DANE SINCLAIR
The woman frowned, then heaved the biggest, ugliest, puke-orange purse he'd ever seen onto the bar. She opened it and pawed through the contents, her elbows poking into the people on either side of her. With a cry of triumph, she yanked a crinkled, ripped pink paper from the purse, then read it.
"Buzzed. Of course, I would prefer not to have the hangover, but I will suffer through such a thing if it means having the whole experience."
Her statement hit him like a bolt of lightning. She wanted to get drunk and have a hangover? She acted like doing such a thing was an amusement park ride she'd never been on.
She glanced at the list. "Would it be appropriate to have sex with each other? Later on, I mean. After the flirting."
Dane rubbed his earlobe. Surely he'd heard her question wrong. He leaned forward. "What did you say?"
She tucked the list inside and closed the purse. "I was merely inquiring if our current situation would eventually lead to sex. Remember, The Snake Trap?"
Snake Trap. Yeah, that about sums it up. Dane stared at her. The music pounded, people jostled closer to the bar, and Charlie shouted at Dane to get to work. Instead, Dane motioned the woman to go to the end of the counter. She did so without questioning him and her naive trust set his teeth on edge.
He took her by the arm and led her into Charlie's small office. Silence mercifully descended when he shut the door.
"Are you going to make a pass at me?" she asked in a breathless voice.
"What?"
"Make a pass—you know, come on to me."
"No."
Her shoulders drooped and she wilted into a nearby chair. "Why not? It's the next step, isn't it?"
He'd disappointed her. For God's sake, she should know better than to just offer herself to a man.
"Mr. Sinclair—"
"You just asked me to have sex with you," he snapped, "at least call me Dane."
Her cheeks blazed like a four-alarm fire and Dane realized he'd embarrassed her with his harsh tone. "I'm sorry, Marissa. It's not every day a guy gets propositioned by a nun."
"I'm not a nun. In a literal sense, anyway." She looked up at him and smiled. Her lower lip trembled, and Dane bit back a curse. Aw, crap. Princess tears. His fucking Kryptonite.
"It's all right. I appreciate your candor. I know I'm rather plain, but I did hope willingness would make a difference in desirability."
"Willingness to have sex?" asked Dane dubiously.
"To have passionate, uninhibited sex."
Dane sucked in a breath, feeling gut-punched. She blinked at him behind those ridiculously large glasses, head tilted, teeth pulling on her full bottom lip.
"It's only one item on my list," she continued as if she hadn't asked for passionate, uninhibited sex, "so I have plenty to experience before the one-night stand. Can you hire for that sort of thing?"
He inhaled deeply and counted to ten...twenty...twenty-five. "Let me get this
"No, not really. I hoped to entice someone sufficiently so they'd take me on—on something like that." She pointed to the desk. "I want my skirt jerked up and buttons popping off my shirt..."
Dane looked at the emerald-green top with big, gold, poppable buttons; he couldn't help but notice the roundness of her breasts under the well-fitting fabric. The dip of her small waist, the curve of her hip...barely covered by the short skirt...he tugged at the collar of his T-shirt. Jeez, it's hot in here. His gaze traveled down the enticing lines of her legs—encased in shimmery white hose. Damn nice legs.
"...wearing my crotchless panties because there's no reason to ruin the silk ones."
He stopped breathing, choked, coughed. She frowned at him and he waved away the concern marring her brow. "Crotchless panties?" he repeated in a hoarse voice.
"I wasn't sure about protocol...book knowledge only gets you so far." She laughed as she tugged on the skirt. "I've never worn silk stockings before, and I have to say, getting them clipped into the satin straps was rather difficult."
Dane's heart skipped a beat, then re-started at a frantic pace. He was having a heart attack. No. A lust attack. He would not think about crotchless panties, long legs, garters, and crazy women. He closed his eyes and thought about the North Pole.
Ice. Cold. Snow.
Too late. His body had already decided the desk fantasy was a damned fine idea.
Dane tucked his hands into his jean pockets and rocked back on his heels. "Let me give you some advice."
"You have experience with women's lingerie?"
How the hell was he supposed to answer that question? He knew a thing or two about lingerie, but what he liked best on a woman was...nothing. Okay. Maybe nothing but red spiked high heels. He liked red. What the— Dane bit back a curse. His libido was raging out of control and it was all her fault. "I don't want to discuss women's underwear." Especially yours.
"Okay." She focused completely on him. "I value any advice you can give me about my situation."
Her total attention unnerved him and the lecture about her outrageous behavior getting her into serious trouble jumbled around in his mind. Searching for a nice way to say, "Get therapy," he examined her face for signs of insanity or inebriation. Heart-shaped, delicately pale, her features were a bit sharp with her honey-blonde hair pulled back. The glasses overshadowed the high cheekbones, pert nose, and the color of her eyes.
"You seem to be a nice man," said Marissa before he could speak again. She checked her watch. "I only have twenty minutes until the wet T-shirt contest begins. Thank you for your time and for your kindness."
Dane watched as she pulled out the mangled pink paper from the ugly orange purse. He took it from her.
Some words were faded and others were scratched out. Different inks had been used and the handwriting had changed. Childish, boxy letters with heart-dotted I's transformed to strong, clean lines.
Some of the items seemed immature, a girl's wishes.
Several were double-starred, including....