10 Rules to Sex Up a Blind Date

10 Rules to Sex Up a Blind Date Heidi Rice #WorstDatesEverAfter a nasty breakup, Tally Gladstone has no interest in anything serious. But she's dipped her wary toe back into dating with a few blind dates–all bad…or worse. The only good thing to come out of it is a sizable following on social media. Her latest date is doomed from the get-go–he isn't even straight. But at least he knows someone who meets her every very exacting wish#EpicHotLover?American-in-London Brent O'Neill is everything she wants–on paper. He's hot, sexy and emotionally off-limits. Tally can play all she likes without getting burned. He's so good in bed he's addictive. But her millions of social media followers want disaster, not boring-ever-after. They might get their way yet–how is she going to walk away before her heart is in tatters? #WorstDatesEver After a nasty breakup, Tally Gladstone has no interest in anything serious. But she’s dipped her wary toe back into dating with a few blind dates—all bad…or worse. The only good thing to come out of it is a sizable following on social media. Her latest date is doomed from the get-go—he isn’t even straight. But at least he knows someone who meets her every very exacting wish! #EpicHotLover? American-in-London Brent O’Neill is everything she wants—on paper. He’s hot, sexy and emotionally off-limits. Tally can play all she likes without getting burned. He’s so good in bed he’s addictive. But her millions of social media followers want disaster, not boring-ever-after. They might get their way yet—how is she going to walk away before her heart is in tatters? Contemporary, sexy stories for sassy women. Cosmo Red-Hot Reads from Mills & Boon. www.millsandboon.co.uk/cosmo (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk/cosmo) To Abby Green, who brainstormed this story with me and therefore helped turn my Twitter addiction into “valuable research.” I owe you one. Heidi x Dear Reader, I love bad girls. I love badass girls even more. Tally Gladstone is one of those. She’s smart-mouthed and sexy, she makes her own rules and she’s not afraid to demand what she wants… Or what she thinks she wants. As an author, it’s the ultimate guilty pleasure to write a character like Tally, because she says all those things you wish you’d said to that superhot guy you fancied from afar (but didn’t because you didn’t have fifteen minutes to think of the perfect comeback—or want to get arrested!). And because Tally is the guilty pleasure me, she gets to seduce the gorgeous Brent O’Neill—who’s basically a cross between Channing Tatum and Chris Hemsworth. FYI: after hours of research on Pinterest, I have yet to decide which of those two hotties he resembles the most (never say I am not prepared to suffer for my art). But pushing all thoughts of Chris and Channing aside (with difficulty), Brent’s his own man. He’s smart-mouthed and sexy just like Tally. But also just like Tally, he’s been hurt in the past, and his tough, confident exterior hides a guy who’s much more vulnerable than he thinks. Putting these two together and then watching their hot date spontaneously combust into something much more dangerous was an absolutele joy (involving lots of smart-chat and some valuable lessons in Twitter addictions). I hope it’s as much of a pleasure to read (no guilt required!). I love to hear from readers (especially if they like my books) so get in touch at [email protected]. Or follow me on Twitter, @HeidiRomRice (https://twitter.com/HeidiRomRice), or Pinterest, www.pinterest.com/hlric (https://www.pinterest.com/hlric). Right, I’m off back to Pinterest to do lots more “important research” on who should play Brent in the movie: Channing or Chris… I may be a while. Heidi x 10 Rules to Sex Up a Blind Date Heidi Rice Contemporary, sexy stories for sassy women. Cosmo Red-Hot Reads from Mills & Boon. www.millsandboon.co.uk/cosmo (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk/cosmo) Contents Chapter One (#u31774f91-4097-5f62-b681-b3469d1fec80) Chapter Two (#u7ead0132-64de-57d9-82df-74672d776406) Chapter Three (#uf70f43c9-8bea-5049-ab1b-20d52101d8d5) Chapter Four (#ud9a48d96-40c1-5f61-9eed-a444811361f5) Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo) About the Author (#litres_trial_promo) Submission Guidelines (#litres_trial_promo) Copyright (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter One From the Twitter account of @BlindDateBitch: #NewRule: For a matchmaker with the mostest, ensure they have fully operational #gaydar. 100 NONNEGOTIABLE. If it’s faulty...DUMP THEM! ‘You’re absolutely positive you’re gay?’ Tally Gladstone battled with a whine of dismay as her latest blind date’s brilliant blue eyes twinkled with mischief and her brain—and several other key parts of her anatomy—knotted with frustration. ‘Totally, 100 per cent positive. Sorry.’ ‘Seriously?’ The whine won. It cannot be true.Not again. In one tiny corner of Tally’s mind, it registered that Sam Grady’s revelation was going to make great fodder tomorrow morning when Blind Date Bitch reported back to her five hundred thousand followers about her latest disaster date. But for once she had actually been more excited about the date itself than what she was going to tweet about it. Plus her appalling luck and her consequent online success was getting to be beyond a joke. She’d set up @BlindDateBitch as an anonymous ego boost to support her through the early stages of her search for a superstud—not to shatter her ego entirely with a never-ending running commentary on her failure to get laid. ‘No equivocation whatsoever?’ Tally soldiered on, drowning out the clatter and hum of the Kensington bar on a busy Friday night. Sam’s diamond-bright gaze dipped to her cleavage, temptingly displayed in her best LBD. It remained there for several pregnant seconds, while Tally’s lungs seized to a halt—and she crossed her fingers under the bar. Could a really good pair of double Ds turn a gay man straight—even a little bit? Surely it was a possibility. She had exceptionally nice tits—and her push-up bra helped turn them into the eighth wonder of the world. ‘Your rack is very aesthetically pleasing.’ His burning gaze lifted back to her now burning face. ‘I could write a song to those puppies. But would they give me a boner?’ He shook his head, his sheepish expression not doing a thing for her blush. ‘Doubtful.’ ‘Oh, fuck it. I give up.’ Tally took a long swallow of her strawberry daiquiri. ‘I’m going to kill Melody. I can’t believe she set me up with a gay guy again. I’m beginning to think she’s doing it deliberately.’ Melody was her best friend. But how could anyone be so totally rubbish in the matchmaker stakes? ‘How many times has this happened?’ Sam asked, his husky voice still sending annoying shivers up her spine—which were now, she reminded herself, completely beside the point. Get a grip spine.Project Get Laid Some Time This Millennium is not happening tonight. She drank in one last long forlorn look at Sam. He’d seemed like such a fabulous prospect earlier in the evening when Melody had introduced them. Attentive, gorgeous blue eyes, ripped abs from what she could tell beneath his T-shirt, solvent—according to Melody—a delicious aroma of laundry detergent and clean male enveloping her when they’d got stranded together at the bar, and a great conversationalist. And not noticeably camp. Maybe his job as a graphic designer should have been a hint—and the fact that his gaze hadn’t strayed to her cleavage once during the entire evening—but seriously, after two solid years without a sexual encounter of any description that didn’t involve batteries, she needed a much bigger hint than that... A pulsing neon sign on his forehead with Boys Only written in large flaming-pink letters, for example. Tally huffed, holding up three fingers. ‘Three dates. Three gay blokes. In the space of a month. That’s a 100 per cent record.’ Sam choked out a laugh. ‘Well, her gaydar’s off, that’s for sure.’ He rested a warm palm on Tally’s shoulder. ‘Hey, look, I’m sorry, Tally. You’re great and I’ve had a fun time. I didn’t know Melody was trying to hook us up. I thought she knew which way I roll. I sure as hell don’t keep it a secret.’ ‘That’s okay,’ Tally murmured, feeling more humiliated by the second. ‘Not a problem. Although I’d suggest you use a different cologne when chatting to women. Because the one you use now is sending out all the wrong signals—pheromone-wise.’ One dark brow hiked up his forehead. ‘But I don’t use cologne.’ ‘Precisely. Something flowery and exotic with Hawaiian undertones would be much more appropriate. Might give a girl a clue. You know. To your sexual preferences.’ He laughed again—and her humiliation and annoyance eased. He really was a lovely guy. And it was hardly his fault he was extremely hot, yet played for the other team—nor was it his fault that Melody was to matchmaking what her eight-year-old cousin was to mature and sensible behaviour. Basically, a disaster waiting to happen. Plus, she’d probably get another thousand followers after this fuck-up—not that it felt like much of a consolation anymore. ‘How about I make it up to you?’ he said in his deep American accent. ‘Maybe I could set you up with someone. I know a lot of guys.’ ‘Straight guys?’ Tally heard the eagerness in her voice. But sod it, she was desperate here. And extremely turned on with nowhere to go but back to her lonely bed and the company of Victor, her vibrator. The sad fact that she’d given the bloody thing a name was all that needed to be said on that score. ‘Yeah, straight. I guarantee it,’ he said. ‘Because unlike Melody, my gaydar is never wrong.’ The twinkle of mischief returned. ‘Either that or I’ve hit on them myself and discovered how they roll the hard way. No joke intended.’ Tally snorted out a laugh, stupidly pleased this man had suffered a similar fate to her. Misery, say hello to company. ‘What are your other criteria?’ Sam asked. ‘Then we can narrow the field.’ ‘You have a field of straight guys to choose from?’ ‘Uh-huh.’ Sam nodded. Good lord, who knew? Gay men really could make the perfect matchmakers for sex-starved straight women. This was not just a myth propagated by chick flicks co-starring Rupert Everett. Chapter Two #NewRule: Once dream matchmaker has been located, don’t be shy... Give them ALL your vital sex-tistics (Yes, even THAT one!) #honestyhour ‘Hot,’ Tally qualified quickly. ‘I’d like him hot.’ If she was going to avail Sam of his services, she might as well get the deluxe package. ‘That would be my second stipulation. After straight.’ She didn’t give a shit if that made her sound shallow. This was Project Get Laid, not Project Get a Life Partner. All she wanted was to jump-start her sadly neglected libido by jumping some hot guy—a hot guy who had had lots of practise satisfying female libidos and knew how to locate a clitoris without having to ask for directions. Because, let’s face it, men never asked for directions, even when they had no clue where they were going. No way was she recruiting amateurs, or fumblers, or, god forbid, guys with a relationship agenda. Project Get Laid was strictly a player-only, no-complications-allowed initiative. ‘Hot and straight. Got it.’ Sam nodded. ‘Anything else, boss?’ ‘Actually, there are a couple of other things.’ Tally chewed her lip. Could she ask this? Not only would it make her sound shallower than a puddle, but she liked Sam. And now the prospect of getting into his nicely tailored pants was totally off the agenda, this could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship—especially if he proved to be a winner in the Find Tally a Stud stakes. So she didn’t want to embarrass him—or worse, piss him off. He had a field at his fingertips. A field she could make very good use of in the weeks and months to come if she played her cards right. Hopefully. Maybe. ‘Well hung would be great. A reputation for being spectacular in the sack would be even better,’ she blurted out, and held her breath, waiting for any signs of an adverse reaction from her new best friend. ‘If you can manage both together we’d be entering jackpot territory.’ Sam chuckled, the sound low and genuinely amused. ‘How well hung?’ he asked, his tone direct and not remotely disgusted. Tally’s breath gushed out. ‘And do you want me to get references for the sack rep?’ he added. ‘Because I’m not going to have road-tested the guy myself. And guys exaggerate about that stuff to other guys.’ ‘They even boast about it to gay guys?’ Tally felt her eyes crossing. Wow, this was turning into an education. ‘Wouldn’t that be a bit counterproductive?’ ‘I guess, but only if you’ve got the hots for them—and they know about it. Guys don’t consider the subtext much when talking about their banging exploits.’ He shrugged. ‘Okay, good to know.’ Tally’s thigh muscles quivered with something that felt an awful lot like excitement. She crossed her legs. She so did not want to get ahead of herself here. She’d been disappointed before. And it had not been good for her ego. But this might actually happen. Sam could turn out to be the best mistake she’d ever made. Imagining whom he might hook her up with was making her feel a little woozy, and wet with anticipation. Finally. Finally. She could end her man drought. With a man who definitely wasn’t gay, and who measured up in the only way that mattered. Then she thought of the last guy who had measured up—and cold water lapped over the wave of warmth pulsing in her abdomen. ‘He also has to be single. Obviously. In fact, that’s non-negotiable. I probably should have said that first.’ A flush fired up her neck. Goodness, how desperate was she that she’d got so far ahead of herself she hadn’t even thought of that until now? And yet it was the most important criterion. Much more important than a ten-inch dick, frankly. She might only be looking for sex, but she wasn’t leaping into that bonfire again—when it came to cheaters, even casual hook-ups were out. She wanted to feel good about herself again. Not totally crap, the way she’d felt when Henry’s wife had turned up on her doorstep two years ago, her face ravaged with tears and her eyes wild with grief. Tally still felt the sting of the slap on her cheek, and the grinding pain in her stomach when she’d confronted Henry—and got hold of the real reason he’d been so keen on her. Until Henry, she’d thought she was an excellent judge of character. When your father was a serial cheater and you’d spent most of your childhood witnessing the fall-out, you naturally assumed you’d be able to recognise a rat from several hundred miles away. Apparently not. ‘Understood,’ Sam said, giving her a considered look that made her wonder if he was a mind-reader as well as a matchmaker extraordinaire. Had he figured out her most shameful secret? Not that she’d slept with a married man, because she certainly hadn’t done that on purpose. But that she’d had the gross stupidity to fall in love with a man—to think she could build a future with a man—who was as much of a bastard as her dad? Discovering at the grand old age of twenty-six that she suffered from the same rose-tinted blindness as her mother was humiliating, to say the least. But she could see things for what they were now, and she would never be that myopic again. ‘Although, for the record,’ Sam continued, ‘no way in hell would I have hooked you up with a guy who was already taken. Apart from being a shitty thing to do to you, that’s bad karma for me. And megashit feng-shui, lifestyle-wise. I don’t fuck with feng-shui. Not if I can help it.’ The sweet, giddy rush of relief she felt made her light-headed. Sam hadn’t guessed what a tool she’d been. ‘Just a tip, Sam,’ she said, tucking the wrenching pain back in the drawer marked Don’t Ever Go There, ‘if a girl starts making goo-goo eyes at you again, tell her about your feng-shui obsession. It’ll reduce the shock value when you do the big reveal.’ Sam sent her a mocking salute. ‘Yes, boss.’ Tally folded her arms on the bar, feeling mellow again—and moist, but not for Sam anymore. Thank goodness. The feng-shui comment had had the desired effect of directing any residual lust towards pastures new...and hopefully more fertile. ‘So do you have anyone in mind?’ she said, trying not to sound too eager. ‘Actually, I think I may have the perfect candidate.’ ‘Really? Already? That’s amazing.’ And a tad too good to be true. The hum in Tally’s clitoris dimmed. Was Sam the real deal, or just another gift horse with a very big mouth, like Melody? ‘Yeah, his name’s Brent. Brent O’Neill. He’s a fellow Yank living in London, a pal from my college days. Six foot three with a rep in the sack that he never boasts about.’ ‘Then how do you know about it?’ Tally asked, trying to be objective—and not drool ahead of schedule. ‘His ex-wife’s a pal from college, too. Della got drunk with me the night after their divorce papers came through and told me why she married him. Turns out he’s so good at giving head she totally missed the fact that he’s a—’ Sam paused to do air quotes ‘—”heartless bastard” for three whole years. Good enough?’ ‘Promising, certainly,’ Tally hedged. And sort of tacky. Who married a guy based on his cunnilingus skills? ‘And to seal the deal,’ Sam continued. ‘Brent’s also ripped, ruggedly handsome and extremely well-endowed.’ Tally’s eyebrows shot up her forehead. ‘Not to be funny, but how do you know that?’ Good grief, had Brent’s ex-wife gotten drunk enough to give out his measurements? That took tacky to a whole new level. ‘Locker-room voyeurism.’ Sam coughed into his hand, looking sheepish. ‘Mostly. We played on the same basketball team at Cornell. Believe me, a dick that size is impossible to miss. Not that I was trying that hard to miss it. A guy can dream, after all.’ Tally’s clitoris throbbed deliciously. ‘Well, as long as it was only dreaming.’ ‘I swear.’ Sam crossed a finger over his heart. ‘He’s straight as an arrow.’ His eyebrows wiggled. ‘Joke intended that time.’ A high, fluttering laugh floated out of Tally’s mouth that sounded suspiciously like a giggle. ‘Sam, you’re hired.’ ‘Awesome.’ Resting an elbow on the bar, he flicked a finger at the barman, who trotted over like a trained pony. ‘A beer for me and another daiquiri for the lady,’ Sam ordered while the barman beamed at him like a long-lost lover. Clearly the barman’s gaydar was a lot better than Melody’s. Or hers. Sam’s gaze lingered for a second on the barman’s tight ass as he headed off to fetch their order. ‘Right, let’s figure out how to hook you guys up without Brent knowing it’s a set-up.’ ‘Why can’t it be a set-up?’ ‘Because that’s way too cute.’ Sam’s condescension somehow managed to be charming instead of, well, condescending. ‘Brent’s a wolf in geek’s clothing. A type-A guy who gets off on the hunt. Which means this’ll work a whole lot better if we let him think it was all his idea.’ ‘You’re not serious?’ Tally’s feminist outrage tumbled out. ‘He sounds like a sexist jerk.’ Heartless was doable. Misogyny not so much. She had to be able to talk to this guy, at least a little bit. ‘Hey, I’m working with your wish list here. Not mine.’ Sam threw up his hands in exaggerated dismay. ‘You wanna get laid by a guy who’s hung like a horse and has made it his life’s work to turn giving head into an art form, then Brent’s your guy. But he’s a hard-ass when it comes to women—ever since his divorce. No argument there. So if you’re looking for more than a casual hook-up, we’re going to have to look elsewhere.’ ‘Forget I said anything.’ Tally capitulated, her feminist outrage drowned out by the reminder of Brent’s expert lip-service. She propped her own elbows on the bar and smiled encouragingly at her matchmaker. ‘This isn’t a forever deal. At all.’ She did a zipping motion over her lips. ‘I’ll shut up now and let you do your job.’ When it came to Project Get Laid, surely she could suck up her feminist principles for a night? Plus Brent the Clitoris Junkie got points for letting his shortcomings show—unlike Henry the Metrosexual Rat. At least women knew to approach Brent at their peril. She’d just have to cut the talking portion of the evening short if his alpha-jerk tendencies came to the fore. ‘Cool.’ Sam lifted his bottle to take a fortifying swallow of his Bud. ‘But before we get down to business.’ Tally fluttered her eyelashes outrageously. ‘Do you think you could describe Brent’s hard ass in more detail?’ Sam clinked his bottle to her glass, a slow conspiratorial smile spreading across his face. ‘Sure. I’ve written a couple of songs about Brent’s hard ass.’ He winked. ‘It’s kind of inspirational.’ ‘Fabulous.’ Tally licked dry lips, already composing tomorrow morning’s tweet to the insistent rhythm of her throbbing clit. ‘Inspirational is just what I’m looking for.’ Chapter Three #NewRule: 2 Wear or Not 2 Wear Knickers? Is that the question? Answer: Dress for sex-cess but aim for the #Wow Factor not the #Whoa Factor Tally handed her coat to the fresh-faced cloak-room attendant, who sent her a shy smile before his gaze became surgically attached to her cleavage. Her confidence perked up as he handed her the ticket, his cheeks shining like beacons in the club’s half-light. She smoothed her palms down the plush velvet of the vintage minidress she’d found on eBay. Tucking the ticket into her bag, she smiled at the poor kid. Good to know the three hours she’d spent debating her wardrobe options for this evening had not been entirely wasted. Her phone pinged and she whipped it out of her bag, grinning when she saw the text pop up from her partner in crime. We’re in one of the booths on the left in the American Bar. Hope you’re looking hot because Brent certainly is. S x She headed down a wide stairway, the walls expensively upholstered in dark wood and red leather, tapping out a reply while doing her best to ignore the knot in her stomach. Stop salivating, he’s my date, not yours. And I’m in ’80s Dior—so let the enslavement begin. T x But as she stepped into the darkened bar and walked past the booths, listening for Sam’s greeting, the knot swelled and pushed into her throat. After close to six months of crappy dates, it was incredible she could still feel anything at the prospect of meeting a new guy. So what exactly was this knot about? Because it was getting uncomfortable. Excitement, maybe? After all, this was a date with actual prospects. The anticipation of flesh-to-flesh contact with another human being, and the promised endorphin rush of good hard sweaty sex, had caused her to waste a good hour debating the appropriate knicker etiquette for tonight. ‘Hey, Tally, is that you?’ She stopped dead at the sound of Sam’s deliberately nonchalant tone, her heels sinking into the deep-pile carpet—and eased a breath out of constricted lungs. Pasting on the surprised smile she’d been practising in the mirror all evening, she spotted Sam standing beside one of the booths. She scanned the rest of his booth as discreetly as possible. A pair of muscular forearms rested on the table, but the remainder of Sam’s companion was hidden in the shadows. ‘Sam, fancy meeting you here.’ She winced at her overly bright tone. ‘Yeah, fancy.’ The twinkle in Sam’s eyes dazzled her with conspiratorial glee. ‘Hey, Brent, this is Tally, a girl I know from way back,’ he added, being deliberately vague about their connection, as they’d arranged. ‘Tally, meet Brent, a pal from my college days.’ She dragged in air, trying not to hyperventilate as a tall man appeared from the shadows and unfolded himself from the booth. Holy shit. She sucked in a breath, nearly choking on the drool that collected under her tongue, as he reached out one large tanned hand. ‘Tally, hi.’ Sam had said his friend was ruggedly handsome. For a gay man into art and design, Sam certainly wasn’t into flamboyant overstatement. Brent O’Neill wasn’t ruggedly handsome. He was ruggedly awesome. Firm fingers folded over hers as her gaze met eyes so blue they were almost translucent, the brilliant aquamarine reminiscent of a Caribbean tourist brochure. She stood momentarily transfixed, the calluses on his palm sending goose bumps sprinting up her arm, as she noticed the bold angles and contours of his face. Muscular shoulders stretched the seams of a white shirt and tapered down to the lean waist of his charcoal-grey suit trousers. Despite wearing the standard uniform of a well-heeled office worker, with his height—he towered over her even in her heels—and those mile-wide shoulders, he had the aura of a navy SEAL rather than a tech geek. The brutal buzz cut added to the impression of raw, all-American masculinity, accentuating his blunt features and making her fingers itch to caress the soft spikes of hair covering his scalp. Goodness. He certainly had a physique better suited to hand-to-hand combat in a war zone than booting up a hard drive in Mayfair. She struggled to re-inflate her lungs, before they collapsed entirely, and say something that didn’t involve whimpering, but then his deep unfathomable gaze roamed down to her cleavage, insolent and entitled—and the supply of oxygen to her brain cut off entirely. Given that her bust was clad in sequined velvet precisely for the purpose of drawing the male gaze, she couldn’t exactly be outraged by the bold assessment, but that didn’t stop heat flaring across her chest as the knowledge in his eyes made her wonder if Sam had managed to keep his mouth shut about her intentions. ‘Great to meet you. Why don’t you join us?’ His wide, sensual mouth quirked on one side and he gave her hand a gentle tug. She cleared her throat. That was supposed to have been Sam’s line. ‘Um, thanks.’ She went to slide into the booth next to Sam, but Brent the Magnificent’s large hand touched her hip, sending a jolt of shock and awe up her spine. And stopped her in her tracks. ‘Take my seat. I was heading to the bar. What’s your poison?’ ‘A daiquiri.’ He brushed past her, the spicy scent of clean male sending her senses into overdrive as his hand slid off her hip. The familiarity unsettled her a little. Either the guy was super-tactile or he was already staking a claim. And while her nipples weren’t objecting, the rest of her felt a bit dazed. After two years without a ride of any description, maybe she’d overestimated her ability to jump back on the horse—or rather, the stallion—this quickly. Had she actually requested a huge dick? What had seemed hopelessly arousing in the cab on the way over now seemed overwhelming. Why the heck hadn’t she thought this through a lot more carefully? Brent lifted a finger to Sam. ‘Another Bud, buddy?’ Sam glanced at his watch, not at all subtly. ‘Actually I’ve gotta shoot.’ He gave Tally a peck on the cheek, as if they were old buddies. The faker. ‘Real sorry not to get the chance to catch up.’ He patted her waist. ‘You wanna hang out with Brent for a while?’ The knot in her throat grew into a boulder. ‘You’re leaving already?’ She glared at her now ex-new best friend. What was he playing at? He might as well have put up a sign saying “woman in need of shagging, this way.” And while it was clearly true on a physical level—given the way her clitoris was throbbing in time with her frantic pulse—she hadn’t planned on being quite this obvious. Yet. ‘Yeah, I’ve got tickets for the theatre.’ He winked. He actually winked at her. ‘I give you guys full permission to talk trash about me behind my back.’ Talk trash about him? She was going to eviscerate him. ‘Well, thank you,’ she said dryly, trying to stem the panic and convey her displeasure. She needed to ease into this. Not get kicked into the deep end. ‘That should take all night, given the amount of dirt I have on you,’ she added, in case Sam hadn’t got the message that she was not pleased with his sudden deviation from their carefully worked out plan. Brent’s gruff chuckle rolled up her spine like warm chocolate sauce—decadent and scarily delicious. ‘Great, I’m always looking for more dirt on Sam,’ he murmured. ‘One daiquiri coming up.’ As soon as Brent was out of earshot, she grasped Sam’s upper arm. ‘Are you bloody nuts?’ she whispered furiously. ‘He’ll figure out it’s a set-up.’ ‘So what?’ Sam’s grin widened. ‘From the way he was checking out your rack, the hunt’s already on.’ ‘Yes, but...’ But what? She glanced over her shoulder to watch Brent the Magnificent stroll to the bar. He was precisely what she’d ordered. So why the heck was she panicking? But then she watched him draw the barman’s attention away from the other patrons waiting to get served with a lift of his index finger. And a tremor went through her sex-starved body. A weird combination of arousal, anticipation and extreme terror. Brent wasn’t an alpha male, he was an alpha wolf—and for all her big talk last week, she was completely out of practise at handling one of those. Because the last time she’d hooked up with one, he’d ended up ripping her to shreds. Was there such a thing as a too-hot date? ‘Hey, relax.’ Sam touched her nose, drawing her attention back to him. ‘Flirt with Brent, have some fun. If you don’t want to jump him, give him the brush-off. He’s a big guy. He can take it. He won’t push—trust me, I wouldn’t hook you up with that kind of guy.’ ‘Okay...’ she said, quelling the sudden urge to ask exactly how big a guy Brent was. That kind of speculation had gotten her into this fix in the first place. ‘I guess I’m not worried about his control...’ She sighed. ‘I’m more worried about my own. I don’t want any emotional fall-out from this.’ While she’d been ready to get back on the sexy-go-round for a while, she was so not ready for the emotional rollercoaster that had gone with it last time. The fact was that her instant, over the top reaction to Brent was reminiscent of her first response to Henry. But more so. Even Henry hadn’t drained the blood from her brain to her clit in ten seconds flat. Sam’s eyebrow lifted. ‘Tally, trust me.’ He gave her shoulder a friendly squeeze. ‘That’s not going to happen. Not with Brent. So control’s got nothing to do with it.’ His gaze drifted past her to the bar. ‘You need to get laid. So go for it. And give me all the details tomorrow.’ The wicked twinkle returned with a vengeance. ‘As payback for all my hard work.’ She choked out a laugh—the anticipation and arousal finally edging out the terror. She was being ridiculous. Fine, she was hopelessly rusty when it came to flirting with someone she actually fancied. But surely riding stallions was the same as riding a bike—once you knew how, the skill would come back naturally as soon as you got back in the saddle. And given that she was already clear that if anything happened between her and Brent it would simply be sex, and only sex—what could possibly go wrong? ‘Cheers, Sam.’ She squeezed his fingers, stupidly grateful not only for the pep talk, but for the fact that her new bestie had apparently delivered the perfect guy to blast her libido out of mothballs without causing any collateral damage. ‘I promise to give you a blow-by-blow account tomorrow.’ ‘A blow-by-blow, huh?’ Sam laughed, saluting her as he walked backwards. ‘Cool.’ She settled into the booth once Sam was gone, and admired Brent’s ass as he pulled a wallet out of his back pocket. While he was handling the drinks, she let out a careful breath, the swelling in her throat now accompanied by a delicious swelling in her clit. Lifting her iPhone off the table, she snapped a photo of him to keep her fingers busy. Rubbing her thighs together to stop the persistent hum of arousal, she felt the gusset of her thong rub against her engorged clit. Bugger, maybe commando was the correct knicker etiquette for tonight after all. * * * Sam has totally set me up, the son of a bitch. Brent eyed the girl perched on the edge of the booth as he toted their drinks back towards her. She crossed her long legs at the knee, the sequins on her magnificent rack sparkling in the candlelight, and he felt the inevitable tug of response. Problem was, he didn’t know whether to go punch his friend’s lights out or give the guy a kiss. He felt the tension in his shoulders ease as she sent him a sultry smile. Christ, she was a stunner. But not in an obvious way. If he was being entirely objective, he guessed her mouth was kind of wide, her nose had a cute little wonky thing going on and those eyes were unusual, with their cat-like slant and that deep indigo shade so dark it was almost purple. No, she wasn’t conventionally pretty, but the combination was exotic, arresting. And then there was that tony British accent, kind of smoky and slick all at the same time. And to top it off, that mind-blowing figure, which looked round and soft in all the right places. Get your mind off her ass, man.She’s not a piece of meat. He shook his head to break the spell before he ended up with a boner he couldn’t control. And felt the prickle of shame that had followed him round ever since his divorce. It had gotten really bad a couple of months ago. That morning he’d woken up in a boutique hotel in Chelsea, almost exactly three years to the day since his divorce had become final, and discovered a pretty auburn-haired girl cuddled under his arm—whose face and name he couldn’t put together. Was it Sally? Or Suzy? Or Samantha? He’d spent five minutes watching her sleep and raking through his memory of the previous night—which hadn’t proven to be particularly memorable. Because all he could recall was how much she’d talked about what a dick her ex-boyfriend was, even while they were making love. Once he’d conceded defeat with the name game, he’d slipped out of the room, feeling like the worse kind of asshole. How could he have banged her and not cared enough about her to remember who the hell she was? Maybe because he was exactly what Del had once accused him of being: a good guy to have in the sack and a shit-heel out of it. So he’d sworn off casual sex for a couple of months, his confidence shot. Maybe he wasn’t anyone’s idea of a dream date, but he could sure aim for a few rungs above shit-heel territory. At least that had been the plan, until Sam had set him up with a woman who was hot enough to melt all his working brain cells. Of course, Sam had no idea he’d had a self-imposed dry spell for four months. So maybe Sam hadn’t set him up and Tally really was just a happy accident—who’d come along precisely when he was ready to get back in the game. He placed the drinks on the table and slipped into the booth. ‘Sam beat it already?’ he asked, deciding to scope the situation out before his cock got in the way. ‘Afraid so,’ she murmured, not looking all that heartbroken. His knee nudged her leg under the table and she blinked, but didn’t shift back. He stretched out, letting his calf slide past hers. She still didn’t budge. Interesting. ‘So how long have you known Sam?’ he asked—because he didn’t plan to get played, any more than he planned to get led around by his cock. She glanced down, the powder on her lids glittering in the flicker of light from the candle, then reached for her glass. She caressed the stem between her thumb and forefinger and he felt the phantom stroke on his cock—which was getting harder by the second. ‘Not long.’ She took a sip of the fruity cocktail. His gaze snagged on the sheen of moisture on her lips as she lowered the glass and those indigo eyes met his. She lifted the strawberry off the side of the glass, let her tongue swirl around the tip, then bit off the end with even white teeth. A shot of adrenaline kicked him full in the crotch. Jesus, who is this woman, the cock whisperer? He shifted in his seat to ease the pressure on his fly. ‘That’s weird, I thought Sam said you were old buddies?’ Twin flags of colour hit her cheeks, but her gaze remained focussed and direct. Ahappy accident, my butt. She trapped her bottom lip under her teeth, before releasing it to say, ‘When did you figure it out?’ ‘Does it matter?’ ‘Only if you’re not interested?’ He chuckled, the surge of excitement making him light-headed. Goddamn, she was gorgeous—and his, if he wanted her. No mess, no guilt, no fuss and no need to worry about remembering her name, because he doubted he’d ever be able to forget it. He might have to kiss Sam after all. He sat up, trapping her knees between his thighs. ‘Tally, if I was any more interested I’d have passed out from the loss of blood to my brain.’ She laughed, a full, throaty sound that settled in his lap like melted honey. ‘I’m sorry for the subterfuge, but Sam said you prefer to do the chasing.’ He stroked a finger down her cheek, let it linger under her chin. ‘Sam doesn’t know me as well as he thinks he does.’ Her smile took on a wicked tilt. ‘Clearly.’ Holding her chin, he tugged her towards him until their lips were only a hair’s-breadth apart. And drew in a lungful of her scent—citrus and spice. She smelled glorious, like freshly squeezed OJ and original sin, the perfect aphrodisiac for a Catholic kid who’d grown up working in his dad’s grocery store. Saliva collected in his mouth at the thought of tasting the rest of her. ‘So exactly what did Sam tell you about me?’ he asked, forcing himself to slow down for a second. Sam had always had a screwy sense of humour. And the guy had been Della’s friend before he’d been Brent’s. Brent didn’t want to take any chances that this was another one of Sam’s jokes—one that he was about to become the butt of. Because the last time Sam had set him up on a date, it had been with a transvestite. Luckily Marilyn had been in on the joke too, or things could have gotten pretty awkward when Brent had spotted her Adam’s apple about two seconds after meeting her. ‘Sam said that you’re a hard-ass with women,’ Tally replied. ‘Who doesn’t do relationships.’ ‘Sam said that?’ Brent ignored the spike of irritation. Why should he care what Sam had told her? After all, it was the god’s honest truth. And he wasn’t ashamed of it. Not anymore. ‘Don’t worry, as far as I’m concerned a hard-ass is exactly what I’m looking for. That and a huge...’ Her gaze dipped suggestively. ‘Sam seemed to think you would meet both those criteria.’ Jesus. He drew back a little. Sam had told her about Della’s photo? He’d always known the guy had probably seen it. When your ex put a picture of your junk on Facebook to humiliate you, you had to assume the worst, but he’d always figured Sam had more class than to mention it to anyone. ‘I’m sorry, have I shocked you?’ she said with deceptive innocence. She didn’t look a bit sorry, and she kind of had shocked him, but he wasn’t about to let her know it. There were rules to this game, and the first rule was never show a weakness. ‘I don’t shock that easy.’ ‘That’s good, because Sam told me something else...’ She paused to twirl her fingertip in the daiquiri. ‘Seems Sam was pretty damn talkative about me.’ He rested his elbows on the table. Crowding her space a little more. ‘You should know, him and me, we’re not exactly bosom buddies, if you get my meaning.’ ‘Yes, well, the fact that you and Sam aren’t bosom buddies is sort of a prerequisite for the skills he mentioned.’ ‘Skills, huh?’ He pretended confusion. But he knew exactly what she was referring to, because Della had delighted in telling anyone who would listen that was the only reason she’d married him. Della had found lots of ways to slap him down in public and in private—the Facebook revenge porn being just one. But this was the only smackdown that still stung. Knowing that the Park Avenue Princess who had flattered him once with her grace and sophistication had only hooked up with him—a kid from Brooklyn on a scholarship with lots of ambition, but not a heck of a lot else—because of his skills in the sack. Until this precise moment, it had made him feel cheap. But now...not so much. ‘Yes, skills.’ Tally placed her finger in her mouth and sucked off the alcohol—wiping his mind clear of his ex-wife. ‘Quite phenomenal skills, apparently. That I have to admit I am extremely intrigued by.’ He grinned, about as turned on as he’d ever been—without being naked. Bad girls had never been his thing. But he was beginning to see the appeal now. Big. Time. The woman’s confidence and her directness were powerful turn-ons. Standing up, he gripped her upper arm and pulled her out of the booth until they were standing toe-to-toe. Far be it from him to turn down an invitation delivered with such open hunger. Placing a hand on her hip, he dragged her against him. ‘You’re pretty forward, Tally. I always thought English girls were supposed to be shy and snooty.’ She peered up at him, excitement dancing in her eyes. ‘You’ve obviously been meeting entirely the wrong English girls.’ ‘No shit.’ He rested his thumb on the delicate pulse in her neck. ‘How would you feel about taking this upstairs?’ He wanted to kiss that knowing smirk right off her face. But he didn’t dare do it until he had her somewhere private. ‘Before my huge—’ he lifted his brows and let her draw her own conclusions ‘—bursts right out of my pants.’ ‘That sounds like an excellent idea.’ She smiled, obviously enjoying the game as much as he was. ‘Especially if you expect me to catch it.’ ‘You bet I do.’ He groaned and grasped her hand to lead her towards the elevators at the back of the bar that went to the hotel reception above—and keyed the concierge’s number into his phone. A part of his mind was screaming at him that what he was doing was totally nuts. He’d only just met this woman, and he didn’t know anything about her. But for once that felt like a good thing. A great thing. Because no expectations meant no disappointments. All Tally wanted from him was good, honest—and hopefully really dirty—sex. And that was one thing he would have no problem delivering after four months on sabbatical. As they stepped into the lift together, he booked the room, then arranged to have a bell-hop meet them upstairs with the key. Damn, by tomorrow morning he was definitely going to owe Sam a kiss. Chapter Four #NewRule: Spontaneity is the spice of life...and can also add considerable firepower to hot sex in luxury hotel suites. #justsaying Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/heidi-rice/10-rules-to-sex-up-a-blind-date-39746961/?lfrom=688855901) на ЛитРес. 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