Arm Candy. Jo Leigh
tall, yummy body like a glove.
He coughed, and she almost spilled her wine in an attempt to get her gaze up and away from where it’d been focused. Again with the blushing. Good God, what was the matter with her? She must be getting her period. She was never this…aware.
“Glen filled me in on your dilemma.”
“So he said, but I want to make sure you understand completely before we go any further.”
“Absolutely.”
“It’s really an acting job. I assumed he’d know someone out of work who could use the money. I can’t imagine why you’d be at all interested.”
“I’ll tell you. But first, let me hear what you expect.”
She sipped some wine, felt it melt all the way down, easing a bit of her nervousness. “I’ve got a boss who’s completely out of control, and I need someone to pretend to be my lover for the week. We’re launching a line of cosmetics with a huge press bash and back-to-back junkets. Whoever I hire is going to have to be available for any or all of the events. For meals. For anything, all the while acting like we’re the couple of the decade.”
“Yep, that’s pretty much what Glen said.”
“Okay, so why would you be interested? I have to tell you, I almost didn’t come. He twisted my arm, made me promise to see you. But I don’t get it.”
“Well, Jessica, I think there’s something we could do for each other. I see your problem, and while I’m not an actor, I think I could play the part. I’m a quick study, and I have no social ties that would interfere.”
“But?”
He smiled with those lips of his. She almost giggled like a coquette.
“Here’s what I want,” he said, studying her eyes. “I want access.”
“Access?”
He nodded. “To you.”
“Pardon me?”
“To your thoughts.”
She opened her mouth, but the only thing that came out was a kind of cluck.
“All of them.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
He laughed. The sound was rich and deep and almost enough to make her stop questioning his sanity. Almost.
“Okay, let me explain.”
“Please do.”
“I’m a curiosity junkie. Can’t help it. It’s a long, long story, full of interesting tidbits about my eccentric upbringing and my parents’ radical philosophy, which I’m sure we’ll discuss in detail over the next week, but the upshot is, I live to get answers to the big questions. I studied physics with some of the greatest minds on the planet, and theology in Rome and Israel. I’ve challenged my senses, my abilities, and always attacked the major problems of my life head-on. I might quake in my boots, but I do it until I’m satisfied. Which doesn’t mean I’m always successful. But I never wonder what would have happened if only I’d dared.”
“And what has that got to do with pretending to be my boyfriend?”
He laughed again. “Everything. Because what I want from you is answers.”
“To what questions?”
“All of them.”
“Excuse me?”
“All of them about women.”
“I don’t know all the answers about women.”
“But you know the answers for you.”
She gave him a long look.
He grinned back at her. “No, I’m not certifiable. Nuts, yes. But not quite at the padded-room stage.”
“You want answers about women?”
He nodded.
“What does that mean?”
“It means, I get to ask you anything. No holding back. No thinking twice about propriety. I ask, you answer. Honestly. To the best of your ability. All the questions I’ve wanted to ask but haven’t dared.”
“You’ve never dated?”
“Oh, I’ve dated. Many times. I’ve had relationships. All of which have failed. Mostly, I fear, due to my fumbling. My lack of understanding. Seriously, I don’t get it. Screw physics and the Big Bang theory, the great imponderable isn’t God, it’s women. Who are you people? The books are useless. Believe me, I’ve read them. Everything from Men are from Mars to Dr. Phil. And I still don’t get you.
“Every time I think I’ve figured you out, I’m totally thrown for a loop. Take Tamara. Great gal, an incredible dancer. I was crazy about her, and she swore she loved me. We lived together for two blissful years. So what happened? Right after I proposed, and we’re talking days here, she moved in with a drug addict who beat her for a hobby. And she’s just the tip of the iceberg. I ask other men, and they either throw up their hands or give me advice that lands me in the doghouse. It’s nuts, and it’s crazy, and dammit, what I want is to once and for all get it.”
Jessica heard what he said. She was a little taken aback by his earnestness and enthusiasm, and completely certain this wasn’t going to work at all.
“Oh, no,” he said. “Don’t make up your mind yet. Please.”
“I just don’t think—”
“Look, I know it sounds crazy, but really, it’s not. It’s like a research project. An in-depth study. Think of me as an anthropologist. It won’t be scary, I promise. And I won’t use the information to hurt you or anyone else. But come on. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I’d never get this kind of access. In real life, I’d be too afraid to ruin a relationship. Or if I paid for it, I’d never really be sure I was getting the real juice, you know? But this way, when we both can win, and there’s no feelings to hurt or wound, then, well…
“Not to be immodest, but I think I can convince your boss or anyone else that I’m your man. I won’t embarrass you. I know my way around the press, and I won’t cost you a penny. All you have to do is answer me honestly. If you don’t know the answers, great. No sweat. But if you do know, then I want them. No political correctness. No shading or hedging. Just what’s what.”
“What’s what, huh? Well, I know one thing.”
“Go on.”
“I need a much stronger drink.”
Dan held his grin steady, and made sure not to look too satisfied. She was gonna go for it. A minute ago he’d thought all was lost, but now? She was intrigued. From what Glen had told him about her, he’d hoped she’d be curious. “What kind of stronger drink?”
“A whiskey sour, please. Make it a double.”
“Good choice.” He signaled the bartender again, and while he waited his turn he took his time looking her over. He’d been so busy studying her body language that he hadn’t properly appreciated her body.
She was little, but not girlish. In fact, if he’d had to describe her, the word that would fit the bill was vamp. Sort of a throwback to an older age, Rita Hayworth, say, or Veronica Lake. The red hair had something to do with it, maybe the soft way it curled on her neck, or the swoop over her right eyebrow. Her lips, too, seemed naturally full, not collagen-injected like so many of the tonier crowd. And if they had been helped? Who cares. She was lush and her skin seemed silky, and the intelligence so clear in those blue eyes made him want to start his week tonight.
Not that he was going to actively pursue more than his stated objective.
“What’ll it be?”
He started at the