Monday April 24, 2023
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LET ME COUNT THE WAYS
LA Love Lessons Series
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She's thinking fling, he's thinking forever.
Sexy former film star Claire Calhoun is used to having her pick of studly young men. Now that she and Derek have called it quits, however, the actress-turned-entrepreneur is feeling vulnerable. After one mojito too many at a party one night, she decides it would be fun to try something new-in this case, Mike Sherman, her staid accountant and long-time fan.Claire has been Mike's fantasy since the first time he saw her bare it all for the camera. Now that she's in his bed he'll do whatever's necessary to keep her there. But he's not a stalker, right? He's just a devoted fan.
Frowning cautiously, I got out of my car and walked over to where she stood waiting for me. She was dressed all in white—to match her car, I supposed—in a snug, white tank top that made it almost impossible not to stare at her chest and slim, white pants that molded to her body and ensured that her breasts were only the first things you noticed.
“Hello, lover,” she said cheerfully. “Miss me?”
I had, of course. But there was no way I’d admit it. “Claire. What are you doing here?”
Her lips pursed in a little moue as she slid her hands up my chest and over my shoulders. “Now, what kind of greeting is that?” she pouted, dismissing my query in turn. My hands found their way to her hips—and I’d swear it was of their own volition—even as she locked hers behind my neck. Then she hit me with her best come-hither gaze, her softest murmur, her most inviting smile. “Well?”
Fool that I am, I caved, giving her what I knew she wanted, kissing her for all I was worth. My fingers tightened on her flesh and, at their slightest urging, she willingly canted her hips into mine.
Her lips parted, inviting me in, and I was unable to resist. I deepened the kiss, plunging my tongue into her mouth, thrilling to the sweet play of her nails along my nape. A growl emerged from my throat and I tugged her closer, banding her against me. Another moment and I think I would have taken her right there in the drive.
“Mmm. That’s better,” she purred, smiling slyly as she disengaged.
“What are you doing here?” I repeated stubbornly, when I could speak again.
Claire sighed. “Is that all you can think to say?” Twisting around, she reached into the car behind her. “Here.” She lifted my briefcase from behind her seat and presented it to me. “If you must know, I thought you might want this back.”
My hands reached automatically to take it. “Thank you,” I muttered, partially in dismay. “You didn’t have to do that.” In fact, I kind of wished she hadn’t as I’d planned on using its retrieval as a pretext for seeing her on Monday.
“Well, of course I didn’t have to, Michael,” she replied, arching an eyebrow at me. “Since when have I ever done that? I do things because I want to, don’t you know that by now? Anyway, here.” Reaching back into the car, she pulled out two medium-sized, brown paper bags. “Take these, too.”
The bags, surprisingly hefty for their size, were warm and smelled faintly of garlic. However, their folded-over, stapled-down tops, which seemed to present no difficulty for Claire, offered precious little for my fingers to clutch. “What is all this?” I grumbled, juggling bags and briefcase as I struggled for a better hold on them.
“Dinner,” she replied, already turning back to the car once again. This time the back seat gave up a large, Coach tote bag. “I hope you like Italian?”
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