“Why am I not flattered?”
“Because you’re not used to being rejected.” She gave him a deliberately insincere smile, determined to keep things light. “It’s not you, it’s me.”
“Damned right it’s you!” He whipped off his boxers and turned back into the water, giving her a fine view of his very firm, very untouchable ass.
*
He was still grouchy the next morning. “You can make your own damned breakfast.”
She reached for the box of Wheaties he’d left on the counter and spilled it into a bowl. She suspected she wasn’t the only one who’d practiced a little self-gratification last night before she’d gone to sleep. Not that it had helped.
The only way to deal with her attraction to Thad Owens was to give him a hard time. She splashed milk on her cereal and regarded him with fake concern. “Rejection is hard for you, isn’t it? Do you want to talk about it?”
“No, I don’t want to talk about it. If we can’t f— If we can’t get naked, I don’t want anything to do with you.”
She plopped down across from him. “You’re cute when you’re petulant.”
“And you’re sexy as hell, and I’ve seen you naked, and I want to see more.”
“No one could ever accuse you of being indirect.”
He abandoned his petulant act, which she’d suspected he’d specifically adopted to annoy her, and kicked back in his chair. “I don’t get it. We like each other. We have a great time together. You look at me like I’m an ice cream sundae, and I look at you the same way. So what’s the big deal?”
The big deal was she’d never again let anything—especially not the temporary temptation of Thad Owens—derail her. Her career was her life, and unless a man like Dennis Cullen came along—a man with no personal ego who devoted himself to his wife’s career—she was keeping her focus where it needed to be, on her work.
She knew the perfect way to deal with Thad. “I have a rule. No hookups, no flings, no affairs. Not without a commitment.”
“Commitment!” Those green eyes shot open. “We’ve only known each other a little over a week!”
She arranged her face in her most earnest expression. “Is commitment a problem for you?”
“Damn right, it’s a problem. I can barely commit to what I want to eat for dinner, let alone to a woman.”
A long, theatrical sigh. “Sorry. Unless you’re thinking about the possibility of marriage, we’re a nonstarter.”
He dropped his spoon, splashing milk on the tabletop. “Did you say ‘marriage’?”
She was an actress, and she had no trouble keeping a straight face. “If you want it, put a ring on it.”
She couldn’t have come up with a more efficient way of defusing the geomagnetic storm of sexual heat that sizzled around them. He shot up from the table. “I’m going out.”
“I thought you might want to.”
It wouldn’t take him long to realize she was baiting him, but for now, she’d enjoy the solitude. Or at least try to.
The piano in the great room was out of tune, but she played it anyway. Tested her voice. Bent her arms over the keyboard and tried not to cry.
*
Light snow fell on the windshield early the next morning as they drove back toward Denver. They’d taken a hike yesterday and listened to good jazz over dinner. Thad had grilled steaks and sidestepped her questions about his secretive computer habits. Her attempt at making mashed potatoes had ended up in the trash, but she’d made a killer salad. She wished they could have stayed longer.
He eased up on the accelerator. “That was some bullshit you were dishing out yesterday morning. Congratulations.”
She cradled her cup of the coffee they’d brought along. “I do like to take my entertainment where I can find it.”
He turned the wipers to slow speed. “Fair enough. But there’s something between us, and we both know it.” He glanced over at her. “So what’s the real reason you don’t want to take the next logical step?”
She tore her vision away from his profile and shimmied around the truth. “Amazingly, we like each other. We even sort of understand each other. Agree?”
“Agree. And . . . ?”
“I think we need to honor that. Wouldn’t you like having a female friend who’s not jumping you? Somebody you could confide your woman problems to and who could tell you when you’re being a jerk?”
“I already have one of those. Her name’s Piper. Cooper Graham’s wife.”
“But she’s part of your professional world. You need someone outside football you can trust.”
“Considering that I can’t wipe the image of you naked out of my brain, I don’t think it’s realistic to expect we could have that kind of friendship.” He glanced at the driver’s side mirror and pulled into the left lane. “What’s really holding you back? Tell your good buddy, Thad.”
She returned her coffee to the car’s cup holder. “I’ve already told you a lot more about my personal life than you’ve told me about yours. Why is that? Why is it that you want me to spill my secrets when you haven’t revealed anything personal to me?”
“And just like that, you change the subject.”
“Well?”
“I like women. Always have. And before you get offended, I’m not only talking about sex. I spend most of my life with men, and that means lots of sweat, blood, broken bones, and trash talk. Being with a smart woman who smells good and looks good and wants to do something other than play video games and talk about sports is important to me.” He glanced at the speedometer. “I’ve never jumped from woman to woman, if that’s what you’re thinking. I’ve probably got a lower number than ninety percent of the men in the NFL.”
“Admirable. I guess.”
He swung back into the right lane. He drove too fast, but he wasn’t a road hog. “I’d describe myself as a serial monogamist. I’ve had some great women in my life, and I only regret a couple of them. Your turn.”
She didn’t have to be honest with him, but she wanted to be. “I’ve learned the hard way. No singers, actors, frustrated artists, or anyone who needs a mother instead of a lover.”
“So far, I’m in the clear.”
She regarded him pointedly. “Also, no ambitious, successful men with well-deserved egos who are as dedicated to their careers as I am to mine and who, as it turns out, have only limited tolerance for a woman who’s their mirror image.” There. She’d said it.
He regarded her warily. “Adam burned you in more ways than one.”
She shrugged. “I don’t do well with needy men or with successful men, either.”
He started to ask her how she defined “successful” and then thought better of it. “It kind of narrows your dating pool.”
“Women like me: our careers come first. We can’t accommodate a romantic partner’s schedule. We’re not always available when a man wants to talk or have sex or needs a shoulder to cry on. We have our own money, and we don’t need theirs.”
“I think you’re underestimating a lot of men.”
“Am I? Men like you are attracted to women like me because we understand you. We understand what drives you. But, ultimately, our lives are as big or bigger than yours, and once the newness wears off, that starts to grate.”
“I’m not buying it.”
She might as well go all the way. “Before the disaster with Adam, I was involved with a prominent architect. A good man. Decent. He thinks of himself as a feminist.”
“And then he turned into a creep.”
“Not at all. He respected my career, but things came up, and I was smitten with him. I skipped a class because his old college friends were in town. Then I was late for a rehearsal because he was getting an award. He had an open slot in his schedule, and we’d talked about taking a vacation together. I was about to turn down a concert when I finally woke up and realized I was losing myself. I made a vow never again to get involved with another alpha type.”