In Bed with the Devil / High-Society Mistress. Katherine Garbera
smiled. “Hey, it’s my job to be the positive, self-actualized one.”
“I know. I love being the emotionally mature friend. It doesn’t happen often.”
“It happens more and more.”
Meri leaned in and hugged her friend. “You’re the best.”
“So are you.”
Jack looked up as he heard footsteps on the stairs. Seconds later, Meri appeared in his loft office.
She’d changed into a tight skirt and cropped top, curled her hair and put on makeup. Always pretty, she’d upped the stakes to come-get-me sexy.
A quick bit of research on the Internet had told him that the guy she’d mentioned wasn’t one of her scientists. Instead he worked for a D.C. lobbyist and was safely several thousand miles away. Not that Jack cared one way or the other. The only issue for him was researching the man more thoroughly. If things were getting serious, it was his job to make sure Meri wasn’t being taken.
His low-grade anger was something he would deal with later. He didn’t know why he minded the thought of her marrying some guy, but he did.
“We’re going to dinner,” she announced when she stopped in front of his desk. “You might not believe this, but we’re actually a pretty fun group. You’re welcome to join us.”
“Thanks, but no.”
“Want me to bring back something? The fridge is still fully stocked, but I could stop for chicken wings.”
“I’m good.”
She turned to leave. He stopped her with, “You should have mentioned you were engaged.”
She turned back to him. “Why? You claim you’re not sleeping with me. What would an engagement matter one way or another?”
“It makes a difference. I wouldn’t have kissed you.”
“Ah. Then I’m glad you didn’t know.” Her blue eyes brightened with amusement. “Does the fact that I belong to someone else make me more tempting? The allure of the forbidden?”
He had to consciously keep from smiling. She’d always been overly dramatic.
“No,” he told her. “Sorry.”
“You’re not sorry. And, for what it’s worth, the engagement isn’t official. I wouldn’t be trying to sleep with you if I’d said yes.”
A cool rush of relief swept through him. “You said no?”
“I didn’t say anything. Andrew hasn’t actually proposed. I found a ring.” She shifted on her high heels. “I didn’t know what to think. I’d never thought about getting married. I realized we had unfinished business, so here I am. Seducing you.”
He ignored that. “You’re sleeping with him.” The point was obvious, so he didn’t make it a question.
She leaned forward and sighed. “It bothers you, doesn’t it? Thinking about me in bed with another man. Writhing, panting, being taken.” She straightened and fanned herself. “Wow, it’s really warm here at the top of the house.”
He didn’t react, at least not on the outside. But her words had done what she’d wanted them to do. He reacted on the inside, with heat building in his groin.
She got to him. He would give her points for that. But she wouldn’t win.
“So no on dinner?” she asked.
“I have work.”
“Okay. Want a goodbye kiss before I go?”
He hated that he did. He wanted to feel her mouth on his, her body leaning in close. He wanted skin on skin, touching her until he made her cry out with a passion she couldn’t control. “No, thanks,” he said coolly.
She eyed him for a second, then grinned. “We both know that’s not true, don’t we, Jack?”
And then she was gone.
Four
Meri arrived home from dinner with her team feeling just full enough, with a slight buzz. They’d taken the shuttle van into town, and that had meant no one had to be a designated driver. Wine had flowed freely. Well, as freely as it could given no one drank more than a glass, preferring the thrill of intellectual discussion to the mental blurriness of too much alcohol.
But just this once Meri had passed up the wine and gone with a margarita. That was fine, but she’d ordered a second one and was absolutely feeling it as she climbed the stairs to her bedroom.
As she reached the landing, she saw two doors and was reminded that it was also the same floor with Jack’s bedroom.
What an interesting fact, she thought as she paused and stared at the firmly closed door. He was in there. By himself, she would guess. So what exactly was he getting up to?
She was pretty confident he was stretched out on the bed, watching TV or reading. But this was her buzz, and she could imagine him waiting for her in the massive tub in front of the fireplace if she wanted to. Because in her fantasy, he wanted her with a desperation that took his breath away. In her fantasy, he was deeply sorry for hurting her and he’d spent the past eleven years barely surviving because his love for her had been so great it had immobilized him.
“Okay, that last one is total crap,” she whispered to herself. “But the other two have possibilities.”
She walked to his door, knocked once, then let herself in before he could tell her to go away.
A quick glance around the room told her that he wasn’t about to fulfill her bathtub fantasy. Probably for the best. She was really feeling the margarita, and drowning was a distinct possibility.
Instead of being naked and in water, Jack sat in a corner chair, his feet up on the leather ottoman, reading. At least he’d been reading until she’d walked in. Now he set the book on his lap and looked at her expectantly.
She swayed as she moved toward the bed and sank down on the edge. She pushed off her sandals and smiled at him.
“Dinner was great. You should have come.”
“I’ll survive the deep loss.”
She smiled. “You’re so funny. Sometimes I forget you’re funny. I think it’s because you’re so intense and macho. Dangerous. You were always dangerous. Before, it was just about who you were as a person, but now you have access to all kinds of weapons. Doubly dangerous.”
His gaze narrowed slightly. “You’re drunk.”
She waved her left hand back and forth. “Drunk is such a strong term. Tipsy. Buzzed. Seriously buzzed. I had a second margarita. Always a mistake. I don’t drink much, so I never build up any tolerance. And I’m small, so there’s not much in the way of body mass. I could figure out the formula if you want. How many ounces of alcohol per pound of human body.”
“An intriguing offer, but no.”
She smiled. “It’s the math, huh. You’re scared of the math. Most people are. I don’t know why. Math is constant, you know. It’s built on principles, and once you learn them, they don’t change. It’s not like literature. That’s open to interpretation and there’s all that writing. But math is clean. You’re right or you’re not. I like being right.”
“It’s your competitive streak,” he said.
She swayed slightly on the bed. “You think I’m competitive?”
“It’s in your blood.”
“I guess. I like to be right about stuff. I get focused. I can be a real pain.” She grinned. “Doesn’t that make me even cuter? How can you stand it?”
“I’m using every ounce of willpower not to attack