she’d hightail it to the relative safety of Chloe and Lauren and lie through her teeth that Mr. Wonderful was either too dull or gay.
So then why could she still feel the touch of Ben’s hand over hers? And what was with the electrifying warmth uncurling in her belly? All because she’d shaken his hand? Ridiculous. And tempting beyond belief.
“What about your friends?” she asked him as he slid into the booth opposite her.
He smiled, and the corners of his eyes crinkled slightly. “They’re big boys,” he said with a chuckle. “I think they can figure it out for themselves, don’t you?”
Another round of raucous male laughter drifted toward them. Her mind took a definite left turn down a treacherous path as she imagined exactly what had been so uproariously funny. To her dismay, she felt heat creep up her neck and settle in her cheeks. “Yes, I imagine they can.”
Oh yes. She most definitely could imagine what they’d said, and couldn’t help the wave of embarrassment rising to the surface and nearly strangling her with dread. Dare or no dare, she couldn’t go through with it.
She inched toward the edge of the booth, preparing to make her escape before she humiliated herself further. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea,” she said, trying to keep the edge of panic from her voice. “I’m sorry.”
“Wait!” The urgent tone of his voice stopped her, but he still reached over the table and grabbed her arm before she slipped away.
“Don’t go,” he said, gentling his tone as he released her. “It’s okay. You don’t normally do this sort of thing, do you?”
She wanted to ignore the sparks skittering along the surface of her skin from his touch, but failed miserably. Her insides tingled, too, with acute awareness. When was the last time something like that had happened to her? Not in recent memory, of that she was dead certain.
“You mean pick up men in bars?” The laugh she managed sounded more caustic than casual, but she slid back to the center of the booth anyway. Apparently women were as ruled by their hormones as men were. “That obvious, huh?”
“A little,” he said with a confirming nod and a smile that reached his eyes, yet failed to chase away the shadows she suddenly sensed lurking there. “So why did you?”
A waitress appeared to take their order. Since Jana had bucked tradition enough for one night, she decided on a safe glass of chardonnay. “A dare,” she said, once Ben placed his order for a beer.
He settled back against the imitation leather booth. The laugh lines bracketing his eyes deepened, as did his smile. “A dare?”
“Yes,” she admitted sheepishly. “A triple, double-dog dare.”
His robust laughter salved her badly dented pride. “I haven’t heard that one since I was a kid.”
“Yes, well, no one ever said grown women had to behave rationally or exhibit maturity at all times.”
“That’s still tough, though, even at the ripe old age of…”
“Twenty-seven,” she told him, wishing she had as smooth a method for him to reveal his age. She figured he couldn’t be much older than thirty-two or three.
He leaned forward and folded his arms on the table-top, the smile still lingering on his handsome face. “Everybody knows you can’t back off from a triple, double-dog dare.”
“Exactly,” she said, relaxing somewhat. “Chloe and Lauren weren’t playing fair, but I had no choice.”
“Of course you didn’t. Your reputation was under fire.”
Jana reached into her purse for her wallet when their drink order arrived. “I’m so relieved you understand,” she said, paying the waitress.
He waited until they were alone, then asked, “Why did your friends feel they had to resort to such drastic measures?”
Because she’d found him incredibly attractive, and if her friends hadn’t dared her, she never would’ve approached him. Because now that Lauren and Chloe knew the truth, they’d stop at nothing to see she became one of the sexually enlightened. Because she really did want to see the size of his hands for herself.
“Ah, now if I told you that,” she hedged, “then I’d be putting the feminine mystique in jeopardy.”
“Risk it.”
Those two words, combined with the pure male interest in his magnetic gaze, had the power to send her into sensory overload, effectively obliterating her common sense in the process. “We were discussing orgasms.”
“I’m intrigued,” he said slowly. The deep, rich, velvety smooth tone of his voice made her think of whispered words lovers shared after midnight. Sated lovers.
She wished.
“I suppose now I have to explain why we were discussing orgasms?” From this day forward, nothing but a single glass of house wine—preferably white and boring—will ever pass my lips.
He shrugged his big, wide shoulders, and Jana reached for her wineglass, reminding herself not to gulp the contents. “I really should’ve ordered coffee.” She drained a third of her glass in one swallow. Forget name, rank and serial number. If she had the keys to Fort Knox, she’d hand them over.
“Because I’ve never had one,” she admitted, and she didn’t even blush.
Much.
Ben nearly choked on his beer. He stared at her long and hard, struggling to comprehend her outrageous statement. “You’re a virgin?”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she blurted. “No. I’ve just never…” She shrugged. “You know.”
Heaven help him, he still couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. In fact, he couldn’t believe she’d told him something so intensely personal. He had a million questions, but only one managed to get past his shocked-to-the-core mind. “Why not?”
She let out a sigh. “If I had the answer to that, then we probably wouldn’t be sitting here because there’d have been no need for Chloe and Lauren to issue that stupid dare.”
“Can I ask exactly what this dare consisted of?” An endless stream of sensual possibilities swamped him, all of which concluded with him, Jana, tangled sheets and bodies glistening from exertion—sexual exertion.
Her big green eyes widened. “Oh! No. Not that,” she said quickly. “Your virtue is perfectly safe with me.”
Disappointment nudged him. Especially with that tangled-sheet fantasy still going strong.
“So. Ben.” She made a huge production out of folding her napkin into a small triangular shape. “What is it you do for a living?”
“I think I’d rather hear you talk about orgasms.”
She reached for her wine, her slender fingers wrapping around the tall, slim glass.
He shifted in his seat.
