Entice Me Box Set: The Truth About Shoes and Men\Cover Me\My Favorite Mistake (5 page)

“And if you spend the night, leave before he wakes up,” Denise said.

“That way you can avoid the whole awkward morning-after scene,” Cindy said.

“Although leaving something for him to remember you by is a nice touch,” Jacki added. “I once left an earring.”

“The little rose from my bra,” Cindy said dreamily.

“A garter belt,” Denise admitted.

I laughed, incredulous. “If it’s so much work, why bother?”

“Good sex,” Jacki said.

“Great sex,” Cindy said.

“Fabulous sex,” Denise said. “It’s very liberating to get down and dirty with someone you’ll never see again.”

“Right,” Jacki said. “Sex with someone you love is the best, but sex with a stranger is right up there near the top of the list.”

“It’s kind of like being a man for one night,” Cindy said. “Having great sex with no emotional attachment, no strings.”

They were all nodding, and I felt ridiculously left out. A liberating experience might be just what I needed to mark an unremarkable birthday. I glanced toward the bar and the sandy-haired guy was still there, watching TV and sprawled loosely in his chair. I felt myself begin to salivate. Of course, entertaining a naughty thought was one thing— acting upon it was something else entirely. Segues had always been a problem for me. I didn’t mind taking chances, but I could never seem to do it elegantly.

“
Assuming
I were to have a conversation with the guy, and
assuming
that he’s available and willing to have a one-night stand—” I ignored the round of snorts “—how does one broach the subject of making a cast of a man’s penis?”

Jacki shrugged. “A man is always looking for an interesting place to put it.”

“Yeah,” Cindy said. “Tell him he’ll be immortalized in silicone, and try to
stop
him from poking into that plaster.”

“Or,” Denise added, pointing to the sheet of paper I held, “just show him the directions and ask him if it looks like fun.”

Jacki glanced at her watch. “I have to take off. Cindy, Denise, want to share a cab?”

“Sure,” they said in unison, and reached for their purses.

“I’m not staying here alone,” I cried, scrambling to gather dildo kit, card, gift-wrap debris and my own bag.

Jacki made a protesting noise. “Kenzie, he isn’t going to talk to you if we’re in a huddle. Good
bye
.” The girls waved and strode toward the door.

I glanced in the direction of the bar and the guy seemed to have noticed the commotion. He leaned forward slightly, as if he was trying to decide whether to make his move. I panicked and stood to follow my friends. But when I hit my feet, the tequila hit my adenoids and sent an air bubble to my brain. I grabbed for the table, and all my belongings fell to the floor. Something heavy hit my shoe, but I was too light-headed to do more than wince. Slowly the sparkly feeling subsided and I blinked the Eagle Scout into view. If anything, he was even nicer looking up close.

“Are you all right?” he asked in a warm, husky voice.

Thick hair the color of antique brass, wide cheekbones, sun-bleached eyebrows…and shiny brown bedroom eyes. The moisture evaporated from my mouth, and pure desire bolted through me. “I…yes.”

He flashed that killer smile, and my knees turned to elastic. At the same time, we bent to gather my wayward items. Thank heavens the dildo kit box had landed facedown, but its contents—canisters of the casting agent and the silicone—had rolled away. He retrieved them with long, tanned arms, and handed them to me. When our fingers touched, my heart raced, and my ears rang like wedding—er,
church
bells. Spending time with this man would be hazardous to my plan of finding a nice unsexy guy to
settle down with. I was already half in love with him and I didn’t even know his name.

While covering the words on the box, I stuffed the canisters inside and stood, trying to act as nonchalantly as possible. “Thank you, um—”

“Sam,” he said.

Nice name. “Thank you. Sam.” His friendly eyes held an invitation that promised to have me on an antihistamine drip.

“And you are?”

“Just leaving,” I said with a tight smile. It was for my own good.

“Oh.” He seemed disappointed, but accepting. “Well…happy birthday.”

“Thank you.”

“Nice almost meeting you.”

I experienced a pang of regret because the man emanated sexual vibes that my body honed in on. “Nice almost meeting you, too.”

I turned to go, telling myself I might meet my nice unsexy settling-down guy while I waited for a cab.

“Hey,” he called. “You forgot something.”

I turned back and, to my horror, saw him bending to retrieve the pink sheet of paper with the Make Your Own Dildo directions written on it. The subhead—The Only Kit That Lets You Cast It from the Real Thing—seemed to jump off the page. I lunged for the paper, but Sam was too quick for my tequila-diluted mobility. When he lifted his gaze from the sheet, a mischievous smile curved his mouth and his eyes danced. “Looks like fun.”

Desire gripped me and I mentally reviewed the ground rules for a one-night stand. Olé.

3

W
HEN
I
JERKED AWAKE
, sunlight was streaming through the crack in the curtains of the hotel room and Sam’s warm breath bathed my shoulder blade. I enjoyed two seconds of blissful afterglow until panic seized me like a giant hand, squeezing the air out of my lungs. What time was it? I bolted upright and a tiny tequila bomb exploded inside my head. I carefully raked the hair out of my eyes, searching for a clock. Next to me, Sam moaned and reached out an arm—presumably for me. I put a pillow under his hand, and he seemed content to pull it close and fall back into a dead sleep.

So much for being irreplaceable.

Holding my head, I left the bed, trying not to disturb him, and trying not to shriek in my mounting fear that I was probably late for work. The air-conditioner vent was blowing like an arctic breeze—I was naked and freezing and my thigh muscles screamed from overuse as I limped around the room looking for my watch, my underwear and my mind. What had I been thinking to spend the night with a stranger in his hotel room? I felt like a…dirty girl.

I found my watch on a table under a pile of clothes, and nearly swallowed my tongue—I had ten minutes to dress and get to work on time. Helena would have my head.

I scooped up the pile of clothes and my bag that doubled as briefcase and purse, then sprinted into the bathroom, closing the door behind me before flipping on the light. I
stared blinking into the mirror, horrified at my reflection— my blond hair stood on end and my eyes were mascara-rimmed. Worse, with my kiss-swollen mouth and heavy-lidded eyes, I looked as if I’d just had the best night of sex in my life.

Which was true.

Except my swollen lips and heavy eyes were actually manifestations of the allergic reaction that had claimed my body—they perfectly complemented the hives raised on my neck and chest. I was allergic to big Sam, big time.

While I ran enough water in the sink for a quick wash up, I tried not to dwell on the image of Sam’s bronze body wrapped around mine, and the amazing things he’d done to me. Granted, not dwelling was easier said than done considering that sitting on the sink vanity was the cardboard cylinder that held the cast we’d made of Sam’s…
you know
. Hardened flesh-colored silicone seeped from the end of the cast impression, and I was dying to see how the dildo had turned out, but getting ready for work took priority.

I downed aspirin from my handbag and willed it to kick in quickly. With soap and a washcloth, I gave my body a quick once-over, then rummaged in Sam’s leather toiletry bag for deodorant. The sporty scent might raise a few eyebrows, but it was better than the alternative. I pulled makeup basics from my purse, and applied it all in record time, then squirted perfume on my wrists. The hives were itching like crazy, but I knew scratching would only make them worse.

I pulled my haphazard hair back into a twist and secured it with the only clasp I could find in my purse—a banker’s clip. It would have to do until I could grab something from the prop room at work. Then I sorted through the clothes with dread in my stomach. If I showed up
wearing the same clothes I’d worn yesterday, I might as well wear a sign that read I Got Laid Last Night. I opted not to wear the same pair of panties, reckoning that my pantyhose would be enough of a barrier between me and my slacks for decency’s sake. But my blouse was stained with makeup from yanking it over my head last night, and I hadn’t worn a jacket.

I eyed the closet next to the shower and peeked inside to find a beautiful tan-colored suit, white dress shirt, and geometric tie hanging under plastic. I was surprised because Sam didn’t seem like the suit type—he’d told me he was a doctor visiting from out of town, but hadn’t Jacki said to assume he was lying? I had certainly lied, as instructed, including telling him my last name was Moore.

With murmured apologies, I slid the dress shirt from the plastic, shrugged into it, rolled up the sleeves, secured it wrap-style, and tucked it inside my navy slacks. I used the geometric tie as a belt, then glanced into the mirror. Not bad for a ten-minute session—as long as no one looked too closely.

I stuffed my makeup bag, blouse and panties into my bag and prepared to dash out the door when I remembered the “cast.” Since I’d never see Sam again, I was definitely taking that souvenir with me. But when I hefted the cardboard cylinder that held the hardened cast, I realized it was too heavy to lug around and would take up too much room in my bag. So I slipped my fingers under the mound of silicone at the base of the cast, and after a couple of tugs, pulled out the dildo with a
pop
.

I gasped. Granted, the kit had said the dildo would be lifelike, but…
damn
. It was indeed an exact replica of Sam’s finest physical asset. A splendid springy, firm, flesh-colored replica that brought tingly memories flooding back to various parts of my body. I had lucked out when
I’d chosen Sam as the “caster.” This baby was going on display in my china cabinet.

After a couple of appreciative strokes, I shoved the homemade dildo into my bag, flipped off the light, and opened the door as quietly as I could. In the semi-darkness, Sam was still snuggled up to the pillow. I conceded a stab of desire just looking at his long lean body in the twisted sheets. The chemistry between us had been magical, but I knew that the intensity of our lovemaking had more to do with the fact that we’d never see each other again than with any kind of kismet. Besides, the unbearable itching on my chest was proof enough that my body would be in a constant state of chaos if I spent any time at all with the man.

Still…the romantic in me wanted to believe that our one-night stand was better than any one-night stand in history. I had the overwhelming urge to push the hair off his forehead and kiss him goodbye, but gave myself a mental shake. I did, however, recall what Jacki said about leaving a memento. I needed my earrings to look halfway put together, my bra didn’t have an embroidered flower, and I didn’t own a garter belt.

But in my bag I had a pair of pink imported French panties that had held Sam’s attention for quite a while before he’d removed them with his teeth. The expensive undies seemed like a fair trade for the dress shirt.

I dropped the panties on the side of the bed I’d slept on, glanced around to make sure I had my belongings, and walked to the door as soundlessly as I could. I looked back at Sam’s sleeping form and experienced a twinge of regret that I hadn’t shared enough information about myself or found out enough about him for us ever to connect again. And even though it was probably against the rules, I blew him a wistful kiss.

I wasn’t very good at this one-night-stand business.

And I was late for work. I took the elevator to the lobby and dashed through it with my head down, sure that everyone knew what I’d done. I walked faster and faster, which only brought into play more and more muscles that I’d overworked last night and aggravated my booming headache. And apparently Sam liked heavy starch—the collar of his shirt chafed my neck, and the fabric was wreaking havoc on my hives. Some part of me, though, felt as if I deserved to be miserable after what I’d done. Mind you, I’m not a virginal prude, but deep down I still wanted to believe that sex was a special, intimate experience with emotional fallout. To realize that I had so enjoyed the purely physical encounter left me questioning what I knew to be true about myself.

I hailed a cab and slid into the lobby of the Woolworth Building a mere fifteen minutes late, but I felt as though the day had started without me. My nerves clanged and I wondered what Helena had manufactured for me to do today to make up for the fact that I’d left early yesterday. Fridays were notoriously busy so that those who would be working over the weekend could get the assignments that they had to complete for Monday morning. I wasn’t surprised when I walked into my closet-office to the tune of my phone ringing.

I set my bag on my desk and yanked up the receiver. “Kenzie Mansfield.”

“Well?”
Jacki asked.

One side of my mouth slid back. “Well, what?”

“Well, how was the Eagle Scout?”

“I knew I shouldn’t have left you that message.”

“It was the safe thing to do. Did you spend the night?”

I sighed. “Yes.”

“And how was it?”

“Great,” I admitted.

“You don’t sound too excited. Did he refuse to be
cast?
”

I glanced toward my bag where the lifelike dildo resided. “Uh, no, he was…
up
for the job.”

“And?”

“And it worked perfectly.”

“I’m going to order a kit for me and Ted as soon as I hang up.” She paused. “Why are you so glum—was he…
petite?
”

I laughed and dropped into my chair. “No, he was not
petite
. I’m just feeling out of sorts. My head is hammering, I woke up too late to go back to my apartment, I had to wear his shirt to the office—”

“You weren’t supposed to talk to him this morning!”