had something in their lives she had to compete with. Like Carl, who loved programming games for Lucas Arts more than doing things with her. Or Luis, who had wanted kids and picket fences as long as his mom and most of his extended family could come and share them, too.
Then she’d gone out on a limb and tried online dating with one of those nifty interfaces where you filled out your wish list of the perfect man’s qualifications. What had she wound up with?
An interesting archaeologist—oh, yeah, and her son.
Feeling like a coward, Lauren excused herself as gracefully as she could and got back to work. Circling the room, she ran a hand over the mass of curls Rory’s clever fingers had coaxed into her taffy-colored mop, and got her mind back on a safer track.
She needed to decide on a theme for her article. What did it say about society when you could surf for a partner in the same way she surfed TV channels, searching for something that looked good enough to spend some time on?
Hmm. That would make a good lead. Then she could follow it with—
“Excuse me,” said a baritone voice behind her. She turned and looked straight into a crisp shirtfront. Her gaze traveled up a row of buttons, one by one. Here was the stuff dreams were made on, or it would be if her subconscious ever thought to cast men like this.
His hair, which was on the long side, flopped into his left eye in a way that should have made him look messy but instead made him look intriguing and mysterious. He grinned, and she dropped ten years from her first estimate. He had the kind of grin that made a woman do a double take—all little-boy mischief on the one hand and pure male appreciation on the other. What was it about dimples in a male cheek that could make a woman’s knees go all soft and wobbly? And check out the way the overhead light made hollows under his cheekbones. His eyes were dark as sin, with long lashes that managed to look sexy instead of feminine.
“May I?” He held up his key.
A miracle. No tired one-liner. The man was not only yummy, he was so classy he’d achieved originality.
“Sure.” She should be so lucky.
No, luck was a lady tonight. An old lady with an early bedtime. A frisson of sensation tiptoed across her skin as his long, sensitive fingers brushed the shallow curves of her breasts. Not for the first time, she wished she were a little deeper in the keel, like Rory. Enough to make this charmer focus on her instead of on the little suitcase he held.
Never mind, Cinderella. You’re not at the ball to find a prince. Not unless he’s willing to give you a quote.
He inserted his key in her lock and turned it.
Snick. The two halves of the suitcase sprang open the way women probably welcomed him all the time.
Oh, my. Lauren hadn’t been expecting anyone to open her lock; she’d kept herself so focused on interviewing people that she’d sidestepped most of the possibilities. It was one thing to ogle this guy and appreciate him the way she did good food and beautiful scenery. But now that he had the key to her lock, she either had to let herself go and enjoy whatever he had to offer, or—or what? Leave?
Suddenly escape looked much less appealing than it had a few minutes ago.
“I finally lucked out.” He smiled down at her. “I have to admit I was here more for the benefit part than the key part. But now it looks as if the benefit is all mine.”
“We’ll have to see, won’t we?” Lauren sounded a lot more casual than she felt as she fished out the paper slip her suitcase held. “We turn this little piece of paper in to Maureen and get a prize, then she enters us in the big drawing. But you go ahead. I have to talk to someone.”
“Oh, no. We’re in this together.”
He offered her his hand and, instead of murmuring the excuse that fluttered on her tongue, she found herself taking it and allowing him to lead her to the stage. His fingers were warm and very sure as they wrapped around hers.
“I’m Josh, by the way.” He glanced down at her, one eyebrow raised. She’d thought only English actors could pull off that lazy, inquiring brow. It managed to transmit both interest and inquiry in one movement.
Sigh. No, you have to work tonight. Don’t you? “Lauren.”
Since he was already holding her hand, he couldn’t exactly shake it. He squeezed her fingers instead. He might have been about to say more, but behind a knot of people, Lauren caught a glimpse of the Alien Bodyguard kid’s leather jacket. Aha!
“Josh, I don’t mean to be rude, but I really do need to speak to someone.” She tried to disengage her hand. The part of her that loved forties swing music and bought antique clothes wondered why she was giving up a chance with a gorgeous, interested man in favor of a kid who didn’t even know who she was. “I’m a journalist, and I’m after that kid over there in the jacket.”
“Kit Maddox? No problem, I’ll wait.”
What circles did he move in that he knew the actor’s name? Maybe he was in the movie business. Maybe she should introduce him to Rory. But then, it was a safe bet he wouldn’t be there when she got back. Mentally, she kissed the delectable Josh goodbye and headed off across the floor.
Five minutes and one dance later—did anyone have any idea how hard it was to hold a recorder while someone was dipping you?—she had her celebrity quote. Now she could go home and make Lorelei eat some crow in public about her treatment of Alien Bodyguard, and go into a snit about it, which would make people respond on the chat board, which would make traffic spike, which would make the Queen of Pain happy.
She detoured around a couple who looked as if they were doing gym exercises to “Hot, Hot, Hot,” and found Josh standing right where she’d left him.
The impact hit her under the ribcage. Had he been watching her dance with Maddox? Had he liked what he’d seen? What presence the guy had. He stood there, one hip cocked and one hand in the pocket of his black jeans, in a pose straight out of GQ or Esquire.
The appealing thing was, he seemed to be completely unaware of both pose and the fact that women were ebbing and flowing around him like a crowd of interested muses. Lauren liked that in a man. Not that she thought everything should be all about her—except when it came to competing for the bathroom mirror.
He strolled over, parting the disarray with effortless ease. “I saw you caught Maddox. Did you get what you needed from him?”
He had been watching her, just the way she was watching him. “Yes, and now I need something from you. How do you do that?”
He looked around, a charming little wrinkle between his brows. “Do what?”
She shook her head with a smile. “Never mind.” If he didn’t know the effect he had on women, all the better. Though why she was thinking about sharing the bathroom mirror at all was something she didn’t want to go into at the moment.
“So tell me what you need from me,” he said. “Before I make a few suggestions myself.”
Lauren swallowed. His voice, even with a hint of a rasp around the edges, was as alluring as dark chocolate—and no doubt just as bad for you. But…her research was done and he was here and after all, it had been a long time since a man had looked at
