Surprise Me.... Isabel Sharpe
Her perfume rounded the corner of his cubicle a split second before she did. Just the scent had him buzzing with arousal. She’d been everything he dreamed of in bed. No, everything and more because his dreams had been dreams and last night she’d been real.
“Morning, Eddie.”
“Hey.” He grinned up at her, as tenderly as he dared, knowing no matter how she felt underneath, she’d still be skittish this morning. Whatever had made her bolt in the middle of the night wouldn’t have resolved itself this soon. And with their coworkers all around, she couldn’t exactly launch into praises of his sexual technique or drop to her knees and confess undying love. Which was a damn shame.
But she’d have to give some sign, wouldn’t she?
God, she was beautiful. Yawning, clutching her Starbucks cup, hair disheveled as if someone had been tangling his fingers through it all night in order to kiss her as often as possible. Her lips were dark, chin pink from his stubble. He hated to think he’d hurt her at all, but the man part of him—yes, there was a man part even to him—enjoyed a cheap macho thrill that he’d left his mark.
She wore a clingy rose-colored knee-length skirt that molded itself to her gorgeous thighs. Her ass looked firm and strong underneath and he nearly sighed when she sat, and he lost the view. Last night his hands had been a-a-ll over that—
He had to stop thinking about it right now.
Or else he was going to stand up, yank the skirt up those strong soft thighs, lift her onto the desk, step between her legs and—
He had to stop thinking about that right now.
Or else he was going to— “How was Chicago?”
He blinked. Back to earth. How was what? “Chicago?”
“Hello? Edgar?” She leaned down, smiling, waved in front of his face. “Last night? Remember?”
He remembered every second. “Oh, yes.”
“So…?”
He was lost. “So what?”
“Tell me how it was.”
He stared blankly. “I don’t.”
“You know, Chicago?”
Chicago? Was that her code word for what they’d done? So they could talk about it in the office and no one would guess? Very odd. She was not acting the way he expected. “It was…God, Melanie, it was fabulous. The best night of my life.”
“Wow. That’s…wow. Great.” She tipped her head, looking a little surprised. “What made it so great?”
“Uh…” He was not really sure he liked this game. “The sights. The, um, sensations. And really, most of all the. emotions. More than I’ve ever felt in…Chicago.”
“Oh. Well. I’m glad you had fun.” Her eyes narrowed. He’d said something wrong. She’d blindsided him with all this coded talk; he was hopelessly confused. And hopelessly in love with her.
What else was new?
“Edgar.” She leaned closer to whisper, her shy smile so sweet he could barely keep from kissing her. Last night those lips had belonged to him. He still couldn’t get over it. He probably never would. “I had a fabulous night, too.”
His heart rose like a rocket, the hope almost as painful as the countless rejections. “Yeah?”
“Mmm, yeah.”
Oh, dear God. He was getting hard again, not the best place or time. But this was everything he’d hoped for. Melanie, acknowledging what went on between them, admitting she enjoyed it. “You had a good time, huh?”
“Ohh, yes.” She blushed. “You know what I mean, right?”
“I do.”
Her smile turned a little anxious. “I hope it’s okay with you.”
“It’s more than okay, Melanie.” He was whispering, too; his passion for her made voice impossible. “It’s what I’ve dreamed of for the last two years.”
Her shy smile froze. She looked as if she’d eaten something rotten. “Uh…really?”
Crap. Crap. He’d gone too far. He had to remember whom he was talking to. That she wasn’t in the same emotional place he was. That letting herself be so open to him was undoubtedly a new and frightening experience. If he pushed too hard now, this soon after the breakthrough, she could bolt.
“Okay, not everything I’ve dreamed of.” His laugh came out goofy and strained.
She didn’t seem to mind. In fact, her face relaxed and she laughed, too, considerably more musically than he had.
“Well, I’m glad you approve. I wouldn’t want anything to upset our friendship, Edgar.”
His heart sank. Lower than he thought possible. Friendship?
No way. No effing way. What went on between them last night was not friendship no matter what she wanted to tell herself this morning. It was not friends with benefits, it was not getting their rocks off just for the hell of it. What they had last night was everything sex with love should be. And if she blew it off like it was another romp in the hay, he was going to check himself into a psychiatric hospital. Or have her committed.
“I think we’re talking a hell of a lot more than friendship, Melanie.” His voice actually came out with strength.
“Whah?” She looked bewildered.
“Last night. It was not about friendship.”
“Oh, no.” Her face cleared. “No, Stoner and I aren’t friends, not the way you and I are. Nor will we ever be, I’m sure. Don’t worry.”
He gaped at her. “Why would I worry whether you’re friends with Stoner?”
She gaped back. “I mean, after I was with him last night.”
Last night? With Stoner?
No, no, wait, Stoner had mentioned he’d bumped into her. “You mean when you saw him in the bar?”
“Ed-gar.” She rolled her eyes. “What is with you this morning? No, not in the bar, afterward, in your bedroom.”
“What does that have to do with Sto—” The rest of his brother’s name refused to leave his lips. This morning Stoner had said a planned late-night date with Melanie hadn’t worked out. Melanie had been worrying that sex with his brother would affect her friendship with Edgar. Her ugly, dorky buddy, Edgar.
“Excuse me.” He got up, staggered across the room, nearly knocking down his boss, coming out of his office.
Todd looked concerned. “Edgar? Something wrong?”
Yes! Everything! “No. Nothing. I’m fine.” Suicidal, maybe, but nothing serious.
Luckily, there was no one in the men’s room. He made a beeline for a stall, horribly afraid he was going to be sick.
Melanie had thought she was screwing Stoner last night. She didn’t know she’d been making love to him. All that passion, all that emotion, all that sweetness between them.
A dream after all.
He wanted to puke even if his body wasn’t ready to. Melanie hadn’t come to him; there was no miracle there. Of course not. She’d come to his brother, the sex god, the hot masculine jerk without a shred of depth, without much intelligence, without room in his monstrous head to care about anyone but himself.
Melanie’s type all over. What had Edgar been thinking? How could he even have imagined she’d crawl into bed with him?
Stoner had bumped into her at the bar, invited her up to Edgar’s room, Edgar’s