10 Rules to Sex Up a Blind Date. Heidi Rice
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my hard work.’
She choked out a laugh—the anticipation and arousal finally edging out the terror. She was being ridiculous. Fine, she was hopelessly rusty when it came to flirting with someone she actually fancied. But surely riding stallions was the same as riding a bike—once you knew how, the skill would come back naturally as soon as you got back in the saddle. And given that she was already clear that if anything happened between her and Brent it would simply be sex, and only sex—what could possibly go wrong?
‘Cheers, Sam.’ She squeezed his fingers, stupidly grateful not only for the pep talk, but for the fact that her new bestie had apparently delivered the perfect guy to blast her libido out of mothballs without causing any collateral damage. ‘I promise to give you a blow-by-blow account tomorrow.’
‘A blow-by-blow, huh?’ Sam laughed, saluting her as he walked backwards. ‘Cool.’
She settled into the booth once Sam was gone, and admired Brent’s ass as he pulled a wallet out of his back pocket. While he was handling the drinks, she let out a careful breath, the swelling in her throat now accompanied by a delicious swelling in her clit. Lifting her iPhone off the table, she snapped a photo of him to keep her fingers busy. Rubbing her thighs together to stop the persistent hum of arousal, she felt the gusset of her thong rub against her engorged clit.
Bugger, maybe commando was the correct knicker etiquette for tonight after all.
* * *
Sam has totally set me up, the son of a bitch.
Brent eyed the girl perched on the edge of the booth as he toted their drinks back towards her. She crossed her long legs at the knee, the sequins on her magnificent rack sparkling in the candlelight, and he felt the inevitable tug of response.
Problem was, he didn’t know whether to go punch his friend’s lights out or give the guy a kiss.
He felt the tension in his shoulders ease as she sent him a sultry smile.
Christ, she was a stunner. But not in an obvious way. If he was being entirely objective, he guessed her mouth was kind of wide, her nose had a cute little wonky thing going on and those eyes were unusual, with their cat-like slant and that deep indigo shade so dark it was almost purple. No, she wasn’t conventionally pretty, but the combination was exotic, arresting. And then there was that tony British accent, kind of smoky and slick all at the same time. And to top it off, that mind-blowing figure, which looked round and soft in all the right places.
Get your mind off her ass, man. She’s not a piece of meat.
He shook his head to break the spell before he ended up with a boner he couldn’t control. And felt the prickle of shame that had followed him round ever since his divorce. It had gotten really bad a couple of months ago. That morning he’d woken up in a boutique hotel in Chelsea, almost exactly three years to the day since his divorce had become final, and discovered a pretty auburn-haired girl cuddled under his arm—whose face and name he couldn’t put together.
Was it Sally? Or Suzy? Or Samantha?
He’d spent five minutes watching her sleep and raking through his memory of the previous night—which hadn’t proven to be particularly memorable. Because all he could recall was how much she’d talked about what a dick her ex-boyfriend was, even while they were making love. Once he’d conceded defeat with the name game, he’d slipped out of the room, feeling like the worse kind of asshole. How could he have banged her and not cared enough about her to remember who the hell she was? Maybe because he was exactly what Del had once accused him of being: a good guy to have in the sack and a shit-heel out of it.
So he’d sworn off casual sex for a couple of months, his confidence shot. Maybe he wasn’t anyone’s idea of a dream date, but he could sure aim for a few rungs above shit-heel territory.
At least that had been the plan, until Sam had set him up with a woman who was hot enough to melt all his working brain cells. Of course, Sam had no idea he’d had a self-imposed dry spell for four months. So maybe Sam hadn’t set him up and Tally really was just a happy accident—who’d come along precisely when he was ready to get back in the game.
He placed the drinks on the table and slipped into the booth. ‘Sam beat it already?’ he asked, deciding to scope the situation out before his cock got in the way.
‘Afraid so,’ she murmured, not looking all that heartbroken.
His knee nudged her leg under the table and she blinked, but didn’t shift back. He stretched out, letting his calf slide past hers. She still didn’t budge.
Interesting.
‘So how long have you known Sam?’ he asked—because he didn’t plan to get played, any more than he planned to get led around by his cock.
She glanced down, the powder on her lids glittering in the flicker of light from the candle, then reached for her glass. She caressed the stem between her thumb and forefinger and he felt the phantom stroke on his cock—which was getting harder by the second.
‘Not long.’ She took a sip of the fruity cocktail.
His gaze snagged on the sheen of moisture on her lips as she lowered the glass and those indigo eyes met his. She lifted the strawberry off the side of the glass, let her tongue swirl around the tip, then bit off the end with even white teeth.
A shot of adrenaline kicked him full in the crotch.
Jesus, who is this woman, the cock whisperer?
He shifted in his seat to ease the pressure on his fly. ‘That’s weird, I thought Sam said you were old buddies?’
Twin flags of colour hit her cheeks, but her gaze remained focussed and direct.
A happy accident, my butt.
She trapped her bottom lip under her teeth, before releasing it to say, ‘When did you figure it out?’
‘Does it matter?’
‘Only if you’re not interested?’
He chuckled, the surge of excitement making him light-headed. Goddamn, she was gorgeous—and his, if he wanted her. No mess, no guilt, no fuss and no need to worry about remembering her name, because he doubted he’d ever be able to forget it. He might have to kiss Sam after all.
He sat up, trapping her knees between his thighs. ‘Tally, if I was any more interested I’d have passed out from the loss of blood to my brain.’
She laughed, a full, throaty sound that settled in his lap like melted honey. ‘I’m sorry for the subterfuge, but Sam said you prefer to do the chasing.’
He stroked a finger down her cheek, let it linger under her chin. ‘Sam doesn’t know me as well as he thinks he does.’
Her smile took on a wicked tilt. ‘Clearly.’
Holding her chin, he tugged her towards him until their lips were only a hair’s-breadth apart. And drew in a lungful of her scent—citrus and spice. She smelled glorious, like freshly squeezed OJ and original sin, the perfect aphrodisiac for a Catholic kid who’d grown up working in his dad’s grocery store. Saliva collected in his mouth at the thought of tasting the rest of her. ‘So exactly what did Sam tell you about me?’ he asked, forcing himself to slow down for a second.
Sam had always had a screwy sense of humour. And the guy had been Della’s friend before he’d been Brent’s. Brent didn’t want to take any chances that this was another one of Sam’s jokes—one that he was about to become the butt of. Because the last time Sam had set him up on a date, it had been with a transvestite. Luckily Marilyn had been in on the joke too, or things could have gotten pretty awkward when Brent had spotted her Adam’s apple about two seconds after meeting her.
‘Sam said that you’re a hard-ass with women,’ Tally replied. ‘Who doesn’t do relationships.’
‘Sam said that?’