All Through The Night
Kate Hoffmann
She wanted one nightNora Pierce needs to get a life–a sex life. She hasn't had a single relationship since she took over writing as Prudence Trueheart, the newspaper's stuffy etiquette columnist. So she decides to do something Prudence would never dream of–don a disguise and seduce the first gorgeous guy who crosses her path. Only, that guy turns out to be the one man Nora can't have… He wanted foreverSports writer Pete Beckett doesn't know what game Nora's playing, but he's definitely enjoying it! After all, he'd spent months trying to connect with his sexy, uptight co-worker. Now she's suddenly setting his sheets on fire every night–and pretending to be somebody else during the day. But Pete knows exactly who he has in his bed–and he's intending to keep her there indefinitely…
“Tonight, let’s just be strangers,” she murmured
Then Nora rose up on her toes and pressed her mouth to his.
Pete’s reaction was instant and intense. With a low moan, he pressed her back against the door, covering her mouth with his and pinning her wrists above her head.
He wasn’t going to be sorry for this in the morning and neither would she—he’d make sure of that.
Slowly, deliciously, he seduced her with his tongue, moving from her mouth, to her neck, to the warm valley between her breasts. With insistent fingers, he tugged at her dress until the pink tip of her breast was revealed. He gazed at her with a hunger he’d never known, even as he told himself that she would probably soon put an end to this intimate adventure. Still…
Nora’s breath caught as he drew her nipple into his mouth, but rather than pull away, she melted into him, making him forget everything but the need to be deep inside her.
“How much further are you going to let this go?” he asked, his voice thick with desire. “Because if we continue, I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to stop.”
She looked up at him brazenly. “But what if I don’t want you to stop?”
Dear Reader,
It was a long time coming, but here it is—my first Blaze for Harlequin Temptation. Those of you who read my books regularly will be a little surprised, I’m sure. After all, I’m more known for writing humor than hot, steamy sex. But when my editor challenged me to try my hand at a Blaze, I couldn’t resist coming up with a story that was very sexy in both premise and execution. But nobody told me I couldn’t make it funny as well….
First thing, I needed a good recipe for this spicy treat. So I started with Nora Pierce, a very frustrated etiquette columnist who’s afraid she’s losing her sensuality to her alter ego, prissy Prudence Trueheart. Then I added sexy sports writer, Pete Beckett, a guy who has a way with women—and a way of showing up in every one of Nora’s private fantasies.
After I stirred in several other ingredients, such as secret identities and a one-night stand that turned into so many more, I came up with a story that I hope all of you will find sinfully delicious.
Enjoy,
Kate Hoffmann
P.S. I love to hear from my readers. Please write to me c/o Harlequin Books, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
Books by Kate Hoffmann
HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION
697—A BODY TO DIE FOR
731—NOT IN MY BED!
758—ONCE A HERO
762—ALWAYS A HERO
All Through the Night
Kate Hoffmann
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To my editor Brenda Chin, who believes in me even when I don’t. You’re the best.
Contents
Chapter 1 (#ufe49d129-8994-52b9-a41a-5113b7cc71f9)
Chapter 2 (#uc1484a2a-8c23-5182-9a86-f3635a77ff54)
Chapter 3 (#ud7fd359d-90b3-5a21-a06f-e56dc83f058e)
Chapter 4 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 5 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 6 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
1
THERE WASN’T MUCH he liked about Prudence Trueheart. But he had to admit, he liked the way she moved.
Pete Beckett braced his arms along a low cubicle wall on the far side of the Bullpen, resting his chin on his hands. All around him, the employees of the Herald’s sports department rushed to make the noon deadline, frantically typing copy on computer terminals, the click of keys creating a familiar din. As a syndicated columnist, Pete met earlier deadlines, and his column was already out on the wire. And since he hadn’t decided on tomorrow’s subject, he found himself with nothing to do except ruminate on the physical attributes of the Herald’s uptight little etiquette columnist, Prudence Trueheart.
Though she always dressed in a tidy little suit and a prissy white blouse, starched board stiff, the body beneath the suit refused to comply with the outward image. To match the clothes, one might expect a ramrod-straight spine and a clipped gait, heels clicking on the floor, mouth pinched in a permanent expression of disapproval.
But the assumption would not be correct. Prudence possessed a fluid grace, her hips swaying ever so slightly with each step, her neck arched and her chin tipped up in subtle defiance. Her arms swung gracefully at her sides and her long fingers were delicately tipped in a conservative shade of cotton-candy pink.
And her mouth. Well, there was something about that mouth that made words of admonishment a waste of a pair of perfectly tempting lips. No matter how hard she tried to look like a Sunday School teacher, Pete couldn’t get past the urge to pull every last bobby pin from the knot of pale hair at her nape. Or maybe yank her into his arms and kiss her senseless. Or at least suck on a few of those pretty fingertips.
“Giving Prudence the evil eye will not get you that corner office.”
Pete turned to find Sam Kiley standing beside him, his gaze fixed on the same target. “Do you ever wonder what she’s like outside the office?” Pete asked. “I mean, does she wear those suits to bed? And is that little bun on the back of her head a permanent thing, or does she let her hair loose when she walks in the front door of her house?”
Prudence disappeared into her office, and Pete craned his neck to see inside the open door. He just couldn’t figure the contradiction. How could a woman with so much sensual presence, such an abundance of feminine appeal, be such a royal pain in the butt? This question had been bothering Pete for a long time, and though it begged an answer, he wasn’t about to get close enough to the prickly Prudence to find out what that answer was.
“If you’re really that curious, I suppose I could ask Ellie,” Sam offered.
Ellie, the former Ellen Wilson, happened to be Sam Kiley’s wife and the circulation manager for the Herald. She was also, coincidentally, Prudence Trueheart’s best friend. Ellie and Sam had met at the paper and married just a year ago.
“I’m not curious,” Pete lied, pushing back from the cubicle. He laughed dryly. “Why would I be curious about Prudence Trueheart?”
“She has a real name, you know,” Sam said.
“Pierce,” Pete murmured. “Laura—or is it Nora? Or maybe it’s Nola. We’ve had a few conversations over the years. Once when I took her parking space, and another time when she accused me of stealing her stapler. I even kissed her once at a Christmas party. And I think I’m the only one in the sports department who reads her little memos. At least, before I rip them off the refrigerator door.”
He couldn’t really blame Prudence. As the San Francisco Herald’s only other syndicated columnist, she really didn’t fit into any of the other departments at the paper. Prudence was an orphan of sorts and had been given the only available office commensurate with her salary and her value to the Herald. That office just happened to be in the sports department, though both she and Pete were coveting a huge corner office about to be vacated on the other end of the floor.
Hell, she might have had more luck with her memos in Lifestyles. Or even at the city desk. But trying to whip a bunch of rowdy sportswriters and footloose photographers into a polite group of co-workers was a near impossible task. Still, she never stopped trying. Every month, she posted a new memo about office etiquette in the lunchroom; from refrigerator hygiene to coffeepot protocol, there wasn’t a rule of polite society that Prudence Trueheart didn’t try to enforce.
But the Bullpen was called the Bullpen for a good reason. And it wasn’t populated solely by bullheaded men. The sportswriters and photographers at the Herald, male and female, were an odd lot, stubborn and single-minded in their love of any and all sports—and in their distaste for common courtesy. To some outsiders, they might seem like a bunch of arrested adolescents. But Pete liked the laid-back atmosphere and the daily games that began the moment the noon deadlines had passed. They worked hard and they played even harder.
He pushed aside thoughts of Prudence Trueheart, chiding himself for bothering to waste brain cells on her, then turned his attention to today’s competition. On Thursday, they always played baseball. Other days it was hockey or golf or basketball. The diamond was laid out among the desks in the Bullpen, and a plastic ball and bat made the competition safe for windows and other breakable objects. Today, the competition would be against Sam Kiley and his motley crew of city beat reporters, easy marks for the money that was often wagered.
Glancing at the clock, Pete headed for the lunchroom to retrieve the ball and bat from a closet. As he grabbed the equipment, he glanced over at the refrigerator. A new note on crisp Herald stationery had been posted in Prudence’s precise style. He stepped over and scanned the text. “‘Property Rights for Food Owners,”’ he muttered. Apparently, Prudence had had some yogurt that had gone missing a few days back.
Pete grabbed the paper and crumpled it in his fist. “Bottom of the ninth, game seven of the series. The bases are loaded and the winning run is at the plate. Beckett steps up into the batter’s box and the crowd goes wild.” He tossed the paper wad up into the air, then swung the bat. Prudence’s memo went sailing across the room, hit the wall, then dropped into a wastebasket.
“Grand slam home run!” Pete held up his arms and bowed before walking out of the room. By the time he reached the Bullpen, the teams had assembled and were eagerly awaiting the start of the game. He tossed the ball at Sam Kiley and stepped into the batter’s box. “Loser buys the beers at Vic’s tomorrow afternoon,” he called.
Kiley let the first pitch fly, low and away, and Pete took a swing, connecting with the whiffle ball and sending a line drive across the Bullpen—and right into the open door of Prudence Trueheart’s office. An instant later a scream split the air, and Pete dropped the bat. The guys looked at each other and then at Pete.
He winced. “Hey, I didn’t do it on purpose. That was a perfect line drive to right field. Ramirez didn’t make the catch.” He pointed at the sheepish sports photographer. “Error,” he muttered.
Sam held up his hands in mock surrender. “You hit it, Beckett. You’re the one who’ll have to apologize.”
Pete cursed softly. The last thing he needed was to be verbally dressed down by Prudence Trueheart, especially when he’d so recently fantasized about her mouth. Maybe if he just ignored his faux pas, she’d write another memo. But then, they only had one whiffle ball, and the game couldn’t continue unless he ventured inside her office to retrieve it.
“I’ll go,” he finally said. He felt the same way he had as a kid, when Sister Amalia, his Catholic school principal, called him in to her office after he’d sent yet another wild pitch through the rectory window. “If I’m not out in five minutes, send a rescue party.”
He crossed the Bullpen and slowly approached the office door. When he peeked inside, Pete expected to find a glowering Prudence, pacing her office like a hungry tiger, ready to tear him to shreds. Instead, he found her sitting on the floor next to her desk, rubbing her left brow. He quickly bent down and touched her ankle. “Are you all right?”
She looked up through watery blue eyes and blinked. The moment her gaze met his, Pete’s lungs slowly ceased to function and breathing became impossible. He’d spent a fair amount of time speculating about the woman who occupied this office, but with her hair mussed and her glasses removed, he had to admit that she was much prettier at close range. Her complexion was flawless, her profile nearly perfect. Her full lips were parted slightly and her breathing shallow. She had a mouth made to be kissed, and kissed deeply—and had she been any other woman, Pete might have given it a try at that very moment.
Instead, he swallowed hard. “Nora,” he murmured, his gaze dropping to her long, shapely legs and her trim ankles. Her name was Nora Pierce. He’d always thought of her as Prudence Trueheart, but now, with the scent of her perfume wafting through the air and the heat of her skin beneath his palm, she didn’t seem much like a Prudence anymore.
Clearing her throat, she fixed her eyes on the spot where his hand rested on her leg, where his thumb idly stroked the inside of her ankle. Her gaze narrowed, and she picked up the plastic baseball and held it out. “Mr. Beckett. I believe this is yours.”
Pete forced a smile. He snatched his hand away from her ankle, then took the ball from her fingers, feeling as if he’d just stuck his hand beneath Sister Amalia’s habit. “Thanks.”
Her eyebrow rose every so slightly, disdainfully. “And?”
“And?” His mind raced. And what? Thank you very much? Was that what she was waiting for, some kind of superlative? He scowled, then glanced from the baseball to her cool glare—and the faint bruise growing beneath her eye. “Oh. And. And I apologize,” he ventured. “I’m sorry. Truly sorry.”
Her expression softened slightly, and he bit back a massive sigh of relief. “Thank you,” she said. “Apology accepted. And maybe next time you could close my door before you begin your game?”
“Um,” he murmured, letting his gaze drift over her body, taking in the buttons of her suit. They looked as if he could undo them in just a few seconds. Somewhere beneath that drab fabric was a woman’s body, and from what he could see, it didn’t deserve to be trussed up in such a conservative outfit. Pete clenched his fists and pushed the idea aside, returning his gaze to her face.
Nora rubbed her eye, then sucked in a sharp breath. As she tried to stand, he gently pushed her back down. “Here,” he said, carefully pulling her fingers back. “Let me look at it.”
“Am I bleeding?”
He stared into her eyes, such incredibly blue eyes. Why had he never noticed her eyes before? Wide and innocent eyes. Tantalizing. Alluring. A host of adjectives tumbled through his mind. A man could lose himself in those eyes. For a moment, he couldn’t concentrate on anything else but the way her lashes fluttered, the way her honey-blond hair fell across her forehead; the soft pulse point just below her jaw that would feel so warm beneath his lips. She cleared her throat again, yanking him back to reality once more.
“No, you’re not bleeding,” he said. “It’s not so bad. Just a little black and blue. You can hardly see it.”
“Black and blue?” Nora moaned. “That can’t be.”
He shrugged, then stared at it more closely, probing at the bruise with a gentle touch. “You can put some of that makeup stuff on it, and no one will notice.”
“But—but I can’t have a black eye!”
A sharp laugh slipped from his throat before he could stop it. “Why? Do you have some hot date tonight?” When he saw the flush of embarrassment creep up her cheeks, he cursed himself soundly. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have laughed.”
“No, you shouldn’t have,” she murmured. “It was very rude.”
“I just never think of you…I mean, Prudence…Well, you know what I mean. I never think of Prudence as having much of a social life, beyond quilting bees and pinochle club.”
“I’m not Prudence,” she said in a soft voice, the hurt evident beneath the surface. “And—and maybe I do have a date tonight. Would that be so hard to believe?”
He let his palm rest on her cheek for a moment before he sat back on his heels. “Well, you’re going to have a nice shiner, Nora Pierce, if you don’t put some ice on that eye.” Pete reached out and took her hand, then helped her to her feet. “I’ll get something from the fridge. Why don’t you sit down? And don’t rub it. I’ll be right back.”
Nora nodded and managed a grateful smile, as he strode out of her office. The boys were gathered in a small group, ready to mount a rescue mission. But he waved as he passed, tossing them the ball. “She’s fine,” he said. “Carry on. I’m going to get some ice. I hit her in the eye.”
Fear froze the expressions of his co-workers, and they quickly scattered, heading back to work before they might be implicated in the injury of Prudence Trueheart. Pete grabbed the closest thing he could find to an ice pack from the refrigerator and hurried back to Nora’s office.
He found her leaning back in her chair, her eyes closed and her slender legs stretched out in front of her, crossed at the ankles.
“Here,” he murmured, bending over her, bracing his hand on the arm of her chair. “This should help.”
Nora opened her eyes and looked at the small package he offered. “That’s a frozen burrito.”
Pete shrugged. “Someone forgot to fill the ice trays.”
She took the burrito from his hand and carefully placed it over her eye. “Another breach of office etiquette—actually, two. Stolen food and empty ice trays.”
He covered her hand with his and adjusted the burrito over the bruise. An errant strand of hair slipped from the knot at her nape and brushed the back of his hand. He was acutely aware of how soft it felt. It probably smelled good, too. “Yeah, I guess that memo you put up must have fallen off the refrigerator already.”
“You tore it down, didn’t you,” Nora accused.
“Not me,” he lied. “But you have to admit, sometimes you are a little…”
“Pushy?” she asked. “Overbearing?”
“I was going to say ‘prissy,”’ he replied, stepping back before he was tempted to run his fingers through her hair and scatter the pins that held it in place. Actually, he was going to say “autocratic and oppressive.” But the vulnerability he saw in her eyes made him amend his opinion. Suddenly, he much preferred Nora Pierce’s gratitude to her disapproval. “Sports guys don’t like rules. The only thing that should have rules is a game.”
“Civilized society needs proper etiquette,” she countered. “If we have to live together, we have to respect each other. Good etiquette is a measure of that respect.”
“And twenty-seven rules posted on an office refrigerator tend to make us a little crazy.”
She sighed softly, tipping her head back and closing her eyes. “I don’t mean to make you crazy. I was just trying to be…helpful.”
His attention dropped to her mouth again, and he fought the impulse to lean closer and kiss away the traces of hurt he heard in her voice. He’d always assumed she was such a hard and calculating woman, an imperious force with a steel spine and ice water running through her veins. But in truth, Nora Pierce wasn’t at all like Prudence Trueheart. Sure, she was a little uptight and overly concerned with propriety. But beneath the stuffy facade, she was soft and vulnerable and incredibly irresistible.
“Maybe I could take you out to lunch,” he said. “By way of an apology.”
She sat up straight and pulled the burrito from her eye, regarding him with a suspicious expression. “Lunch?”
“Yeah, why not? That’s not against the rules, is it? Or didn’t I ask the right way. Should I have called first? Or maybe written you a note? I suppose I could have sent an engraved invitation, but my engraver is broken.”
Nora shook her head, the barest hint of a smile touching her lips. “I—I don’t think lunch would be such a good idea. After all, we work together. People might talk.”
Though it was a reputation built more on rumor than fact, Pete was known at the Herald as the resident Casanova, a fact that obviously hadn’t escaped Prudence’s notice. He didn’t put much effort into attracting women, but he always seemed to have at least two or three beautiful ladies on a string. Yet, over the past year, he’d found himself increasingly disenchanted with the women he dated—and the reputation he’d cultivated. Unfortunately, the reputation seemed to stick, and his personal life had become tasty fodder for the office gossips.
It wasn’t that he didn’t like women anymore. He still had the occasional date, but maybe he was getting too old for the singles scene. At thirty-three, he wasn’t exactly over the hill, but he’d come to the conclusion that a good relationship wasn’t only about great sex and a centerfold body. He just wasn’t sure what it was about.
Pete sighed. At the moment, he found himself wanting lunch with Nora Pierce, odd as that seemed. “It’s just a simple lunch,” he said with a grin. “What could they possibly say about you and me having a burger together?” Though he meant the question rhetorically, he saw another trace of hurt in her expression, then realized how she’d taken it. Of course, a quiet lunch with Prudence Trueheart couldn’t possibly end in anything other than dessert and separate checks. She had her reputation, too, and it was spotless. But her reaction came out of left field, and he wasn’t sure if he should apologize or rephrase.
“I—I’m not hungry, but thank you, anyway,” Nora replied, her voice suddenly cold and distant. She held out the burrito. “Here, you better put this back in the freezer. I wouldn’t want anyone to miss it.”
Pete slowly shook his head and took the burrito. For a few minutes, he’d thought he’d managed a truce of sorts with Nora Pierce—maybe even the beginning of a friendship. But after sticking his foot in his mouth, not once but twice, he realized that the woman before him would be a tough sell. If discarding his reputation meant losing his touch with women, maybe he’d have to rethink his options.
“Fine,” he murmured. “But if you change your mind, just let me know.” He walked to the door, then turned around to take one last look. She watched him from behind her desk, her blue eyes wide. He should have insisted on lunch, or at least been insulted by her refusal. But something told him not to burn any more bridges with Nora. “I’ll…see you later.”
She nodded curtly, then picked up a file folder from her desk and efficiently spread the contents out in front of her. When she’d managed to ignore him for a full ten seconds, he silently walked out of her office, closing the door behind him.
The teams had reassembled in the Bullpen, and the game had started up again with Sam Kiley’s team at bat. As he walked back to his spot in the infield, he caught a foul ball and threw it to the first baseman.
“So? What happened?” Sam asked.
“The hell if I know,” Pete murmured. “I’m usually pretty good at figuring out women, but Prudence Trueheart is one confusing lady.” He took his place as shortstop, rubbing his palms on his thighs. His mind drifted back to the feel of her skin beneath his fingertips. It wasn’t going to be so easy to write off Prudence Trueheart—or Nora Pierce, for that matter. Besides confusing and capricious and condescending, he found her incredibly intriguing.
And it had been such a long time since Pete Beckett had found any woman intriguing.
Dear Prudence Trueheart,
My boyfriend and I have been doing the nasty from the night of our first date. The sex is fantastic, but now that our wedding date is approaching, I’d like to practice celibacy to make the wedding night special. How can I convince my horny fiancé of my decision?
Signed, Steadfast in San José
Nora Pierce read the letter over again and again, crossing out the word horny and replacing it with ardent, then trying to come up with a euphemism for the nasty. But the edit couldn’t possibly change the tone of the letter. This wasn’t etiquette! This was a country-and-western song. A bad talk show topic. Beauty parlor gossip. She sighed and rubbed her forehead. When she’d taken the job as Prudence three years ago, she’d been hired to answer questions about gracious living. But all that had changed on April Fool’s Day six months ago.
On a lark, she’d answered a silly question from a cross-dresser who wanted to know whether he should ask his wife’s permission first before borrowing her underwear or whether the lingerie was community property. Her answer dripped with sarcasm and disapproval, and she’d published it to illustrate the limits of true etiquette. “The only excuse a man has for not wearing proper underwear is if he’s not wearing any underwear at all!” she’d written. “And the only places where underwear can be considered an option is in the shower and the doctor’s office.”
That single, silly column had been the end of her noble life as an etiquette columnist. The phone lines lit up and the fan mail poured in to all the newspapers across the country that carried her column. Her readers wanted more—more dirt, more trash, more sleaze. And more of Prudence’s sharp-tongued reprimands and subtle put-downs.
“Great column yesterday!”
Nora glanced up. Her publisher, Arthur Sterling, leaned into the doorway of her office, a broad smile on his face. Though he rarely descended from the twelfth floor, he’d been seen more often lately in Prudence’s vicinity. Though a more naive columnist might believe they’d become friends, Nora knew that Arthur Sterling had no friends. He had assets and opportunities. And he wanted her to agree to syndicated television spots as “Prudence.”
He chuckled and nodded his head. “Sex, that’s what sells. I just got off the phone with Seattle. They want the column. And Biloxi and Buffalo are in negotiations as we speak.” Arthur gave her the thumbs-up. “Good work! And I’m still waiting for your answer on that television deal.”
“Thank you,” she murmured. But he was already gone, on to some other profit center, some other opportunity that was going to pad his already sizable bank account. To him, Prudence wasn’t a beacon in a sea of chaos, a behavioral standard. She’d become dollars and cents. More trash meant more readers. And that meant more money for her syndicated column. Etiquette is part of the past, he’d told her. It might have been all right for the first Prudence Trueheart in 1921, but the world was changing.
If only she’d never written that April Fool’s column. Since then, Sterling had insisted she devote at least three columns a week to “modern” problems—questions on morality and relationships. Her monthly appearance on Good Morning, San Francisco, a popular television show, had turned from table settings and wedding etiquette to advice for the lovelorn.
With her sudden rise to popularity, she had become a celebrity around town. For every moment that Nora felt as if she were prying into her readers’ personal lives, her readers seemed to intrude on hers. The grocery store, the dry cleaners, even the dentist’s office—all had become venues for advice sessions. And her readers seemed to cherish Prudence’s impeccable behavior even more than she did, always watching her, waiting to catch her in a manners misstep or a moral backslide! Prudence was supposed to be pure of heart and filled with virtue.
To ensure the purity of Prudence, her publisher had even included a morals clause in her contract. Prudence didn’t curse or chew tobacco. She didn’t wear revealing clothes or frequent biker bars. And she certainly didn’t sleep around! That final point hadn’t taken much effort on her part. She could barely remember the last time she’d been with a man, in the biblical sense.
Nora groaned and buried her face in her hands, shaking her head. Her lack of contact with the opposite sex had become painfully obvious in her unbidden reaction to Pete Beckett’s touch. And since she’d been beaned by that baseball, she’d been having a difficult time keeping her mind on work, preferring, instead, to dwell on the color of Pete Beckett’s eyes and the warmth of his smile.
She thought back to their conversation, to her disturbing reaction to his touch, to the feel of his gaze on her body. She replayed the incident, trying to remember every detail and every word spoken. “‘Prissy,”’ she murmured. Is that really what he thought of her?
She silently scolded herself and snatched up another letter. Nora had always found a certain comfort in Prudence’s world, a place where there were rules and obligations, where people behaved with propriety and decorum. And where scoundrels and rogues like Pete Beckett saw the error of their ways, settled down with one woman, and lived blissfully ever after in legal and loyal matrimony.
But Prudence wasn’t going to hold her breath on that front. The paper’s golden boy, Beckett, was charming and handsome and a confirmed reprobate. He was everything Prudence Trueheart preached against: a man practiced in the art of seduction and an expert in avoiding commitment, the typical bad boy that Prudence found so troubling—and other women found so irresistible.
Though she never deliberately listened to office gossip, what she did overhear was probably mere speculation. Or pure exaggeration. But from the soft moans and furtive giggles from the female members of the staff, she had to believe that some of what she’d overheard was true—enough to spend a small portion of each day wondering just what Pete Beckett did to a woman once he got her behind the bedroom door. Not that she’d ever find out. When they did bother to communicate, Nora regarded Pete Beckett with thinly disguised disdain, and Pete regarded Nora with mocking amusement.
Still, it wasn’t hard to imagine the power he could wield over women, considering her own reaction to his touch. He had beautiful hands, long fingers and a firm, but gentle, touch. A shiver skittered down her spine, and she thought about how those hands would look as they slowly undressed her, how they might feel on her flushed skin, all the improper things he might do to her body, given the chance.
She brushed her thumb over her bottom lip. This wasn’t the first physical contact they’d shared, she mused. He’d kissed her once, at the Herald’s Christmas party, right after she’d been promoted to the job as “Prudence.” Though he probably didn’t remember, a vivid image flashed in her mind…standing beneath the mistletoe, the feel of his hard mouth on hers, the gentle teasing of his tongue, and that exquisite and unbidden longing deep in her core.
It had happened so quickly, she couldn’t protest, but once Nora was caught up in the kiss, she recalled abandoning all resistance, defenseless beneath his touch. When he finally let her go, he gave her a teasing smile and made some comment about old maids and untried virgins before he moved on to other amusements. She’d gotten a lot of mileage out of that kiss in those moments when she was curled up in a lonely bed, when sleep just wouldn’t come.
Now she had another real-life encounter to add to her fantasies. She thought back to the instant that his hand had touched her ankle, to the warmth of his fingers sinking into her skin, the first physical contact from a man in oh-so long. She recalled the way he touched her face, his breath warm against her temple, the scent of his cologne so heady and—
Nora cursed softly. How did they do it? How did all those bad boys make good women lose all common sense? She’d railed at her readers time and time again, and yet, here she was, falling into the same trap, forgiving the man all his sins for just a simple touch of his hand, a brush of his lips against hers. She reached for her keyboard, her indignation rising with the spirit of all Prudences past.
Dearest Reader,
You opened the stable door on your first date and now it’s going to be difficult to herd that stallion back inside. Prudence believes you should stand firm in your decision. Celibacy is a virtue and your body a prize to be treasured. If this man can’t respect your feelings, then send him straight to the glue factory. And please, promise Prudence that you won’t go riding again until you’ve said “I do.”
The horse metaphor was a little trite, yet it was typical Prudence—smart, sassy, with just a touch of sarcasm. Nora reached out and typed in the command that would send her column to her copy editor. Though times had changed, the words could just as easily have belonged to the very first Prudence, a woman named Hortense Philpot who rode herd on etiquette problems in the roaring twenties.
Nora had been hired as an assistant by Prudence IV, right out of Stanford. With an undergraduate degree in medieval art, her job prospects had been slim. But she’d possessed something more valuable than a degree: a pedigree from a socially prominent San Francisco family that gave her a genetic predisposition to proper etiquette. She’d been born and raised in Sea Cliff, the bastion of social propriety.
Upon Prudence IV’s retirement, Nora had signed a five-year contract as the new Prudence. She’d taken the job because—well, because there wasn’t much call in San Francisco for an expert in medieval tapestries. But she also thought she might be able to inject a little class and propriety into the everyday life of her readers.
She pulled off her horn-rimmed glasses and rubbed her eyes, then reached for the stack of letters her assistant had selected for upcoming columns. Pushing up from her chair, she began to pace the office. “Infidelity,” she murmured, tossing the first letter onto the floor. “Deception.” As she flipped through the letters, she found new problems to replace the old problems she’d just solved. “Anger. Resentment. Dysfunctional families. Sexual fantasies.”
Nora stood and wandered by the window that overlooked the Bullpen. She peeked through the slats of the miniblinds. They were still playing their silly little game, and Pete Beckett was in the middle of it all. She watched as he stretched to catch the ball, his shirt pulled taut against his torso. Even from a distance, Nora could see the outline of his narrow waist and muscular chest. All thoughts of work slipped from her mind. “Sexual fantasies,” she murmured.
All right, maybe she did find Pete Beckett incredibly attractive. But that was just a physical reaction. It had nothing to do with the man, just the body. A flat belly and a cute butt certainly didn’t mitigate his bad qualities. Nor did chiseled features and a perfect profile…or his short-cropped dark hair, always so casually mussed, as if some woman had recently run her fingers through it. And maybe he did have a smile that was known to melt a girl’s heart, but he rarely turned it on her. Nora had heard that women found his devilish sense of humor quite irresistible, though when he bothered to toss a tiny bit of his charm in her direction she usually reciprocated with some shrewish reply.
“Any juicy letters today?”
Nora jumped away from the window, the slats snapping back into place. Ellen Kiley stood in the doorway of her office. Embarrassed to be caught spying, Nora sent her friend a disapproving frown, then handed her a letter. “You, too? Have you joined those at the Herald who believe sleaze sells?”
Ellie had started at the Herald the very same day Nora had, and they’d been inseparable friends, at least until Ellie had married Sam Kiley a year ago. “I’m the circulation manager. When the circulation goes up, I’m happy. So what’s got your knickers in a bundle, Prude?”
“Don’t call me that!” Nora sighed, surprised by her reaction to Ellie’s gentle teasing. She flopped down in her office chair and gazed up at her friend. “When you think of me, do you really think of me as Prudence Trueheart? Or as Nora Pierce?”
Ellie frowned and sat down across from her, her gaze fixed on the letter. “I don’t get it,” she murmured. “What’s the difference?”
“There is a difference!” Nora cried, leaning over her desk and snatching the letter from her friend’s hand. “Don’t you see?” She crumpled the paper and tossed it aside, then began to pace the width of her office. “I’m not Prudence Trueheart. I put words in her mouth, but she’s not me. And I’m not her.”
“Is something wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” Nora said, unwilling to explain further. But she couldn’t hold in her frustration any longer. “It’s just that sometimes I get sick of Prudence. She’s so…prissy!” Only after the word slipped from her lips did she realize it was Pete’s word again, his description of her. “People expect me to be her. And it’s getting awfully hard lately to figure out where she ends and I begin.”
“A lot of people have trouble separating work from their personal life,” Ellie offered.
“I—I just expected things to be different. When I first got a job at the Herald, I thought my life was going to change. I moved out of my parents’ house, away from my mother, and I found that little apartment in the Castro. I expected my life to be more exciting. Look at me now. I dress in these suits and ride around on my high horse all day long, looking down my nose at ordinary mortals and scolding them for falling short of their moral and ethical duties.” The last was said with a hysterical edge, and Nora took a deep breath to calm herself. “How can I advise people about passion when I have no passion in my life?”
The question caused Ellie to pause before answering. “You’re very passionate about your work…about etiquette.”
“A person can be passionate, but still have no passion in their life. Look at these letters.” She picked up a stack and tossed it across the desk. “These people have passion. They live by their hearts, not their heads. I’ve never had that. Sure, there have been men in my life. Lovers, even. But I’ve never felt passion so overwhelming that it dissolves common sense. That it makes me crazy. And the longer I’m Prudence, the worse it gets.”
Nora yanked open her desk drawer and pulled out a bag of peanut M&Ms. Shoving a handful into her mouth, she waited for the chocolate to soothe her. “I should just quit,” she mumbled, her mouth full. Prudence never talked while she ate, but Nora was past caring about good manners. “I could go back to school. Get my doctorate in art history. Find a job in Paris or Rome.”
“You can’t quit. You’re the heir apparent to both Dear Abby and Miss Manners. And you make more money than anyone at the Herald, except for maybe Pete Beckett. And someday, you’re going to be a multimedia goddess, just like Martha Stewart.”
“Don’t say that name in this office,” Nora said, popping another handful of candy into her mouth.
“Martha Stewart?”
“No, Pete Beckett. He is the antithesis of everything Prudence Trueheart values in a man. He’s fickle and shallow and unscrupulous and—and because of him, I have this black eye!”
Ellie squinted to examine Nora’s injury. “And how does Nora Pierce feel about him?” she asked pointedly.
Nora stopped cold, realization hitting her like a sharp slap to the face. She coughed slightly, an M&M lodged in her throat. “That—that is how I feel about him. The way he treats women is appalling. Promiscuity is a trait that both Prudence and I detest.”
“Now you sound like your mother!”
Nora groaned.
“You also sound a little jealous,” Ellie observed. “Just how much time do you spend thinking about Pete Beckett’s romantic life?”
“None at all,” Nora lied. She thought about evading the subject, but Ellie was her best friend, and they never held back anything from each other. “It just that after he hit me with the baseball, he—”
“He hit you with a baseball?”
“A whiffle ball. And it was an accident. He came into my office to apologize and he—he touched me. It was completely innocent, but I realized that I haven’t been touched by a man—I mean, not in that way—for three whole years. Exactly the same amount of time that I’ve been Prudence Trueheart.” She sighed. “I don’t think I could attract a man if I danced naked on Nob Hill.”
Ellie patted her on the shoulder. “That’s not true. You’re a very desirable woman! You could have any man you wanted, if you’d just put a little effort into it. When was the last time you went out?”
“Prudence Trueheart doesn’t frequent singles bars,” Nora said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Well, maybe it’s about time you got back into the swing of things,” Ellie said.
“How?”
“I don’t know,” Ellie said with a shrug. “You’re the advice columnist. Answer an ad, join a church group, take a class. Isn’t that what you tell your readers?”
“That will take too long. I need immediate gratification.”
Ellie gasped. “Don’t you think you’re taking this a little too fast?”
“Not that kind of gratification,” Nora replied. “I just need to know that I’m still attractive. That men find me alluring and intriguing.”
“Well, that’s easy, then. Tonight, you and I will go out. And we’ll stay out until you meet a man. You’ll flirt a little, maybe even kiss him. And if you really like him, you can give him your phone number.”
Presented with a real plan, Nora suddenly wasn’t sure she wanted to venture into such dangerous territory. What if she went out, and no one even bothered to look her way? “No man is going to want to date Prudence Trueheart.”
“You don’t have to tell him who you are. You could wear that disguise, that wig you bought a few months ago—the one you wear grocery shopping. You told me when you’re in disguise, people don’t recognize you.”
Nora blinked, the simple perfection of Ellie’s plan slowly sinking in. All the fun without any of the consequences. She could say and do whatever she wanted, become a completely different person if she wanted to. “I don’t know,” Nora said. “A disguise in this situation seems a little deceptive, don’t you think?”
“You’re going to flirt a little, not sell national secrets to the Russians. Who will you be hurting?”
Nora considered the plan for a moment. “I—I guess it could be like research. A little experiment. After all, if I’m expected to give advice, I should at least get out there and see what’s going on, don’t you think?” She looked up at Ellie expectantly. “So, are we on for tonight?”
Nora knew that if she gave herself even one more hour to think about this, she’d never go through with it. Her sense of propriety and good breeding would win out. It was time to stop thinking and rethinking every single aspect of her life. It was time to take action!
Ellie smiled and shook her head. “All right. Be dressed by eight.”
“What should I wear?”
“Something provocative, of course. If you wear that suit, you’ll be lucky if the bartender talks to you.”
Suddenly, Nora wasn’t sure action was the best plan. Maybe she should take some time to think about this. “I don’t own anything provocative. And where would we go?”
“You’ve got the whole afternoon. Go buy yourself a new dress. And I’ll ask Sam where we should go. He’ll know a good place with lots of available men.” She gave Nora a hug. “This is going to be so good for you.”
With that, Ellie hurried out, leaving Nora standing in the middle of her office. Nora drew in a shaky breath, then let it out slowly. The only way she’d feel really good tomorrow morning was if she woke up with a man in her bed: a long-limbed, hard-muscled male with nothing on his mind but multiple orgasms—her multiple orgasms.
Though Nora was determined to throw off the Prudence Trueheart persona, she wasn’t sure she could ever go that far. A one-night stand sounded so brazen, so impulsive, so far beyond anything she was capable of. She’d settle for something far less dangerous. Instead, she’d charm and bedazzle some stranger, perhaps even give him her phone number. She’d gather some real-life experience to pass on to her readers and reassure herself that she was still an attractive and desirable woman.
And at the end of the night, maybe she would feel a little more like Nora Pierce and a lot less like Prudence Trueheart.
2
A HAZE OF CIGARETTE SMOKE hung over the noisy crowd at Vic’s Sports Emporium, a popular watering hole near Fisherman’s Wharf. The blare of big-screen televisions, all tuned to different sporting events, mixed with the chatter of voices and occasional cheers. Distractions were plentiful at Vic’s. Even so, Pete noticed the woman the instant she walked in. Determined to keep his mind on the Giants’ game, he wrote off his interest as an instinctive reaction born of so many years on the make.
But his eyes were inexplicably drawn back to her, a slender, raven-haired beauty in a form-fitting black dress. Maybe it was the way she moved, the subtle sway of her hips, the gentle arch of her neck, the oh-so-cool expression. Something about her captured his attention, and he couldn’t help but stare. She didn’t belong in Vic’s, that much was certain. Vic’s was a beer-and-pretzel kind of place, and this woman was champagne and caviar all the way.
The clues were nearly imperceptible, at least to anyone who didn’t bother to look beneath the surface. But Pete had come across a lot of women in his dating days and he could tell real class when he saw it. Her dress—no doubt, designer labeled—fit her perfectly, hugging every curve of her body, yet coming nowhere near vulgar. It revealed only enough to tantalize: a glimpse of shoulder, a hint of cleavage, and just enough thigh to prove she had incredible legs beneath that skirt. No, she didn’t need to advertise her assets. For this woman, a guy could certainly use his imagination.
But there was more—the way her gaze drifted around the room, never resting on one subject for long. She’d caused a minor stir as she made her way to the bar—men turning to watch her pass, jaws slack, eyes slightly glazed—yet she didn’t notice her effect. Had her Mercedes broken down outside? Or had she somehow wandered out of a Nob Hill soiree and become lost in the fog? There wasn’t a guy in the place who wouldn’t give his right arm to help her. But they knew enough to keep their distance, not willing to risk an icy rebuff in front of friends.
Before she’d wandered in, Pete had been casually watching the ball game on one of the three televisions above the bar, nursing the same beer he’d bought during the first inning. It was only after she sat down at an empty spot midway down the bar that he realized she’d walked in with a companion, a woman he recognized instantly—Ellen Kiley! Pete grinned and picked up his beer. He hadn’t come to Vic’s to socialize, but maybe he’d consider changing his plans.
First, he was mildly curious why Ellie was out without Sam. Second, he thought it strange that Sam had never mentioned this beauty, never tried to set the two of them up. Maybe that was because Pete usually didn’t go for the high-society type. But after spending the first half of the ball game bothered with thoughts of Nora Pierce, he needed something or someone to get his mind off the Herald’s uptight little etiquette columnist.
All night long, his thoughts had constantly wandered back to their encounter in her office earlier that afternoon. Pete had known a lot of women in his life, and they always fell into one of two categories: lovers who had become friends, and friends who had become lovers. He’d learned by experience that the two were mutually exclusive. A woman couldn’t be both at the same time. Pete figured if he ever found a woman who could, he’d have to marry her.
But where did Nora Pierce fit in? She didn’t want to be his friend. And she certainly had no interest in becoming his lover. Hell, he wasn’t even sure she liked him! All he was really sure of was that, from the moment he had touched her, something had sparked between them, an attraction that was both irresistible and irrational. Every instinct he possessed told him to put Nora Pierce out of his head, but that was easier said than done.
Pete ordered another beer and watched Ellie from across the bar. He raised his hand to wave, but she quickly turned away, as if she hadn’t seen him at all—or didn’t want him to see her. Frowning, he grabbed his beer and slowly pushed away from the bar, determined to find out what she was up to. But as he neared the spot where they sat, she slipped off her bar stool and headed in the direction of the ladies’ room. He nearly followed, but then decided to wait at the bar with Ellie’s beautiful friend. After all, she couldn’t stay in the ladies’ room all night.
He put on his most charming smile, even though, in truth, he wished Ellie had walked in with Nora Pierce. Then he might have had a chance to talk to her outside the restrictive atmosphere of the office, to figure out this strange fascination he had with her, to melt her icy facade. He stood beside Ellie’s stool and set his beer on the bar.
“Hi, there. Mind if I sit down?”
The woman gave him a brief glance, then coyly turned away, avoiding his gaze. The direct approach had always worked like a charm for him, but obviously not tonight. And not with this woman. Jeez, maybe he was losing his touch.
“My friend is sitting there,” she said, her voice low and throaty. “She’s gone to the ladies’ room. She really won’t be long.”
She risked another quick look up at him, and it was then that he caught a whiff of her perfume, an exotic floral scent he recognized immediately. His mind raced to put a face to the scent, flipping through images of old lovers and even maiden aunts. But one face kept intruding, and it was only then that he realized he’d experienced the scent just that afternoon, when he’d touched Nora Pierce.
Pete leaned over the bar and caught a brief glimpse of her profile, proof positive that beneath the dark wig and artfully applied makeup, the lush red lipstick and kohl-rimmed eyes, lurked none other than Prudence Trueheart. He was tempted to blow her cover right off, but she was trying so hard to avoid detection that he decided to play along—at least for a little while.
So there was no Mercedes or Nob Hill party. Then, what had brought Prudence Trueheart to Vic’s? Was she here to police bar etiquette, ready to shut the joint down for the lack of cloth napkins beneath the drinks and silver-plated toothpicks in the olives? Or had she come for the same reason other women came to Vic’s—to meet men? Prudence Trueheart on the make, he mused. The night was about to get interesting.
“Can I buy you a drink?” he asked.
“May,” she murmured, her voice cool. “May you buy me a drink. And, no, thank you, I have a drink.” She picked up her club soda and took a delicate sip, then forced a smile. “My friend is coming right back.”
“I’ll just sit here until she does,” Pete replied. Had she been any other woman, she might have blown him off with an acidic phrase or an arctic look. Instead, she gives him a grammar lesson. He grinned and slid onto the stool next to her. A gentleman might have taken the hint and retreated. But Pete Beckett wasn’t going anywhere.
His gaze drifted along her body. The dress hugged every delicious curve, clinging to perfect breasts and a tiny waist, and making his palms itch to touch her again. There was only one reason Prudence Trueheart would slip into a slinky little number like that. She was out to seduce—or be seduced. And his appearance had just thrown a wrench into the works. Pete frowned. And what the hell was with the wig? He preferred her hair the way it was, pale gold and filled with light and framing her pretty features.
“I should go find my friend,” she said in a breathless tone. She grabbed her purse and slid off her bar stool, but he reached out and took her wrist, stopping her escape. Her skin felt like warm silk beneath his fingers, the sensation of touching her again sending a flash of heat through his body so intense it made his head swim. He wondered what it might feel like to let his hands just wander, to make her breath quicken and her pulse race, to press his palms into the soft flesh of her breasts and to span her waist with both his hands. Already, the feel of her skin had been imprinted on his brain, and he craved more, like an addiction that wouldn’t go away.
“Don’t,” he murmured. “Stay and have a drink with me. Just one drink.”
He thought she’d refuse, but then she looked him squarely in the eyes and waited for what felt like a long moment. Neither of them said a word; they simply stared as if sizing each other up. And then she released a tightly held breath and resumed her spot next to him. She wasn’t going to admit who she was, Pete realized. Prudence was going to go along with her little game, as long as he did. As far as she was concerned, they were complete strangers.
Pete had played more than his share of games with women, both in bed and out. Head games or bed games, he’d become quite adept at both. Then why did he feel so clueless now? Maybe because Nora Pierce didn’t seem to be the type to engage in risky flirtations with strange men. But then, he wasn’t a stranger, was he. Maybe he was just an available patsy, an unsuspecting dope who was about to get dumped, all for a tale that could be told over the office water cooler. This could all be payback for the black eye.
Pete cursed silently and raked his hand through his hair. Well, two could play at her little game. As long as it meant he could spend a few more minutes with her, he’d just play along. He motioned the bartender over. “Champagne,” he said. “Your best.”
Nora sent him a questioning look. “Champagne?”
“I’m having a drink with the most beautiful woman in this place. I think champagne is in order, don’t you?”
Her gaze fixed on her wrist where his fingers still rested. “There are a lot of beautiful women in this place,” she said, pulling away.
Pete glanced around. “Yeah, I guess there are.” The bartender popped the cork on a bottle of champagne and poured them both a glass. Pete picked up a flute and handed it to Nora. “But none more beautiful than you.”
That brought a reluctant smile, as she took a sip of her champagne. “With a line like that line, maybe I should invest in champagne futures.”
“Naw,” Pete teased. “There wouldn’t be much money in it. I gave up women a few months back.”
She gave him a suspicious look, leveled at him over the rim or the champagne flute. “Then why are you bothering me?”
He reached out and ran a finger slowly down her bare arm. Maybe this little game wasn’t so bad. At least it gave him free rein to touch her whenever he felt the urge. “Believe me, you’re not a bother. In fact, you’re the first woman in nearly a year who has made me regret my decision.”
This time she laughed out loud, tipping her head back and letting loose with a musical giggle as bright as the bubbles that sparkled in her glass. In earlier days, he might have been insulted. But her delight captivated him, and he laughed along with her. Pete set his glass down, then braced his feet on her bar stool, his knees on either side of hers, trapping her in front of him.
Her giggle died in her throat as he stared into her eyes. He’d never wanted a woman as much as he wanted Nora Pierce. Not at that moment, not ever. But he knew he’d need to proceed cautiously, because behind the wide eyes and flushed features was a lady playing a dangerous game.
Gently, deliberately, he wove his fingers through hers, then pressed his lips to the back of her hand. “So, why don’t we start with introductions?” he murmured, his words warm against her skin. “My name’s Beckett. Pete Beckett. What’s yours?”
He glanced up at her and sent her a charming grin. The game had begun, and he’d just upped the ante.
NORA TOOK A LONG GULP of her champagne, the bubbles tickling her nose and going right to her head. But no matter how muddled her mind became, one thought screamed from within. Run away, run as fast and as far as you can from this man whose mouth is teasing at the inside of your wrist, whose words have the capacity to render you defenseless—this man who’s demanded to know your name.
Her big night out was supposed to be a simple experiment, a chance to dip her toe into the dating pool without risk of being swept away by the tide. But sitting here next to Pete, she felt as if the water were rushing up around her neck and the currents were threatening to pull her under. She wanted to blurt her name out to the entire bar—Nora Pierce or Prudence Trueheart, what did it matter? This little charade had to end!
But something held her back, a curiosity that needed to be satisfied, an undeniable magnetism that made all common sense vanish. Why not just see where the evening might lead, alter the experiment just a bit? She wasn’t doing too badly. Except for her impromptu grammar lesson, she’d managed to hold her own in conversation without sounding too uptight.
And it felt so good to stand in someone else’s four-inch spike heels, to become the kind of woman she’d never been—sexy, provocative, irresistible. It wasn’t that hard to step outside herself. Besides, she could walk away at any time, couldn’t she? Nora stifled a long sigh. Perhaps that was easier said than done.
It wasn’t the mental aspect of her charade that was so difficult, but the physical reactions she was having to endure. The shock of Pete Beckett turning up beside her had temporarily stolen the breath from her lungs. And then he’d touched her, and her heart had begun to somersault in her chest, beating a crazy rhythm. Every thought in her head became fixed on the mesmerizing way his fingers skimmed over her skin and warmed her blood. At once afraid and exhilarated, she had tried to keep one foot in reality, but she kept slipping into a realm that until now had been pure fantasy.
Why hadn’t he recognized her? Could her disguise be that good? Earlier in the day they’d spoken, come face to face in her office. Surely she couldn’t be that forgettable, could she? Nora brushed aside the notion. He’d had a few too many beers, that was it. Or maybe he hadn’t yet noticed the faint bruise below her eye, barely concealed by her makeup. Or perhaps the thought of Prudence Trueheart hanging out in a sports bar, wearing a black wig and “seduce me” shoes, was inconceivable.
Whatever the cause, she didn’t want these wonderful and alarming sensations to end. A secret thrill shot through her, and she grew more determined to take her pleasure where she could find it—in the suggestive way he looked at her, in her shameless reaction.
“Well?” he asked. “Aren’t you going to tell me? Or do you want me to guess?”
Nora knew the proper etiquette for introductions at any occasion—except when trying to preserve one’s anonymity beneath a sexy disguise while drinking champagne with a handsome co-worker at a bar. A shiver ran up her arm and a moan slipped from her throat. A handsome co-worker who was intent on sucking her fingertips! That one would surely befuddle even Emily Post.
One bit of advice did come to mind. When a lady finds herself in an uncomfortable situation, said lady can always make a polite retreat to the ladies’ room to regroup. She reached for her purse, reluctantly tugging her trembling fingers away and forcing a smile. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Beckett. But I should go. My friend is probably waiting.”
“Your friend can wait. Why don’t you want to tell me your name?” he asked, his smile seductive, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw. “Are you married?”
Nora gasped and brushed his hand away. How dare he believe she’d engage in an extramarital flirtation. She’d been brought up better than that! “Of course not,” she said, keeping anger from her voice.
His brow arched teasingly. “Engaged?”
She shook her head.
“Involved?”
Here was her opening, a way to extricate herself from this situation without making fools of them both. She cleared her throat and straightened. “If I said yes, would you leave me alone?”
Pete thought for a moment, then shrugged. “I guess I wouldn’t have any choice, would I?”
Nora opened her mouth, ready to lie to him. But the words wouldn’t come. She didn’t want him to walk away. She wanted him to stay right where he was, to touch her and tease her until she’d had her fill of him. “No,” she murmured. “I’m not involved with anyone.”
He leaned closer, until his lips were just inches from hers. “Neither am I,” he said. “So I guess we’re both free to…”
Her gaze fixed on his mouth. “Free to…”
His breath was warm on her lips, taunting her with the promise of one stirring, pulse-pounding kiss. “Free to finish our champagne,” he said.
He drew away, leaving her breathless and teetering on the edge of anticipation. A silence grew between them, and her brain scrambled for a topic of conversation to cover her embarrassment. But all she really wanted to discuss was the possibility of his lips meeting hers in the very near future. She grabbed up her champagne glass and gulped down the remaining bubbly. “So, what do you do for a living?” she asked, holding out her glass for a refill. The question was cliché and shallow. Besides that, she already knew the answer. But she wasn’t adept at clever conversation, and with him staring into her face, she couldn’t think straight.
“You have incredible eyes,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead, the same way he’d done that morning. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen eyes quite so blue.”
Nora swallowed hard, trying to still the slamming of her heart. How quickly the man forgets, she mused, a trace of anger accompanying the thought. “Oh, I’m sure you have,” she said coyly.
He slowly shook his head. “I would have remembered.” His fingers wandered to her lips, and he ran his thumb along the corner of her mouth. “So, do you like games?”
“Wha-what?” Her voice cracked slightly at the sudden shift in the conversation. Oh, Lord, he was toying with her. All this time, he knew exactly who she was and what she was about, and he was stringing her along! Indignation surged inside her, and she wanted to slap the smirk right off his face.
“Games,” he repeated. He glanced up at the television behind the bar. “Sports. This is a sports bar. People who come here, come here for the games. Are you a baseball fan or do you prefer football?”
Nora coughed to cover her uneasiness. “Oh, no,” she said, forcing a smile. “I’m not a big sports fan.”
“Maybe I could teach you,” he said, sliding his hands around her waist. “If you’re really interested.” Gently, he pressed his palm into the small of her back, drawing her closer. “In most games, there’s an offense and a defense.” His voice was barely a whisper, his gaze skimming her face. “And the offense does everything it can to break down the defense and…score.”
Suddenly, their conversation had taken on a different tone, an undeniable sexual challenge pulsing beneath innocent words. With a trembling hand, Nora reached out and ran her fingers through the hair at his nape, startled by her own boldness. He closed his eyes and tipped his head back, and she stared at him, watching the pleasure suffuse his expression. Her touch had the power to stir his senses, a man so experienced and so worldly. “Nice play,” he murmured, watching her through hooded eyes. “I see you understand the concept of offense.”
Without another word, he pulled her to her feet, settling her between his legs. She saw a flash of passion in his eyes before his mouth covered hers. She should have been embarrassed to be kissed so brazenly in such a public place. But, instead, she felt wild and uninhibited, completely free of Prudence Trueheart and her stuffy attitudes. She was Nora Pierce again, a woman who could be passionate and spontaneous. A woman who saw what she wanted and kissed it!
Pete’s tongue delved into her mouth, and the last shred of her resistance dissolved in his arms. This was the best part of the game, she mused, as he ran his hands along her body. Tantalizing kisses, wanton behavior, with no thought of who they were or how they should behave.
Gently, and then insistently, he probed until she returned his kiss with equal desire. His hands cupped her face, melding her lips to his until the fit was exquisitely perfect, until she knew the taste of him as intimately as she knew the feel of his hands on her and the heat in his eyes.
She placed her palms on his thighs and rubbed, massaging the hard muscle and the warm flesh beneath the fabric of his khakis. Where had she found the courage to match his passion, to tease him with her own? The rest of the world seemed to recede, the din of the bar fading to a distant hum. Finally, when she was certain she couldn’t go on any longer, he drew back and gave her a lazy grin.
“That wasn’t much of a defense,” he teased. “But the game could be interesting, anyway. Why don’t we get out of here?”
In a daze, she smiled and wound her arms around his neck. She liked the game, the give and take, and the confidence that made her want to keep playing. “I should probably check on my friend,” she said softly, her lips feeling swollen by his tender assault. She’d forgotten all about Ellie, though she wasn’t surprised. Pete had a way of focusing every ounce of her attention directly on him. She leaned forward and placed another kiss on his bottom lip, boldly drawing her tongue along the crease of his mouth. “I’ll be right back, and then we can leave.” She swallowed hard. “Together.”
He helped her from the bar stool, grabbing her waist as she stumbled slightly, her knees buckling, still unsteady from their kiss. Then he drew her close and nuzzled her neck. “I’ll be right here,” he murmured, his breath hot against her ear. “Don’t keep me waiting.”
As she walked in the direction of the ladies’ room, Nora reached up and ran her fingers along her lips, still damp from his kisses. She felt her mouth curve in a naughty smile while a soft giggle slipped from her throat.
“Whatever would Prudence say?” she murmured. Right now, Nora didn’t care in the least.
“I CAN’T BELIEVE you’re still in here!” Nora stood in front of an open stall in the ladies’ room, staring at Ellie Kiley. Her friend had her dress hiked up to her hips and was carefully painting her toenails a bright lavender shade. “Have you been waiting all this time for me?”
Ellie grabbed a wad of toilet paper and stuffed a bit between each toe, then hobbled out of the stall. “I’ve done my nails twice, plucked my brows and polished all the faucets. I was about to do some minor plumbing repairs when you walked in.”
Nora followed her, feeling properly contrite. “Why didn’t you leave? You could have escaped without him seeing you.”
“Why would I need to escape?” Ellie asked. “He saw me sitting across the bar. I wanted to give you two some time alone before I butted in.”
Nora frowned. If Pete had seen Ellie, then certainly he would have put two and two together and come up with “Nora.” No, Ellie must be mistaken. He never would have taken such liberties had he realized it was Prudence Trueheart hiding beneath the dark wig and sexy dress.
“I stood outside the ladies’ room door and watched you for a while. You two looked so cozy,” Ellie said, moving to the sinks. “I figured with all that champagne you were guzzling you’d have to visit the ladies’ room sooner or later. Who would have known you’d have a bladder the size of Lake Merced?” Ellie bent down and fanned her toes with her hands. “What did he say when he recognized you? Did he laugh at the wig?”
“The wig is necessary,” Nora said, running her fingers through the bangs. “Prudence Trueheart does not hang out in bars looking to pick up men, even if it is for the good of her readers. Besides, it worked, didn’t it? No one has recognized me.”
“Except for Pete,” Ellie clarified.
Nora stared into the mirror above the sinks, watching her reflection with objective eyes. She really didn’t look a bit like herself. She looked exotic, sultry, alluring, the dark hair falling around her pale face. Even so, there was her nose—that hadn’t changed. And her blue eyes, with the faint trace of a purple bruise beneath the left one. And though her mouth was painted a deep red, it was still her mouth. Nora sent her friend a sideways glance. “Actually, he hasn’t recognized me, either.”
Ellie’s eyes went wide and she gasped. “What? You didn’t tell him who you were?”
“I didn’t see the point,” Nora said. She tugged on the collar of her dress, revealing a bit more shoulder. “Maybe the bustline threw him off.” She reached down and readjusted her Miracle Bra, grimacing. “Do you think if I wear this bra for a week, my chest will stay this way?”
When she looked up, she found Ellie staring at her. “What are you saying?” her friend asked, stunned by what she’d seen. “Of course he recognizes you! He’d have to be a dope not to figure it out. You don’t look that different.”
“Well, he doesn’t,” Nora said. “How could he? He never bothers to look at me at work. He even told me he’d never seen eyes like mine before. I guess he forgot he stared into these same eyes earlier this morning.” Drawing a small bottle of perfume from her purse, she dabbed a bit on her neck and between her breasts. “All right, maybe he is just playing along. I don’t care. I’m having fun and I like the way he makes me feel.”
She enjoyed being the object of his desire, playing the prey to his predator. It made her feel scared and thrilled all at once, as if she possessed some secret power that drew him nearer.
With a snort of disgust, Ellie stepped behind her and yanked the neckline up until the fabric cut into Nora’s armpits. “This isn’t just some stranger in a bar. It’s Pete Beckett. You work with him. And until recently, you hated him.” Ellie grabbed Nora’s purse and tucked it under her arm. “Come on. You and I are leaving before you do anything stupid.”
Nora snatched her purse from her friend and stubbornly refused to move. “For once in my life, I’d like to do something stupid! I’ve lived a proper life for twenty-eight years, and look where it’s gotten me. I can tell you how to arrange a receiving line at a wedding, how to set a formal table, how to word an engraved invitation. But I can’t tell you how it feels to be swept away by passion, to toss aside all common sense and let desire take over. I’m as exciting as a bowl of cold oatmeal.”
“Nora, stop and think. This is Pete Beckett. Are you sure you want to become another notch on his bedpost? If you do something stupid tonight, how are you going to face him tomorrow morning?”
“I don’t care,” Nora said. “That’s the wonderful thing about doing something truly stupid. You’re supposed to regret it the next morning. You regret it, then forget it. Besides, he doesn’t know who I am. If he did, he would have said something by now. Especially after he kissed me.”
Ellie’s eyes went wide. “Pete Beckett kissed you?”
“More than once,” Nora said smugly. “And he sucked on my fingers.” She sighed deeply. “I thought I’d faint.”
Her friend frowned and shook her head, staring at her in the mirror. “Maybe he doesn’t recognize you. Pete Beckett never would have sucked on Prudence Trueheart’s fingers.” A bemused expression settled on Ellie’s face. “Sam’s never sucked on my fingers.”
“Well, it feels good. And what’s wrong with enjoying the moment? Who could it hurt?”
Ellie wrapped her arm around Nora’s shoulders. “I know how nice it is to feel wanted. And it’s been a long time since you’ve been with a man. But a one-night stand with Pete Beckett is not going to help matters.”
“It’s been three years,” Nora said. “If you don’t count Stuart.”
Stuart Anderson was Nora’s landlord and closest male friend. For the past three years, Stuart had been her escort to all her mother’s high-society parties and fund-raisers. Celeste Pierce fancied Stuart as a son-in-law. With his impeccable manners and smooth social skills, he’d fit right in with Celeste’s crowd.
“I like Stuart,” Ellie said. “He’s safe and dependable. Not like Pete Beckett. Why don’t you sleep with him?”
“Stuart is gay,” Nora replied. “I don’t think he’ll be sucking my fingers anytime soon.” A deep sigh slipped from her lips. It wasn’t just the sex that she longed for with a man. She wanted all the simple sensations that went with it. The wonderful feel of a man’s weight on her body, the smooth skin and the hard muscle beneath her palms. The narrow hips that fit so perfectly between her legs and the heady awareness of his body moving inside hers. She wanted to experience all that just once more before she died—or turned thirty! And she was about to throw away her one and only chance.
“If I wanted to have a one-night stand, this would be the perfect opportunity,” Nora said. “I can just disappear from his life as if I never existed. He won’t even have to take the trouble to give me his usual brush-off. And better yet, I know him and so do you. He’s not some deranged psycho or an escaped ax murderer. I don’t have to worry about my safety.”
Ellie shook her head. “Nora, please, don’t—”
“I can control my emotions,” she said. “I’m a big girl, Ellie. I know what I’m doing.”
“But what about your heart?” Ellie asked. “Can you promise that you won’t have feelings for him later on?”
“Of course I won’t. He’s Pete Beckett. And I’m—well, you know who I am. I’m Prudence Trueheart and I couldn’t possibly fall in love with a man like him.” Nora drew a ragged breath, then forced a smile. “Maybe you’re worried if he realizes I’m Prudence Trueheart, he’ll be so repulsed he won’t want to kiss me or touch me.”
“No! Honey, I’m just saying this is a dangerous game you’re playing and if you let it go on, the only one who stands to get hurt is you. Remember, he’s the expert here and you’re just a…rookie.”
Nora cursed inwardly, impatient with Ellie’s pleas. “All right,” she said, flipping on the faucet to wash her hands. “I’m not going to let it go any further. I’ll go back out there and tell him I’m going home with you. And that will be the end of it.”
Ellie nodded and squeezed Nora’s shoulder. “Now you’re talking sensibly. After all, he’s bound to guess who you are when you…well, if you get intimate. Or when he sobers up, whichever comes first.”
Nora tossed the paper towel in the wastebasket, then walked to the door. But she stopped before walking out. Maybe Ellie was right. Objectively, she never would have recommended what she was contemplating—a single night of passion, a one-night stand. But she was sick to death of thinking like Prudence. For once, she wanted to break all the rules—and damn the consequences.
“All right,” she repeated softly. “I’m just going to say goodbye and then we can leave.” As she opened the bathroom door, she glanced over her shoulder at her friend, who was bending to remove the toilet paper from between her toes. “You’re a very good nag. If I ever leave the Herald, I’m going to recommend you for the job as Prudence. You’re beginning to sound more like her than I do!”
3
PETE KNEW she wouldn’t be back. She’d find a rear door and slip out without saying another word to him, leaving him to wonder what he’d done wrong. Tomorrow, at the office, she’d act as if nothing had happened. And perhaps another night, she’d put on the dress and the wig and the sexy heels and try again, this time with a real stranger.
A surge of jealousy pulsed through him as he thought about the next man she’d meet and seduce. He fought the urge to go after her, to call an end to the charade. The game had gone far enough. There was a certain allure in seducing a complete stranger, but both of them knew they were far from strangers.
Was that what she’d been looking for tonight? Anonymous sex? Did she hide behind the Prudence Trueheart facade by day, only to turn into a wanton woman by night? Pete’s jaw tightened and he cursed. The hell if he was going to let her do this again! He’d walk right into her office tomorrow morning and threaten her with exposure. Sure, it was a rash step, but she couldn’t be putting herself in danger like this again—he damn well wouldn’t allow it.
What if he’d been some creep with notches in his bedposts? Some guy intent on dragging her home and ravishing her, then dumping her without a second thought? Pete winced inwardly. The description might have applied to him at one time. But Nora Pierce wasn’t the type of woman a guy loved and left. She was different. Special. There was a vulnerability behind her tremulous smile that made him want to protect her, rather than take advantage.
Maybe it would be better to go directly to Ellie, Pete mused. After all, she’d accompanied Nora to the bar. Certainly, she’d have some influence on Nora’s behavior. And if Ellie wasn’t cooperative, he’d enlist Sam’s help. Pete spun around on his bar stool and ordered a whiskey, neat. When the bartender delivered the drink, Pete gulped it down and ordered another. “This is the end of the game, Prudence,” Pete murmured, his throat burning from the whiskey. “And I’m the last man you’re going to play with.”
He thought about how he’d broach the subject. She’d probably be angry at his interference, maybe even order him out of her office. By the rules, he’d be required to pretend that nothing had happened between them. That was all part of her little game. At any moment, Pete had expected her to reveal herself, but, instead, she’d fallen deeper into the charade. She was at times coy and flirtatious, then sexy and seductive.
She wasn’t Prudence Trueheart. Hell, she wasn’t even Nora Pierce anymore. She was a stranger whom Pete found endlessly attractive and intriguing. And she played the role with great enthusiasm. He noticed her wrap, still draped across the back of her bar stool and he idly fingered the soft cashmere, recalling the feel of her skin, the taste of her mouth.
He’d never expected her touch to affect him so profoundly. Nothing had prepared him for his reaction when her fingers skimmed his thighs, her palms just inches away from his unbidden erection. For that brief moment, they’d existed in a fantasy world, in a place where real life didn’t dare intrude, where her touch and the sound of her voice slowly stoked his desire until he could barely contain the fire.
By the time she’d walked away, he’d almost been relieved to have been saved from certain embarrassment. They’d reached their limit and the only place left to venture was into more intimate territory. And though he didn’t want the evening to end, he knew it had to.
Pete swirled his second whiskey in the tumbler, looking to the amber liquid for answers. But the drink couldn’t quell the desire that still racked his body. Liquor just softened the edge a little. It would take a lot more than whiskey to forget this night, he mused. This was the stuff that male fantasies were made of—at least, until she walked out on him.
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