Friendly Persuasion Page 2

  “All that responsibility, with a mortgage and an ulcer to match? No thanks. I want my options open. Who knows when I might decide to hike the Andes?”

  “Think about it. I’m taking off,” Tina said, sliding down from the stool. “We can talk about Emerson Faucets and Stoppers tomorrow. I’ll let you two make your plans.” She winked at Kara.

  “Tina,” Kara said between gritted teeth, but her friend had wiggled off on her impossibly high heels and ultratight skirt.

  “What plans are we making?” Ross asked Kara.

  “Nothing,” she said, quickly changing the subject. “I noticed you’re in trolling mode.”

  He feigned innocence. “You mean Lisa?” He tilted his head toward the blonde at the end of the bar. “Don’t give me that ‘Ross has hooked himself another bimbo’ look. She’s an accountant with Smith Barney.”

  “I’m pleased to see you’ve raised your standards.” Ross tended to share his conquests with her—blow-by-blow once he’d had a couple beers—and the last few women he’d dated had needed Cliffs Notes for their driver’s tests.

  “You know too much. Now I’ll have to kill you,” he said, pretending to go for her throat.

  “What can I get you?” Tom said, interrupting Kara’s strangulation.

  “Just practicing for the next agency meeting,” Ross explained to Tom.

  “Looks like you need a beer with some guts,” Tom mused. “How about a black and tan?”

  “Exactamundo.”

  “Your friend left?” Tom asked Kara. “Tina?”

  “She wanted to get home.”

  “I hope I didn’t hurt her feelings. I just didn’t expect her to do that. Hit on me.” He sounded surprisingly shy.

  “I’m sure she’s fine,” she said. Kara didn’t dare explain that Tina had him in mind for a demonstration of meaningless sex, but she added, “She thinks you’re quite attractive.”

  “Really?” He quickly frowned out his eagerness. “She’s just lonely.” He left to get Ross’s drink.

  “What was that about?” Ross asked.

  “Tina was flirting with Tom.”

  “He doesn’t seem her type—too humble and lovable.”

  “I guess that makes him a challenge.”

  “And God knows our Tina loves a challenge. So, where was I? Oh, yes.” He put his hands loosely around her neck again.

  She noticed how warm and strong his fingers were. She wished Tina hadn’t suggested sleeping with him. She couldn’t get the idea out of her head. “I give,” she said, leaning away from his grip. “I was just keeping you on your toes.”

  “If you can’t do something right, don’t do it…in front of Kara.”

  “You think I’m uptight?”

  Her tone caught him and he searched her face. “What happened? You’re upset. Didn’t Miller like the presentation? I’m sorry I couldn’t make it.”

  Ross liked to present the creative concepts to clients. Kara preferred to have him at those meetings—his energy was infectious and he inspired confidence.

  “No, he was pleased. You were right that he’d like the ads in that order. And he worshiped your print ad with the dancing beagles.”

  “Worshiped? The only thing Miller worships is his bottom line. You’re my biggest fan at the salt mines.”

  “No. Tina’s right. You’re very talented. I heard Lancer is heading to L.A., which means the creative department manager spot will open up. You should apply.”

  “Stop shoving me up the ladder of success. I’m happy hanging here on this bottom rung, thank you.” He paused and looked at her closely. “So if it’s not the Miller thing, what is it? Your eyes are sad.”

  “It’s just…Scott broke up with me.”

  “Damn. You want me to beat him up?” He took a boxing posture and jabbed, his biceps swelling nicely under his black T-shirt. The shirt looked great with the peace sign on a collar-length leather strap around his neck.

  “No need. He was very considerate about it.”

  “Figures,” he said, dropping the pose. “You go for those Fortune 500 types, who consider a snappy game of squash to be a test of their manhood. I know how to fix him—restring his squash racquet with low-test catgut. That’ll destroy him.”

  “Scott’s a good guy. And since when have you been so Neanderthal?”

  “Good point. I’m a lover, not a fighter.”

  A lover. She felt that charge again. Looking at him made her feel even worse. The stud in one ear complemented his smart-ass half grin, faint stubble and tousled hair, black as his shirt.

  “Anyway, he can’t be that good if he was bad to you.” He squeezed her upper arm.

  Great hands. She felt a tickle between her legs. “You’re sweet.”

  “It’s just an act.” He winked at her.

  But it wasn’t. Not when it came to her, she knew. They looked out for each other.

  “You’re too good for those jokers,” he said. “Too smart. When you flash your intellect, their little willies just shrivel up.”

  “Oh, please.” But she felt better all the same. Because he was a man, she guessed, with a man’s view. And he was a friend, which made him safe—and absolutely not a viable sex object.

  Ross accepted the mug of two-toned ale from Tom, saluted Kara with it, then took a drink. She watched his Adam’s apple go up and down, noticing how his neck muscles slid. He was in great shape for someone too lazy to go to the gym. He must do something athletic despite his claims to the contrary. It couldn’t just be sex, could it?

  “So what happened?” He licked the foam off his upper lip in a way that made her insides clutch. “Not too many gory details, though. Nothing about how big he is, or any of that. I might be intimidated.”

  “Oh, stop it. Women don’t care about size. It’s only men who always want to whip it out and compare. It’s not the boat, it’s the ocean, or the motion, or whatever the hell that saying is.”

  He chuckled, low and sexy, and leaned forward. “Pretty lusty talk for the mistress of sedate. What’s up? Did he make you feel unattractive? Because you’re hot. Never forget that.”

  She blushed. “No. It just didn’t work out.” She watched, transfixed, as he slid his fingers along the mug’s surface. He had long artist fingers. Fingers that knew what they were doing everywhere they went.

  “Come on. Give me the scoop. I tell you about all my women.”

  “Like I have to pry those stories out of you. You can’t wait to spill. I can’t believe you broke up with that woman—Heather, wasn’t it?—because she sounded like Minnie Mouse when she climaxed.”

  “It was more than that. She didn’t like Otis Redding.”

  “Now that’s unforgivable.”

  “Come on. Tell me,” he said, his voice so kind and full of affection her throat tightened.

  So she told him about the drawer and the smothering, and Ross frowned and studied her face, made that “mmm-hmm” sound like a doctor with a troubling diagnosis, and finally said, “You were wasting yourself on him.”

  She smiled. “You always make me feel better.”

  “My pleasure.” He patted her hand, the gesture soothing as a hot bath.

  “Tina thinks my problem is that I get too serious too fast,” she continued. “From lack of, um, experience.” She blushed. Here she was revealing how sexually limited she was to a man who’d provided fireworks for dozens of women.

  “With sex, the issue is quality, not quantity… Take it from someone with the Gold Seal of Approval.” He winked, teasing.

  “Lord, you’re arrogant. So, you’re saying I’m picking bad lovers?”

  He shrugged. “Could be the Teeny Peenie Syndrome.”

  “Enough with the penis stuff, Ross.”

  “I mean that figuratively. Feelings of inadequacy. Ask any shrink.”

  “Oh, you,” she said, pushing his arm—more muscular than it looked, she noticed. Things about Ross tended to sneak up on you. He acted more casual about work than he was, for example.
She’d seen the satisfaction on his face when a client loved his work, and he listened hard for the bottom-line results of their campaigns.

  He had delicious eyes, she noticed—a liquid gold-green, with sexy crinkles at the edges. “Anyway, Tina thinks I need to learn to have sex for the sake of sex, so I don’t get hung up on the wrong guy because I think I have to fall in love with him to sleep with him.”

  “Makes sense, I guess, in Tina’s world view. She’s a girl after my own heart.”

  “How come you never slept with her, anyway?”

  “Who says I haven’t?” He winked. “Nah. We’re friends. Sex is sex and friends are friends.”

  Now they were getting closer to the delicate subject she couldn’t stop thinking about. “Could you ever, um, have sex with a friend?”

  “Depends on the friend.” He picked up his mug and began a long, slow drink.

  “How about me?”

  Ross choked on his beer, set it down hard. “You’re kidding, right?” He laughed.

  “It was Tina’s idea,” she said, wounded that he found it so hilarious. “She thought I should sleep with someone completely unsuitable, and of course you were the first person we thought of.”

  “Ouch,” he said, wincing in pretend pain. “That’s not very nice.” He studied her, then seemed to sense her hurt. “It would be weird. We’re friends.”

  “I know,” she said. “I feel the same way.” Except for the electric jolts she’d been getting since he sat down.

  Being around Ross was so much fun, it made up for any bruise to her feminine ego his treating her like a buddy had given her. She loved watching a new idea hit him—like a pinball striking every bell and bar, making him light up and zing. And whenever she got upset about a client, she went straight to him and he’d have her blowing off steam playing darts or Nerf basketball or running up and down the fire escape singing Queen songs.

  “I wouldn’t want to mess up our friendship,” Ross said.

  “Right. And sex messes things up.”

  “Not always,” he said. “It can be absolutely simple and carnal.” He gave her that look.

  She faltered. “But we’d make a terrible couple. We’re opposites.”

  “They say opposites attract.” Was he just teasing? “But there’s sexual incompatibility to consider, of course.”

  “Wait a minute. Am I being insulted here?”

  “Not at all.” He grinned. “You’re fine. We’re just different. You’re sort of buttoned up and pressed down. And I’m, well, never buttoned.”

  “That’s because you’re always in a T-shirt. And I’m not always buttoned up.”

  “Oh, yeah?” He gave her a mischievous look. “Twenty bucks says you’re wearing granny panties.”

  To her chagrin, she remembered she did indeed have on her stretched-out elastic, full-size cotton undies today. “That’s not fair. All my fancy ones happen to be in the laundry right now.”

  “My point exactly. My women don’t wear panties—fancy or otherwise.”

  The thought of Ross contemplating her decidedly unsexy underwear mortified her, so she teased back. “Besides, I would never sleep with someone with so many notches on his headboard it probably looks like a saw blade.”

  “Oh, no. The notches are from the handcuffs.”

  She blushed again. Ross was definitely out of her sexual league, but he’d aroused her competitive instincts. Along with some others she’d rather not name. “Maybe you’ve underestimated me. I might be a maniac in bed. You never know about the librarian types.” Was she trying to talk him into this?

  “I wouldn’t want to risk breaking your heart,” he teased.

  “Get over yourself. I fall in love with likely prospects. And you’re the least likely prospect I know.”

  “But I may have unplumbed depths.”

  “That’s not the kind of plumbing I’m interested in, baby,” she said, affecting a sexy tone that came off stiffly.

  “You’re trying too hard.”

  She sighed. She hated that she wasn’t free and easy about sex.

  “You always try too hard. That’s why I’m good for you. I help you ease up on yourself—and everybody else.”

  “Well, you don’t try hard enough,” she argued. “If it wasn’t for me, you’d have—”

  “Lost my job through tardiness alone, I know. We’re good for each other.” He saluted her with his ale.

  “Yeah.”

  “Just not sexually.”

  “Right.” Another twinge of disappointment. “Besides, there’s no way I could do it,” she said. “Kissing you would be like, I don’t know, kissing…my brother.”

  “You think so?” he said and then, with no warning whatsoever, he leaned forward and kissed her.

  A jolt shot straight to her toes and back again, making everything in between tingle. Oh…my…God. She started to tremble and was afraid she might faint.

  Ross broke off the kiss. “I know for a fact you don’t have a brother, but if you did, would he kiss like that?”

  “I—I’m not sure.” Their eyes locked.

  Then Ross smacked his lips. “Mmm, strawberry lip gloss.”

  That killed the mood. To Ross, that had been just a kiss.

  “Decent technique,” she said, covering for how overwhelmed she felt.

  “Decent?” He lifted a brow. “Give me another chance. Maybe I was nervous.” He leaned in, beckoning with a crooked finger.

  She shook her head. “You made your point.” Even as she said no, her entire body wailed for more. “The main thing is that we’re friends and we have to protect that. I’ll find some other unsuitable man to not fall in love with.”

  He looked at her, his eyes full of wicked mischief. If anyone could teach her how to have fun with sex, Ross could.

  Uh-uh. No matter what Ross said, sex made things complicated. Ross was her friend and that was better than sex any day—even sex with him. Besides, if one kiss could turn her into a quivery mass of need, just think what the whole experience would do. She might never be the same.

  2

  ROSS HAD ANOTHER black and tan after Kara left, but it didn’t wash away the strawberry kiss that had coated his mouth and lips with sweet promise. He tasted it all the way back to his apartment.

  She’d actually quivered when he’d kissed her. Quivered. What responsiveness. Those crisp designer suits were wrapped around one sensuous woman.

  He’d had thoughts about Kara when she’d first marched her serious little butt in the door at S&S, but she’d been so intent and dogged—and repressed—that he didn’t pursue her. Before long he’d gotten to know her and found her warm and open and funny and smart and they’d become friends. And friendship was a way bigger deal than sex.

  He’d seen she was the type who put her heart on the line. And he’d never allow himself to hurt her. He couldn’t put pain in those eager, vulnerable eyes.

  But Tina thought he could teach Kara how to separate lust from love…. Interesting. Could he? When he thought about that strawberry kiss, it seemed worth a try. On a purely physical level. Simple sex might be just what Kara needed. Could she keep it simple, though? Seemed unlikely. She was an intense woman. He, on the other hand, had simple sex down to a science.

  Ever since college. Ever since Beth. That was when he’d learned it wasn’t a good idea to get attached. People changed. Or, more importantly, he changed. Beth had wanted someone stable and dependable. He’d tried to be that—taking the job her dad had lined up for him at a big graphics studio. But the work had been mere production—the replication of someone else’s creativity. He hated the daily routine, the repetitiveness, the tedium. He’d felt trapped. Then he’d started to get bored with Beth. He’d fought it, tried to hide it, but eventually all he saw was her anxious face, pale as pearlescent ink. What’s wrong, Ross? Is it me? What am I doing wrong?

  It’s not you, it’s me. It’s me, really. A tired excuse, but, in his case, so true. He was a restless guy. He’d been young
at the time and didn’t know himself well. Now he knew to stay away from women whose hearts he could break. Serious women looking for The One. Women like Kara.

  His tongue found more strawberry at the roof of his mouth. Mmm. Some sack time with Kara would be amazing. She sounded like she was really interested in exploring sex with someone. Why couldn’t that someone be him? He knew her and cared about her. Some other guy might take advantage of her good nature. Could he make it safe for her? Show her how to keep sex in perspective? That was the only way it would work…if she could handle it.

  He loped up the steps to his apartment, trying to remember whether or not he should avoid Lionel and Lucy, his landlords, who lived just below him. It wasn’t that he didn’t set aside the rent money, but he sometimes forgot when exactly it was due or where he’d hidden it so he wouldn’t spend it.

  He’d paid, he remembered. Early, too, and thrown in a little extra for next month, since Lionel had been worrying about affording his daughter’s gymnastics day camp. Rental income tanked in the summer. Confident he was in his landlord’s good graces, Ross paused to wave through the window at Lucy.

  He unlocked his door and took in the chaos with a grin. He could pick up a little, but he was more interested in working on that guitar riff he’d learned from a guy at a blues bar the night before.

  Even as he tuned up, he found he was still thinking about Kara and that kiss. She’d pretended it had been nothing more than a peck, but there was fire there. Possibly total combustion.

  She’d seemed certain she couldn’t fall in love with him. That was a good sign. And probably true. They were so different. She drove him nuts at work with her checklists and protocols. Of course, that was her job. Account execs stayed on top of the details, herded everyone and schmoozed the clients. The artist’s job was to be creative. At work, Kara and he were in perfect sync, but in a relationship there would be war.

  He started with an easy chord progression. She’d looked so down about Scott. Why she picked those lame-asses he’d never know. He’d like to help her if he could—give her the confidence she needed to not lock on to the next corporate clone who caught on to how great she was.