Command Performance

Who’s Sierra? The words were on the tip of her tongue, but she remained silent. He was offering her a chance to be a wild, sexy woman at night and to focus on her work during the day. Part of her wanted to push away her reservations and say yes. Part of her wanted to pretend she’d never overheard his conversation. Could she do that? Bury her head in the sand for a few days? Sierra could be a cousin or family friend.

Or she could be his girlfriend, and mentioning her name would end the fantasy before it had even begun.

“Maggie?” he prompted.

“It’s nothing.” When they’d first met, he’d told her and Olivia that he was unmarried. She would have to take him at his word. If going to bed with him meant trusting him, it had to start here and now. “Just that I like my eggs cooked through.”

* * *

SEVEN HOURS LATER, Maggie collapsed onto a kitchen chair, exhausted. She’d conducted dozens of interviews, but none like this one. He’d answered all of her prepared questions except the one she was burning to ask.

How do you plan to blow my fantasies out of the water?

She had a feeling he knew that question stood front and center in her mind. His gaze fell to her lips when she spoke, drifting farther south on more than one occasion. Not that she’d behaved much better. She’d spent the entire interview undressing him with her eyes, which had left parts of her aching and wanting. Very professional.

When she’d suggested they break for a few hours, he’d agreed. She’d offered him lunch, but he’d turned down food in favor of a run. She’d spent an hour working on her blog before she’d set out for a run, too. Then straight to the fridge for leftover pasta, grabbing the phone on her way. After this morning, she didn’t trust herself to make this decision—to sleep with him or not—on her own. She needed another opinion.

“Olivia?” Maggie pressed her cell phone between her ear and shoulder as she rummaged through the fridge. “I need to get out tonight.”

“Ready for another one-night stand already? What about your Ranger?”

Maggie pulled a half-eaten container of pasta from the bottom shelf and set it on the counter. “He refuses to stay at his motel. He insists my guest room is more comfortable.”

“The downstairs one with the fancy marble shower?” Olivia asked. “No one in their right mind would stay at a motel when they could have access to that shower.”

“Well, that doesn’t change the fact that he is still here and that I need a break.” She opened the silverware drawer and selected a fork. “A girls’ night out.”

“Did you have someplace in mind?” Olivia asked.

“Frida’s. I want guacamole and margaritas.” She’d been on the bride-to-be, low-fat-muffin diet for too long. If she was going to let herself go, she might as well go all the way.

“It’s ladies’ night at Frida’s. It will be packed with single men,” Olivia warned.

“And single women. The men won’t even look at me. I’ll wear my usual boring clothes. Something gray. I promise.”

“And a bra?”

“Yes, I promise to wear a bra.” The kitchen door swung open as the words crossed her lips and a shirtless, sweaty U.S. army ranger

sauntered into the room. Her mouth went dry and her fork fell into the take-out container. Setting the pasta on the counter, she reached for her water and took a gulp.

“I’ve got to go,” she said once she’d swallowed. “I’ll meet you there at seven.”

Maggie studied the rim of her glass, determined not to stare at the way his waist narrowed until it disappeared from view, hidden by his running shorts. If she looked, she’d want to touch, and she couldn’t touch. Not yet. “I’m going out with Olivia. A girls’ night out.”

“And this time you’re wearing a bra,” he said, his voice a low rumble.

“Exactly.” She picked up the cell phone without looking at him. She could feel his eyes on her chest as if he was trying to determine if she was wearing one now. Her traitorous breasts responded to the heated look and the building tension between them.

“You’re on your own for dinner,” she said quickly, moving toward the door. “But there should be plenty of leftovers in the fridge. Help yourself. And you’re free for the rest of the afternoon. I have some work I need to finish on my computer.”

“Maggie.” His hand wrapped around her arm, gently pulling her to a stop. Every nerve ending in her body jumped to attention, both annoying and thrilling her at the same time. What was it about this man that turned her on so much? She met his heated gaze. No question he felt it, too, and God if that didn’t turn her on more. “Don’t think too long.”

She nodded as he released her arm, not trusting herself to speak in case the only words that came out of her mouth were “Orgasm. Now.” And then she hustled into the hall.

* * *

BY SEVEN-THIRTY Maggie and Olivia were seated in a corner booth at Frida’s. Maggie dug a chip into the mammoth bowl of guacamole on the table. One margarita down and she already felt better. She chased her chip with a sip from her second frozen taste of heaven. When was the last time she’d said, “Screw the low-calorie beer, I’m having tequila”? So long ago, she couldn’t remember. She couldn’t even recall the last time she’d been to Frida’s. Probably before Derrick, and even then she’d never braved ladies’ night.