A Little Wild

Copyright © 2011 Kate St. James
All rights reserved — a Samhain Publishing, Ltd. publication

“You can’t ignore the entire male gender, Tess. What will you do about sex?”

Tess Sheridan squirmed in her chair in the upscale Vancouver bar. “I’m not ignoring them all, just the—”

“Hot guys.”

Tess stared down her best friend sitting across the small table. “I will have sex again someday.” She tucked a stray hair into the chignon that had loosened after a long Wednesday perusing contracts. “But I’ve dated up a storm since ditching Warren. What do you want me to do? Send invitations to the whole bunch and stage an orgy?” She’d dumped her manipulative ex-boyfriend a year ago tonight—in this same bar, in fact—inspiring Chloe Nichols to drop into the law firm and drag her to Danver’s Pub for take-stock-of-Tess’s-non-existent-love-life drinks.

Chloe laughed, her dark hair swinging. “Sleeping with one man would suffice. And I’m not talking a member of your guy-pal entourage, either, so don’t worry.”

Tess sighed. Why, oh, why had she blabbed her decision to remain celibate? Chloe clearly thought she was nuts. And Tess might, too, in another life. One not influenced by her horrendous workload, her history of wrongwrongwrong, totally wrong relationships, and the biggie: fear of winding up like Mom.

She sipped her English Bay Pale Ale, the smooth malt flavor welcome after another warm mid-August day. “Don’t call them my entourage.” She hated the nickname.

“Well, they are.”

“They’re my friends.” The thought of hooking up with any of the men she currently dated gave her hives. Not because she considered them male counterparts of her type-A self, either, which was hardly lust-inspiring—she slept with herself every night.

No, sex spelled trouble, plain and simple. She lost perspective, put the guy’s needs ahead of her own. Or at least that was how it always seemed.

“Whatever.” Chloe drank her beer. “My point is, you’ve accomplished a great deal since passing the bar exam, yet all you do is work.”

“I have to keep working hard if I want to prove myself to Mr. Greenburg,” Tess said above the chatter and soft rock music filling the trendy bar. Greenburg & Associates topped the city’s corporate law firms. Tess had articled with Lawrence Greenburg upon graduating from the University of British Columbia’s competitive law school. He’d been so impressed with her diligence and enthusiasm that he’d offered her a position as junior associate. She owed him for the opportunity to rise quickly through the ranks and someday make partner.

And she owed herself that same chance to become both financially and emotionally independent. Self-reliant. Free and unencumbered.

Although maybe a little bit lonely.

She shook off the dull ache settling over her. “Mr. Greenburg has shown an enormous amount of faith in me by inviting me to sit in on the latest Halliday Enterprises’ consultation.” Graham Halliday, Vancouver’s wealthiest entrepreneur, possessed a reputation for generosity and community spirit. Tess looked forward to meeting him at the conference table next week. “I could learn a lot from this acquisition, Chloe. I have to stay focused.”

“Focused and orgasm-free.”

“Chloe, I love you like a chocolate fudge sundae, but you’re trying to distract me. I can’t afford to become emotionally involved with any man right now.”

“That’s why you only date dweebs?”

“No.” Tess sniffed, feigning insult. “That’s why I’ve only dated casually since Warren.”

“Why you always break it off before the third date.”

“Why I won’t stay with any man long enough to form an emotional bond,” she corrected.

“Hmm.” Chloe drummed her fingers on the polished wood table.

“What?”

“I think you’re afraid.”

Tess blinked. “Ridiculous,” she said as their waitress approached. “I just happen to know what I want.”

Chloe set aside her empty beer bottle. “Wanna bet?”





“Why do you keep checking your watch?” Zach Halliday asked his brother, Ethan. They sat on upholstered stools at the brass-trimmed mahogany bar that earned Danver’s Pub kudos with the corporate crowd. “We came here to unwind. Can’t you ignore the ticker for an hour?”

Ethan’s lean face broke into a tolerant smile. “Easy for you to say, little brother. You spent the day on the golf course and the evening entertaining the Crockett’s Fine Foods representatives. I, on the other hand, have been embroiled in heavy-duty discussions with Dad and the Halliday accountants.”

“Your choice.” Zach sipped his scotch. “You thrive on plotting business strategies and handling negotiations, Eth. You always have. And, you know, playing eighteen holes with Hef Crockett and his merry band of sandbaggers has its drawbacks. All that talk about price points and sales promotions damn near threw my game off.”

Ethan smirked. “What did you shoot?”

“Seventy-four.”

“Two over par? At a tough course like Shaughnessy?” Ethan shook his head. “And you probably made Hef feel fantastic about his game while you creamed him.”

Zach shrugged. “I try.”

“I’m not joking. You’re a natural at whatever sport you try. Me, I’m lucky to shoot eighty-nine.”

“That’s because you never get out on the course.”

At thirty-four and with an MBA to his credit, Ethan was their father’s primary advisor—and was usually happy about it. Zach envied Ethan his focus. Eth had found his place in the world early on while Zach had drifted from job to job within the corporation, trying but never fitting in. Now, at thirty, Zach’s meager responsibilities included wooing reps of potential investments like the Crockett’s supermarket chain. He didn’t hold regular office hours, acting more as a consultant while pursuing his own investments. He definitely didn’t contribute to the company coffers the way Ethan did.

While their father claimed Zach’s people skills were invaluable, Zach knew Graham Halliday would far prefer it if he became engrossed in the financial or managerial end of the corporation, like Ethan.

Problem was, nothing short of the Pacific parting like the Red Sea could motivate Zach’s genuine interest in their father’s holding company for commercial and real estate investments. He wanted to strike out on his own, assert his individuality on a smaller scale. Yet, he couldn’t do that without killing his father’s dreams of building a Halliday family dynasty.

So he’d continued to drift.

But not anymore.

“You work too hard, Eth. There’s more to life,” he said in keeping with the laid-back persona his brother expected. He didn’t want Ethan or their father guessing he was up to something. He still had too many balls in the air, and they’d find out soon enough.

“I know.” Ethan’s suit jacket shifted on his shoulders. “I’ll get there.”

“No time like the present.” Turning, Zach gestured around the bar. The professionals frequenting Danver’s ranged from their twenties to mid-forties. Groups of men and women clustered at the large tables. The small tables featured primarily couples and single women.

One such table, close to the antique mirrors in back, looked promising. Even in this dim lighting, Zach noted the two women sitting there chatting with animation. The first was a knockout strawberry blonde with her hair swept up into one of those conservative, flattened-bun things. Unfortunately, from this distance, her suit looked conservative, too.

Not what his brother needed. Ethan was conservative enough on his own.

The second woman, a sporty model with chin-length dark hair, wore jeans and a snug T-shirt nicely showcasing her generous breasts. She’d have Eth relaxing in no time.

“Check out the table by the biggest mirror. That cute brunette could shake you up.”

Ethan glanced across the bar. For a second, his brown eyes gleamed. Then he shook his head and sipped his vodka tonic. “I prefer the redhead.”

So do I.

The instinctive response surprised Zach. However, while the slender woman’s starchy fashion sense probably attracted Ethan, his mind overflowed with visions of releasing the pins from her red-gold hair and watching that beautiful mane cascade over her naked shoulders. He’d count every elegant freckle he prayed festooned her curvy body.

Maybe lick ’em. Yeah, forget the counting. He’d eat her up.

Arousal spiked. Low. Very low.

Not keen on sporting an erection in public, he concentrated on football statistics to banish the erotic images. He looked at Ethan. “She looks like a lawyer, maybe a bean-counter.”

“Nothing wrong with that.”

“She’s your type. Why not go for it?” Just don’t be licking any freckles.

“Because me and my type never work out.”

An odd relief wove through Zach. “Go for the dark-haired chick, then. Have fun for once.”

For the dozenth time since they’d arrived, Ethan checked his Rolex. “The only thing I’m going for tonight is bed.”

Zach opened his mouth to flip off a remark, but Ethan’s pointed look stopped him.

“Alone. I’m bushed. I’m heading home.”

“What? It’s not even nine.” But Zach noticed the lines of fatigue etching his brother’s face. “Hey, no problem. I’m finishing my drink, though.”

“Yeah, stay. I want you to. No sense spoiling your evening.” Ethan rose.

“Big bro, you know me better than that. I fully intend to relax and enjoy myself.”

And fantasize about unlacing one trussed-up strawberry blonde.





“Excuse me?” Tess asked Chloe after the waitress had taken their orders and left.

“I said, let’s make a bet. I think the reason you’ve been celibate a year is because you’re afraid that if you get too close to a man you’ll fall in love. Can’t have that. It might screw with your partnership plans. Instead, you date dweebs and are happy to keep seeing a guy as long as he doesn’t expect more than a goodnight kiss or make you want to jump his bones.” Chloe wagged a finger. “Come on, Tess, I dare you to prove me wrong.”

Tess snorted. “Get serious.” While roommates at university, she and Chloe had routinely supported one another through romantic slumps. Every so often, that support had evolved into a harmless dare or bet designed to shake off the moral fetters of their Catholic-schoolgirl childhoods. Although they no longer shared an apartment, Tess knew Chloe as well as she did her two younger sisters. And right now Chloe’s mischievous gaze telegraphed that the she-devil had something evil in mind. “Besides, I’m not in a slump. I’ve chosen to concentrate on work. There’s a difference.”

Chloe turned up a hand. “If you say so.”

Tess narrowed her gaze. Overwork aside, she itched to snatch up the gauntlet her friend had oh-so-cleverly thrown down. Resisting a challenge was not her forte.

“What do you mean?” She took another swallow of beer. The ale warmed her veins and scattered a pleasant buzz through her body. How nice to relax after several weeks of nose-to-the-grindstone paperwork helping a senior partner close several files.

Chloe’s voice softened. “Tess, Tess, what am I going to do with you? You have the heart of an angel. That’s what gets you into trouble. Sweetie, you’re incapable of sleeping with a man without falling in love. Your track record screams it.”

Tess stiffened. “You’re dead wrong.” The waitress returned with two more bottles of pale ale and the tequila shooter Chloe had ordered. Tess waited until the young woman moved to the next table. “I didn’t love Warren.” The lamebrain.

Well, now she recognized him as a lamebrain.

“Right. You sure thought you did, before you realized how manipulative he was. Then you woke up.”

Pfft! But the fine hairs on Tess’s arms lifted, signaling a speck of truth to Chloe’s theory.

“What about Kyle Hampton?” Her first lover had been rather creative in the bedroom. Sadly, once they were established as a couple, he’d spent more time with his soccer pals than her. Still, infatuated with his…big hands and convinced he’d learn to find time for their relationship, she’d dated him for several months.

Shades of her mother. She shuddered.

“Ah, Kyle of the size fourteen shoes. Major warm fuzzies there.”

“Warm fuzzies isn’t love.” Tess knew that now.

“For you, at barely twenty, it was. And let’s not forget Brad. One quick tumble in the sack, and you were ready to serve your heart to him on a silver platter.”

Tess exerted a weak laugh. Oh. Brad Nelson. Yes.

Chloe started her second beer. “Face it, Tee, you’re not wired for mindless sex.”

No way would she admit that. Age difference aside, Tess already looked like her mother—the queen of confusing sex with intimacy. In times of stress, she was just as fastidious about housekeeping, obsessively tidying her apartment to vent her frustrations. She was single-minded and determined, like Mom. She didn’t like conceding failure…and neither did Mom.

Agh. Tess gripped her beer glass. Patrice Sheridan had many good points, but at times like this, Tess felt like she only shared the weak ones.

“And you are wired for mindless sex?” she asked Chloe.

“More than you. Admit it.”

“I. Will. Not. Of course I can have sex without falling in love—if I want to.” She just didn’t happen to want to this year. “Matter of fact, that’s stage two of my plan to lead a fulfilling single life.” Unlike many women tiptoeing through their late twenties, matrimony held limited appeal for this lawyer. Her parents’ troubled marriage served as an omnipresent reminder of the hazards of falling too hard too fast. “I’m only celibate now because of my commitment to work. Once I’ve proved my worth to Mr. Greenburg, I’ll sex it up ’til I’m blue in the face.”

“Colorful image, but you’re missing the point. Your entourage of dates is your safety net. What you’re really afraid of is risking your heart. And you wouldn’t defend yourself so strongly if you honestly believed that wasn’t true.” Chloe patted her chest. “Damn, my psych degree comes in handy.”

Tess downed her beer and reached for the second bottle. Was Chloe right? Did she face a future without sex or love?

The possibility sounded incredibly disheartening.

But I don’t want love, she reminded herself as she splashed beer into her glass. No matter how much Chloe hounded her, she was certain on that score.

Sex, however, was another matter. She wanted loads of it. Tons of it.

Gargantuan, sizzling, lust-drenched chunks of it.

She’d prove Chloe wrong.



Twenty minutes later, Tess had polished off her second beer and was eyeing the Screaming Eddie—a tequila shot spiked with Tabasco sauce—her friend had yet to consume. “Let’s see if I have this straight. I pick a man, any man—”

“No, he can’t be someone you already know. No enlisting friends or one of your current dates for help. In order to challenge your heart, Tee, we need an element of risk. That means choosing a guy you find exceedingly hot.”

Chloe’s logic escaped Tess, although she couldn’t determine precisely how. She’d logged so many extra hours lately trying to impress the senior partners that her second drink had hit her super hard. Her thought processes felt kind of muddled.

“A hunk of burnin’ love?” she attempted to clarify. No harm playing along.

“Or, as we liked to say when we were young and foolish, a studmuffin.”

Perfect. Tess resisted a grin. Even if she planned on following through with Chloe’s scheme—and she didn’t—she wasn’t in danger of falling for a self-absorbed studmuffin. Warren, while not to-die-for handsome, had possessed enough good looks and charm to cure her of that particular beast. On the rare occasions she did dream of marrying—like maybe once she turned fifty and images of old age encroached—her fantasies revolved around sincere, homely types.

“All right, so I can’t already know him, and I can’t tell him about the bet.” This was fun. And what better place to partake—well, lead on Chloe a little—than within the safety of conservative Danver’s? “Let’s get started. I’ll make contact tonight—”

“Just contact? Why not take him home?”

“Because! I do have some morals. I’d like to date him once or twice first.”

“Tess, I was kidding. Making contact tonight is great. Providing you can pick out a hunk from among this boring sea of suits.”

“A business suit does not a dullard make, Chlo.”

“It doesn’t help.”

“Now you’re trying to dissuade me?” An easy out. Her brilliance knew no bounds.

“Never.” Chloe sipped her beer. “How about this? You approach the guy, give him your phone number. If he doesn’t call within a few days, you do. But don’t ask for his number. That might seem too predatory, scare him off. You know how guys are. Just make sure you get his last name, and you can look him up in the book or online.”

“That’s not predatory?” It sounded predatory.

Chloe scoffed. “Any true hottie would be flattered.”

“Gotcha.” With any luck, Tess’s hottie would have an unlisted phone number. But she couldn’t count on that eventuality, so she’d slip him a fake number of her own and hope Chloe didn’t catch on.

For good measure, and in case Chloe asked, she’d invent a fake name for him, too.

Exhilaration whipped through her. Could she do this?

Yes.

No.

All right, maybe halfway do it. Long enough to prove her point to Chloe.

She scanned the bar for potential targets. Tread carefully, girl. She couldn’t let Chloe suspect that she didn’t intend to take this silly dare beyond tonight. She’d establish her brilliance by hitting on some gorgeous, conceited sap who wouldn’t remember what she looked like tomorrow. Then she’d sit down her best friend for a lengthy heart-to-heart until Chloe admitted that Tess’s plan for a carefree life was possible—on her timetable, not Chloe’s.

Meanwhile, she’d have a blast tricking her friend into thinking she intended to pursue a hookup. Any embarrassment she experienced approaching a guy would be worth it to prove Chloe wrong.

“And you have to date him for at least six weeks,” Chloe said. “Exclusively. That eliminates your worry about sleeping with one guy while dating others.”

“How generous of you.”

“I think so.”

Tess smiled. She could agree to anything, because she had a loophole. Best friends didn’t hold one another to bets conspired while buzzed.

“If you’re bouncing the mattress with him most of that time, I predict you’ll fall in love with him, too,” Chloe said. “So no one-night stands and then you ask him to be your bud, Tee. The challenge is to really get to know this man, in bed and out. If you do that and still don’t fall in love with him, you win. Then I’ll believe this great plan of yours to remain single.”

“And the stakes?” Tess felt compelled to ask. For no other reason than she should gain familiarity with what she’d owe come pay-up time.

“The usual.”

“One carton?”

“I’m hungry. Let’s make it ten.”

Tess’s mouth watered. Chloe definitely knew how to tempt her.

Tess surveyed the tables, found them a wee bit lacking in the hottie department, then glanced at the big mahogany bar. Her gaze tripped along the barstools. Wasn’t there a mark in the whole damn pla—

Her heart kicked. That’s him!

Sitting on a stool with a group of laughing men and women surrounding him, from this distance the guy appeared sensual and earthy-looking. Standing, he’d measure about six feet tall. An amber polo shirt stretched across his wide shoulders, and his dark brown hair looked thick and casually mussed, as if he’d spent the day hiking Grouse Mountain instead of locked in a Burrard Street boardroom.

Just my type.

No, not my type.

Focus, Tess, focus.

He probably had dreamy, dark-lashed brown eyes to go with his dark hair, too. Roguish, handsome features highlighted his friendly-looking face. And his smile…

As if he sensed her staring, his head turned. Like in a thousand romantic movies in a thousand darkened theaters, their gazes caught and refused to let go.

His sexy smile widened, and Tess’s heart slid to her toes. Come to Mama.

Another guy in the group patted his shoulder, and the mark turned back to his friends.

Tess sucked in a breath. “Got him.” She pointed him out as his friends headed to the exit. The mark remained seated, oozing confidence and sex appeal.

Chloe eyeballed his side view. “Oooh, Tee, I approve.”

“Good.” She grabbed the tequila shot and downed it. She shivered with distaste as the fiery Tabasco and the over-strong burn of liquid sin razed her throat and flamed wildly through her veins.

“Hey, that was mine!”

“Tough.” Hitting on a stranger required more courage than her usual two-drink limit offered.

She stood, smoothed her skirt over her hips, and announced, “I’m going in.”