Simply Sex Read online

  Everything was completely under control

  Kylie reassured herself as she knocked on Cole’s door. They had business to conduct, so their lust would take a backseat. Work first, play later.

  Then Cole opened the door and she melted like chocolate in a warm fist. “Hi,” she whispered, ready to drop her briefcase and dive into him.

  His face lit with joy, but he stepped back to let her in instead of grabbing her into his arms.

  “Maybe we should rethink what we’re doing,” Cole said.

  Oh, no. If he got sensible, she was sunk. She so needed another night with him, making love, feeling that release, not to mention discussing her projects. She had to reason with him.

  “We’re getting carried away, right? I know. But I have the solution. We work first.” Kylie threw her briefcase on the table, struggling to get it open. She’d crammed so much into it, the clasp was stuck.

  Suddenly it sprang open, spewing items: a file, a notepad, her toothbrush, her sexy lingerie and two packets of honey, similar to the ones they’d made sexy use of the other night.

  Cole picked up one packet and a slow smile spread across his face. “You had something in mind?”

  Dear Reader,

  The perfect match. What a dream. Wouldn’t we do anything to find that one person? Isn’t that what matchmaking services—with their profiles—provide?

  Of course, there’s more to finding a lifelong love than can be recorded on a chart or a bubble test. There’s that extra something…the heart and work and compromise of it….

  That started me thinking about a character who isn’t interested in any kind of match. Meet Kylie Falls. She’s on her way to a big future in L.A. when she trips over Cole Sullivan. How inconvenient. Try as she might to keep things casual with Cole, she learns there’s no such thing as simply sex.

  I hope you enjoy this story…and that someone you love is reading a book beside you right now. Or else you’re about to bump into him at the bookstore or the Laundromat or a Starbucks—he’s out there, I know it.

  Let me know what you think of the story, at [email protected]. Visit my Web site for upcoming releases—www.dawnatkins.com.

  Yours,

  Dawn Atkins

  Books by Dawn Atkins

  HARLEQUIN BLAZE

  93—FRIENDLY PERSUASION

  155—VERY TRULY SEXY

  176—GOING TO EXTREMES

  HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION

  871—THE COWBOY FLING

  895—LIPSTICK ON HIS COLLAR

  945—ROOM…BUT NOT BORED!

  990—WILDE FOR YOU

  HARLEQUIN FLIPSIDE

  11—A PERFECT LIFE?

  HARLEQUIN DUETS

  77—ANCHOR THAT MAN!

  91—WEDDING FOR ONE TATTOO FOR TWO

  SIMPLY SEX

  Dawn Atkins

  To David, my own perfect match, and to my sister Diana—he’s out there!

  Acknowledgments

  All my gratitude to Lynda Johncock-Henkel, a real-life matchmaker who’s brought happiness to many Arizona couples. Lynda, keep the happily-ever-afters coming!

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  1

  “YOU WON’T BELIEVE THIS, but the guy on line one just asked me to kiss his willy.”

  Kylie Falls and her sister Janie looked up at Janie’s receptionist, standing wide-eyed in the doorway.

  “He asked you to kiss his what?” Her sister’s face went pale.

  “His hoo-hoo…johnson…whatever, Janie. I’m not saying what he called it.”

  “What did you tell him?” Janie asked.

  “I told him no, of course—heavens, what do you think? And now he wants a refund.”

  “A refund? Is he a client?” Janie’s matchmaking service was one year old and struggling and she’d called Kylie with her PR expertise to help turn things around.

  “God, no, he’s not a client. He thinks we give phone sex.”

  “That’s ridiculous.” Janie picked up the handset and punched the flashing button. “Sir? I’m afraid you’ve confused Personal Touch with another kind of, um, touch. We arrange committed relationships and—excuse me?”

  Color flooded Janie’s face. Was the guy saying something mean or gross? Kylie stood, ready to tell the jerk where he could stick his wagging weenie, but Janie’s words were calm.

  “You’ve obviously read the wrong ad, sir. Hang on.” She palmed the mouthpiece. “Grab the Arizona Weekly, Gail.”

  Gail fetched the free entertainment paper for the Phoenix metro area, folded to an inside page and handed it to her boss, her gypsy bracelets tinkling.

  Janie examined the paper, then looked up at Kylie in dismay. “They put our number in the phone-sex ad!” She handed her the tabloid.

  Sure enough, PT’s number was also in a boxed ad with the headline “Let’s Get Personal.” An easy mistake for an overworked ad rep to make, but a disaster for her sister’s business.

  “What do I say to this guy?” Janie asked Kylie.

  “I’ll handle it.” Gail grabbed the phone, pasted on a smile and spoke sweetly. “Sir, I’m afraid you’ve reached the wrong number, but this is your lucky day. Instead of anonymous encounters with unseen strangers, why not get the personal attention of the best matchmaker in the valley?”

  Kylie stifled a laugh. Gail had been Janie’s first client and was her biggest fan. There wasn’t an unattached adult Gail didn’t believe wouldn’t benefit from “a happily ever after with The Personal Touch.”

  The guy must have said something harsh, because Gail slammed down the phone. “Be that way, Mr. Hoo-hoo. Your loss.”

  “I’m afraid you’ll be fending off willy whackers all week,” Janie said on a sigh. “Though that’s the least of our problems.” She turned her worried face to Kylie, her breathing labored. Janie’s childhood asthma flared when she was under stress and circling the bankruptcy drain definitely caused stress.

  “Take a slow breath, Janie,” Kylie said softly, waiting for the soft inhalation before she shifted into business mode. “We’ll get a correction and a free extension, don’t worry.”

  “Tell me what to demand,” Gail said.

  Kylie rattled off concessions and Gail jotted notes, then headed off to do battle with the classified department, earrings and bracelets jingling merrily.

  “I’m just so glad you’re here,” Janie said. She came around her spindly antique desk to smother Kylie in a flappy-sleeved hug. “Thanks for not saying I told you so.”

  “There’s no point in that.” Kylie believed in moving on, not dwelling on mistakes. It was no secret she thought a matchmaking service was a waste of Janie’s psychology degree and a risky place to invest her half of the trust their parents had provided, but she’d done some research and discovered Janie’s customized approach filled a unique niche in the volatile dating-service market.

  “I’m sorry to interfere with your plans.” Janie had insisted on handling everything herself until this financial crisis hit. “What about your new job?”

  “I’ll ask for a later start date.” When her sister had sent out her S.O.S., Kylie had been busy closing down K. Falls PR, since she was due to start work in two weeks at a top agency in L.A. She hated to disappoint Garrett McGrath, a titan in the business, who’d asked her to join his firm, but it couldn’t be helped.

  “What would I do without you?” Love and relief shone in Janie’s e
yes and she hugged Kylie again. “At least it’s for a good cause. You’re helping me save people years of flailing around in the singles sea. Doesn’t that make you feel good?”

  “It makes me feel seasick.”

  “You don’t mean that. Why do you act so tough?”

  “That’s just me.” And always had been. She’d been the strong one through all the moves of their childhood. Their father’s food-service company sent him all over the country and Kylie’s job at each new place was to ensure her shy, frail sister felt safe, secure and content wherever they landed—from Philadelphia to Fresno and all major cities in between. Kylie scouted the best routes to schools, scrounged up the playmates and playgrounds and planted the familiar garden.

  “People make too much of romance,” she said. “If they’d just focus on living full lives, they wouldn’t need someone else to feel complete.”

  “It’s not being incomplete. It’s sharing your life with someone, being part of something bigger than yourself—a couple, then a family.” Janie’s pretty eyes glowed with mission.

  Kylie admired her sister’s commitment—she was dedicated to preventing others from making the romantic mistakes she’d made over the years—and her resilience. Her heart must feel like the last bruised apple in the gunnysack after her string of bad boyfriends, but she remained convinced love was worth it.

  Kylie wished like hell that Janie would find a man good enough for her. Or stop wanting one so much.

  “Trust me, Kylie. You are making a difference.”

  “Whatever.” No sense getting all mushy. Clearheaded strategies were what they needed now. “So I’ll get the Web site fixed, pitch some feature stories, work up a promotion, place a few ads, and barter a business plan from the guy who did mine.”

  “And cut costs, right?” Janie said.

  “Yeah. You’d better drop the party hall lease—we can do inexpensive networking parties. What else can we lose?” She surveyed the office, lush with romance—lace curtains on the window, doilies on the fussy antiques, pink-striped wallpaper, red velvet chairs. “Stop buying those.” She pointed at the vase of fresh roses under the window. Janie changed them every week.

  “Roses warm the room and offer hope.”

  “Get some silk ones.” She studied the Victorian-era secretary on which they rested. “And how about eBay for that?”

  “I won’t dismantle the welcome center. That’s false economy.”

  “Maybe you’re right.” She was being too harsh perhaps. Maybe it was the saccharine Muzak overhead. “I Will Always Love You,” blended into “You Look Wonderful Tonight,” to be followed by “You’re the One…” “My Only You…” “It Had to Be You.”

  Blech. A person could drown in that sea of syrup.

  But why was she so cranky about it? She didn’t begrudge anyone the search for love or schmaltz. She knew why. Lack of sex. Months and months and months of drought. If only she had a bed-buddy for the occasional booty call. Or the chutzpah to waltz into a watering hole and snag a hottie for one sweaty night. Lately, she’d been too busy to sleep with anyone.

  She sighed. “So, I’m on it.” It didn’t seem as bad as Janie had made it sound on the phone. Three weeks, maybe, and all cookbook stuff. No need for creativity, her secret Achilles’ heel. She’d zip in and zip out—a one-woman marketing SWAT team—and juggle her own plans, too. If all it took was hard work, she could handle it. She knew how to work.

  There was that piercing fear that Garrett McGrath might rescind the incredible job offer or, worse, rethink his high opinion of her, but she’d deal with that. She had to. Janie was counting on her. Work over worry was the philosophy she shared with her father.

  “So, that’s it, right?” she asked, just to be sure.

  A pink sunrise flared in Janie’s cheeks.

  Uh-oh. There was more. “What else?” she said, dread rising.

  “There is one thing….” Janie reached into a drawer and handed over a sheaf of legal papers.

  Kylie read over the first page of the packet and her heart sank. “You’re being sued by a client?”

  Janie nodded miserably. “I found him some wonderful Potentials, but he wants women completely inappropriate for his maturity and intellect.”

  “You mean he’s a comb-over who wants a bimbo? Preferably stacked? Isn’t the customer always right?”

  “I find life mates, Kylie, not ego boosts. If a man wants a midlife crisis, he can buy a Mazda RX-8 or become a ski instructor. I cannot allow him to drag some poor young woman into his morale morass.”

  “Yes, I know.” Janie had better standards than some of her clients, no question, and all the integrity in the world.

  “I know you can fix this problem like that,” Janie said, snapping her fingers so that her gauzy sleeves flapped like butterfly wings. She looked at Kylie the way she had as a child, standing at the door to a new school, squeezing her hand, smiling up at her. I know you’ll make things right for me.

  The knot in Kylie’s stomach turned into a fist. What if she couldn’t do it this time? “I’ll do my best,” she said.

  A lawsuit was big. A few whiz-bang promotions wouldn’t make a dent in that expense. Unless she found the right legal help in a hurry or somehow appeased the disgruntled client, her marketing SWAT swoop couldn’t save Janie’s business. She’d need more than creativity. She’d need a miracle.

  THE PLACE WAS way too pink, Cole Sullivan thought uneasily as he sat in a plush chair waiting for Jane Falls. He’d chosen Personal Touch for its pragmatic approach—fingerprint and credit checks and a computerized personality inventory—but her rose-filled, doily-decorated office made him feel foolish, instead of practical. Hiring a matchmaker was like hiring a headhunter. He was saving time, pre-screening for compatibility, just as he would in the search for a new law firm. Marriages were partnerships, after all.

  Who was he kidding? This was no business decision. He was lonely. There was something of the treadmill to his life, a hollow ring to his days that he figured marriage would fix. That was practical, right? So he was practical and foolish. He guessed he belonged in this Pepto-Bismol fairyland, after all.

  He sensed movement behind him and turned to find a woman walking—no, floating—his way. Glenda the Good Witch, minus the bobbing bubble, tiara and wand.

  He had a fleeting fear that, in a syrupy voice, she’d command him to click his ruby wingtips together three times, except she held a no-nonsense clipboard and wore a serious expression. “Janie Falls,” she said, reaching to shake his hand, her voice direct and syrup-free. “I’m happy to meet you in person, Cole.”

  “Likewise.” Her handshake was as solid as her voice. She was pretty, with wavy blond hair that hung down her back, but not his type, really, even if it were ethical to date one’s matchmaker.

  She glanced at her clipboard. “I see we have your Check Mate profile already in our database.”

  “Yes.” He’d appreciated the after-hours convenience of taking the inventory online. It asked him to evaluate his temperament, conformity level, career ambition, affection needs and attitudes toward religion and finances—all issues Jane claimed were predictors of compatibility. Made sense.

  “So, today we do your interview and your Close-Up. Have a seat.” She gestured at the red velvet chair where he’d been sitting, then went to sit behind her desk.

  The video he dreaded. He patted his pocket to be sure his prepared remarks were there. He was short on time, so maybe he could skip the interview. “The profile was pretty comprehensive. Could we just do the video?”

  “The face-to-face provides subtle details, Cole, so that my intuition kicks in. I find that’s how I make the best matches.”

  “I never argue with success.” She claimed over a thousand clients and something like an eighty-percent match-up rate, convincing him to choose her service over several others. If more personal information brought the right woman into his life, he’d read his childhood diary to her. If he had one.

  �
��So, tell me about your most recent relationship.”

  “It’s been a while,” he said, feeling himself go red.

  “Was it serious?”

  “No. Casual.” Sheila had been irritated that they spent most of their brief hours together in bed. She liked the bed part, but wanted more time. Which he didn’t have. “Because of my schedule.” He’d hated disappointing her. And Cathy before her, who’d pick a fight if he didn’t call her every day. In the end, he’d given up dating altogether. He couldn’t stand the pressure.

  “Have you ever been serious with a woman?”

  “Not until now. In college everyone was casual. And I worked a lot. To help my parents and pay my way through law school.”

  “Tell me about your parents’ relationship.”

  “They’ve always been very close.”

  “And is that what you want? What your parents have?”

  “Absolutely. They’re devoted to each other. To their careers, too. They’re both high school teachers.”

  “But you went into law?”

  “Yes. I enjoy the law. The puzzles, the complexity.” He’d chosen challenging work. His parents had pounded into him the need to use his intellect in whatever career he chose. “I enjoy helping clients. Meeting their needs.”

  “You work very hard.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Yes, I do.” Be the best, never quit. His life blood.

  “Tell me more about why that is.”

  He fiddled with the crease of his slacks, feeling sweat trickle inside his shirt. He wasn’t much into self-analysis. But he babbled on about the prestige of his job, the satisfaction of hard work well done.

  “And the money?” she prodded.

  “Money matters, sure.” He’d worked all his life—through high school, college and night law school. Those low-skill jobs had showed him how easy it was to lose economic ground and end up living hand-to-mouth like many of his co-workers were forced to. He had a way out and he vowed to make the most of it. He appreciated his good fortune more than his trust-funded colleagues, who’d gone straight from college to law school and never felt the pinch of poverty.