Monahan's Gamble. Elizabeth Bevarly
the elusive Ms. Pulaski. Either his timing had really suffered over the last couple of years—which was laughably unlikely—or Ms. Pulaski went out of her way to make sure their paths had never crossed.
In a word, Hmm.
At any rate, Sean had never realized until now just how strikingly beautiful she really was. And he hadn’t realized she smelled so good, either, like apple tarts and cinnamon buns, and something strangely exotic and spicy that blended perfectly with the homey aroma of freshly baked bread. It threw him for a momentary loop, and for the first time in his life he had no idea what to say.
Which was odd, because when he’d entered the bakery only moments ago, he’d known exactly what he wanted to say. In fact, he’d practiced his speech last night until the words had flowed fluidly and confidently and not a little seductively, if he did say so himself, even though he had pretty much decided to avoid the seduction thing—for now. At the moment, though, for the life of him Sean could remember none of what he had rehearsed. All he could do was gaze into Autumn’s whisky-gold eyes, inhale deeply her cinnamon scent, absorb the way her peasant blouse dipped pleasantly above the swells of her very generous breasts and battle the urge to go much, much faster in his seduction than he had initially planned.
Wait a minute. Back up. Think again, Monahan.
It wasn’t seduction he was planning, he reminded himself again. Not necessarily, at any rate. Not specifically. Not yet. He just wanted to last more than four weeks with the enigmatic Ms. Pulaski, right? In fact, he had to make it through not one, but two, lunar months, if Sean was going to win the dare that Finn had challenged him to complete last weekend.
He was still ticked off at himself for having set himself up for, not to mention having succumbed so easily to, that dare. He should have known better than to boast about anything in front of Finn, even something at which he was more than confident he could succeed. Finn jumped on a dare faster than you could say “Prove it, little brother,” especially when Sean was on the receiving end of it. They’d competed in such a way since they were boys. And invariably, dammit, Finn always came out the victor.
Well, not this time, Sean promised himself. If Finn had challenged him to make it through two lunar months with Autumn Pulaski, then by God, Sean would do it. Of course, that did give him ample time for seduction, he told himself, should such a thing come up—to put it crassly. Then again, he didn’t necessarily want to seduce Autumn, did he? Then again, he was Sean Monahan, the downfall of many a woman both here and abroad. Well, maybe not abroad. But as far away as Bloomington, which was more than a lot of guys in Marigold could say. So if seduction just sort of happened, that would be okay. Sean wouldn’t go looking for it, but he would certainly leave himself open to the possibility.
His current avenue of thoughts, although certainly pleasant, gave Sean no fuel whatsoever in the What-do-I-say-next? department, so he did what he always did whenever he was at a loss for words—which, granted, hadn’t really happened before. But doing what he did next seemed a logical reaction. He smiled his most seductive, suggestive smile and cocked a dark brow in just such a way as to make women the world over—or at least as far away as Bloomington—swoon with delight. Autumn Pulaski, however, he noted right away, was very good at hiding her feelings. Because, amazingly enough, not only did she not swoon with delight, she didn’t even seem to notice the change in his expression.
Damn, she was good.
“And what is it I might do for you, Mr. Monahan?” she asked in as businesslike a voice as Sean had ever heard, jarring him back to the matter at hand.
“Well, first off,” he said, “you can stop addressing me as Mr. Monahan and start calling me Sean.”
She offered no outward indication that she had even heard him, but inquired again, “And what is it I might do for you, Mr. Monahan?”
He blew out a faintly impatient breath, cocked his eyebrow yet again and tried that seductive-suggestive-smile thing one more time. “Well, for one thing,” he began smoothly, “I noticed there’s a new moon next week.”
She didn’t seem to think that significant at all, though, because she only continued to stare at him with a vaguely curious expression. When he said nothing further, she replied, with just the slightest hint of impatience, “I believe you’re right. There is indeed a new moon next week. On Wednesday, if memory serves.”
He nodded slowly. “As a matter of fact, it is on Wednesday. And I think that’s very…interesting. Don’t you?”
She sighed heavily, as if resigned to some great task. “I suppose one might find it interesting,” she agreed, “were one studying astronomy or astrology or astrophysics or Zoroastrianism or one of those other astro-sciences.”
“Actually,” Sean said, “I don’t think Zoroastrianism is an astro-science, per se, but rather a philosophical outlook that’s really quite fascina—”
“In any case,” she interjected smoothly, folding her elbow on the counter. She cupped her chin in one hand and studied Sean with some intent. “I was under the impression, Mr. Monahan, that you designed computer software for a living. Some of those fantasy-driven games with monsters and caves and large-breasted women, the kind that might be created by someone who was reluctant to leave his childhood behind.”
Oh, now this was getting interesting, Sean thought. He folded his arm to cup his chin in his hand, mimicking her posture…and bringing their faces within inches of each other. The mingling scents of cinnamon and apples and bread that surrounded her suddenly enveloped him, too, very nearly overwhelming him. And much to Sean’s surprise, he realized he wanted nothing more in life than to lean forward a bit more so that he could…nibble her. He was suddenly anxious to know if she tasted as sweet as she smelled.
He bit back a sigh of his own, one that, had he released it, would have no doubt been filled with much satisfaction. “I thought you said you didn’t know which Monahan I was,” he murmured in as smooth a voice as he could manage. “But it sounds like you know me pretty well. Autumn.”
She gazed back at him in silence for a moment, with an expression he could only define as…inscrutable. Then, very suddenly, very quickly, “It was a cup of coffee you said you wanted, wasn’t it, Mr. Monahan?” she piped up brightly.
Before he had a chance to respond—not that she seemed to want him to respond—she straightened and spun around on her heel. She marched straight through a door Sean deduced must lead to the kitchen, her russet-colored, waist-length braid swaying rhythmically—and not a little seductively, he thought—above luscious-looking hips. Within seconds she returned with a cardboard cup—a really big cardboard cup, like the kind for which no sane person would ever ask a refill—and thrust it toward him. Fortunately, there was a lid on the cup, so none of it sloshed out to make a mess on the counter…or burn off a layer of her skin. Unfortunately, however, at least for Autumn, that wasn’t the main thing Sean had come in to ask for.
“What are you doing Wednesday night?” he asked, ignoring the cup she extended toward him.
Her expression went from inscrutable to…well, quite scrutable…in a nanosecond. Mostly, Sean thought, she looked really confused and not a little panicky. “I—I’m working,” she said, thrusting the cup toward him again, more insistently this time.
And again Sean ignored it. “How late?” he asked.
She gaped faintly for a moment, gazing at him as if he had just asked her to come with him to the Casbah, where they could make beautiful music together. Then she shook her head quickly, once, as if to clear it of a muzzying fog…and extended the cup of coffee forward, very insistently, again. But her conviction seemed to be wavering some as she told him, “I, um, till nine.”
He nodded his approval…and continued to ignore the cup of coffee. “Nine,” he repeated with interest. “Right about when the sun will be almost down and the new moon will be visible.”
She eyed him now with something akin to intrigue and absently licked her lips. Sean considered the simple gesture to be highly erotic. “Actually, Mr. Monahan, new