Bougainvillea by Heather Graham Page B

so right—I can tell.”
    â€œJen, would you sleep with a guy you’d only seen once before?”
    â€œIf it was right—you bet.”
    â€œWell, he didn’t make any moves.”
    â€œ You make a move!” Jen suggested.
    â€œWhat, just say, ‘excuse me, we’ve got chemistry going here, let’s sleep together’?”
    â€œIf all else fails,” Jen said seriously. “Are you supposed to fly out tomorrow?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œGet him tonight, then.”
    â€œJen, I don’t want to ‘get’ anyone.”
    â€œThen you’ve been celibate far too long,” Jen said sagely. “What, are you going to turn your comic character into a nun? Get out there, live, give yourself something to work with!”
    That night, David took her to dinner at a wonderful, intimate little restaurant in Little Italy. Every time his arm brushed hers, or his hand reached out as he escorted her in or out of the car, into her seat, into her jacket, she felt as if electric jolts ripped through her. The man was undeniably sexy, and sensual, with his dark eyes often seeming to hide a wry amusement with himself, with her, and with the world around them.
    He told her more about his education, and how Seamus had insisted he not just slide into the business, but work hard in school and find a serious profession as well. He had liked practicing law, but discovered later that he was equally fond of business, and, when the demands of the company had begun to take more and more of his time,he’d been ready to leave his practice behind, and take all that he learned with him into the family company.
    Kit realized that as the meal progressed, they were leaning closer and closer to each other as they talked and laughed and shared the wine. She was aware that she was breathing in his delicious aftershave, a scent that was inextricably linked to him and extremely evocative.
    Back at the hotel, they lingered for a few minutes in the parlor, sipping a last brandy. Their conversation turned again to Bougainvillea, and his life there.
    Kit could admit to feeling a slight buzz from the wine, but she definitely had not overdone. Still, she found herself smiling ruefully and asking him, “I have to admit it—I don’t quite get it.”
    â€œWhat’s that?”
    â€œThe fact that you’re not married. I mean—you’re not, right?”
    He laughed. “No, not married.”
    â€œNot even involved?”
    â€œCertainly, I have been at times over the years. But not now. What about you?”
    She grinned. “Well, there was Ray Leone in high school. We were the hot item for a while. At Northwestern, there was Mason Rigg. Law student. But very old-fashioned. I found that out when he became annoyed by the amount of women in his classes. The place for a woman, in his mind, is in the home. Supportive, you know. Taking the kids to school and doctor appointments and arranging business dinners. Not that I wouldn’t want to take my kids to doctors’ appointments and the like.” She fell silent, wondering why she wasexplaining herself that way. “Sorry. Wow. How embarrassing. I didn’t mean to give you a list.”
    He was smiling, moving across the room to where she sat on the couch. The lights of Boston swept gently into the suite. Muted. He sat down beside her, took her glass, set it on the table, then held both her hands in his. “I like your list. It’s wonderfully honest. Like you.” On the last, his voice was low, soft, husky. This close, the scent of his aftershave was pure intoxication. When his mouth touched hers, she was immediately aware of a melting sensation. She was equally aware that he was very experienced, a practiced lover, lips moving hers, fingers threading into her hair, tilting her head at a perfect angle for his tongue to do the most incredibly seductive things inside her mouth. Instinct, or maybe it was