His Final Seduction. Lori Wilde
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Mason,” Jorgie supplied, wondering if he liked conventional girls.
She’d had a puppy-love crush on Quint for the entire school year and he barely knew she existed. If she squeezed her eyes closed tightly enough, she could still see him as he’d looked then—lanky, medium brown hair, a devilish grin that melted tweenaged hearts. Of course as a tenth grader, he’d never given her the time of day and she’d been far too shy to even say boo to him, but she’d been besotted. Jorgie sighed. She’d been getting it wrong with the opposite sex ever since.
Wonder what ever happened to him? Then she remembered something her brother Keith had told her in passing after his ten-year high school reunion the previous fall. He’d heard Quint had been stationed in Afghanistan, but that he’d recently left the air force and was working for some private airline. That did not sound like a conventional guy.
“Yeah.” Avery tapped her temple with an index finger. “Quint Mason. That’s him. This trip is just like that. You have the chance to grab life by the throat and really live.”
“But is an erotic destination vacation really the answer?”
“Look at this.” Avery snatched the Eros brochure from her hand and shook it under her nose. “Look at all the opportunities you’d be running away from.” Her friend flipped through the pages, reading the copy as she went. “Learn the sex secrets every courtesan knew. Find out how to hold men completely in your thrall. Dance the seductive dance that brought kings to their knees. Become an exotic woman of pleasure.”
Embarrassment heated Jorgie’s cheeks. She snatched the brochure back and stuffed it inside her purse. “Shh, someone will hear you.”
Avery shrugged. “So what? I’m not ashamed.”
“There are kids around.”
“Hey, I’m not their mother. It’s not my job to censor their exposure to life.”
“Maybe not, but you don’t have to announce to the entire airport where we’re going.”
“Seriously,” Avery said, “don’t run away. This is your chance to show that dork Brian that you’re anything but conventional. And where does he get off calling you conventional? You two met at an accountants’ conference, for crying out loud. He’s just as conventional as you, or he was before he—”
“But I am conventional.”
“Conventional is as conventional does.”
“Huh?”
“It’s something my grammie says.”
“Your grammie says ‘conventional is as conventional does’?”
“No, she says ‘pretty is as pretty does,’ I just substituted conventional, but the advice still applies.”
“It doesn’t make sense either way.”
“Sure it does. Act pretty and you’ll be pretty. Act conventional and you’ll be conventional. Act unconventional and—”
“I get your drift.”
“So stop having cold feet. Actually, stop thinking. You think too much, Jorgie.”
“And you don’t ever look before you leap, Avery.”
“But I have a lot more fun than you do.”
Jorgie sighed. True enough. “You know this is just a variation of the same conversation we’ve been having for twenty years.”
“I’m the accelerator…” Avery said, starting the quote their mothers spoke over their heads as they’d played in the sandbox together. Avery was the kid who flung herself headfirst down the slide. While Jorgie was the crying girl who hovered on the top rung of the ladder, too scared to climb back down, too fearful to take the plunge.
“And I’m the brake,” Jorgie finished.
“We balance each other out. It’s the secret to our lifelong friendship.” Grinning, Avery slung her arm over Jorgie’s shoulder.
Avery’s grin bolstered her sagging confidence. The truth was, she didn’t know what she’d do without her. Avery had such a life force. Whenever she was around her, Jorgie felt stronger, braver, more adventuresome. What few risks Jorgie had taken were due solely to her best friend’s influence. Avery was like an exuberant leader, barreling her way through life on her magnetic charm and sheer good luck.
“Your turn.” Avery elbowed her forward.
Shoulder muscles tensed tight as a wire, Jorgie stepped up to the kiosk and inserted her credit card. Ready or not, this was going down.
“While you’re doing that,” Avery told her, “I’m going up to the ticket counter.”
“Huh? What for?”
“Never you mind. I’ll be right back.” Avery raised her hand over her head and gave Jorgie a backward wave. She sashayed over to the ticket counter, her low-slung jeans and cropped cotton T-shirt revealing a peek at the vivid ink art decorating her lower spine. Jorgie would never ever have the courage to get a tattoo, but as much as Avery’s audacity shocked her, she also admired it.
The ticket kiosk spit out Jorgie’s boarding pass.
It was confirmed. She and Avery were on their way to Venice to learn how to make love like courtesans. Not that Avery needed sex lessons—the woman kept more men dangling on the string than she could count—but her friend could definitely do with a dose of the courtesans’ famed discretion.
Okay, all right, she would do this. She needed this. It was time she stopped playing it safe. Brian was right. She was too conventional. She could do this as long as she had Avery beside her.
Speaking of Avery, where in the heck had she gotten to?
Ticket in one hand and her carry-on clasped in the other, Jorgie spun away from the kiosk. She was so busy searching the crowd for her friend that she didn’t see the man barreling down on her until it was too late. She tried to zigzag, but that only made things worse.
Wham!
They collided in a tangle of arms and legs and rolling leather luggage.
“Miss, are you okay?” His voice was as deep as Phantom Lake, where her parents owned a summer cottage.
His hands were on her shoulders, steadying her. That’s when Jorgie realized she was on the floor and her skirt had flipped up, revealing way too much of her thighs. She yanked her skirt to her knees and darted her gaze to his face. Had he noticed?
The slick, knowing grin said, oh, yeah, he’d noticed.
And she was noticing for the first time just how extremely handsome he was. The stuff of daydreams. Chiseled jaw. Neatly trimmed thick, wavy brown hair. Mischievous cocoa-colored eyes. A slightly crooked nose that told her it had been broken at one time, but that kept him from being too damned gorgeous.
She felt like fleeing. Jorgie gulped, stared. Say something, dummy.
“Hey,” he said. “Don’t I know you?”
It surprised her that he’d use such a tired line. He looked as if he would know all the cutting-edge come-ons. She frowned, shook her head, unable to speak against the weight of his warm, distracting hand upon her shoulder.
“Yeah, yeah, sure I do. I used to hang out with your brother Keith, when my family lived in Burleson. It’s Quint, Quint Mason. Remember me?” He extended a hand.
Quint Mason? Was it possible? Here? Now? She stared, stunned by coincidence and the power of his presence.
His hand stayed outstretched, the smile firmly hung on his lips.
She almost laughed. Not because there was anything funny, but to help relieve her nervous tension. What else could she do? She had to accept his help.
His hand was warm and