Frank Sinatra tune about strangers exchanging glances were fading from the air. He just wanted to see if Kara—make that Katherine—was having the same thoughts he was. If not, so be it. They’d had a nice night and that should be enough.
He stayed for an entire set of the lounge singer until the guy started doo-be-doo-be-doing his way through “Strangers in the Night” for the second time. Ross hadn’t heard that song in years. His parents had the album and when his mom was depressed she would play it and get that wistful look on her face. She never said anything, but he could hear her thinking, If it weren’t for your father and you kids, I’d be exchanging glances with a stranger right now. He’d hated that.
So much better to make fun of the singer in his powder-blue tuxedo and bad rug, especially since Ross’s stranger in the night had not shown her perky breasts in that slinky black dress.
He should have known. Kara was smart. That night had been perfect, and how could he top perfection? He was good, but not that good.
K ARA GOT TO WORK early the next morning. She’d peeled off the skintight dress and kicked it into a corner—a move worthy of Ross—and slept off that stupid fantasy. If even reckless Ross knew better than to try again, something must be wrong with her. Maybe she was trying to fall in love with him.
She’d nipped it in time, though. Her concentration was in sharp focus this morning. One hour into the day and she’d already coaxed the Dairy Arizona CEO into getting his board of directors to sign off on the ads. Her tenacity was legendary at S&S. If you want it done, give it to Kara. That was the book on her and she was proud of it. By the end of hour two she’d drafted the promotion plan, and then headed into the kitchen for her midmorning snack as a reward. She was definitely over the fantasy aftereffects.
Today she’d gone with low-fat cottage cheese with pineapple and sliced cantaloupe instead of the usual yogurt and carrots. She was a lot better off living dangerously with her snacks than her sex life. She rounded the turn to the kitchen and found Ross sitting at the table, his feet up, reading the alternative newspaper, whistling to himself.
The tune was familiar—“Strangers in the Night”—the same song the bad-haired, ruffle-shirted lounge singer had performed last night. What had put that in his head?
She’d swear his hair seemed stiff, as if he’d put mousse in it, and she thought she picked up traces of Miguel’s spicy cologne. She’d proceed with caution, in case she was imagining things. “I didn’t know you were a Sinatra fan,” she said.
Ross looked up in surprise and she could swear he blushed. “Oh, that. I went to a bar last night.”
“With a lounge singer with a robin’s-egg tuxedo and a terrible toupee?”
“You were there?” he asked, lifting a brow in a cool gesture, but his tone was eager.
“Yeah,” she breathed, “hoping to see someone I just met.”
He rose from the chair and came to her quickly. “Miguel was there,” he whispered. “Too late, it seems. Qué lástima. ”
Her knees gave way and she leaned against the refrigerator.
“Do you want to do it again?” Ross said.
“Do you think we should?”
“It would be just sex, right? For fun?”
“Absolutely. M-maybe there’s more you can, um, teach me.”
“Yes, Grasshopper. You can learn the ways of the master.”
“I didn’t know sex was a martial art.”
“Why do you think those Chou Lin warriors are always so peaceful and smiley?”
This was good. They were joking like always.
Then Ross leaned in for a kiss.
“Bad idea,” she said, and slid away from him. Right now they were Ross and Kara in the S&S kitchen, not Miguel and Katherine in a hotel suite. “Not here.”
“Tonight, then,” he murmured in Miguel’s delicious accent, “while Miguel is still in town and dying for Katherine’s mouth.”
Kara had to brace herself against the counter to
He stayed for an entire set of the lounge singer until the guy started doo-be-doo-be-doing his way through “Strangers in the Night” for the second time. Ross hadn’t heard that song in years. His parents had the album and when his mom was depressed she would play it and get that wistful look on her face. She never said anything, but he could hear her thinking, If it weren’t for your father and you kids, I’d be exchanging glances with a stranger right now. He’d hated that.
So much better to make fun of the singer in his powder-blue tuxedo and bad rug, especially since Ross’s stranger in the night had not shown her perky breasts in that slinky black dress.
He should have known. Kara was smart. That night had been perfect, and how could he top perfection? He was good, but not that good.
K ARA GOT TO WORK early the next morning. She’d peeled off the skintight dress and kicked it into a corner—a move worthy of Ross—and slept off that stupid fantasy. If even reckless Ross knew better than to try again, something must be wrong with her. Maybe she was trying to fall in love with him.
She’d nipped it in time, though. Her concentration was in sharp focus this morning. One hour into the day and she’d already coaxed the Dairy Arizona CEO into getting his board of directors to sign off on the ads. Her tenacity was legendary at S&S. If you want it done, give it to Kara. That was the book on her and she was proud of it. By the end of hour two she’d drafted the promotion plan, and then headed into the kitchen for her midmorning snack as a reward. She was definitely over the fantasy aftereffects.
Today she’d gone with low-fat cottage cheese with pineapple and sliced cantaloupe instead of the usual yogurt and carrots. She was a lot better off living dangerously with her snacks than her sex life. She rounded the turn to the kitchen and found Ross sitting at the table, his feet up, reading the alternative newspaper, whistling to himself.
The tune was familiar—“Strangers in the Night”—the same song the bad-haired, ruffle-shirted lounge singer had performed last night. What had put that in his head?
She’d swear his hair seemed stiff, as if he’d put mousse in it, and she thought she picked up traces of Miguel’s spicy cologne. She’d proceed with caution, in case she was imagining things. “I didn’t know you were a Sinatra fan,” she said.
Ross looked up in surprise and she could swear he blushed. “Oh, that. I went to a bar last night.”
“With a lounge singer with a robin’s-egg tuxedo and a terrible toupee?”
“You were there?” he asked, lifting a brow in a cool gesture, but his tone was eager.
“Yeah,” she breathed, “hoping to see someone I just met.”
He rose from the chair and came to her quickly. “Miguel was there,” he whispered. “Too late, it seems. Qué lástima. ”
Her knees gave way and she leaned against the refrigerator.
“Do you want to do it again?” Ross said.
“Do you think we should?”
“It would be just sex, right? For fun?”
“Absolutely. M-maybe there’s more you can, um, teach me.”
“Yes, Grasshopper. You can learn the ways of the master.”
“I didn’t know sex was a martial art.”
“Why do you think those Chou Lin warriors are always so peaceful and smiley?”
This was good. They were joking like always.
Then Ross leaned in for a kiss.
“Bad idea,” she said, and slid away from him. Right now they were Ross and Kara in the S&S kitchen, not Miguel and Katherine in a hotel suite. “Not here.”
“Tonight, then,” he murmured in Miguel’s delicious accent, “while Miguel is still in town and dying for Katherine’s mouth.”
Kara had to brace herself against the counter to
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