Friendly Persuasion. Dawn Atkins
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“Good advice,” Ross said softly. “Surprising, coming from Tina.”
“I know. She’s getting downright maternal.”
“Are you all right?”
“Sure. Yes.” Her mouth was so dry and he was standing so close.
“I mean, you’re not smitten or anything?” He was trying to joke, but he looked at her very closely.
“Smitten? Ha,” she joked back. “You’re good, but not that good.”
“I’m not known for my modesty.”
“Evidently not. And I remember both my name and where my underwear is.” Electricity shot through her, as the image of Miguel pushing her teddy to the floor came to her. “Talking about it feels weird,” she said.
“Yeah.” Ross ran his fingers through his hair. “Hard not to, though. I can’t stop thinking about it.” His eyes flared again.
“I can’t believe that was me doing that,” she whispered, blushing madly.
“Believe it. You were hot. But I wasn’t surprised. You don’t seem to know how sexy you are.”
“Thanks.” His praise warmed her to her toes. “That was good for me, Ross. I learned a lot. Thanks.”
“And you’re sure you don’t feel the urge to offer me a sock drawer?”
“No way. You’re too much of a slob.”
“Let’s not get insulting now. I liked it better when you were worshiping at my feet.”
“Pul-eeze,” she said, shoving him playfully out of her way. “Back to work, Mr. Love Meister.”
Relief filled Kara. She and Ross had had amazing sex and they were still the same joky, easy friends they’d been the day before. Later that day, feeling jaunty, she slipped a check under a straightedge on Ross’s drafting table to pay for half the hotel room.
Except when she returned to her desk after a Dairy Arizona meeting, she found the check on her desk torn in half with a Post-it note that said, My pleasure…Miguel. Lust washed through her and her legs turned to boiled pasta.
Ah, Miguel.
At home that night, Kara felt terrible—alive with itching. She couldn’t read and TV was boring. She even tried the firefighter video, but it looked silly and flat, not warm and sensual. How could anyone settle for video sex when there was the real thing out there? She wanted more of Miguel.
What if Miguel wanted more of Katherine?
There was only one way to find out. An hour later, she stood in the doorway to the Hyatt bar, dressed as she had been last night, her heart in her throat, looking for a certain lonely South American playboy with an on-and-off accent. What was the worst that could happen? If Miguel showed up, perfect. If not, no one would ever know how foolish she’d been.
Unfortunately, Miguel didn’t show. Probably for the best. How could a second time compete with the first? The major charm of last night had been the miraculous newness of it all. Ross must realize that. How uncharacteristically sensible of him.
Finally, when the lounge singer, an ancient-looking guy wearing a tux and a toupee in equally bad taste, started singing “Strangers in the Night,” she almost laughed out loud. Strangers in the night, indeed. She slid off her stool and practically ran out of the bar.
WHEN ROSS STEPPED into the Hyatt dressed like Miguel and feeling like an idiot, the last strains of that Frank Sinatra tune about strangers exchanging glances were fading from the air. He just wanted to see if Kara—make that Katherine—was having the same thoughts he was. If not, so be it. They’d had a nice night and that should be enough.
He stayed for an entire set of the lounge singer until the guy started doo-be-doo-be-doing his way through “Strangers in the Night” for the second time. Ross hadn’t heard that song in years. His parents had the album and when his mom was depressed she would play it and get that wistful look on her face. She never said anything, but he could hear her thinking, If it weren’t for your father and you kids, I’d be exchanging glances with a stranger right now. He’d hated that.
So much better to make fun of the singer in his powder-blue tuxedo and bad rug, especially since Ross’s stranger in the night had not shown her perky breasts in that slinky black dress.
He should have known. Kara was smart. That night had been perfect, and how could he top perfection? He was good, but not that good.
KARA GOT TO WORK early the next morning. She’d peeled off the skintight dress and kicked it into a corner—a move worthy of Ross—and slept off that stupid fantasy. If even reckless Ross knew better than to try again, something must be wrong with her. Maybe she was trying to fall in love with him.
She’d nipped it in time, though. Her concentration was in sharp focus this morning. One hour into the day and she’d already coaxed the Dairy Arizona CEO into getting his board of directors to sign off on the ads. Her tenacity was legendary at S&S. If you want it done, give it to Kara. That was the book on her and she was proud of it. By the end of hour two she’d drafted the promotion plan, and then headed into the kitchen for her midmorning snack as a reward. She was definitely over the fantasy aftereffects.
Today she’d gone with low-fat cottage cheese with pineapple and sliced cantaloupe instead of the usual yogurt and carrots. She was a lot better off living dangerously with her snacks than her sex life. She rounded the turn to the kitchen and found Ross sitting at the table, his feet up, reading the alternative newspaper, whistling to himself.
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