left?” Tom asked Kara. “Tina?”
“She wanted to get home.”
“I hope I didn’t hurt her feelings. I just didn’t expect her to do that. Hit on me.” He sounded surprisingly shy.
“I’m sure she’s fine,” she said. Kara didn’t dare explain that Tina had him in mind for a demonstration of meaningless sex, but she added, “She thinks you’re quite attractive.”
“Really?” He quickly frowned out his eagerness. “She’s just lonely.” He left to get Ross’s drink.
“What was that about?” Ross asked.
“Tina was flirting with Tom.”
“He doesn’t seem her type—too humble and lovable.”
“I guess that makes him a challenge.”
“And God knows our Tina loves a challenge. So, where was I? Oh, yes.” He put his hands loosely around her neck again.
She noticed how warm and strong his fingers were. She wished Tina hadn’t suggested sleeping with him. She couldn’t get the idea out of her head. “I give,” she said, leaning away from his grip. “I was just keeping you on your toes.”
“If you can’t do something right, don’t do it…in front of Kara.”
“You think I’m uptight?”
Her tone caught him and he searched her face. “What happened? You’re upset. Didn’t Miller like the presentation? I’m sorry I couldn’t make it.”
Ross liked to present the creative concepts to clients. Kara preferred to have him at those meetings—his energy was infectious and he inspired confidence.
“No, he was pleased. You were right that he’d like the ads in that order. And he worshiped your print ad with the dancing beagles.”
“Worshiped? The only thing Miller worships is his bottom line. You’re my biggest fan at the salt mines.”
“No. Tina’s right. You’re very talented. I heard Lancer is heading to L.A., which means the creative department manager spot will open up. You should apply.”
“Stop shoving me up the ladder of success. I’m happy hanging here on this bottom rung, thank you.” He paused and looked at her closely. “So if it’s not the Miller thing, what is it? Your eyes are sad.”
“It’s just…Scott broke up with me.”
“Damn. You want me to beat him up?” He took a boxing posture and jabbed, his biceps swelling nicely under his black T-shirt. The shirt looked great with the peace sign on a collar-length leather strap around his neck.
“No need. He was very considerate about it.”
“Figures,” he said, dropping the pose. “You go for those Fortune 500 types, who consider a snappy game of squash to be a test of their manhood. I know how to fix him—restring his squash racquet with low-test catgut. That’ll destroy him.”
“Scott’s a good guy. And since when have you been so Neanderthal?”
“Good point. I’m a lover, not a fighter.”
A lover. She felt that charge again. Looking at him made her feel even worse. The stud in one ear complemented his smart-ass half grin, faint stubble and tousled hair, black as his shirt.
“Anyway, he can’t be that good if he was bad to you.” He squeezed her upper arm.
Great hands. She felt a tickle between her legs. “You’re sweet.”
“It’s just an act.” He winked at her.
But it wasn’t. Not when it came to her, she knew. They looked out for each other.
“You’re too good for those jokers,” he said. “Too smart. When you flash your intellect, their little willies just shrivel up.”
“Oh, please.” But she felt better all the same. Because he was a man, she guessed, with a man’s view. And he was a friend, which made him safe—and absolutely not a viable sex object.
Ross accepted the mug of two-toned ale from Tom, saluted Kara with it, then took a drink. She watched his Adam’s apple go up and down, noticing how his neck muscles slid. He was in great shape for someone too lazy to go to the gym. He must do something athletic despite his claims to the contrary. It couldn’t just be sex, could it?
“So what happened?” He licked the foam off his upper lip in a way that made her insides clutch. “Not too many gory details, though. Nothing about how big he is, or any of that. I might be intimidated.”
“Oh, stop it. Women don’t care about size. It’s only men who always want to whip it out and compare. It’s not the boat, it’s the ocean, or the motion, or whatever the hell that saying is.”
He chuckled, low and sexy, and leaned forward. “Pretty lusty talk for the mistress of sedate. What’s up? Did he make you feel unattractive? Because you’re hot. Never forget that.”
She blushed. “No. It just didn’t work out.” She watched, transfixed, as he slid his fingers along the mug’s surface. He had long artist fingers. Fingers that knew what they were doing everywhere they went.
“Come on. Give me the scoop. I tell you about all my women.”
“Like I have to pry those stories out of you. You can’t wait to spill. I can’t believe you broke up with that woman—Heather, wasn’t it?—because she sounded like Minnie Mouse when she climaxed.”
“It was more than that. She didn’t like Otis Redding.”
“Now that’s unforgivable.”
“Come on. Tell me,” he said, his voice so kind and full of affection her throat tightened.
So she told him about the drawer and the smothering, and Ross frowned and studied her face, made that “mmm-hmm” sound like a doctor with a troubling diagnosis, and finally said, “You were wasting yourself on him.”
She smiled. “You always make me feel better.”
“My pleasure.” He patted her hand, the gesture soothing as a hot bath.
“Tina thinks my problem is that I get too serious too fast,” she continued. “From lack of, um, experience.” She blushed. Here she was revealing how sexually limited she was to a man who’d provided fireworks for dozens of women.
“With sex, the issue is quality, not quantity… Take it from someone with the Gold Seal of Approval.” He winked, teasing.
“Lord, you’re arrogant. So, you’re saying I’m picking bad lovers?”
He shrugged. “Could be the Teeny Peenie Syndrome.”
“Enough with the penis stuff, Ross.”
“I mean that figuratively.
