Dawn Atkins - Simply Sex

“Let me explain. I’m Kylie Falls.”

“Falls? Are you related to—?”

“Janie? Yes. We’re sisters.”

“You don’t look alike.” Janie was tall and blond, while this woman was petite with short, dark hair. Not medium, not brunette, and more intense than tense. She seemed to have gathered the loose energy around them, like reining in wild horses, turning them into a team in her hands.

“Deborah was called away to London, Cole. Gail will reschedule when Deborah returns and I just want to apologize on Janie’s behalf for the mix-up and the delay.”

A cell phone tinkled. She lifted a finger, smiled apologetically, then whipped the phone out and to her ear. “Candee?” She turned slightly away for privacy. “I made it, but barely. Watched them load it myself. It’ll make the Sunday circulars and ValuPak drops… Mmm-hmm… That’s why I get the big bucks. Send four-dozen Dagwood glazed for the crew at Sun Print, please. Thanks.”

She smelled good, too, he noticed. Something light, not sweet. Sporty, he thought, was what the magazines called it. No wedding ring. She’s not Deborah, he reminded himself.

“Gotta run. I’m at dinner… No, as a matter of fact, I’m not alone.” She glanced at Cole, then dropped her gaze. “I do too have a life. Say goodbye, or I’ll ruin yours.”

She put the phone away and he couldn’t help watching her breasts move beneath her jacket. “Sorry. My secretary. I had a last-minute thing to take care of.” Catching him mid-ogle, she glanced down at herself. “I’m a mess.”

He cringed at getting caught drooling, though she’d had the grace to pretend he was noting her grooming. Classy lady.

“Never drink and drive. Or at least, not a mint milkshake.”

“You look fine,” he said. Good enough to eat. He changed the subject. “Sounded like your secretary was surprised you weren’t alone.”

“I’m more or less a workaholic and Candee cuts me no slack.”

“Me, too, but all attorneys are workaholics, so no one cuts anyone slack.”

“And we know you carved out time for this date, Cole. Janie deeply regrets the error and we’d like to treat you to dinner.”

“That’s not necessary.” He had a frozen pasta thing in his freezer and the Littlefield work in his briefcase.

“I insist.”

The stubborn flicker in her eyes intrigued him and made him say, “Only if you’ll join me.”

“Of course.” He could tell she’d half hoped he’d let her escape with just the bill. “Janie would never forgive me if I left and some beautiful woman snatched you up before Deborah gets back.”

“That’s not likely.”

“Sure it is. You’re a very attractive man.” Sexual interest flared again in her face, sparking a pointless heat in him that he enjoyed immensely.

She looked at his empty martini glass. “Gin, vodka or something more elaborate?”

“Gin, neat, olives.”

“Ah. A traditionalist.”

The waiter appeared on cue and she ordered another for him and one for her before Cole could object.

Not that he wanted to. He intended to work when he got home, but how could he pass up the sting of gin while looking over a frosted glass into this woman’s shiny eyes? “I’d arm wrestle you for the check, but something tells me I’d lose.”

She jammed her elbow onto the table, braced for forearm battle. “Want to try me?” Her tone held mischief and challenge. Go for it, big guy.

“Too many men watching you. My ego couldn’t take the hit if you beat me.”

“Come on.” She seemed to think he was just flattering her.

“I’m not kidding. Every man in the room is sneaking glances.”

She blushed, which had the effect of making her eyes look greener. “They can’t believe I haven’t been kicked out as a transient.” She brushed at her stained jacket.

“Trust me, that’s no problem. But you do have a little…” He brushed at his cheek to show her where a smudge remained.

She scrubbed the spot. “Gone?”

“Not quite.” He reached out a finger, then thought better of it and dampened his napkin in his water glass to wipe her cheek. Their eyes locked. Energy surged between them.

“Thanks.” She dried what remained of the water with a finger and they both took a shaky breath.

“So, Deborah’s in London,” he said, reminding himself why they were smiling and breathing at each other.

“She’ll be back in four weeks. On the fourth.”

“A month?”

“Sounds long, I know. Maybe Janie could connect you two by phone.”

“I can wait. This was a dry run on making time for a social life and it hasn’t exactly been easy.” He regretted leaving work to buy a new shirt and changing sheets for Deborah. Though he wasn’t quite sorry about meeting Kylie, even if it was a waste of time.

When their drinks arrived a second later, he raised his glass. “Here’s to a happy mistake.”

“Absolutely.” Her eyes gleamed more richly. She seemed relieved he wasn’t angry about the mix-up, but there was delight there, too. She wasn’t sorry, either.

He took a sip of the drink, relishing the chill, the burn, the smell of juniper and Kylie’s eyes. “So,” he said, setting down his glass, embarrassed that he couldn’t take his eyes off her. “You work for Personal Touch?”

“Oh, no.” She almost shuddered. “I have a PR and marketing business. I’m just helping Janie out with some promotions. And I want you to know this mistake is not typical.”

“No need to apologize again. I’m paid up through the year.” He touched her hand. The contact was electric and his entire being lit up. Ridiculous. He’d just met the woman. But he’d been celibate for a long time.

She took a harsh breath, so he knew the reaction had at least been mutual. “So, you enjoy the law?” she asked, clearly changing the subject.

“Very much. I’m in corporate law. Benjamin, Langford and Tuttleman. Mostly mergers and acquisitions.” Then he caught himself, remembering his video ordeal. “I’m sure you don’t want to hear about my work.”

“Oh, yes I do. Talk to me about it.” She wiggled into her chair, resituating herself as if she anticipated some thrilling tale of due-diligence derring-do.

Her breasts swelled under the ice cream–stained jacket, reminding him how hot she was, but he forced himself to talk about the all-important Littlefield case and was soon engrossed in the topic. She asked good questions and he found himself jotting down an idea or two she sparked in him.

Somewhere in there the waiter took their orders of steak and the restaurant’s signature Caesar salad. Kylie selected a terrific pinot noir—a prime selection in Wine Spectator, he recalled—proving she had taste as well as intelligence and beauty.

He hoped Deborah Ramsdale was like her. He’d love evenings spent this way, with time zipping by, words flying, warmth and connection growing. Maybe his time would have been better spent working at home, but he didn’t give a damn. It was more than the loosening effect of the second martini. He plain liked Kylie.

“So, you have your own PR firm,” he said. “How did that happen?” He settled in to listen to her describe with animation and energy how she’d come to start K. Falls PR, who her clients were, what campaigns she’d created.

Then she told him she was closing it down and moving to L.A. in a month. He felt a punch of regret. As though he’d caught the tail end of something wonderful about to tear out of his world. The woman was a stand-in, here to apologize and buy his dinner. They would never see each other again.

“What’s wrong?” Kylie stopped herself in the middle of gushing over the S-Mickey-B offer. Cole Sullivan was looking at her as if he’d lost his best friend all of a sudden.