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  “You were right,” he said, standing in the space between the dining room table and the living room rug in his ultra-modern open floor plan apartment. “I think we should give it a minute to cool.”

  The paella wasn’t the only thing that needed to cool off. All that wine in such a short amount of time sent warmth coursing through me, giving me inappropriate thoughts. Lascivious thoughts. Sexual thoughts. The fantasy of us doing it right here, right now was already fully formed in my head. But where? The dining room table was already set. No matter which position we tried, it would involve smashing dishes. Who knew where all those shards of glass and ceramic could end up? Not to mention the tines of a fork. I dismissed the idea.

  I glanced down at the whitewashed floor. Hardwood. Not exactly comfortable. I considered the throw rug, but it was mostly covered by the coffee table. We couldn’t be spontaneous if we had to move the furniture first. And it needed to be spontaneous. I’d been clear that I only wanted us to be friends. This needed to be an unexpected spark of passion ignited by … I’d think of something.

  I leaned back on the couch. Hmmm. It was soft and comfy, but leather. Heat plus bare skin plus cowhide was a bad combination. I could practically feel my ass sticking to the cushions and hear the awful noise it would make when I peeled it away. Not happening. I’d have to maneuver him into the bedroom. But how?

  “Samantha!”

  I glanced up. Jake was staring down at me expectantly. “Yes?”

  “I asked if you needed more wine.”

  I looked down at the near-empty glass in my hand, which I hadn’t even realized I’d started sipping again. “Yes, I’d love some.”

  The meal was a blur. I remembered Jake asking me questions, and I was sure that I’d answered them, but I had no idea what I’d said. I’d asked him questions too—where he was from (LA, but he grew up in the Valley), how he got into sports management (internship in college), whether he enjoyed his job (he loved it)—but I already knew all the answers from Rita, so I didn’t have to concentrate. I could focus my attention on (1) not making a fool of myself, which wasn’t as easy as it sounded since my head was spinning after two (or maybe three, I’d lost count) glasses of wine, and (2) trying to remember why I wasn’t supposed to sleep with Jake. I knew I had a good reason, but that reason was eluding me.

  Chapter 44

  Jake

  She was drunk. Normally he’d consider this a positive development on a date, but not tonight, not with Samantha. He’d promised himself he’d take it slow with her. But his resolve was already wavering. The way she tossed her head back when she laughed, which she did often; the way she absentmindedly ran her fingers through her hair, hair he wished he could run his fingers through too, and when she accidentally dropped a forkful of rice down her shirt and she reached inside to clean it out…

  He’d run out to the grocery store before she’d arrived and purchased a chocolate cream pie for dessert. But if he had to watch her lick whipped cream off her fork, or worse yet, her lips, he didn’t think he’d be able to rein himself in. This date needed to end, the sooner the better.

  “Would you like some coffee?” he asked. She still had food on her plate, but she’d set down her fork, so he wasn’t being completely rude.

  “No, I’m good,” she said and sucked down the last drops of wine in her glass.

  If he’d been eating dinner with anyone else, he would’ve offered to open another bottle. “How about some water?”

  “Sure, that’d be great.”

  He purposely left their dirty dishes on the table because he knew if he started to clean up, she’d offer to help. But she followed him into his tiny kitchen anyway. He could feel her staring at his back as he reached into the cabinet above the sink and pulled out two tall glasses. “Ice?” he asked as he moved to the refrigerator without turning around.

  “No need,” she replied.

  He held the glass under the refrigerator’s ice dispenser anyway. There was nothing less romantic than the whine of an ice crusher as it sliced up cubes and spit them out. Plus it allowed him a moment to think. How was he going to get rid of her without insulting her? Obviously he couldn’t let her drive home in this condition. Should he drive her himself? That would be the gentlemanly thing to do, but then they’d be alone in the car. Too much temptation.

  He’d just decided on a taxi when suddenly her arms were around him. He could feel the heat of her body and her hard, round nipples poking into his back. Until this point he’d managed to keep his penis under control, but now it was making decisions for itself.

  At first he froze, but when her hands started sliding downward, he knew he had to act fast. He slammed the glasses onto the counter and spun around, then he laced his fingers through hers to keep her hands from going where she and his penis both wanted them to.

  “You pinky swore.” He’d meant to lighten the mood, but it came out as a groan.

  She leaned her head against his chest, and he breathed in her shampoo. Something fruity, and intoxicating.

  “You’re right,” she said. “I’m sorry. If you want me to stop, I’ll stop.”

  Stop? That was the last thing he wanted.

  Chapter 45

  Samantha

  This must be what an out-of-body experience felt like. For other people it was seeing God, or heaven, or long-dead relatives. For me it was sex with Jake. Or foreplay. I was still wearing all my clothes and so was he.

  I know what you’re thinking: What was wrong with this woman? She insisted she just wanted to be friends with the man, then she pounced on him the moment he turned around. And I’m right there with you. But it wasn’t me who accosted Jake as he innocently retrieved water from the fridge. It was Slutty Samantha, the woman he’d met at Lux the night before Whitney’s wedding. Sweet, innocent, still-in-single-digits-in-the-number-of-people-she’d-slept-with Samantha could never be the sexual aggressor. Not ever. Not even once.

  But even Slutty Samantha could only take us so far. She’d made her intentions known, and now it was Jake’s turn. So why wasn’t he ripping my clothes off and ravishing me? I mean, I liked kissing as much as the next girl—and Jake was an excellent kisser—but it was time for the main event!

  Chapter 46

  Jake

  Samantha was the devil. He knew that now. She was payback for every woman he’d ever screwed over—and there were more than one or two.

  Of course he wanted to take her to bed. He’d wanted that from the moment he’d met her, whether it was at Lux or the wedding, he still wasn’t sure. The Samantha at his house tonight seemed much more like the woman he’d met at Lux than the buttoned-up lawyer who was representing Selena Chase. But whoever she was, he needed to take control of the situation.

  He’d pushed her up against the kitchen counter out of reflex, but they were just kissing. He’d planned to end the night with a kiss anyway, so they were still on course. As long as no clothes were removed, they’d be fine. She couldn’t accuse him of taking advantage of her when she was drunk. He’d invested too much time and energy into this for him to be sandbagged by that accusation now. He’d waited this long, he could wait one more night.

  Chapter 47

  Samantha

  What are we, in high school? At least take my blouse off, for God’s sake! I can’t even remember the last time someone felt me up over my shirt. This was becoming painful, and not just because my nether regions were literally aching for him. The hard edge of the kitchen counter was digging into my back.

  I pulled my lips away from his and caught my breath. “Maybe we should go to the living room.” Even the sticky leather couch would be better than this. Plus I wanted to sit down. These shoes were new—a replacement for the pair I’d lost the night of the bachelorette party—and I could feel the blister forming where the strap was rubbing against the side of my foot.

  “Good idea,” he replied, then placed his hands on my bottom and lifted me up.

  I reflexively wrapped my legs around h
is waist and my arms around his neck. He planted one of his hands on my upper back, but the other was caressing my bottom as he carried me into the living room. Finally, we were getting somewhere.

  Chapter 48

  Jake

  The kitchen was too hot anyway. Plus he was getting a crook in his neck from all the leaning down. He could’ve walked her into the living room, but carrying her was the gentlemanly thing to do. This was the new Jake Jensen—a gentleman through and through. And he couldn’t carry her and not touch her. There was nothing ungentlemanly about touching. As long as they both kept their clothes on, everything would be fine.

  Chapter 49

  Samantha

  Now it was getting annoying. Him carrying me into the living room had given me hope. But then he just set me down on the couch, lay down next to me, and started with the kissing again, and only kissing. If it hadn’t been for his cock, which was pulsing against my thigh, I would’ve thought he was gay.

  After another ten minutes, I’d had enough. I was hot, thirsty, unbelievably frustrated, and my head was starting to ache. I placed my hand on his shoulder and pushed him away from me. “Do you think I could have that glass of water now?”

  “Um, sure,” he said.

  As soon as he was off the couch, I was too. As I’d predicted, the leather was less than ideal for fooling around. It made an awful ripping sound as I peeled my bare arm from the sticky cushion. I waited for Jake to retreat to the kitchen before I opened the sliding glass door that led to the patio. I needed some air. He had a large outdoor space for an apartment, and I admired his city lights view of Hollywood, and beyond it, downtown LA.

  This night certainly hadn’t turned out as I’d expected. I’d thought we’d share a pizza, watch a movie, and if he made a move on me, I’d turn him down and reiterate again that I only wanted to be friends. When he’d asked me to come to his house, I still thought it’d be the same except we’d be eating paella and I’d get to check out his apartment, which I’d been dying to see ever since Whitney had pronounced it soulless (I disagreed; it was just modern sterile). I never anticipated the arrival of Slutty Samantha.

  I blamed it on the wine, which I definitely had drunk too much of. Note to self: No more drinking with Jake. Now I was in the worst of all possible positions. I’d made a move on him, and he’d essentially turned me down. Yeah, he’d kissed me. And kissed me and kissed me and kissed me some more until I thought my lips were going to bruise. Yes, there was a bit of fondling too. But he had to know I wanted more. The only possible conclusion was that he didn’t want me.

  “You’re crazy,” Whitney said when I’d filled her in the next morning.

  “I’m not crazy.” Just wallowing in self-pity, which was why I was still lying in bed at eleven a.m. on a Saturday. The hangover didn’t help either. “I was ready, willing, and able, and the man practically pushed me out the door.” I’d intended to leave once I’d sobered up, but Jake had insisted I take a taxi home as soon as I’d finished my glass of water, then called one for me over my protestations.

  Whitney snuggled in next to me like she used to when we were little, except she was on top of the covers and I was underneath, and neither one of us was wearing footed pajamas. “Maybe he’s gay.”

  “You know he’s not.” We’d both heard Rita’s stories.

  Whitney sighed. “If I tell you something, will you promise not to get mad at me?”

  “Now what did you do? You better not have drugged me again.” Maybe it hadn’t been the wine that had caused Slutty Samantha’s appearance last night.

  “No, I did not drug you. And I didn’t drug you the last time either!”

  “Well, your friend did. You’re an accessory.”

  “You were the one who grabbed the wrong glass. I had nothing to do with it.”

  “Not nothing. I was only there for you. If you would’ve let me throw you a bridal shower like I wanted to, none of this ever would’ve happened.”

  “If I would’ve let you throw me a bridal shower, we all would’ve died of boredom, and there would’ve been no wedding. Which, in retrospect, might not have been such a bad thing.”

  “You’re still holding a grudge, I see.” Whitney had played me Michael’s message apologizing to her and literally begging her to have dinner with him tonight. If it were me, I would’ve forgiven him already.

  “No, I’m just letting him suffer a little. I’m still pissed that I slaved over that stupid paella for nothing. Do you know how many hours that took?”

  “Yes.” She’d cooked it for me once, and between the shopping, the chopping, and the stirring, it had taken most of the day. “I thoroughly enjoyed it though, and so did Jake.”

  At the mention of his name, she groaned. “I still can’t believe you like that guy. What do you see in him?”

  What did I see in him? “You mean besides his obvious good looks?”

  “Too obvious. Everything about him screams I’m hot and I know it.”

  I had to laugh. That was exactly how I would describe Whitney. She had that arrogance that came from everyone telling you how beautiful you were and knowing to your core that it was true.

  “He’s so not right for you,” she continued.

  I rolled away from her and sat up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You know,” she said.

  I didn’t know, but I could guess. “What? I’m the smart one, not the pretty one, so of course the hot guy would never be interested in me? Maybe the reason you don’t like Jake is because he’s not fawning all over you!”

  “That is not true and you know it. I don’t like Jake because he’s another Marco.”

  Marco? That was a name I hadn’t heard in ages—and one I hadn’t missed. When our mother had discovered, a month before Whitney was born, that our father wasn’t actually on yet another business trip to the Bay Area but was in fact living with his other family in San Francisco, she’d fallen apart. And Marco, ever the opportunist, wasn’t about to let that one slip past him. He’d swooped in like the vulture he was.

  He’d quickly transitioned from our mother’s friend to her business manager and on-again-off-again lover. Whitney was still in diapers when she’d signed over the rights to all of her paintings to him. He’d told her it was so she could concentrate on her children and her art; he would handle the business decisions for her.

  I was in grade school then and had no idea. I found out years later when they were in one of their off-again periods. Even as a teenager, I’d known my mother had been hoodwinked. I’d tried to get her to hire a lawyer, but then she and Marco “rekindled their love for one another,” and she’d refused. I loved my mother, but when it came to men, the woman was an idiot!

  When she died of cancer six years later, the value of her work had soared, but Marco was the one who reaped all the benefit. Despite the fact that she was my mother, I only possessed one of her paintings. It was hanging on the wall in my living room—but only because Marco didn’t know it existed. She’d given it to me when I’d left for college and they were in one of their off-again periods.

  An art lawyer acquaintance of mine had told me that, depending on the terms of my mother’s long-ago agreement with Marco, I could possibly claim ownership of the painting legitimately since my mother had gifted it to me before she’d died, but I’d have to take Marco to court to prove it. While I relished the idea of dragging the bastard through the mud, there was always a chance I could lose, and if I did, then I’d have to relinquish possession of the painting too. Since that painting was all I had left from my mother, it was too big of a risk for me to take.

  I glared at Whitney. “Jake is nothing like Marco.”

  “How do you know? Seriously, Samantha, what do you actually know about the man?”

  “For one thing, he could’ve taken advantage of me last night and he didn’t. Marco never would’ve let an opportunity like that slip past him.” He’d always had girlfriends during his off-again periods with our mother, and
probably during their on-again periods too.

  “That just proves Jake’s smarter than Marco. He knows if he slept with you when you were wasted, you’d never want to see him again. No, he’ll reel you in slowly. Wait and see.”

  “Reel me in? What am I, a fish?”

  “You’re a catch, Samantha. The problem is you’re the only one who doesn’t know it. That’s why you’re such an easy mark for someone like Jake.”

  “So now I’m a mark?” This just got better and better.

  “That’s not what I meant. I just don’t want to see you get hurt, that’s all. That’s why I put the kibosh on you and Jake last night.”

  “You didn’t put the kibosh on us.” Jake had done that all by himself. “You weren’t even there.”

  “I know, but … promise you won’t get mad at me, but I sort of threatened Jake.”

  “You threatened him?”

  Of course I was furious. At first. Then Whitney told me about the phone message from Jake’s “friend” Lydia, and it all made sense. That’s why he’d been so anxious to get rid of me. Private Austen was waiting for him. My making a move on him had screwed up all his plans.

  Chapter 50

  Jake

  “You’ve got it bad, my friend,” Mark said as he handed Jake another beer from the cooler wedged between them. Rita had taken Emma for a girls’ day out, so Mark was minding the twins. Jake had agreed to come over and help, which meant they both sat on lounge chairs and watched the boys run around the backyard whacking each other with plastic bats that were alternately light sabers, swords, or hockey sticks, depending on the game.