The Lineup(69)

“Will you stop?” I groan.

“It’s the only other explanation. He stares at your boobs, rubs your collarbone, but when push comes to shove, he fumbles and stumbles away. Total virgin.”

“Jason Orson is not a virgin.”





Knock. Knock.

Tap, tap, tap.

Door unlocks, Jason appears. “I knew it was going to be you.” He smiles charmingly and asks, “Okay, I’m ready, what’s your next question?”

I hate him.

I really, really hate . . . hell, who am I kidding? There’s no way I could hate this man, no matter how hard I tried.

Succumbing to my last inquiry of the night, I ask, “Are you a virgin?”

“Well, depends.” I perk up, is he? “Some might consider me a born-again virgin given my lack of sex life lately, but actual virgin, no. Lost the V-card at fifteen to a lovely girl named Mindy. Poor girl.”

Yeah, I didn’t think he was a virgin.

“Was that it? Anything else you want to know?”

I stare for a few seconds, at a complete loss. I could ask him why he didn’t kiss me, but it just seems like I’ll never get the answer at this point.

Maybe it’s simple . . . maybe he just didn’t want to and that’s a reality I’ll have to face.

Feeling sad, I shake my head, turn to my apartment, and shut the door behind me. It’s official. I’m unwantable. Is that even a word? The one thing I didn’t believe when I was betrayed was that I’d never know the true love of a man, that I was simply unwanted. I hadn’t doubted me. My self-confidence never took a hit with . . . him, because I blamed their deceit on his own vapid and selfish ways. But maybe, just maybe, I’ve been wrong. One of the best straight men I know doesn’t find me attractive. I’d been a game to him initially, but once I showed interest, albeit ingenuine . . . kind of . . . he backed off. Fuck. What a stupid, stupid night, I could have been— Knock. Knock.

I slowly turn around and look through the peephole, not that I need to. I know who it is, but I look anyway.

I open the door and the minute he’s fully in view—sans apron and hat—I catch the determination in his eyes as his large frame swoops into my apartment, snags my body, and presses me against the wall. His hands immediately grip my jaw and before I can give it a thought, his lips descend onto mine, claiming my mouth the way I’ve always dreamed of.

There’s no humor in his kiss. No fumbling. It’s as if this has been the kiss I’ve been waiting for my whole life, the one that would alter my world forever.

Shaking, I allow my hands to fall to his waist as I part my mouth for him. Desire rips through me when his tongue glides across mine and lightly explores. His grip powerful, his kisses soft, just what I would expect from this strong and sure man.

Giving myself freely to the surprise of his kiss, I allow myself to relax, to enjoy the moment as the determined hardness of his lips take control. Sweeping, exploring, tantalizing.

God . . .

It’s everything. He’s everything.

His mouth starts to slow, his lips press against mine, and then he gently covers my mouth before he pulls away.

Hands still griping my jaw, all I can see is determination. “I didn’t kiss you in the cabin because I was a goddamn idiot. Forgive me, Dottie.”

Lips stained with passion, I slowly bring my fingertips to them and nod, in shock.

“Good.” He leans forward and presses a kiss to my forehead. “Have a good night.”

With a parting smile, he departs my apartment leaving me unsatisfied, confused . . . but utterly happy.





Chapter Twenty





DOTTIE





What’s this? I’ve never seen this picture before.

I lean in closer to my computer, observing the treasure I’ve come across during my daily cyberstalking of the man who kissed me last night. Backward baseball hat, shirtless, bat in hand, him staring at the camera as his muscles ripple like a beast.

This picture is deliriously hot.

This one’s being saved to my personal file.

Yup, that’s right, Dorothy Domico, the power-suit princess, the ruthless boardroom ball-buster, has a file on her computer under the name “Eggplant” with pictures of Jason Orson. A variety of photos at that. Some shirtless, some not, some casual, some in a suit, and then of course, the picture of them all, the center of the collage, THE towel picture.

I’m in the midst of saving when there’s a knock at my door. Hunched over, I quickly pop my head over my computer screen to see Jessica standing there with a smile. Must have had a good night’s sleep, as her smile is rare.

“Miss Domico.”

This time I don’t fumble to close out of the screen, I just open up Outlook to cover up my obsession. “Yes, Jessica?”

“Two things. Madison in finance asked if you could push her meeting to tomorrow. She got a call from her son’s school. He’s throwing up and she needs to get him.”

I cringe. Gross. Details I didn’t need. “Yes, that’s fine. Tell her to work from home for the next few days and we can do a conference call tomorrow same time.”

“Will do. And you have a visitor.”

“A visitor?” I ask, perking up.

Jessica smiles even wider, causing a wave of butterflies to erupt in my stomach. Is he visiting me at work?