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 her like this.
“I need—” I need you to go somewhere dark and quiet with me. I need you to unlock my possibilities.
No, you can’t say things like that to a stranger. Mikki can, but not you.
“I need you to give me an interview,” she blurted. “I’m working on a piece about key parties and you’re gorgeous. I mean, perfect. I mean, perfect for my demographic.”
Oh, God, could she just die now and get it over with?
But when he threw back his head and laughed, she realized he wasn’t laughing at her. He had the same kind of let-it-all-out humor that Emma Constable, her foster mother, possessed. The kind that attracted people to her the way people always walk to a fireplace when they enter a room.
“Is that all you want me for?” Josh said at last, when his amusement had simmered down to a smile. He smiled with his whole face, eyes included, which were crinkled at the corners. “I was hoping for a little more than that. Such as a prize. And a drink. And a dance, too. To start.”
The smile took on another dimension, something hot and focused and filled with meaning.
Whoa. Lauren tried to take a breath and found she had to work at it. “Demanding, aren’t you?”
“Not demanding.” His eyes sparkled. “But when a woman tells me she needs me, I like to give her options.”
Oh, there were definitely options here. Excitement and anticipation began to beat in her blood. “Why don’t we start with the prize? That’s the easy part.”
“And the rest of it’s hard?”
Lauren gave him a sideways glance as she led the way to the stage, a glance filled with humor and invitation. “That depends on you, doesn’t it?”
He laughed again as they reached the podium. Maureen looked from Lauren to her companion and Lauren could swear the other woman physically restrained herself from reaching out and stroking him.
Lauren could hardly blame her, since she felt like doing that herself. Josh was incredibly touchable. The fabric of his shirt draped his shoulders and chest in a way that made you want to find out what was underneath. Most men wouldn’t have worn black jeans to a semi-dressy event like this, but then, she didn’t hear any of the women complaining about the way those jeans hugged him at thigh and hip. Or the way they accentuated his long stride.
Josh took the pair of tickets Maureen handed him and gave one to Lauren. “Dancing in the Street.” He glanced at her. “I can’t remember the last time I went to the theater. The way my work schedule has been, I think it was 1999.”
Uh-oh. Shades of Carl the programmer.
The jungle beat of anticipation in Lauren’s veins faded to a four-finger tap of disappointment. She knew the type—they romanced you just because they could, and then on Monday it was back to work in the corporate castle, where they felt safe and in control, and people were paid to do what they said, and they forgot to call.
Sure, he might be interested. God knew she was. But not enough to risk her self-esteem yet again with a guy who would put her on his scale of priorities somewhere between the office and his daily workout at the gym.
She needed to get out of this gracefully, with her pride still intact. Behind Josh’s back, Lauren raked the sea of people with a hasty glance. Where were her sisters when she needed them?
GETTING THE LOVELY LAUREN to stay in one place long enough to talk to her was proving to be as difficult as pinning down George Lucas for an interview.
Josh had succeeded with Lucas, mind you, and the resulting story had been in the issue the magazine’s readers had voted “Best of 2004.” But so far tonight, all he’d managed with Lauren was to launch her at Kit Maddox—thereby losing a dance—and to win a theater ticket, after which she’d promptly vanished.
So she’s not interested. Write it off.
That was the problem. He could swear she was interested. Part of it was the way she said outrageous things and then let her hazel eyes lock on his mouth while she waited for him to respond. Part of it was the way she’d looked at him after she’d come back from her dance with Kit Maddox—she’d lit up like a kid at Christmas when she’d seen him waiting for her at the edge of the dance floor. It was pretty hard to resist a woman who looked at you like that.
Not that Josh had any intention of resisting. Until now he’d poured his concentration into work, into making enough money so that he’d finally feel safe. He had a knack for analyzing popular trends and seeing what consumers were going to need a few years down the line. That, combined with a business confidence that appealed to fellow venture capitalists, had made him a success in the oak-sheltered enclaves along Sand Hill Road in Silicon Valley.
However, it didn’t do a damn thing for his social life. Which brought him back to this club and Maureen Baxter’s charity bash. She was a friend of one of the other investors in Left Coast magazine, who had talked him into coming after the last quarterly forecast meeting. It hadn’t taken much to convince him. It was time to put some serious investment into the opposite sex.
Both women and entertainment hadn’t been on his agenda much in recent years. He was—he admitted it—rusty. He was going to change all that.
Okay. But there are a lot of beautiful women here in short black skirts with fabulous legs. Pick one of them.
Nope, he thought, obstinate even with the voice of reason in his head. I have the key to Lauren’s lock. That’s supposed to mean something.
The adventurer in him enjoyed a challenge. The logician figured the odds were pretty good she was as attracted to him as he was to her. And the male underneath it all wanted to know how those legs might feel wrapped around his waist, what that generous mouth would taste like under his, wanted to test the weight of those small breasts under her fragile silk top.
If things progressed that far. He was going to do everything in his power to see that they did.
Fifteen minutes later he found her sitting alone at a table near the dance floor, speaking rapidly into a minirecorder. The music had slowed down, and colored spotlights circled the floor, illuminating her skin and then leaving her in the muted glow of the table lamp.
He folded himself into the spindly gilded chair next to her and waited for her to finish dictating her thought. “No rest for the published,” he said, indicating the recorder.
She didn’t apologize for losing him
