Janet Evanovich - Full House

"We're going to a formal reception at some embassy tomorrow night," Deedee said. "How about if we get you a date with Big John, and we can all go together?"

Billie formulated a mental list of preferred things to do: a basket of ironing that needed tending to, that kitchen drawer that was overflowing with junk and begged to be straightened, the spots on her carpet she'd been meaning to clean.

"A date with Big John could get you noticed by a lot of important people," Deedee said.

Billie pondered it. A date with Big John was just behind cutting off her thumbs with a carving knife. "That's nice of you to offer, but I don't think so. I think Big John is … ah, well, how do I put it? Far too big for someone like me," she said at last. "I'm sure it would be uncomfortable." She looked up and found three pairs of eyes staring. Deedee was blushing, something Billie had not thought possible. Beside her, Nick chuckled. Frankie's thick dark brows were arched high over his forehead, forming an upside-down V.

"What'd I say?"

Nick did his best to control the laughter that threatened to overtake him. The funniest part of all was that Billie truly had no clue how her words had sounded. Later tonight, when she was tucked into bed in her sensible mother-type pajamas, she'd remember the double entendre and throw the covers over her head out of embarrassment. He'd give anything to be there, next to her, when it happened.

Too late, Billie realized how her words had probably sounded to the others. "That's not what I meant," she insisted. "I just don't like staring into a man's navel when I speak to him."

Deedee sighed. "He's not that big."

"I'd feel dwarfed beside him." Billie glanced around frantically. "Would somebody please call a waiter?" She glanced up and froze when she caught sight of a familiar face. Sheridan Flock was headed their way, followed by a man who looked to be a good ten years younger and model-handsome. She felt Nick stiffen beside her.

Sheridan paused at their table and her eyes fell on Nick. "Well, what have we here?" Her gaze flitted about. "Slumming tonight?"

Nick shrugged. "I might ask you the same thing, Sheridan," he teased, although Billie could sense the tension in his body language. "I thought you preferred French restaurants."

Billie wondered if the woman was following Nick, then told herself she was being paranoid.

"Not at all," Sheridan said. "You know me, I'm quite the adventuress."

Suddenly, there was silence. Billie shifted in her seat as Sheridan's gaze swung in her direction. She knew how ordinary she must look compared to the beauty wearing a simple black dress that hugged an absolutely perfect figure. Thin spaghetti straps emphasized her slender shoulders and shapely arms.

Finally, Deedee broke the silence. "A steak restaurant is right where she needs to be," she said. "Got to feed that growin' boy."

Billie suppressed a smile but Frankie laughed out loud.

Sheridan regarded Deedee. "Hello, there," she said. "I don't believe I've met the new man in your life, Deedee. Is this husband number six or seven?"

Deedee shrugged. "Actually, I've lost count, but nobody can ever accuse me of being always a bridesmaid but never a bride. Sheridan, honey, meet Frankie. He's a famous wrestler."

Frankie offered his hand, but Sheridan didn't take it. "I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage," she said. "I don't get the opportunity to attend many wrestling matches these days."

"Sheridan, you'll have to pardon us for not inviting you and your friend to join us," Nick said politely, "but we obviously don't have room."

"Actually, I was on my way out," she said.

Deedee chuckled. "Probably past your boy's bedtime."

Sheridan laughed. "I see you still have that great sense of humor, Deedee. I admire a woman who can still hold her head high despite what others think of her."

"We simply must do lunch, honey," Deedee replied. She waited until the woman walked away before looking at Nick. "What a bitch."

"You held your own."

"I can't believe you almost married her. My God, she's wicked."

"Don't be so hard on her," Nick said.

Billie, who'd decided it was best to remain silent instead of swapping barbs, looked at him quizzically and wondered why he was defending the woman.

Deedee made a tsking sound. "Poor thing probably resents us for being able to stay out late. After all, she has to take that child home and tuck him in for the night."

When they finally left the restaurant more than an hour later — once Billie had eaten her steak and part of Nick's, much to his amusement and Deedee's disbelief — they found that a small crowd had formed around the limo, drawn by the license plate held in place by a fourteen-karat-gold frame with the assassin printed in black relief. Frankie waded into the middle of the crowd. He signed a shopping bag and an arm cast. He wrote his name in black felt marker on the foreheads of several fans who were without paper products.

Finally, Frankie pulled Nick aside and whispered something into his ear. Nick nodded as Frankie grasped Deedee's hand and started down the street, turning once to give Billie a broad smile and wink.

Billie didn't like the looks of the wink. "What did Frankie say to you?" she asked Nick.

Nick ignored the question as he ushered her into the limo and gave directions to the driver. He settled his lean frame onto the plush back seat and patted the place next to him. "Come sit here. It's more comfortable."

"I'm comfortable enough. Where are Frankie and Deedee going?"

Nick sighed and reached out, hauling her off the opposing jump seat so that she was sitting beside him. "Frankie and Deedee want to spend some time alone. He keeps a condo just a few blocks from here."

"What about Deedee and her scruples?"

"I never said Deedee had scruples about sleeping with Frankie. I said she had scruples about living with him."

Billie's gaze narrowed into mere slits. "You planned this, Kaharchek. Just when I think there might be some human decency in you—"

"Think of me as a knight with tarnished armor." Nick pressed a button, closing the dark, soundproof panel that separated them from the driver. "Actually, I had nothing to do with it, but it's just as well. You've been giving me the come-on all evening. Now's your chance to act on it."

Billie's jaw dropped open. She closed it. "You're delusional. You have serious problems. You need help."

He liked getting her riled. "You're right, I do have a serious problem, and it's got your name written all over it. You could help. Face it, Billie. You want me."

"What I want is out of this car."

"Afraid you'll lose control?"

She stared at him, unable to speak. There was a hint of amusement in his eyes, but Billie sensed he believed every word he was saying. The man had probably never had no for an answer. He looked so smug, relaxed, with his legs stretched in front of him, casually crossed at the ankles. "You've got to be kidding," she said at last.

"On the contrary, I'm fairly good at reading people, especially the opposite sex. I sense a very passionate woman beneath that Goody Two-Shoes exterior of yours. I'll bet you're hot stuff once you get going."

"I hate to blow your fantasy and ruin your good time alone in the shower tonight, but I am not hot stuff."

He had to admit she could hold her own. "You're not hot stuff? What are you, warm stuff? Cold stuff?"

"It's none of your business what kind of stuff I am."

He slid his finger through the wave of hair above her ear. "Suppose I make it my business?"

Billie's eyes narrowed. "You can't imagine how many times I've heard that line."

The beginnings of a frown creased the area between his brows. "Lots of boyfriends?"

"Lots of television."