because he was a miraculous, all-powerful lover, but because he was surprised how many women had given up on orgasms. And how many men weren’t man enough to take the time and figure out what a woman needed.
They weren’t all built on the same assembly line, which meant where one woman needed a tweak, another needed a nudge and still another needed a nice little squeeze. All a man had to do was ask. Then figure out how to coax her to answer. Women were such amazing beings.
Finally, Chloe cleared her throat. “Well, Eric. Sugar. I’m not sure I know what to say. I would love to know what you’re like in bed, but since I’ll never be there to find out firsthand, I guess I’ll die an unfulfilled woman.”
She was so damn good at busting his chops. Why did she have to be so damn good?
He didn’t know another woman who’d ever been able to get his hopes up when he wasn’t even looking, only to crush him into line chalk by the time he got up to speed.
“Remember what I said. Never say never.”
She waved a hand in front of her face. “It’s getting rather stuffy in here. Think you could turn on the AC?”
Eric tossed his head back and laughed, adjusting the flow of refrigerated air. “I would’ve turned it on a long time ago if I’d known you’d be sticking around to need it. But you were so gung ho to get back to your car.”
“I know. I was.”
“But you’re not now? What’s with the change of heart?”
She turned her head, returned her sunglasses to her face. But not before a hint of grudging respect flashed in her eyes. “Nothing but that little ol’ promise I made to grant you three wishes. A deal is a deal.”
Eric rubbed his hands together. “My own personal genie in a bottle.”
“Just keep that rub-a-dub-dub business to yourself,” she said, slicing him with a sharp sideways glance.
“So, we’re ready to hit the road here again?”
She sighed. “I suppose I don’t have much choice.”
“What’re you talking about? You have all kinds of choices.” But he put the car into gear anyway, exited Haydon’s parking lot and headed again for Stratton Field.
“Sure. Like choosing between saving my job or giving it up to Poe without a fight.”
Poe. Eric’s first problem to tackle. Or to let Chloe talk herself into tackling. Women liked to talk. All those lips movin’ and jaws flappin’ seemed to jar loose whatever it was keeping their brains from calling the right play.
Give ’em a willing ear, and most of the time they worked things out just fine on their own. He didn’t claim to understand how it worked. He just knew that it did.
“I guess first thing you need to decide is if the job’s worth fighting for.” He downshifted as they rolled up to a traffic light and stopped.
“You have got to be kidding me.” She shifted in her seat, fighting with the seat belt in order to face him. “I am gIRL-gEAR. This is my career. My future. I can’t imagine doing anything else with my life.”
There it was again, that passion. He wondered how aware she was of her nature, and how it must be killing her to rein it in, to bite her tongue when her tongue had so much to say.
And it was more than her mouth. Even the way she wore her makeup fit her personality. That and the way she culled her dates, a sort of aggressive search-and-destroy for…what? he wondered. What was it that drove her?
“Then I guess that answers my question. Though I do think that part about you being gIRL-gEAR is a bit over the top.”
“That coming from Mr. Sports Bar?”
Eric paused to consider the comparison. “Not the same at all. Eric Haydon. Haydon’s Half Time. Chloe Zuniga. gIRL-gEAR. Nope. Totally different arena.”
Chloe snorted. “You can’t even carry on a conversation that isn’t littered with—” she gestured dismissively “—your sports expressions.”
Eric had never really thought about it, but he supposed Chloe was right. He did think in the lingo. But athletics and competition had been so much a part of his life that he didn’t remember a day going by without it. Sorta like he didn’t remember a day going by without food or sleep.
“Besides,” she continued, “even if I am over the top about gIRL-gEAR, it’s a reflection of me. I’m fairly over the top about a lot of things. I don’t think that’s much of a secret. Between my profanity issues,” she said, sketching air apostrophes with her fingers, “and my problems with Poe, I’m a walking talking cry for intervention. Or so Sydney thinks. Having intervened.”
Eric chuckled and signaled his lane change. “So, how long has she been with gIRL-gEAR? This Poe of yours.”
“She’s not mine and she’s been there a little over a year. She started as Sydney’s assistant, but now she works
