Heated Rush Part 10

She had juice and graham crackers in the kitchen of the center. Did that count as a date?

As if knowing just how far to push her, how to keep her senses heightened and her defenses down, Sean stepped away and looked around. "Ready for our little chat?"

"Here?" she yelped, startled that he had stepped away without kissing her. She wondered if he could read her disappointment.

"I'd know something about your work, wouldn't I?"

The real Blake hadn't known anything about Annie's work, beyond the fact that a day care center was a great place to hit on single women. And that maybe, if he was lucky, he could both bang the owner and get a discount on his son's care.

Not that she was about to tell him him that. that.

"So you own this place?"

"I do. I don't actually own the building, but have a long-term lease which allowed me to make all the renovations."

"And you're obviously successful."

"I think so. Certainly more than anybody ever expected me to be."

"What did they expect?" he asked. Walking around the room while he waited for her to answer, he examined the scrawled crayon drawings, side-by-side with colorful framed fairy-tale paintings on the wall.

"My parents were certain my degree in early childhood education was preparing me to be a wonderful mother." Her tone could have held a mouthful of sand and not been any more dry.

"They had no idea you were taking off?"

Frustrated, Annie ran her fingers through her blond hair to smooth it. "Of course they knew. I'd been saying for years years that I planned to go, to see the world, to live on my own." that I planned to go, to see the world, to live on my own."

"They just didn't believe it," he murmured.

"Exactly. Because they also also know I really do want the things they want for me-marriage, family. I just don't want them on their terms." know I really do want the things they want for me-marriage, family. I just don't want them on their terms."

He stiffened the tiniest bit, like any determined bachelor would when confronted with terrifying words like marriage and family.

Annie took no offense. Since the moment she'd met Sean Murphy, she'd had no illusions about the kind of man she was taking home to meet the folks-a worldly one who in no way fit into her life. Not in the long term, at least.

But for this weekend-especially after their third date-all bets were off.

"Families always seem to want things on their own terms," he admitted, almost in a whisper, as if the darkness of the place indicated a need for quiet.

Realizing that there was no normal-size chair out here for him to sit on-just little plastic ones that would never hold his weight-she said, "I need to go lock up my office. Why don't we go talk in there."

He followed her, taking the seat she pointed to, directly across from her desk. It was fine for her average visitor-the concerned parent checking the place out for the first time, the worker applying for a job. But it was nowhere near suitable for the big, broad man who seemed to fill up the entire office with his presence.

Sean wasn't dressed in jeans and a b.u.t.ton-down shirt tonight, or a ridiculously expensive-looking suit like he'd worn to dinner. Instead, he wore tailored black trousers and a tight, short-sleeved gray shirt, cut like a T-shirt but made of some shimmering fabric that said it hadn't hadn't come out of a plastic bag marked Jockey. come out of a plastic bag marked Jockey.

And she was in the usual khaki pants and a blue, stained Baby Daze golf shirt.

Who said they didn't look just like a matched pair?

Who cares? It's one weekend!

"It's obvious just by looking around that you've made a success of it," he finally said as he glanced around the office, noting the framed certificates and licenses on the wall. "Your family must concede that much."

"You'd think."

"Well, then, we'll just have to convince them that you've at least done well with your choices in men."

That caused her to snort out loud.

He leaned back in the chair, kicking his long legs out in front of him, and crossed his big arms over his chest. "Speaking of which, what do I do for a living?"

"I didn't say."

He nodded, thinking about it. "How about...mechanic?" His eyes twinkled, and she remembered their first conversation.

Her head tilted back in challenge. "Know what a socket wrench looks like?"

"Good point. Uh...pediatrician?"

She smirked. "I saw the way you looked at the kids."

"I like children," he protested, sounding indignant...but not terribly honest.

"En brochette?"

His deep, throaty laugh sent a tingle of sensation racing through her. She liked liked the man's laugh. And his smile. And the way those eyes lit up when he was amused. the man's laugh. And his smile. And the way those eyes lit up when he was amused.

"Busted. Is that the word? I suppose I did see the little monsters and immediately wonder if I needed to don protective gear to come in and rescue you."

She frowned. "They're adorable."

"They're sticky."

"They're loving," she insisted.

"They're loud."

"They're loyal."

"They're short. short."

"Oh, all right," she said, grinning too much to keep up the ridiculous game of one-upsmanship. "They're all of the above. But I love them just the same."

"I saw that," he murmured, eyeing her intently, his expression almost-tender-if that made any sense. Especially given his obvious disinterest in children. Then that strong chin went up and he said, "Of course, that's everyone else's children. I don't imagine my own-if I ever get around to having any, which I sincerely doubt-would be sticky, loud or short." I ever get around to having any, which I sincerely doubt-would be sticky, loud or short."

At that, Annie leaned back in her chair and chortled. "You're a pompous one, aren't you?"

Shock unhinged his jaw. "I'm no such thing."

"A little pompous," she clarified. "And spoiled."

"Maybe once," he admitted. "Not anymore."

Their stares locked across her desk, and she sensed the intensity in the man. He hadn't wanted to talk about his past, beyond mentioning that he'd been raised in Ireland. There was a story there-most definitely. But he'd put up walls around himself, using his easy charm and amazing good looks to keep anyone from surmounting them.

What, she wondered, would await a woman who managed to get to the other side?

"We still haven't settled on my occupation," he said, clearing his throat and breaking their intense visual connection. As if he knew she'd been trying to figure him out. "Hmm...stunt man? Body double for Brad Pitt?"

She snorted. "He wishes wishes people believed he had a body like yours." people believed he had a body like yours."

Then she got serious, knowing they really had to nail this down, if only so she could hammer the details into her own head tonight. The last thing she needed was to get caught in a lie by her family, who'd be all over any prevarication like Dylan McFee had been all over Jessie Sims to get that toy.

"Let's keep it simple. You're a businessman." That, according to his correct correct bio, was true. She hated to draw him much further into her lies, though the mischief in his expression said he was having fun with the whole charade. "The closer we stick to the truth, the better. And that bio, was true. She hated to draw him much further into her lies, though the mischief in his expression said he was having fun with the whole charade. "The closer we stick to the truth, the better. And that is is the truth, right?" the truth, right?"

He shifted in the uncomfortable chair. "More or less. I'm a consultant. But businessman will do." Moving on, he asked, "Where did we meet?"

Annie's hands clenched into fists beneath the desk, and she willed her jaw not to clench in instinctive anger. So much for sticking close to the truth. She didn't even want to pretend to have met this man the way she'd met the real Blake-here, at work, where she so so should have known better. should have known better.

"Dating service?"

He rolled his eyes. "Pathetic. How about a blind date?"

"And that's not not pathetic?" pathetic?"

He frowned, thinking it over. "Party?"

"Fine."

She felt like they were negotiating a contract, rather than establishing a relationship. And suddenly saw that he probably would be a very good businessman.

He confirmed it by running down a list of questions she never even would have thought to ask. Her favorite color, flower, movie and musician. Her political leanings, ambitions, where she went to school. How she took her coffee, her favorite ice cream. Ticklish spots.

She told him one. But she left the other out altogether. He'd come close to discovering it on her couch yesterday evening. Close...but not quite. And if he ever discovered that one, they'd be a whole lot more involved than two people planning to pull a little scam on her family this weekend should be.

All the details he wanted to know were minor, but certainly things a couple would know about each other. Cake or pie? Chocolate or vanilla? He filed each detail away, occasionally volunteering an opinion on her preferences-how can you prefer apple pie over Creme Brulee?-but quickly moving along.

These were all details they could have talked about over dinner last night, in the typical, second date, get-to-know-you manner. Instead, they'd laughed about the program mix-up, speculating on the wealthy woman's reaction to getting Jake the paramedic rather than the international businessman. He'd hara.s.sed her into tasting caviar, though not escargot, and she'd intentionally asked for a doggie bag, just to see how he'd react.

She should have known. Sean had at first grinned, then raised an arrogant brow and barked at the waiter when the guy had been snitty about it.

Through all that, they'd somehow skipped over all the basic chitchat, as if already so comfortable with one another, none of it had mattered. Until now, when they realized it did, did, at least as far as her family was concerned. at least as far as her family was concerned.

The conversation continued in that vein for a few minutes, until he matter-of-factly asked, "Do you sleep in the nude?"

"What?"

"It's a fair question."

"No, it isn't," she said, part of her dying to tell him and part of her knowing she'd rather show show him, instead. "My family is not going to ask you what I wear to bed, because my father would probably toss you out of the house if you answered." him, instead. "My family is not going to ask you what I wear to bed, because my father would probably toss you out of the house if you answered."

"Old-fashioned."

"Very."

"We have a lot in common."

"Next question?"

"You didn't answer the last one."

She glared. "Next question." "Next question."

"What size is your bed? I didn't even get a peek into your room yesterday."

Groaning as she realized the serious part of their conversation was over, she leaned across her desk and badly answered him. "It's big. Queen size."

And usually very empty. Wally generally slept sprawled out, taking up three-fourths of the mattress, leaving Annie clinging to the edge.

"I probably should should see it," he said, sounding entirely innocent for a man trying to maneuver his way into her bedroom. see it," he said, sounding entirely innocent for a man trying to maneuver his way into her bedroom.

Maneuver? So not necessary. Given how she'd been feeling about him-hot and attracted the first night, frankly interested the next, and comfortable and amused now-all he'd probably have to do is ask. ask.

They'd spent more than an hour together, talking, laughing, flirting. This so so counted as a date. counted as a date.

"Don't you agree that I should at least...take a peek?"

Inside her chest, her heart did that funny fluttering thing again. And her thighs clenched. "Why?"

"Well, we're dating, aren't we? I'm a gentleman, and I'd be sure to escort you to your door. So it's likely I'd have at least gotten a glimpse at your bedroom."

"You get along with Wally. That's proof that you're in my life."

"Back to the previous question then. What do you wear when you crawl into that big bed with just your cat for company?"

Unable to resist, she told him in a throaty whisper, "A red silk nightie."

Lie, lie, lie. She usually wore a long T-shirt to bed. But she at least had had a red nightie. She'd bought it at an after-Valentine's Day sale last winter, determined to have worn it for a red nightie. She'd bought it at an after-Valentine's Day sale last winter, determined to have worn it for somebody somebody before the next time the fat baby with the arrows flew around. before the next time the fat baby with the arrows flew around.

Maybe it'll actually happen. Now. Tonight.

A muscle flexed in Sean's jaw, and his eyes narrowed the tiniest bit. That, and the almost inaudible hiss of his indrawn breath, was his only reaction. "Long or short?"

Mmm...she suspected he was very long. He certainly had felt that way pressed against her yesterday. And he most definitely had been in her erotic dreams of the night before.

Annie's breaths merged together, tripping over each other as they rushed from her lungs. She'd forgotten about the dreams until this minute. Now they were replaying themselves in her thoughts in full, glorious Technicolor, reminding her that she'd awakened at four in the morning, her body quivering as an intense o.r.g.a.s.m shook her from her sleep.

Annie swallowed, trying to force the images away. At least long enough to answer the question he had really really been asking. been asking.