Blind Date. Cheryl Porter Anne
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Maury, why’d you have to make him promise to behave?” Meg pouted, clamping her hands to her waist. “Are you just trying to take all the fun out of this evening?”
Meg’s teasing sentiment—though Joe suspected she’d said it mainly to make Uncle Maury laugh, which he did—nevertheless riveted Joe’s attention on her. She boldly met his gaze, but only for an instant before she leaned in to kiss his elderly great-uncle on the cheek. Watching her, Joe again had the sense, deep inside, that she was not going to be an easy woman to walk away from.
A LITTLE MORE THAN three hours into their not-a-date, as they motored down stately Bayshore Boulevard with the un-air-conditioned jalopy’s front windows rolled down, Meg found herself looking over at Joe. Though he was seat-belted in behind the wheel of the Mafia-mobile, he wasn’t all that far away. For all its chrome and length, the car’s interior was fairly compact. No more than a foot of empty bench seat separated her from this fine specimen of maleness.
“How long have you been here visiting Maury?” she asked, deciding a little conversation might break the ice.
“Three days now.”
“Really? I’m surprised I haven’t seen you around the apartment complex.” Meg loved that Joe was driving. This way she could look at him all she wanted, without worrying about where they were going. The man had a killer face—high forehead and cheekbones, deep-set blue eyes, a straight nose, sensual lips and a firm jaw. He looked like a tough-guy movie star. But most of all, she liked how a lock of his sandy hair, which looked darker in the night, fell over his forehead. “Where have you been—camped out by the pool so you could check out all the bikini babes?”
“Only for about the first twenty-four hours.” He grinned over at her, showing beautiful white teeth, then returned his attention to the traffic. “I was wondering why I hadn’t seen you, either. But I guess it’s because Uncle Maury’s place is so far away from yours. You’ve got a whole other entrance and street address.”
“Yes, the stinker has the best apartment in the complex. But I was at work all this last week. And except for Wednesday evening when I went shopping—as you well know but aren’t allowed to talk about—I was home grading papers. Anyway, all I can say is thank God this upcoming week is our spring break.”
Looking really pleased, Joe nodded. “It is? So you’re off all week?”
If he was happy about that, then so was she. A heat deep in her abdomen grew at the spark of awareness she saw in his eyes. “Yes, I am.”
“And you’re not going anywhere?”
Meg raised her eyebrows. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”
“Hardly. I was just thinking that this is Florida, spring-break mecca. I figured you’d join the festivities, like in all those old beach movies.”
“Not me. I grew up doing that. All the drinking, sleeping around, getting thrown in jail…it gets old pretty fast.” Enjoying the shocked disbelief on his face, Meg confessed. “I was just kidding. I didn’t do those things. Well, not all of them.”
“Imagine my disappointment.”
“Ha-ha. So, how long are you staying?”
“Another week.” Joe’s blue eyes glittered black in the semidarkness. “Pretty good timing on my part, huh?”
Meg playfully turned up her nose at him. “Don’t be so sure of yourself. I never said I’d spend the whole week with you.”
She wished like crazy she had the nerve to undo her seat belt, scoot over next to him and put her hand on his rock-solid leg as they rode along. And maybe he’d put his muscular arm around her. And they’d be like something out of Grease—hopefully, an R-rated Grease.
“So, where to now, Meg? We’ve returned your dress, eaten at that cheesecake place, talked about our families and our entire lives up to now, seen the former Tampa Bay Hotel along the Hillsborough River, which now houses the University of Tampa—” he grinned over at her “—not the river, the former hotel. See? I was paying attention on the tour.”
Meg nodded. “You better be, cowboy. I don’t do this for everyone.”
“Good. That means I’m special. So, what do we do next?”
We climb in the back seat and make out. Startled, Meg blinked, perfectly ready to get out and walk, if she’d said that out loud. But with his face lit by the passing streetlights and headlamps of other cars, Joe was merely dividing his attention between the road and her, an air of innocent expectancy on his face. Thank God. “Okay, let’s see. Oh, I know. We could get a drink on Harbour Island. There’s a really nice open-air bar there with live music. Jazz. A very in place to be.”
Joe nodded. “Sounds like fun. But I was thinking maybe we should park somewhere and make out hot and heavy.”
His voice was teasing but it had a deep, sensual undertone that sent shivers up her spine.
“This car just seems to beg for that—doesn’t it?” he added.
Shocked, Meg gulped, unable to speak.
“And there it is—the fish-out-of-water response.” Joe’s lip curled into an engaging Elvis Presley grin. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that, should I?”
Meg fought to catch her breath. “It’s not that. You just surprised me. Only a minute ago I was going to…well, I was going to suggest the same thing…” A flash of something electric in his eyes nearly lit the car’s interior. “Really?”
Meg nodded. “Really.”
Apparently, that was enough for Joe. “I’m going to change lanes and find a place to pull over.”
A thrill of dangerous excitement coursed through Meg. Maybe she shouldn’t have started this. Could she finish it? Joe was a hottie, no doubt about that, and she’d all but wished him to be at her door earlier and, yes, she’d had all those sexy thoughts about him, all that was true. But this was getting pretty darned real way too fast. After all, he was here only for a week. That had casual fling written all over it. Before she could totally dismiss that idea, Meg’s libido seized it, telling her maybe that was exactly what she needed right now.
She eyed Joe openly, finally concluding she couldn’t think of any man she’d rather be flung by than him. “So, once you pull over, Joe, what exactly do you intend to do?”
“Something I’ve been wanting to do since I first saw you.”
“Oh God, I ate onions.” Now, why had she said that? Why? Meg almost groaned at how uncool she’d sounded.
Joe shrugged. “Won’t bother me. So did I. Hang on,” he said as he turned the wheel.
Meg wondered if she could dig through her purse, find her mints, pop one into her mouth and hurriedly suck the good out of it—without Joe realizing it. No, that wouldn’t work. Well, maybe he wouldn’t be able to pull over and park. After all, changing lanes—much less pulling over—on Bayshore wouldn’t be that easy. The four-lane avenue, lined with million-dollar mansions on one side of the grassy median and the waters of Tampa Bay on the other, was busy with a steady stream of Friday-evening revelers.
But she hadn’t counted on Joe’s determination. He expertly pulled the unwieldy cruiser into the right lane and, within the next half mile, found the one public parking area on the water’s side.
Joe cut the motor, undid his seat belt and turned toward her. “Meg Kendall, I’ve been wanting to do this since I first saw you with that zipper stuck in your panties.”
Though Meg’s heart thumped like a bass drum and she could barely swallow, she managed to choke out, “You said you wouldn’t bring that up again.”
Joe reached for her and, tenderly gripping her arm, slowly pulled her toward him. “I lied. That scene is all I think about at night.” His voice, low and husky, had her