“Bah, humbug.” Brad jumped to avoid the splash of a passing bus.
Kevin lifted his eyebrows. “I think you’ve got the wrong holiday, big brother. Unless someone’s messed with time, Christmas was two weeks ago.”
“Didn’t you see the side of the bus? A mobile Valentine’s Day ad.” He pointed at a rooftop across the street. “And there’s another one on that billboard. Don’t get me started on television commercials and newspaper inserts.”
“What’s the problem?” Kevin asked.
“It’s all a plot, perpetrated by the chocolate and greeting card industries. I repeat. Bah, humbug.”
“Still haven’t recovered from giving whoever she was an electronic tire gauge? That was what—five years ago?”
“Hey, she had a new car and I thought she’d appreciate a gift that showed I was thinking about her safety.”
“Trust me. Stick to the chocolates and flowers.”
Brad grunted. Kevin stepped closer with that I’m-younger-but-wiser expression on his face. Brad braced himself for the inevitable.
“You know you were welcome to have Thanksgiving dinner with Amanda and me.” Kevin’s tone matched his somber expression. “And we missed you at Christmas. You’re family.”
True, but he was Kevin’s family, not Amanda’s. Although Brad liked Kevin’s wife, the rest of that in-law thing had never taken, especially with all her relatives. Since Mom died, Kevin had deferred to Amanda’s family traditions and Brad always felt like an outsider.
“Chill, bro. No problem. I had plenty to do. Maybe this year.” As if. There were plenty of good meals to be had at countless restaurants, and nobody there nagged you about finding someone special and settling down.
“You need to get away from that computer every once in a while. You know. Go out. See a movie. Talk to people. Females, even.” Kevin winged his eyebrows. “When’s the last time you got laid?”
Brad felt heat rise to his ears. He shoved his hands in his pockets and studied the cracks in the sidewalk. “None of your business.”
“Shit, that long?” Kevin shook his head. “All work and no sex makes Brad an angry software developer.”
“Just shut up. If I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it. I like my job. The new venture into video games could be a big coup for the company—and me. If it means extra hours, so be it.”
Kevin gave him another brotherly stare. “I’m serious, Brad. Get out of that subterranean office once in a while. Find a woman.”
Brad swatted Kevin on the side of his head. “Thanks for lunch, kid. Next one’s on me.”
“All right. But I’ll expect a kinder, gentler brother.”
Brad stood for a moment, watching Kevin’s carefree stride down the sidewalk to his car. He mumbled another “bah, humbug” as he pulled open the door to the bank building that housed the corporate offices of Wilson and Wilkes Toys.
Inside the lobby, Brad’s sneakers squeaked on the polished marble floor. An aggregation of suits clustered in front of the elevator. He looked down at his worn jeans and pivoted toward the stairs. Although his office was on the lowest floor occupied by Wilson and Wilkes, it was hardly subterranean. Climbing the four flights would work off the cherry pie, not to mention the frustrations a meal with Kevin seemed to instigate. At the second floor landing, he paused to take off his jacket.
Breathing a little too hard, he pushed open the door at four and a sense of calm washed over him. This was where he belonged. Unexpected strains of classical music drifted down the hall. When he realized the melody came from his office, he quickened his pace. Almost in one motion, he swiped his key card through the lock and pushed the door open.
From behind the spare desk, a woman turned, blinking her large blue eyes at him.
He froze in the doorway. “Who the hell are you? And what are you doing with my things?”
♥ ♥ ♥
“Mr. Hewitt?” Stephanie turned off her CD player. She grabbed her glasses from the desk and adjusted them on her nose. The blur at the door turned into a geek in ratty jeans and a faded green South Park T-shirt with a black jacket slung over his arm. An unsmiling geek. She tried to decide if he looked more confused or angry. Either way, it was definitely not a glad-to-see-you expression.
She came around the desk and extended her hand. “I’m Stephanie Brinks.”
His expression hadn’t changed, but he took two steps into the room. He nodded, not offering his hand in return.
She gave him the friendliest smile she could muster. “You know? Your new office mate? Didn’t you get the e-mail? Last Friday? From Mr. Wilkes?”
Ignoring her, he strode to his computer and tapped some keys. The screen switched from his exploding fireworks screensaver and he opened his e-mail folder. She couldn’t help but notice how many of them hadn’t been read.
She took a tentative step toward him, waving the printout. “Um…I have a copy here, if it’ll save you some time?”
He grabbed it from her hand and pulled a pair of black-framed glasses from his pocket. Scanning the page, he mumbled the phrases she’d read a dozen times when she’d been sent to this office. “Shortage of space on the sixth floor. Unused desk. Temporary assignment. Understanding, cooperation is appreciated.”
He looked at her over his glasses. “Temporary? Six months is not temporary. What am I supposed to do with all my stuff?” He swept his hand in a broad gesture and she stepped back.
“Maybe I can help you organize it?”
He folded his glasses. She noticed his eyes were almost the same green as his T-shirt, but they were anything but faded.
“Why do you talk in questions?” he asked.
“What?”
“Your voice. It goes up at the end, like everything you say is a question.”
She considered his words for a moment, mentally rewinding and listening to herself. “You’re right. Is it going to be a problem?” She tried another smile. “That was a legitimate question.”
“I haven’t decided. Mostly, if you’re going to work in here, I’ll expect you to be quiet.”
Great. A grouchy geek. What else could go wrong? She reminded herself she was lucky to have a job at all. Until a desk opened on six, she’d be stuck down here, but at least she had a toe in the door for a better position.
She straightened her spine. “I understand, Mr. Hewitt. I’m no happier with these office arrangements than you are, so I’ll leave you to your work and expect the same courtesy from you.”
He opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it. With a shake of his head, he went back to his computer. He yanked on a drawer, pulled out a pair of Bose headphones and settled them over his ears. Pretty soon, all she heard was the clattering of his keyboard.
Stephanie ran her hands across her CD player, wishing for the comfort of background music. Tomorrow, it would be earbuds for sure. With a sigh—a very quiet sigh—she moved stacks of paper, magazines and miscellaneous debris to the edges of the desk, clearing enough room for her laptop. According to her supervisor, Ms. Hungerford, the Telecommunications people would show up before the end of the day, and she’d be set. Meanwhile, she had a flash drive with the files she needed until she was connected to the network.
She moved a pile of books from the chair to the floor and sat behind the old, scratched desk. Adjusting the chair to a comfortable typing position, she gave one last wistful look at her portfolio tucked between the two filing cabinets.
Last Friday, Mr. Wilkes had perused her designs, her ideas and a part of her soul. He gave her a sympathetic look over his wire-rimmed glasses. “Very impressive, Miss Brinks. Unfortunately, we already filled the position. However, we do have an opening at the entry level.”
Because there were bills to pay, and because entry level was a job, which she desperately needed, she’d swallowed her pride and accepted. And here she was. A member of the support staff. What would have been called a typing pool back in the dark ages when secretaries pounded on manual typewriters. Even worse, because t
he rest of the Wilson and Wilkes support staff worked on the sixth floor and she was stuck on four with the mailroom and the techs. How could she network her way into the design job she had trained for down here? She permitted herself one last sigh. She had no place to go but up.
While she waited for the company-issued laptop to boot, she studied her office mate. From the back, he looked remarkably ungeeklike. His dark brown hair might be on the long side for the suits upstairs, but it was clean, shiny and hung in thick waves over his collar—or where his collar would be if he actually wore a shirt with one. His shoulders filled out the T-shirt he wore, and when he’d stood in the doorway gawking at her, there hadn’t been a trace of belly overhang. When he’d gone to sit at his desk, the rear view wasn’t half bad either.
What was she thinking? She was sharing an office with this guy, not looking for a date. Okay, maybe a date would be nice, seeing as how she hadn’t had one since she broke up with two-timing Dennis three months ago, but she wasn’t looking to date Brad Hewitt. She preferred men who wore shirts with buttons to work.
She plugged in the flash drive and checked out her work for the afternoon. HR said she’d be handling correspondence for the Marketing Department. She studied the Templates folder, then looked at the twelve letters she was supposed to work on. Her stomach clenched. So much for four years of art school. Insert name, date, assemble boilerplate paragraphs. Next.
Brad’s phone rang. He didn’t seem to notice. After he’d ignored three calls, her stomach knotted every time it rang. She reminded herself it was none of her business. She tried telling that to her stomach.
His job, his decision. Nothing to do with her. She moved to the next letter on her list.
The phone rang again. She marched across the office. “Aren’t you going to answer that?”
He paid no attention or didn’t hear her. He was wearing those headphones. She tapped him on the shoulder. He jumped.
“What?”
“Your phone?” She heard the inflection in her tone. Well, deep down, it was a question. Just a shortcut way of saying, “Why don’t you answer your telephone, Mr. Geek?” Besides, what did she care what he thought of her speech patterns?
He looked at her, blinking as if he didn’t recognize her. “What about my phone?”
“It’s been ringing.”
He stared at it, as if it had materialized from a cloud of smoke. He shrugged. “Voice mail. I’ll check when I need a break.” His fingers went back to the keyboard, his eyes to the monitor.
“Fine,” she muttered. It was going to be a long six months.
The door pushed open. Stephanie turned, hoping it was someone from Telecommunications. Instead, a very well dressed attractive woman strode into the room. At least a seventh floor outfit. Maybe an eighth. What would bring her down here?
The woman tucked a wisp of raven-black hair behind her ear. “You must be Ms. Brinks.”
Stephanie nodded.
“Ms. Hungerford would like to see you.”
Her supervisor. Stephanie’s mind raced through all the reasons she’d be summoned upstairs. She hadn’t been here long enough to screw up. Maybe they’d found a real desk in a real office. Maybe even the real job she wanted. She smoothed her skirt and made sure her blouse was tucked in.
“Please bring your files,” the woman said.
While Stephanie saved her work and followed the procedure for removing her flash drive, the woman turned to Mr. Hewitt and tapped his headphones.
He tipped one away from his ear and glared at her.
“As long as Wilson and Wilkes write your paychecks, it behooves you to respond to telephone calls.” The woman’s tone reminded Stephanie of her college History professor. All business, no room for discussion. She wondered what kind of trouble Mr. Hewitt would be in. Almost smiling, she pulled the flash drive from the USB port.
As she walked down the corridor toward the elevator, the woman’s heels clicked on the vinyl flooring, echoing her own. No carpet down here. At the elevator, the woman got in behind her and pressed six. “I’m Elaine,” she said. “And don’t worry. I’m sure Ms. Hungerford will understand it’s not your fault.”
The elevator rose. Stephanie’s stomach sank.
♥ ♥ ♥
Brad listened to his last voice mail and hung up the phone. He wasn’t someone’s secretary. How was he supposed to know marketing people would be calling for Stephanie Brinks? If people wanted him, they knew to come down and see him, not that the suits ever came down here. They’d talk to his team leader and Rich would relay the message, which was always the same. “Are you on schedule?” And the answer, truthful or not, was always, “Yes.”
Feeling a little chagrined, Brad called Telecom. Maybe Kevin’s speech about being a kinder, gentler person had wriggled into his subconscious.
“What do you mean, you’re backlogged and it’ll be next week!”
Someone mumbled attempts at explanation. Brad barked into the phone. “Look, buster, just because the hookup is on four doesn’t mean it goes to the bottom of the list. Miss Brinks works for the suits upstairs, and you’d better make sure she’s wired within thirty minutes.”
So much for kind and gentle.
After extracting a promise they’d be here within ten minutes, he went back to his computer. He still wasn’t happy with the way the Madame Nefarious character moved when she was evading an attack.
Engrossed in code, Brad ignored the tech from Telecom when he came in and did his thing. Brad wasn’t sure why it pleased him that Little Miss Question would find the work done when she got back. After all, it meant they hadn’t found another office and he’d be stuck with her for the next six months.
Back to Madame Nefarious.
He hardly noticed when Stephanie returned. Hardly. She brought a citrus scent with her that teased his senses.
“You’re wired and ready to go,” he said. “I called—”
“Excuse me, Mr. Hewitt. If it’s all the same to you, I think it’s better if we go with your original plan, where we don’t talk to each other at all. I’m in enough trouble, no thanks to your unprofessional work habits.”
“Fine.” So much for doing her a favor. This was why he preferred the computer people he created. They did what he told them to.
♥ ♥ ♥
The next morning Brad opened the door to his office. Storage boxes sat on the floor beside his desk. The second desk—her desk—gleamed. Perched on top, neatly arranged, were her laptop, a phone and two wire file baskets labeled “In” and “Out”, for God’s sake. He stepped inside. The room smelled like citrus. And there was a damn potted plant on top of the file cabinet.
“What the hell—?”
Before he could continue, Stephanie came into the room behind him, carrying a collapsed storage box. Without a word, she popped it open and moved the contents of one of his filing cabinet drawers into it. She wrote something on the front of the box and stacked it on top of the others beside his desk.
Her blue eyes met his, and she smiled. “I’ve taken the bottom two drawers of the second file cabinet and the lower left compartment on the console. Nothing seemed more recent than five years, so I boxed them for you. Have a nice day, Mr. Hewitt.”
He blinked, unable to speak. She went to her desk, plugged in some earbuds and started typing.
♥ ♥ ♥
By Friday, Brad had solved the Madame Nefarious problem and he thought he was finally acclimated to his roommate. He barely noticed the citrus smell Stephanie brought with her.
He’d been polite, she’d been polite. He stayed on his side of the office, she stayed on hers. Aside from the increased citrus aroma when she pulled her pages from the printer, which was on the console behind his desk, her presence was almost ghostly.
Except he was hornier than hell. Kevin must have planted that bug in his ear along with the kind and gentle crap.
He glanced at the time on his monitor. Maybe he’d leave at five the way Stephanie did every night.
He could hit Mulligan’s for a couple of beers. Lisa used to hang there, along with a handful of her girlfriends. With luck, he’d find someone who wanted a no-strings night. If not, after a few beers, he wouldn’t care.
At the stroke of five, Stephanie shut her laptop, opened her desk drawer and, Brad knew without looking around, pulled out her purse. Next, she’d pat some makeup on her face, put on more lipstick and twiddle with her hair.
The clasp on her purse clicked shut, her chair pushed back and she breezed out the door. Only tonight, she actually wished him a nice weekend.
“Thanks,” he said. “Same to you.”
They exchanged a quick, surprised glance at the overture of sociability. But, without another word, she was gone.
By six, he was at the door to Mulligan’s. Holy crap! How long since he’d been here? Instead of comfortably dark and dingy, someone had pulled a Stephanie. Fresh paint covered the walls. Gleaming brass dividers broke the room into sections. He looked up at the new stained glass light fixtures hanging from the ceiling. And there were frigging candles and flower vases on the tables.
Scowling, he worked his way through cheery faces and enthusiastic laughter to an empty booth at the back. A waitress sashayed to the end of the table and smiled. When she leaned over to light the candle, Brad decided the bar’s makeover wasn’t totally bad. Her low cut blouse gave him a nice glimpse of cleavage. He made sure his eyes shifted to her nametag. Lianne.
“What’ll it be?”
“Hi, Lianne.” He smiled. “What’s on tap?”
She ran down the list of options—far more than the old menu. Another plus. “Killian’s,” he said. The retreating view wasn’t half bad, either. Her skirt barely covered some admirable assets.
When she brought his beer and asked him if he wanted to run a tab, he thought he caught a hint of interest in her eyes.
From his vantage point, he had a clear view of most of the room. A lot of couples but nobody he recognized from the old Mulligan’s crowd. He caught Lianne’s eye and she brought him another beer and a bowl of peanuts. No rings on her fingers, he noticed.
He figured he’d ask her when she got off work, but before he could form the words, she whisked away to serve other tables.
Over the next two hours, he had two more beers, an order of wings and a platter of nachos. Lianne lingered at his table with each order, giving him a friendly smile.
Just ask her. Open your damn mouth. Hi, I’m Brad. Can I…
And that’s where his brain froze, every time. Could he what? Buy her a drink? Grab a bite to eat? He’d already OD’d on both of those. Go back to his place for some mindless sex?
While his frustration stewed, he watched the action. Men approached women. Women smiled. Men joined them. They left together. Why couldn’t he do that?
♥ ♥ ♥
Two weeks into the job, Stephanie got to the office early, surprised to see Brad at his desk. Normally, he stumbled in after ten with an oversize mug of steaming coffee, sat at his desk and pounded at his keyboard all day. His conversations were limited to either cursing or praising whatever characters he created on his computer. Lately, there’d been a lot more cursing than praising. Judging from the letters and memos she’d been writing for the marketing department, there were questions as to whether Wilson and Wilkes would be ready to launch their new video games division on time.
“Morning,” he said. “Coffee.” He got up from his desk and left.
Must have had one heck of a weekend, she thought. She put her purse in the desk drawer and turned on her computer. While she waited for it to boot, she watered the Philodendron on the file cabinet.
Moments later, Brad came back carrying two mugs of coffee. He set one on her desk along with packets of creamer and sweetener. Her mouth dropped open and she snapped it shut.
“Thank you, Mr. Hewitt.”
“Brad.”
“Brad,” she repeated.
He rolled his chair across the room, stopping in front of her desk. “You’re a woman, right?”
“Excuse me?” She almost laughed, but the blend of curiosity and eager puppy in his eyes stopped her. So did the heightened color in his face.
He took a sip of his coffee, then turned the mug in his hands. “I mean, I know you’re a woman, but you know—you think like a woman, right?”
Curious, she folded her hands on her desk. “What do you want to know?”
“If you’re sitting at a bar and a guy comes up to you, what makes you decide to listen? Let him buy you a drink, or sit next to you? You know, not blow him off.”
Unable to speak, she took a sip of her own coffee, realizing she hadn’t added any sweetener. Stalling, she tore open a yellow packet, tipped the powder into her cup and swirled it around while she tried to figure out how to answer him.
“Why are you asking me? Shouldn’t you be asking one of your guy friends? Or at least one of the other women who work down here?”
“You work down here.”
“Only because they don’t have any desks upstairs.”
“That’s beside the point. Are you going to answer my question or not?”
His tone was no different than if he’d asked her about the weather. In a flash of insight, she realized that for Brad, there were always logical answers to questions. Apparently, according to however his mind worked, she was the obvious choice. Summoning all her self-control to keep from laughing, she prayed that her phone would ring while she tried to wriggle away from his question. “I’m not sure I can help you. I don’t go to many bars.”
“Oh. Okay. But my question still stands.”
“Brad,” she said gently. “Why do you want to know?”
His face reddened two shades and he studied his hands. “I…well…um…”
“You’re not asking me out, are you?” Please, not that. Just because she didn’t like him didn’t mean she wanted to hurt him.
“You?” His eyes popped to the size of dinner plates and his mouth hung open. “No, of course not.”
She felt a quick tinge of disappointment mixed with surprise at his obvious shock. She wasn’t that bad.
“Look, I’d love to help you out, but Ms. Hungerford’s breathing down my neck. I have eighteen letters to get out by lunch.”
“Will you help me then? At lunch, I mean. I’ll treat.”
♥ ♥ ♥
Sitting across from Brad at the local coffee shop, Stephanie kicked herself for letting Brad manipulate her into solving his love life problems. If she knew the answers, she’d be married with two point three children by now, instead of hooking up with a string of losers long enough to make her swear off relationships for a long time.
Brad dunked a French fry in ketchup. “It’s this waitress at Mulligan’s. She always gives me this really friendly smile when she comes by my table, and she seems—interested, you know.”
Good grief, how could she break it to him? The waitress was doing her job. Being friendly was how she made decent tips. “Did you ask her out?”
He popped the fry in his mouth and shook his head.
“Why not?”
He went that deep sunset shade again. “I can’t.” He took a long swig from his water glass, set it down and wiped his mouth. “I try, but it’s…I’ve never been able to talk to women. The words just…stop.”
“You’re talking to me. I’m a woman.”
“But you’re…different. You’re like my roommate or something. And besides, you’re not my type.”
Not his type? She raised her eyebrows but didn’t press. “Tell me about her.”
He shrugged. “I’ve gone in after work every night for over a week. She knows what I drink and has it ready by the time I sit down. Sometimes she’ll ask how I am, and I say fine. She gets off around nine, changes her clothes and sits at a table in the back to have dinner.”
“Do you stop to chat while she’s off duty?”
“Kind of.”
“What do you mean, ‘kind of’?”
> “Well, I pass her on the way to the men’s room, and I’ll say hi, then she says hi back.”
Of course she would. Stephanie tried to look encouraging. She must have failed, because he ducked his head.
“I told you I couldn’t do this.”
“But you want to, right? You think she’s special, or are you just trying to improve your pickup techniques in general?”
He shrugged again. “Both, maybe.”
She sighed and worked on her salad for a few minutes. Brad finished his burger and munched on his fries.
“Okay,” she said when she’d finished her salad. “There’s the company party to celebrate the new Sweet Susie Doll campaign on February thirteenth. It’s a Valentine’s Day party—guess the idea of a ‘Friday the Thirteenth’ party wasn’t very enticing. That gives us about three weeks to get you ready.” All of a sudden she felt like Henry Higgins in My Fair Lady.
“You mean, invite her to the party? Me?”
“Of course. Why not?” She crumpled her napkin and put it on her plate. “Think of it as another challenge, like getting Madame Nefarious or Slithering Sylvia to cooperate.”
His eyes widened. “You know about them?”
“It’s pretty hard not to overhear you cursing about it. I’ve seen some of the early marketing blurbs. Although I don’t see why Wilson and Wilkes Toys can’t stick with what’s made them famous. There are enough blow-’em-up games on the market already. Why they had to jump on the video game bandwagon is beyond me. Some people prefer the old-fashioned toys.”
“Like dolls and trucks?” The look he gave her was part incredulous, part nostalgic.
“Exactly.” She looked at her watch. “I have to get back. Unlike some people, I have a schedule to keep.”
He squinted and scowled. “Some of us don’t arrive and leave because a clock says to. If the debut of the video division is on time it’s because we geeks work eighteen hour days—or even around the clock—if that’s what it takes.”
Stephanie felt her cheeks heat. “Sorry,” she mumbled into her coffee.
Brad paid the bill and when he held the door for her, Stephanie wondered why she was surprised.
When they stood at the intersection waiting for the light to change, a bus stopped to expel a load of passengers.
“Why do women want stupid gifts on Valentine’s Day?” Brad asked.
Stephanie saw the huge ad for a florist chain emblazoned on the side of the bus. She glanced at Brad, who looked genuinely puzzled.
“It’s a romantic holiday,” she said. “Flowers are romantic.”
“But they die in a week. You eat the chocolates and they’re gone. What’s the point?”
“The point is, they show you’re thinking of her.”
“No, they show you’ve succumbed to the commercial pressure of the florist and chocolate industries. Giving something practical shows you’re thinking of her.”
It was going to be a long three weeks.
“Tell you what, Brad. If you want my help, you’re going to have to trust me. Remember, you came to me because I’m a woman. Lesson one. Don’t try to apply logic. We’re not wired that way.” She grinned and stepped from the curb. “And there’s a price for my help.”
“What kind of a price?” A look of panic flashed across his face.
“Starting today, I get to play my music in the office. No headphones.”
“What kind of music are you going to play?”
She winked. “I’m not sure yet.”
♥ ♥ ♥
Brad hung up the phone and stared at his monitor. He’d rewritten the gargoyle attack sequence for level eight three times now, but it still didn’t look right. Maybe it was the music that filled the office. Chopin, Stephanie had said. He considered calling off their deal, but then he’d envision Lianne’s smile and he figured he could put up with it for a few weeks. He’d tried to plug in his own headphones, but she’d vetoed that one. Maybe he could sneak in some decent tunes during her regular trips upstairs.
“Next rule,” Stephanie said from across the room. “We practice.”
“Practice what? I’m on a deadline here.”
“Talking. Lunch and breaks. I heard you on the phone. You’re waiting for someone to finish something or other so you can do your whatever thing. Until then, you should be able to work non-geek hours, right?”
He liked it better when they’d been plugged into their own headphones. “Fine,” he grumbled. He looked at his watch. “Three-thirty work for you?”
“It’s a date.”
The very word made him cringe.
At three-twenty-nine, Stephanie tapped his shoulder. “Break room.” And she disappeared out the door.
He saved his work and headed for the break room, locking the office door behind him. Realizing he’d forgotten his mug, he went back to retrieve it. When he got to the break room, Stephanie sat at one of the small Formica-topped tables, sketching on a spiral-bound tablet. He hesitated, not sure what he was supposed to do. He took a step into the room, but she didn’t look up. He cleared his throat. Still nothing. He crossed to the coffee maker and poured a cup of the stale coffee.
She glanced up when he approached her table. “Hello, Brad. How’s it going?”
“Um…fine, I guess.”
“Good. Your characters behaving?”
“Yeah, for now.”
She sighed. “Okay, cut. Let’s start over. You come into the room. You get coffee. I don’t have any. What do you think?”
“That you didn’t want any. It’s pretty gross by three in the afternoon.”
“It’s still a nice gesture to offer.”
“Okay. You want some coffee?”
“No, thanks.”
He groaned and sat in the chair across from her. “So if you didn’t want coffee, what was that all about?” He glanced at his watch. Ten minutes left. “Besides, I thought you were going to help me with Lianne.”
“I’m seeing where we need to start. Kind of like an assessment test.”
“Great. Just great.” He caught himself before he stormed out of the room.
“Calm down. I think what we need to do is desensitize you.”
Now what? “I thought girls liked sensitive guys.”
She laughed, and it made something inside him tap dance.
“We do. What I mean is you’re so uptight about talking to Lianne that your brain freezes.”
She had that right. His tongue, too. “So tell me what to say, and then I can tell her.”
“Sorry, Charlie. That went out with Cyrano de Bergerac.” She smiled with so much confidence, he actually believed whatever she came up with would work.
Her pencil moved across the tablet. Was she drawing him? He felt heat rise to his face and wasn’t sure why.
She chewed on the eraser end of her pencil. “I don’t think we have to worry about basic social skills.”
“If you’re implying I don’t know which fork to use, or how to open a door for a lady—I can probably drag out my Manners 101 manual. Believe it or not, I wasn’t raised in a barn.” He heard the irritation bleed through his words, but didn’t care. He’d swallowed enough pride asking for help. He didn’t need any condescension from some typist.
“No, no. I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sure you know how to be a gentleman. It’s a matter of getting everything to the surface. If it becomes a habit, you’ll stop worrying about it, which, in my opinion, is the only thing keeping you from talking to women.” She set the pencil down. “Why can you talk to me?”
“Because I’ve got nothing to lose.” Her eyebrows lifted into upside down Vs above her glasses and he realized he’d said the wrong thing—again. “See—I just screwed up. I never say it right.” Maybe he had some neurological disorder that disconnected his brain from his mouth.
This time she smiled. “Try again. Like you said, you have nothing to lose.”
“I don’t know. You’re kind of—sisterly, maybe, although I don’t have
any sisters.”
“Good. So you’re comfortable with me, is that it?”
He pondered that one for a moment. Yes, he did seem comfortable—at least not like a train wreck—when he talked to her. “I guess it’s because I know you’re going to disappear in six months. Plus you don’t talk to my friends in the department and I can trust you.”
“Trust is good. Without it, you’ve got nothing.”
He heard the twinge of bitterness, quickly hidden behind another one of her smiles. She flipped her tablet closed. “I think that’s it for my break. We’ll work on this more tomorrow.”
“But…but what should I say to Lianne tonight?”
She shook her head. “Nothing. You keep away from the bar for a while.”
“But what if someone else—”
“Then she wasn’t worth it to begin with.” Her gaze softened. “I don’t want to seem negative, but what do you know about her? She could already have a boyfriend. If she does, I’m not going to be much help. And if she doesn’t, then it’s not likely she’ll find someone in the next few nights. At least not someone you couldn’t give a run for his money.”
♥ ♥ ♥
At eleven-forty-five on Thursday, Stephanie picked up her purse. During the week, she and Brad had chatted at breaks and eaten lunch together, either down in the fourth floor break room or upstairs in the office cafeteria. She fought down a fluttering in her belly as she crossed the room. She was as nervous as a mom watching her kid’s ballet recital. She took a breath before she reached his chair. One thing hadn’t changed, and that was the way the world disappeared for him when he was programming.
She paused a pace behind him and shook her head at all the explosions on his monitor. Buildings, cars, planes—if it was part of the game, he could blow it up. Why didn’t they have computer games where kids put things together instead of destroying them—or each other?
“What?” he said. “This is what the specs order. I’m just doing my job.”
Had she said the words out loud? “And loving it.”
“Well, yeah, there is that.” He smiled. “Is it lunch time?”
She nodded. “And it’s time for a field trip.”
“Field trip?” His mouth gaped.
“Yep. We’re having lunch with Carrie and Megan from marketing. They’ll meet us at Mama’s.”
“Two…two of them?”
“You’ll be fine.”
♥ ♥ ♥
Well, that was a disaster. Stephanie slipped her purse into her bottom desk drawer. No, disaster was putting it too mildly. Brad had gone straight for the men’s room when they’d come back. She flipped through her CDs and tried to decide between The Dave Matthews Band and Queen instead of the love songs she’d lined up for the afternoon. Soothing was probably not what he wanted, but she didn’t think she had anything remotely resembling the head-banging she thought he’d want to lose himself in.
Five minutes later, when the door slammed open and he stomped to his desk, something squeezed her heart. “Brad—”
“Just be quiet.” He pulled out his headphones. “You can tell Carrie to give me the bill for the dry cleaning.”
“It was an accident.” She had a feeling the marinara sauce-white cashmere sweater combination wasn’t going to be salvageable, but no need to mention that to Brad.
He lowered his head and rested the heels of his hands against his temples for a long moment. His chest rose and fell with a deep, shuddering breath. “Why am I such a loser?”
“You’re not a loser, Brad. You tried too hard and overcompensated, that’s all.”
“Great. So I go from not being able to talk to not being able to shut up. And that klutz stuff. I’ve never been clumsy. Where did that come from?” He slapped the headphones onto his ears and fiddled with his computer. “Leave me alone, okay?”
After ten minutes, she’d had enough of his sulking and computer generated explosions. She marched across the room and leaned against the edge of his desk. “It was my fault,” she said. “I shouldn’t have sprung lunch on you like that. I thought you were ready, and I didn’t want you to have time to worry about it.”
He spun around and she stepped back as if his green eyes had hit her with a laser. “Go away. I should never have asked for help. I was doing better on my own.”
“Brad—”
“I said go away. I have work to do, and so do you.” He cranked up the volume on his music until the sound was loud enough to hear three feet away. “Our original arrangement was working fine. Let’s go back to it. I’m going to handle my life my way.”
She reached for his shoulder, then drew her hand away. Fine. She hadn’t wanted to play Cupid to begin with.
True to his word, the next day Brad didn’t speak to her at all. But Monday, he came in with two cups of coffee. “I’m sorry. You were doing what I asked. Can we start over?”
She accepted the coffee, sipped. Sweetened the way she liked it. “Rough weekend?”
His eyes glittered and one corner of his mouth turned up. “Not exactly. I stopped by Lianne’s table Saturday night. I managed to say hello and she let me buy her a beer.”
“That’s great. So why do you need me?”
“Because I still felt like an idiot and couldn’t do much more than give her monosyllables. She probably thinks I’m a toad.”
“She’d be wrong. Shall we pick up where we left off? Over lunch? The Deli?”
He gave her a lopsided grin. “Lunch is fine, but let’s not start where we left off. I don’t want to think of that ever again. Pick up with last Wednesday, fast-forward through Thursday.”
“Fair enough.”
When Brad took a break later that morning, Stephanie called Carrie to cancel their lunch plans.
“You know you’re not networking up here if you eat lunch with the geek every day,” Carrie said. “You need to establish a presence.”
“I know, but he’s like a puppy, trying to please. I don’t have the heart to say no. It’s only for a couple more weeks.”
“You sure there’s not something going on?”
“Me and Brad? Get real.” She heard the door open. “Gotta go.”
♥ ♥ ♥
Brad watched Stephanie cut her tomato wedge into six smaller tomato wedges before mixing them through her salad. She repeated the miniaturization process for the cucumbers. Once she appeared satisfied with the distribution, she tilted the plastic container of dressing and drizzled its pink contents in a spiral pattern over the salad.
He picked up the second half of his roast beef sandwich. While they’d waited for their lunches, they talked about the weather, office supplies and how hard it was to park downtown. None of which he thought Lianne would find the least bit interesting.
“When do we start?” he asked.
She chewed the mouthful of salad, swallowed and set her fork down. “We’ve already started. Were you nervous talking to me before?”
“No, but that wasn’t really talking. I mean—it was boring.”
“But it’s talking. Once you get used to it, really talking isn’t any different.” She dabbed her mouth with her napkin and he noticed how shiny and pink her fingernails were. He couldn’t remember what Lianne’s nails looked like.
“Ask me something,” she said. “If talking makes you nervous, then let the other person talk. But you have to listen.”
“I listen.”
“Tell me three things I said while we were waiting for lunch.”
He tried to replay the conversation in his head. All he got were images of her blue eyes behind the oval-shaped lenses of her glasses. “Something about it was cold…and getting enough office supplies…and parking places?”
She stabbed a few lettuce leaves. “I said I liked days that started cold and cloudy but warmed up by noon. That I never had the right size binder clip. That most of the time I take the bus because it’s too expensive to park in the lot.”
“Listen. I get it. Thanks. Now, what about th
e talking part? I told you, I’m a loser at conversation. Give me some opening lines.”
“If I do, they’ll sound like lines which is a total turnoff. What’s something you want to know about me?” She forked up more salad.
“You?” How was talking about Stephanie going to help him with Lianne? He sipped his Coke while he tried to think of a question. He could do this. Just think of something he’d want to know about Lianne and substitute Stephanie. “Okay. Do you like your job?”
“Not much.”
He waited. She tilted her head and smiled. Lifted an eyebrow.
“Um…how long have you lived in Clayburgh?”
“Six months.”
His stomach knotted and he showed what he considered admirable restraint in not pounding the table. “See. I told you. I suck at conversation.”
“You need to ask better questions. Open ended ones.” She chewed on her lower lip. “People aren’t computer programs. None of the if yes, then this, if no, then that. To keep a conversation going, you can’t ask the sort of questions someone can answer with a yes or no, or a simple answer. It just brings the conversation to a screeching halt or throws the ball back at you, which we’re trying to avoid, right?”
“Right.”
She laughed. “See—mine wasn’t a good question. Try again?”
Easy for her—almost everything she said was a question, although she’d gotten better since he’d pointed it out. He inhaled a deep breath and blew it out. “Where did you go to school?—No, wait. Why did you move to Clayburgh?”
“Better. Because I wanted to work for Wilson and Wilkes Toys. I moved around a lot as a kid. I had a Cozy Clara doll, and I knew when I put her on my bed, that no matter where I was, I was home.”
“So if you got what you wanted, why don’t you like your job?”
“Because it’s not the job I wanted. I’ve always wanted to design toys and things little kids could love. I didn’t spend four years getting an art degree at UCLA so I could type boilerplate letters. I’m a good designer. I know I am.” Her tone wasn’t that of a friendly teacher anymore. There was a bitter edge to her words.
He saw something new in her face, too. Sadness? Something he couldn’t put into words, but it settled around him like a cold, damp day. “What made you want to design toys?”
“I’ve been doing it my whole life,” she said. “I didn’t have many real ones, so I’d make them up. When my imagination wasn’t enough, I’d draw pictures. I didn’t have many clothes for Clara, but I could draw her in every outfit imaginable. I could give her a universe of toys to play with. Friends, places to go.”
“You have brothers or sisters?”
She shook her head. “Lots of them. Or none. I lived in a bunch of foster homes when my mom was getting better—that’s what they’d tell me. More like drying out, but I didn’t know it at the time.”
“Your dad?”
“They divorced when I was a baby. I never knew him.”
Her words hit him like a sledgehammer. It took him a moment to speak, but it had nothing to do with being tongue-tied. “That must have been tough. I have a brother. We had a great childhood. Loving parents. My mom died two years ago, but she was always there. Solid. A rock.” He pushed away the memories. Time to change the subject. “Those drawings you did. Are they what’s in your portfolio?”
She smiled and some of the chill lifted. “Well, not the ones I drew when I was six. But a lot of the ideas started there.”
“I’d like to see them sometime. If that’s okay.”
“Of course.” She wiped her mouth. “Any time.” When she stood, he got up and held her coat. She gave him another one of those thermostat-raising smiles. “You did great. By the end of the week, you should be a pro at this. Lianne’s going to be impressed. I can see the two of you at the Valentine’s Day party already.”
“Right.” Lianne. He’d forgotten about her while he was talking to—no, listening to Stephanie. “What should I get her for Valentine’s Day?”
“I think that’s going to have to wait for another lesson.”
♥ ♥ ♥
The following Monday, Brad sauntered into the office, his green eyes sparkling.
“Whoa,” Stephanie said. “You look like one happy camper. Lianne?”
“We went to the movies Saturday night.”
“And?” Stephanie tried to attribute the sensation in her belly to a teacher’s pride in her prize pupil.
“And you were right about it being a good way to start. I didn’t have to look at her in the dark, and we didn’t have to talk.”
“And?” Where had that come from? Did she even want to know?
“And we went home. She met me at the theater after work. It was late and she had things to do with her family the next day.”
“Did you invite her to the party?”
He shook his head. “Not yet. There didn’t seem to be the right moment.”
Was that relief she felt? No way. “I’m sure it’ll come soon. Have you picked out her present?”
“I still think Valentine’s Day presents are stupid but I’ll come up with something.”
“Well, you hardly need me anymore. How about your final exam? Tomorrow? Lunch in the cafeteria with—”
He cut her off. “Not Carrie and Megan. Please.”
“No, I’ve got fresh blood for you.” And it was going to cost her.
“The cafeteria? I’ve got a reputation to think of,” Alicia had complained.
She had to promise to buy Alicia lunches for a week before she’d agree to have lunch with Brad and not give him a hard time.
His smile disappeared. “When?” He shoved his hands in his pockets.
“Tomorrow. Enough time to prepare, not enough time to stew.”
He grumbled, but at least he didn’t turn green.
The next day, he showed up for work in crisply ironed khaki pants and a tan long-sleeved shirt with faint green stripes. His face reddened when she looked him up and down.
“It’s all your fault,” he said. “Until you started coaching me, I never felt out of place in the cafeteria.
She opened her mouth, but he waved her to silence.
“Lately, I feel like a geek up there. Like everyone’s watching me, wondering why they let me in.”
“Brad, that’s ridiculous. You work here, just like everyone else.”
He adjusted his collar. “Well, today, we’re going to blend in.”
When she told him he was on his own, he paled.
She went behind her desk and pulled her purse from the drawer. “Graduation day, remember? You? Alicia? Casual conversation? No strings? You’re not asking her on a date, remember. Just enjoying lunch.”
“You’re doing that question thing again,” he mumbled.
In the cafeteria, after introducing Brad to Alicia, Stephanie found a table in the corner. When Greg from marketing slid into the seat across from her, blocking her view, she almost asked him to move. Good grief, what was wrong with her? He was exactly the sort of person who could get her a desk upstairs.
Do the dance, walk the walk. Network.
“Lose your geek?” Greg asked.
She raised her chin. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You’ve been stuck downstairs too long. You’ve forgotten what a real man is like.”
She most certainly had not and it wasn’t someone smarmy like Greg. Somehow, she got through lunch, looking interested, laughing at his lame jokes and trying not to gag at his double entendres. When he invited her to the Valentine’s Day party, she almost choked on her fruit salad.
“I’m not sure, Greg. It’s not a big item on the fourth floor so I forgot all about it. I’ll let you know?”
“Don’t wait too long,” he said. “Melinda’s been hinting, but I’d rather go with you—could be a great evening. Maybe more.” He winked. “I hear they’re looking for someone in dolls.” His leering smile turned her stomach.
♥ ♥ ♥ br />
Brad used the “crunch time” defense and avoided Stephanie’s questions the rest of the day. Let her call Alicia for his final grade. He knew he’d passed—with flying colors, he expected. He had followed every rule, guideline and instruction. Alicia had laughed, responded to his questions, and he’d shown genuine interest. Heck, she was interesting, especially without the pressure of trying to impress her or ask her out.
So why was he bummed? He refused to believe it could possibly have anything to do with the way Stephanie had chatted with that suit. Smiled for him. Tilted her head the way she did when she was thinking. Tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
No, it had to be the impending deadline. He adjusted the coding on the heroine. Something still didn’t look right. For him, the villains were more fun than the heroes and heroines, so he’d put off dealing with Miss Marvella. He reran the sequence, shifted the angle and enlarged the image. Rotated it to a full front view. Holy crap. He minimized the window and glanced over his shoulder. Stephanie was engrossed in her typing.
He pulled up the original specs and studied the image of Miss Marvella. Somewhere along the line, Stephanie had infiltrated his subconscious until she’d replaced Miss Marvella. He was about to delete the botched file when he changed his mind and saved it. Someday, someone might need a blue-eyed blonde. Cursing under his breath, he went back to the real Miss Marvella and started fresh.
It took the better part of two days and nights, but his part of the debut project was finished. Not trusting the IT department, he saved, backed up and emailed copies of the completed files. Twenty-one hours ahead of schedule. His eyes burned, his stomach was raw from coffee overdosing and he knew he needed a shower. Stephanie had spent more time than usual upstairs, and when she was in the office, had stayed behind her desk. He crossed his arms and lowered his head to the desk. Just for a minute.
Someone floated into the office on a cloud of citrus. “I hear you’ve finished.”
He raised his head and rubbed his eyes. Stephanie stood at the edge of his desk, a steaming mug in her hand.
“I’m coffeed out,” he said. “But thanks anyway.”
“It’s hot chocolate. I thought it would be a nice change. Soothing, too.”
Her fingers slid over his as he took the mug. His insides warmed as if he’d already drunk the cocoa. “Thanks.” He attributed the raspiness in his voice to lack of sleep.
“Did you get Lianne her Valentine yet?” Stephanie asked. “The party’s tomorrow.”
He shook his head. “Too busy.”
“I’m sure you could get a florist to deliver something to her at work. That might impress her—something to show off to the customers?”
“Maybe. Right now, I’m too brain dead to deal with it. I’m going to go crash for a while at home. I’m not even sure I’ll be in tomorrow.”
Her eyes flashed electric blue. “After all the work I put in, you’re not going to ask her to the party? Come on, Brad. You can do it. Alicia said she would never have guessed you were a geek.”
“Well, thank you very much, but I’m not ashamed of being a geek. I like being a geek.”
“Whatever. But you have to ask her. Bring her flowers or chocolate—or both—when you do.”
“All right, all right. But not until I’ve had a shower and some rack time.”
He drove home on autopilot, showered and fell into bed. He was beyond exhausted, but sleep wouldn’t come. He dozed in fits and starts, a montage of Stephanie, Lianne and exploding roses whirling through his mind. He pulled on some sweats and went to his computer. Silver strips of dawn slithered between the blinds and across the floor before he was satisfied with his efforts. This time, he crawled into bed and slept until mid-afternoon.
♥ ♥ ♥
Wrapped in her robe, Stephanie stood beside her bed, contemplating the red dress she’d laid out before showering. When she’d bought it a month ago, she’d deemed it perfect. Now it taunted her. Too short, too low-cut, too red. Not the dress someone who wanted to be taken seriously would wear. Take me, it screamed. Nothing serious about it.
She should just blow off the whole party. All the time spent coaching Brad had left her dateless. Besides, she’d told Greg the Sleaze she wouldn’t go as his date. She hadn’t exactly said she had another date, but if she showed up solo, he’d know she lied.
What was she doing? Her dream. Her talent should be enough, but she couldn’t get anyone to look at her skills without connections. References, Greg called them. She called them bedpost notches and she wasn’t going there. Even knowing that, she knew skipping the party wouldn’t advance her career.
The doorbell snapped her out of her muddle. Tightening the belt on her robe, she padded to the door and peered through the peephole. Heat flooded her face while butterflies did the hustle in her belly.
She pulled the door open. The night breeze swirled under the silk of her robe. “Brad? What are you doing here? Why aren’t you at the party? What happened with Lianne?”
His eyes skimmed up and down her body. “You’re cold. If you’ll let me in, I’ll answer.”
She hadn’t noticed. She crossed her arms over her chest. Better he thought her obvious display through the thin fabric was due to the temperature. But it was heat she felt, not cold.
“Of course.” She stepped aside and nodded him in, closing the door behind him. “Sit down.”
“I can’t stay.” He stopped on the tiled floor of her small entry. “I wanted to catch you before you went to the party.”
“Aren’t you going?”
He shook his head. “I went to Mulligan’s to talk with Lianne. Only this time, I listened and decided I really didn’t care about her.” He rubbed his hands along his thighs. “I never asked her to the party.”
For an instant, her heart jumped. Had he come to invite her? Looking at his jeans and parka, she swallowed her disappointment. “I’m so sorry. You worked so hard.”
“Hey, no sweat.” His eyes twinkled bright green and he gave her a lopsided grin. “I can apply what I’ve learned to other women. Your desensitization technique seemed to work.”
“I’m glad. You can still go to the party, though. You don’t have to bring a date.”
“Not really in a party mood.”
“But you should be. You busted your tail to get your part of the project finished.”
“I’ll celebrate when the video game’s in the stores. That’s still a ways off. I’m not much into the Sweet Susie celebration thing.” He pulled a small brown bag from his pocket. “Or Valentine’s Day, but I got you something. A thank you.” He turned to the door. “I have to go. Enjoy the party.”
“Brad?”
He shook his head. “Go. You belong with the suits. Get yourself the job you deserve.”
Holding the bag he’d given her, Stephanie stared after him as he slipped out the door and into the night. She chastised herself for the empty feeling that engulfed her. She’d seen My Fair Lady. Professor Higgins and Eliza fell in love. However, that was a story. This was real life and she had to get on with hers.
Her fingers explored the gift through the paper. It felt like a CD jewel case. True to his beliefs, he hadn’t kowtowed to the chocolate or flower industries. She gave a wry smile. Or the wrapping paper ones, either. Maybe he was giving her a not-so-subtle hint that he didn’t like the music she’d been playing.
Strolling into the bedroom, she pulled the case from the bag. No label. Had he taken the time to do a compilation for her? His favorites, probably. No matter. She could listen while she got dressed. After popping the CD into the player on her nightstand, she reached for the dress.
Puzzled when nothing happened, she ejected the disc. Of course. Brad was a computer geek. Curious, she went to her desk and inserted the disc into her computer.
With the party forgotten half an hour later, she sat at her keyboard interacting with the images Brad had created. Her images. He’d looked at her portfolio. Dolls to dress in clothes she’d desig
ned. Rooms to furnish, color schemes to select.
When she finally clicked “Finish,” the screen dimmed and images floated into focus. A park-like scene emerged, with a path meandering through the trees. A man grew larger as he walked toward her, and as he did, the resemblance to Brad grew with him. From behind his back, he pulled out a huge bouquet of multi-colored flowers plus a giant size box of assorted chocolates.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, Stephanie” in a lacy script scrolled across the monitor, finally stopping in a heart shape.
Tears streamed down her face. She rushed for her phone. Damn, she didn’t have his number. Back at her computer, she waited impatiently for her Internet connection so she could look up his number. Three Brads, one Bradley, a Bradford and six B. Hewitts. How could she have talked with him for three weeks and never asked his full name? Or where he lived?
The thought of waiting until Monday had her pacing the room. The office. It would be open for the party. She plucked her dress from the bed. She studied it for a moment, then let it slip to the floor. Instead, she grabbed a pair of black slacks and a red sweater, shoved her feet into her loafers and ran for the door.
In the elevator at Wilson and Wilkes, her finger hovered over the panel. Not eight, she decided. Four first. There might be something in her office that would give her what she needed without having to deal with the party and its inherent complications.
Her footfalls echoed through the empty hallway. Opening her office door, the soft glow from Brad’s monitor cast flickering shadows through the space as images exploded on his screensaver. Without bothering to flip on the lights, she stepped across the room and slipped into his chair, reaching for his mouse. Probably easier to find what she needed on his computer.
As she jiggled the mouse to activate the screen, the room filled with light. Startled, she whipped her head toward the door.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Brad entered the room, closing the door behind him.
She jumped to her feet. “Brad! You scared me to death.”
“Why are you here? The party’s upstairs.” He frowned, looking over her shoulder toward his computer. “What are you looking for?”
Her heart drummed. “You,” she whispered.
♥ ♥ ♥
Brad waited for his heart to start beating again. “I’m here. What do you need?”
“I…um…wanted to thank you?”
Now his heart pounded like a kettledrum. Her husky voice and half-lidded eyes promised more than simple thanks. “Is that a question?” he asked, cursing the flippant tone that erupted, seemingly of its own volition.
She blinked and cleared her throat, her demeanor transformed into the total professional. “No. Thank you. The CD was a perfect Valentine.”
“I’m glad you liked it.” Was that the best he could do? At least he hadn’t stammered.
She chewed on her lower lip. “I think you should propose something like it to Product Development. I’ll bet there’s a huge market for non-exploding video games.”
“Maybe.” Damn. How did this turn into a business discussion?
“Seriously, Brad. I think you might have a gold mine here. I could present it if you want.”
She started to step around him, toward her desk.
He reached for her arm. “Stephanie. Wait.”
She turned slowly, her eyes downcast. When she raised them, there was no mistaking their heat. They sucked him in like a whirlpool. Floundering in their blue depths, he struggled for the words. “Talking to you. It’s not the same as before.”
“I know. Maybe we should go upstairs? To the party?”
Never mind her eyes. Hearing the upward tilt to her words had him rock hard. “Not a good idea at the moment.”
Her face flushed. “You might be right. You want to practice talking again?”
“No.”
“Go for coffee?”
“Had enough lately. And what happened to the open-ended questions you harped on?”
Her laughter rang in his ears. He hardened further.
“You’re right,” she said. “Okay. Tell me what’s on your mind right now.”
“You don’t want to know,” he growled.
“I think I do.” She narrowed the already too-close distance between them. “Tell me. Please?” The soft click as she set her glasses on his desk filled the room. Her scent, that citrus essence, washed over him like a sudden, intense summer rain. A rain that somehow evaporated every bit of moisture in his mouth.
He cradled her face in his hands. “I’m thinking how blue your eyes are. How soft your lips look. What it would be like to kiss them. If you taste as good as you smell.”
She tilted her head up. Her tongue flicked across her lips. “You’re doing great. Go on.”
He brought his lips next to her ear. “I’m thinking about how your breasts fill out your sweater, and how much I want to touch them. I want to feel your nipples harden when I suck them. I want to see your eyes when I’m inside you. I want to hear you say my name when you come.” He ran his finger along her jaw.
She quivered beneath his touch. “I think you’ve talked enough.” Her breath warmed his neck.
When she threaded her fingers through his hair, electricity tingled across his scalp. He bent and grazed her lips with his. Soft and tender as he’d imagined. He increased the pressure, asking. She parted her lips, answering. His tongue swept across the inside of her lower lip. She tasted even better than she smelled. Warm, spicy and totally Stephanie. He probed deeper, and when her tongue entwined with his, he pulled her against him. Her breasts against his chest. Her hips against his erection—his painful, throbbing erection.
The kiss intensified until it took on a life of its own. The universe shrank until it enclosed them in a blanket of pleasure. Soft whimpers from Stephanie echoed his moans until he could no longer identify which of them was their source. Blood rushed in his ears. Her heart beat against his chest and he swore he could feel its pulsations through his entire body.
When they both needed to breathe again, he broke the kiss and rested his forehead against hers, panting. Neither spoke for several long moments.
Stephanie shattered the silence with a whispered, “Wow.”
His heart still pounded, but at least he was pretty sure it wasn’t going to escape his ribcage. “That was…intense.”
“You don’t kiss like a geek,” she said.
He stepped back until he felt the edge of his desk behind him. “I need to sit down.”
“Me, too,” she said with a smile that ramped his heart rate back up to drum corps proportions.
He sank into his chair and pulled her across his lap. “And how many geeks have you kissed?”
“Counting you?” Her already flushed face reddened further. “One.”
“Maybe we all kiss like that.” He stroked her cheek.
“You’re right. Maybe I need to kiss a few more. You know, for comparison. But first, maybe you should refresh my memory.”
She wriggled on his lap and he was afraid he’d lose it. For an instant, he thought nothing could be better than making love to her right now, right here. He glanced toward the door, thinking he really ought to lock it. Then she touched his lips in a kiss so tender he knew he couldn’t go through with it, no matter how much he needed pure physical release. With Lianne, sure, but not Stephanie.
A frisson ran through him at the realization. He lifted her from his lap and stood. “Stephanie—” He clasped her hands in his. “I want you. But I want it to be something special. Not a quickie in the office. I want it to be slow. In a bed. With flowers. And chocolate.” He closed his eyes as he waited for her answer. He couldn’t bear to see her face if she wanted nothing more than a tumble.
“I’ve got a bed,” she murmured. “And I’ll take a rain-check on the flowers and chocolate. Might be hard to find, this close to Valentine’s Day, you know.”
Her voice cracked. When he opened his eyes, hers glistened with tears. One trick
led down her cheek. He leaned forward and kissed it, tasting the salt. “I still think Valentine’s Day is a commercial plot,” he said. “But I’ve got really strong feelings about February thirteenth.”
“It has potential. Can we stop talking and take the celebration to my place? Unless you’d prefer yours?”
“Mine’s closer.” He took her hand and started for the door.
♥ ♥ ♥
Later that night, Brad lay in the dark, totally content, with Stephanie snuggled into the hollow of his collarbone. With her, the physical release was only a fraction of the pleasure they’d shared.
The thought of an empty bed was almost painful. “Will you stay?” He caressed her bare shoulder.
She wiggled closer and toyed with the hair on his chest. “For a while.”
He glanced at the clock. Not quite midnight. “It’s still the thirteenth. Would you like to celebrate some more?”
Her answer was to straddle him and bring his hands to her breasts. “I have to be at work Monday. I hereby declare February thirteenth a three day holiday.”
He thumbed her nipples, feeling them rise to tight peaks. “I can go with that.” He closed his eyes as she bowed her head and swung her hair across his chest.
“Brad?”
“Mmmh?”
“How do you feel about St. Patrick’s Day?” She moved back and forth along his erection until he thought he might die from sheer ecstasy.
“It might be my second favorite holiday.”
“Easter?”
“Stephanie, with you, every day’s a holiday.”
She reached between them and guided him inside. “With flowers and chocolate? Even if flowers die and I’ll eat the chocolate?”
Surrounded by her tight, moist heat, he tried to find a few brain cells to answer. “Sure.”
Moving her hips, “I’ve decided to call off my comparison research project. You are the first, last and only geek for me.”
Before he lost himself in her, he made a mental note to consider something more permanent to add to her flowers and chocolate. Maybe something sparkly in a velvet box.
Relationships
Amy’s ready for a weekend of solitude and pampering, but her plans turn to thoughts of a no-strings fling when she meets Greg.
♥ ♥ ♥