done it, what do you have against marriage?”
“If you’ve never done it, why are you defending it?”
“I’m supposed to ask the questions, and you’re supposed to answer. Which you didn’t.” His voice dropped lower as he repeated, “What do you have against marriage?”
Luckily, she had a series of set responses to that particular question—it was the first one everyone always asked—so she could pull another easy answer out of a mental file without thinking about his smile, his even white teeth, his perfectly formed lips….
I want you to kiss me with those lips. Now. Often. Starting with now.
On automatic pilot, she murmured, “Marriage is a lovely institution. But I don’t want to live in an institution.”
“I’ve heard that before,” he breathed, and his hand slid onto her knee.
“Doesn’t make it any less true,” she whispered. Stevie fixed her gaze on his adorable mouth, not even hearing his words.
Who cared? She was stoked up. She was on fire. His fingers crept an inch or two higher, tickling and warming her skin at the same time. The sensation—so small, so inconsequential—was incredible. God, that felt good.
She slipped to the front of her seat, rubbing one boot along his calf. He leaned in, lining up for the kiss she knew was coming. But it didn’t. He just sat there, waiting, as the air between them crackled with possibilities.
Feeling very naughty, she licked her bottom lip, watching his eyes as they followed her tongue. Secure in her hot-to-trot persona, she whispered, “So are you going to kiss me or not, Mr. Dasher?”
“Why would I do that, Ms. Bliss?” he asked, in the same soft, dangerous tone she was using.
She kept her boot on his leg. “Why wouldn’t you? You know you want to.”
“I do?”
“Oh, yeah. You do.”
“I don’t kiss women I barely know.”
“So get to know me.” Fast. And then kiss me.
As he gazed at her with a definite spark of mischief and heat, she knew she had him right where she wanted him. She was so proud of herself for acting sexy and reckless—right out of the Blissfully Single playbook—until she suddenly realized she was making a huge mistake. Playing at reckless was fine. Really being reckless was terrible.
As besotted as she was, she still recognized they needed a power shift here. Quickly. Or she’d be in the storage closet making mad, passionate love with Mr. Way Cute before she knew it. She had never done anything that crazy and irresponsible in her entire life, with or without a storage closet and Mr. Way Cute. No matter what she pretended to be, she was not the right sort of person for this full-on assault.
Sliding her foot back to her own side of the table, she decided to say something crude enough to knock him off his game. “If you’re trying to play it coy, you don’t need to. Anyone who’s read my book knows it’s not that hard to get into my pants.”
“But, Stevie, anyone who’s read your book knows you don’t wear any.”
He’d read the book. He knew.
Panic and excitement trilled deep inside her. His soft breath ruffled her hair as he tilted in near her ear. Down below, his hand flirted under the edge of her leather skirt. Oh, man. He’d read the book. He knew!
That was so unfair. She was wet, she was burning up, she wanted him. She closed her eyes and leaned into his fingers, letting him go wherever he wanted. “Oh…”
“Ahem.” Someone loudly cleared her throat. Someone standing right next to them.
Stevie opened her eyes. It was Anna, grinning from ear to ear. Anna scraped another wooden chair on the floor, pulling herself up at their table with a great deal of commotion, as Stevie scrambled to get away from Owen and his wandering fingers. She almost tipped her chair over backward but she was out of his reach.
“Looks like you two are getting along great,” Anna declared, slapping a folder down on the table near Owen’s whirring tape recorder.
Lord, lord. If the nasty little seduction scene hadn’t been bad enough in person, he had it on tape. He could rewind and listen whenever he wanted! Are you going to kiss me or not, Mr. Dasher? Anyone who’s read my book knows it’s not that hard to get into my pants.
Stevie grabbed for the thing, but Owen was faster. He had it turned off and stuck in his pocket before her hand hit the table.
“Just in case you needed any of the more recent figures on who’s buying Blissfully Single or how well it’s selling, I have that all for you,” Anna announced, ignoring any of the subtext churning at the table. “We’re very hot right now. In bookstores, I mean.”
Hot. In bookstores. Uh-huh. Just like her. What had she been thinking, letting things get so out of hand? Hand. Bad choice of words. Why did everything remind her? His hand, her skirt. Her bad, bad judgment. Why couldn’t she get her mind to move past their lewd and lascivious behavior?
Momentary lapse. Over. Move on, she ordered herself.
“Do you have any stats yet on how many marriages you’ve broken up?” Owen interjected in a perfectly charming tone that belied his words and annoyed her to no end.
“Broken marriages?” she echoed, stung by how easily he could switch gears. “Me personally? Or the book?”
He arched one dark eyebrow. “The book, of course. I was wondering if anyone who was already married had decided to throw it over and join the Blissfully Single movement.”
“Don’t you think a marriage that can be broken up over a book deserves to fail?” Stevie returned, with more than a hint of acid. “Or do you think all marriages should stay glued together, no matter how terrible?”
“It doesn’t matter what I think. It matters what you think. And what do you think, Stevie?”
He regarded her as if she were a rather dull exhibit at the zoo, mildly interesting, but nothing to write home about.
Okay, Mr. Smarty Pants. “You know what I think. You read the book.”
“The book strikes me as superficial and not all that well thought-out.”
“And once again, you don’t have a question, just a sermon.” Stevie stood up, ready to spit nails at him.
Superficial and not all that well thought-out. He had a lot of nerve coming to her signing, staring at her, witnessing her fans and their devotion, pawing her, teasing her with kisses that didn’t happen and then, after all that, calling her book superficial. If she’d had a copy of Blissfully Single handy, she would’ve clobbered him with it.
“Is something wrong, Ms. Bliss?” he asked, feigning surprise, which only made her madder. He knew very well what reaction he was going to get. He was goading her into it. And she hated the idea that he could do that. She was supposed to be in control here, damn it.
“What
