giving her what she hadn’t gotten in way too long . . .
“It’s already started.”
Yep, her engine was started, too.
“There’s food.”
“Food?” Was she missing something, because—
“Looks amazing. They went all out for the Meet and Greet.”
“Oh.” Yes, definitely missing something. Her brain. “The Meet and Greet.”
He cocked his head. “What did you think I was talking about?”
Wild sex. “Nothing.” Best not to respond, she decided. Instead, she turned and tipped her face up and studied the spectacular puffy cumulus clouds chasing after the nearly gone sun—
Andy pulled her around to face him. “Did you think I meant something . . . sexual?”
Oh, God. Why couldn’t he just ignore her? She closed her eyes. “Listen, I’m—” Stupid. Socially challenged. Inept. Pick one. “Really in need of food, apparently.”
“Don’t worry.” He smiled. “Women often get all tongue-tied around celebrities. It’s okay, I’m just human.”
Well, human was good. She hadn’t understood that he was a celebrity, but she couldn’t mention that because he’d just put his hands on her hips and was looking the part of the Baseball Stud, and he stepped even closer, and then her heart was attempting a half gainer right out of her chest. She closed her eyes to enjoy the moment, but her tongue filled her entire mouth. If he kissed her now, she’d suffocate. So would he. She’d go to jail for accidentally causing the death of a national treasure. “Andy, I—” She opened her eyes, startled to see that someone had just come up on the deck as well, and was standing right behind Andy.
Dr. Christian Montague.
Tall, Dark, and French Attitude arched a brow, managing to convey buckets of cynicism in that one small gesture. So who was misunderstanding who? his sarcastic gaze asked.
“Excuse me,” she said, pulling free of Andy. “But I really think I need that food. Now.” She walked—limped—past both men, hoping she still had a shred of dignity left.
Andy followed right behind her. “I thought it was your right ankle,” he said in that slow, southern voice that was just dreamy enough to make her sigh.
“It is.” She didn’t look to see if Christian followed her as well.
“But you’re hobbling on both legs,” Andy said.
Damn splinter! “I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“ Very! Listen, tell me there’s chocolate at this event.”
“Sure is, darlin’. Lots of it.”
“Perfect.”
Christian entered the salon just behind Dorie and Andy, who clearly believed he had a shot with her.
For all Christian knew, he did.
The salon was filled with people and tons of food. Dorie moved directly toward the large platters and began piling her plate high, a look of glee on her face, as if she’d hit the jackpot. A woman who liked food. He liked that.
Unfortunately, he liked her. But he wasn’t the only one. Andy was following her around like a puppy on a leash.
A horny puppy.
Oblivious, Dorie caught Christian watching her and blushed, but didn’t look away. There was most definitely something about her, something which Andy clearly sensed as well because the baseball star shifted a little closer to her. “Want a drink?”
“Oh.” Dorie flashed Andy a small smile. “You don’t have to babysit me.” She began to stack up a second plate now, speaking with a slight speech impediment, almost as if her tongue was suddenly too big for her mouth. “I can get it.”
“I’m not babysitting.” Andy was really pouring on the southern charm. “I enjoy your company. What’ll it be?”
“Um . . . soda?” Her plates had reached Mt. Everest proportions, but she kept piling the food on.
Christian eyed her petite frame. Where the hell was she going to put it all?
“How about something with a kick?” Andy asked her.
Ah, Christian thought. Let the alcohol-plying begin. But Dorie wouldn’t fall for that. She was sweet and naive, but not that naive. Nobody was that
“It’s already started.”
Yep, her engine was started, too.
“There’s food.”
“Food?” Was she missing something, because—
“Looks amazing. They went all out for the Meet and Greet.”
“Oh.” Yes, definitely missing something. Her brain. “The Meet and Greet.”
He cocked his head. “What did you think I was talking about?”
Wild sex. “Nothing.” Best not to respond, she decided. Instead, she turned and tipped her face up and studied the spectacular puffy cumulus clouds chasing after the nearly gone sun—
Andy pulled her around to face him. “Did you think I meant something . . . sexual?”
Oh, God. Why couldn’t he just ignore her? She closed her eyes. “Listen, I’m—” Stupid. Socially challenged. Inept. Pick one. “Really in need of food, apparently.”
“Don’t worry.” He smiled. “Women often get all tongue-tied around celebrities. It’s okay, I’m just human.”
Well, human was good. She hadn’t understood that he was a celebrity, but she couldn’t mention that because he’d just put his hands on her hips and was looking the part of the Baseball Stud, and he stepped even closer, and then her heart was attempting a half gainer right out of her chest. She closed her eyes to enjoy the moment, but her tongue filled her entire mouth. If he kissed her now, she’d suffocate. So would he. She’d go to jail for accidentally causing the death of a national treasure. “Andy, I—” She opened her eyes, startled to see that someone had just come up on the deck as well, and was standing right behind Andy.
Dr. Christian Montague.
Tall, Dark, and French Attitude arched a brow, managing to convey buckets of cynicism in that one small gesture. So who was misunderstanding who? his sarcastic gaze asked.
“Excuse me,” she said, pulling free of Andy. “But I really think I need that food. Now.” She walked—limped—past both men, hoping she still had a shred of dignity left.
Andy followed right behind her. “I thought it was your right ankle,” he said in that slow, southern voice that was just dreamy enough to make her sigh.
“It is.” She didn’t look to see if Christian followed her as well.
“But you’re hobbling on both legs,” Andy said.
Damn splinter! “I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“ Very! Listen, tell me there’s chocolate at this event.”
“Sure is, darlin’. Lots of it.”
“Perfect.”
Christian entered the salon just behind Dorie and Andy, who clearly believed he had a shot with her.
For all Christian knew, he did.
The salon was filled with people and tons of food. Dorie moved directly toward the large platters and began piling her plate high, a look of glee on her face, as if she’d hit the jackpot. A woman who liked food. He liked that.
Unfortunately, he liked her. But he wasn’t the only one. Andy was following her around like a puppy on a leash.
A horny puppy.
Oblivious, Dorie caught Christian watching her and blushed, but didn’t look away. There was most definitely something about her, something which Andy clearly sensed as well because the baseball star shifted a little closer to her. “Want a drink?”
“Oh.” Dorie flashed Andy a small smile. “You don’t have to babysit me.” She began to stack up a second plate now, speaking with a slight speech impediment, almost as if her tongue was suddenly too big for her mouth. “I can get it.”
“I’m not babysitting.” Andy was really pouring on the southern charm. “I enjoy your company. What’ll it be?”
“Um . . . soda?” Her plates had reached Mt. Everest proportions, but she kept piling the food on.
Christian eyed her petite frame. Where the hell was she going to put it all?
“How about something with a kick?” Andy asked her.
Ah, Christian thought. Let the alcohol-plying begin. But Dorie wouldn’t fall for that. She was sweet and naive, but not that naive. Nobody was that
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