After the Kiss (Sex, Love & Stiletto 1)

She growled and began prowling around her kitchen. This was so not how it was supposed to happen. She was supposed to be cool, removed, observant, not panting for his phone call and itching for his company.

And you just saw him last night, her single-girl self complained. One Italian meal should be more than enough to tide you over for the weekend at this stage in the relationship.

Julie froze. There was that word again. Relationship.

Her cellphone rang from where it was charging on her nightstand, and she nearly broke the sound barrier diving for it.

She glanced at the incoming number and felt a goofy grin spread over her face.

It was him.

She picked up the phone and took a deep breath. Play it cool, play it cool. Pretend you’re busy doing something other than wasting oxygen.

“Hi!” She rolled her eyes at her overexcited tone. Well done, Greene. Real cool.

He gave a low, surprised laugh. “Were you expecting someone else? I don’t think anyone’s ever been that happy to get a phone call from me.”

“I mean … I was waiting for the doctor to call, so I’m a little keyed up, but nice to hear from you too.”

She smacked a hand over her face and she closed her eyes in despair. Who the hell gets that excited for a call from a doctor?

“Who the hell gets that excited for a call from the doctor?”

Her eyes popped open. There. That was something she could add to her article. Sign that things are moving along: you think in identical sentences.

“Yeah, well … I’m awaiting some important results.”

“On a Saturday? Is everything okay?”

“Oh, yah, just a routine test,” she lied. There was no test at all. She wasn’t even due for a routine doctor’s appointment for months. Julie glared at herself in the mirror in horror. Shut up already.

“So whatcha up to?” she asked, praying he’d just let the inappropriate and vaguely disturbing doctor reference slide.

“Not much, just got back from a run.” He paused. “I missed you.”

Julie tried unsuccessfully to stifle the warm rush of pleasure at his words. She’d opted not to join him on the run this morning, mostly because she thought she should keep things moving slowly. Also because her hamstrings still hadn’t recovered from last week’s death jog.

“Do you have plans tonight?” he asked.

Tell him you’re busy. It’s too soon to be seeing each other every night of the week. Tell him—

“Nope, no plans.” Idiot.

“How do you feel about the opera?”

Julie’s mind went completely blank. How did anyone under the age of sixty feel about the opera? Completely and utterly underwhelmed, that’s how.

“Never been.”

“Want to change that?”

Not particularly.

But if it meant a couple of hours sitting next to Mitchell?

She flopped back on her bed, in the best mood she’d been in all day. “So, Wall Street, what exactly would a woman like myself wear to the opera?”

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