Susan Mallery: Completely Smitten

“Room number,” he said.

“Look at what happened with Eve and the apple. That could be me. I could be an apple.”

“I’ll bet you could even be a plum. Keep moving.”

“Plum? Who wants to be that?”

They had reached the building. Kevin paused to lean against a column supporting the overhead walkway around the second story.

“I need your key,” he said. “I’m going to take it out of your purse.”

She smiled brightly. “Okay.”

He opened the clasp and dug around until he came up with a key attached to a plastic pink flamingo. The number three had been painted on the flamingo’s wing.

At least they weren’t going to have to negotiate the stairs.

She shifted her weight just as he closed her purse. The action caused her to slide against him, which pressed her right breast into his side. Instinctively he wrapped both his arms around her to hold her upright. She turned until they were facing each other. Pressed together. Close. Too close.

Her slightly unfocused eyes half closed. “You’re very strong,” she murmured.

“Don’t even go there,” he told her, trying to figure out where he was going to find room number three.

“Strong and sexy.”

Before he could stop her, she reached up and pulled off his cap and stuck it on her own head. Of course she looked completely adorable.

“I’ve never thought about a man being strong before,” she continued with a sigh. “It’s nice. As for the sexy part.” She covered her mouth with her fingers. “I’ve never thought about a man that way before, either.”

“All right, Haley. Let’s go.”

He got them moving toward the row of doors, each labeled with a number. There were seven on each floor.

“Do you think I’m sexy?” she asked.

They passed seven. He didn’t answer.

“Kevin?”

Six. Just three more doors and then they were home.

“Can I at least be an apple?”

Bingo. He stuck the key in the door and pushed it open.

“In we go,” he said, helping her over the threshold.

“Not even an apple,” she murmured, sounding tragically sad.

He told himself that speaking the truth would only get them both in trouble. In her current state there was no telling what she would do if she figured out that she was exactly like forbidden fruit and he was a man who had been starving for years.

He followed her into the room, which was typical for a cheap roadside motel. Full-size bed, small dresser, a couple of chairs and a door leading to a white-on-white bathroom. It looked clean enough, he supposed, a little surprised to find himself wanting Haley to have something nicer than this. What did he care where she stayed? As long as it wasn’t with him.

He pulled the key out of the lock and closed the door. Haley continued to hold on to him. He moved them both toward the bed so that when she finally did let go, she wouldn’t have very far to fall.

Speaking of which, once he really noticed the bed—wide, covered with a blue spread and very empty—he found it hard to notice anything else.

Sexy, willing women and beds just seemed made for each other.

He had to admit he liked the feel of her pressing against him. She was warm and seemed designed to fit him. He allowed himself a brief but meaningful fantasy, then put it firmly out of his mind. For one thing, he didn’t take advantage of anyone, ever. For another, his track record wasn’t exactly the greatest.

He dropped the key onto the small table between the chairs and put his hands on her shoulders.

“Why don’t you sit down?” he suggested. “The bed is right behind you. If you’re still, the room will stop spinning.”

She smiled. “I like it spinning.” She blinked and when she opened her eyes, her gaze lasered in on his mouth.

“Do you know that I’ve only ever been kissed by three men. Well, only one man, really. The other two were boys in high school.” She frowned. “Or were they young men? When do boys become men?”

When they finally make it with a woman, he thought but didn’t say. “Haley, you need to sit down.”

Her gaze didn’t waiver. “If I was fruit, you’d kiss me.”

It scared him that her comment almost made sense.

“In college I didn’t date much,” she continued, swaying slightly so that he was forced to release her shoulders and grab her around the waist to keep her from falling. “There weren’t that many boys around and the ones who were never seemed to notice me.”

Then they were idiots, he thought. “Haley—”

She interrupted with a soft sigh. “I like how you say my name.”

He swore silently. They were standing too close for comfort, at least for him.

“Maybe I was too good.”

He stared at her, taking a second to put the statement into a logical framework. “At college?” he asked.

She nodded vigorously, then blinked several times. “I never did anything wrong.”

“I’ll bet.”

“I don’t mind doing it now.” She tilted her head. “Something wrong, I mean.”

“Oh, I got that.” He reached up and pulled her arms from around his neck. “Sit,” he said firmly.

She sat.

Her eyes widened when she hit the bed. She was eye level with his waist, which he could handle, and she seemed delighted, which he could not.

She laughed. “Okay.”

Okay? Okay, what? Then he decided he didn’t want to know.

Kevin pulled out one of the straight-back chairs and set it in front of her. He sat and wondered if he had a prayer of reasoning with her while she was this drunk. Regardless, he had to try.

“Haley, I need you to listen to me.”

“I like listening to you talk.”

“Great. But pay attention to the words, too.”

She sighed and nodded.

He had a bad feeling he was screaming into the wind. “You can’t go around trusting people. You’re drunk and vulnerable right now. That’s dangerous. You can’t let strange men into your motel room.”

Dammit all to hell if she didn’t laugh at him. “I trust you,” she said.

“You shouldn’t.”

“Yes, I should. You’re a nice man.”

Nice? Perfect. Just perfect.

“Fine. I’m nice. But the next guy won’t be.”

“I don’t want the next guy. You’re my best shot at being bad.”

“What?”

She shrugged and nearly toppled onto her back. He shot out a hand to steady her.

“You’re nice but you’re bad, too.” She lowered her voice. “I can tell. I want to be bad.” She leaned in close to him. “Don’t you want to help me?”

What he wanted was to know what he’d done to deserve this.

She shifted on the bed, suddenly moving closer. Too close. Her gaze settled on his mouth again.

“Don’t you want to kiss me?” she asked, sounding mournful. “I’d like you to, but I don’t know if I’m very good at it. I’ve always wondered. But how do you ask? I mean, is anyone going to tell the truth? Would you tell me?”

He had no idea what they were talking about. Despite the ugly dress and her crazy, trusting personality and the fact that if he even thought about touching her he would be zapped by lightning, he suddenly wanted to kiss her.

He wanted to know what she would taste like and how she would respond. He wanted—

She suddenly turned from him. Her legs bumped against his as she struggled to get away. He stood, pushing the chair back, and she bolted for the bathroom. The door slammed behind her, the toilet seat went up with a clatter and two seconds later came the sounds of her being violently sick.

Kevin winced in sympathy. He was guessing this was the first time she’d been drunk, so it was probably the first time she’d been sick with alcohol. Not a fun way to end the day.

He glanced at the door, then hesitated as the need to do the right thing warred with his desire to bolt for freedom.