Truly, Madly, Deeply. Vicki Lewis Thompson
at Jeremy’s house. Jeremy threw a party every time his parents left town, and usually the guests were limited to football players and cheerleaders.
But in honor of his senior year, Jeremy had invited the whole damn school, including brainiacs like Erica. A couple hours into the party, Dustin had come up with the brilliant idea of asking her to take a drive into the country, and they’d ended up in the back seat together.
He still winced every time he thought about his abysmal performance that night. What a total disappointment he must have been for a knowledgeable girl like Erica. What a deep disappointment he’d been to himself. To think that the homecoming king, star running back and most eligible bachelor in school was a lousy lover. He hadn’t been able to face Erica after that.
Ten years later he could forgive himself a little bit. He’d been naive to think that he could be instantly good at sex the way he’d been instantly good at every sport he’d ever tried. Hand-eye coordination was all well and good, but sex involved coordinating a trickier part of his anatomy. Besides that, he’d been intimidated by Erica. He’d tried too hard.
Okay, now he was better at sex. Without bragging, he could say that he was damn good at it. Several women had told him so. He should be able to forget that he hadn’t given Erica Deutchmann, his first lover, an orgasm. But he couldn’t forget, and he wanted a rematch. That was a big part of why he was here.
It wasn’t, however, the main reason. His reputation as a party animal had attracted other party animals. Now when he had to get serious, he had no friends to rely on. But during that chemistry class, he’d learned that he could rely on Erica. She was intelligent and ambitious, just the sort of person he needed on his side during this business crisis.
He wasn’t at all surprised to find her publishing a wildly successful newsletter for singles all by herself. Once Jennifer had uncovered the information about Dateline: Dallas, Dustin had contacted a couple of his racing buddies who lived here, and they’d said everybody over eighteen and under forty knew about the newsletter. It was savvy, sexy and just plain fun.
Erica had tapped into a gold mine, and that was exactly the kind of drive and initiative he needed as part of his campaign to reorganize Ramsey Enterprises. He already had printing capability in San Antonio and Houston. Revenue from a hot newsletter could shore up the bottom line for the weeklies his father was so attached to.
Plus, if everything worked out, Dustin would have many opportunities to erase old memories and create new ones with Erica. It was a good plan, and it had to work. Yeah, the strategy might look like a Hail Mary pass in the last minutes of the game, but it was all he had going for him.
He took a deep breath and headed for the set of glass double doors leading into the building. Before he left Dallas, he would prove to Erica that he was capable of excellence in business and pleasure.
Inside the building he discovered stairs and no elevator. Damn. He liked the idea of whisking up to the third floor in an elevator before he could lose his nerve. Taking off his jacket, he started up.
By the second flight he’d convinced himself that this was the most insane idea he’d ever had. Erica wouldn’t be interested in sharing either business or pleasure with him. She’d sounded sort of distant on the phone. He’d been obsessing about her for years and it was possible she barely remembered him.
Still, he’d see this through. He might have screwed around most of his life, but he wasn’t a quitter. That’s why he’d scored so many touchdowns in high school—point him toward a goal and he was unstoppable. He’d just never seen any other goals worth the effort. Until now.
On the third floor he paused and put on his coat. Hefting his briefcase again, he started down the carpeted hallway toward number 310. His heart pounded like a sonofabitch, and not from the climb, either. He hadn’t been this nervous since…since driving out into the country with Erica.
He stood in front of her door for a good thirty seconds, working up to pushing her doorbell. Finally he squared his shoulders and did the deed. Footsteps sounded on the other side of the door.
When she opened it, he managed an automatic smile. He was a Ramsey, and Ramseys always led with a big, Texas-style grin. But he was afraid his eyes popped.
At the high school reunion a month ago, he’d had a chance to see how ten years had treated his classmates, and not a one of them had blossomed like this. Erica had been pretty back in high school, but not especially stylish, wearing both her blond hair and her denim skirts long. Now both were short. Very short.
Her hair was cut in the jaunty style so popular now, and her jungle-print skirt and black tank were the kind of seductive clothes that women wore these days. Not many wore them with this kind of flair though, because not many had been blessed with a long-legged, full-breasted figure that would never go out of style. She wore large wooden earrings and open-toed mules. Urban chick all the way.
He quickly checked her left hand and found bright red nails but no engagement ring. That was a relief.
“Hey, Dustin. It’s been a long time, huh?”
Way too long. “Sure has. You’re looking terrific.” It was lame, but the best he could do considering his jangled brain and dry throat.
“You, too.” Her tone was cautious. “Come on in.” She stepped back and gestured for him to enter.
“Thanks.” He could understand her caution. She wouldn’t want him to get the wrong idea, like maybe she was interested in a date. Assuming she remembered their history, he’d be the last person on earth she’d want to date, old Instant-o-matic Ramsey. Although he was mesmerized by the curve of her breasts and intoxicated by the exotic fragrance she wore, he managed to walk past her and into the room with what he hoped was confident ease.
He kept his voice casual. “So why didn’t you come to the reunion?” She’d cost him precious money by staying away. He’d expected to hook up with her there. When she hadn’t showed up and nobody had known her whereabouts, he’d tried the phone listings in various Texas cities, never suspecting she’d shortened her last name to Mann. He’d had to hire Jennifer to dig up that information.
“Reunion? Oh, yeah, I guess it is ten years, isn’t it? I didn’t get the notice, probably because of my name change.”
“I wondered why you decided to change it.” He inhaled her perfume with relish. It was much more blatant and sexy than what she’d used in high school. Her makeup was more out there, too—pouting red lips and dramatic black lashes, even though he knew for a fact she was a natural blond. While taking off his Jockeys in his room after that fateful night with her, he’d found a blond hair tangled in with his darker ones.
“When I was in journalism at U.T. I decided I wanted a more dramatic byline.”
He nodded. “That sounds like you.” Dazed as he was by Erica, he had trouble focusing on his surroundings. Vaguely he registered a bright, sunny living room with lots of bookshelves, rattan furniture that gave the apartment a tropical look, a counter defining a small kitchen to his left and a hallway leading to the bedroom and bath to his right. Over her sofa hung a huge picture of some kind of flower. The rosy colors inside the flower made him think of sex, but anything would make him think of sex right now.
On an old wooden desk sat her computer, still turned on. The desk was cluttered with paper and advertising flyers. “I see you’ve been working on the newsletter.”
“Yeah, deadline coming up.”
He set down his briefcase and wandered over to the desk. He’d already seen a couple of issues, and he knew the advice column was the juiciest part, with the letters usually focused on sex. He glanced at the screen.
Dear Frustrated Franny,
You deserve long and delicious bouts of sex with many orgasms. Teach your guy to go the distance. Here’s one technique:
“Would you like some iced tea?”
He glanced up into those gray eyes of hers and swallowed. He’d give his