Seducing Steve

1

The scene should have been perfect. All systems should have been a go. She’d planned everything down to the last detail. The heat was kicked up to ward off the chill of fast-approaching winter. Every surface of the room was cleaned and de-cluttered. From the iPod in the docking station, Norah Jones begged someone to turn her on. Hell, she’d even lit a candle. All in all, it was a seamless setting for a seduction.

One which appeared to be completely stalled.

Sara glared at the blank page on her monitor, and the field of white glared back—glowing at her, taunting her with its pristine perfection. Her eyebrows rose as she leaned forward, ready to answer the page’s unspoken challenge. With four quick keystrokes, she typed ‘cock’.

A triumphant smile curved her lips as she sat up tall in her chair. It faded when she realized she half-expected the computer to retaliate. She checked the empty doorway to be sure no one witnessed her moment of madness, then slumped. Her toes found purchase on the floor. The swivel was almost an unconscious habit now. Almost, but not quite. The swivel used to drive Adam crazy, and once upon a time, she loved making him crazy. It took a hell of a lot of effort to get her ex-husband worked up over anything.

Her jaw tightened with determination. She gave her head a shake and slid forward to the edge of the chair. She was supposed to be writing a romance, not dissecting her failed marriage. Resolved to tackle this thing head on, she twisted her dark blonde hair into a knot at the back of her head and secured the bundle with a pencil from the cup on her desk.

She deleted the word ‘cock’ then opened the header on the document, intent on getting down to business. As she typed her pen name, ‘Sara Sloane’, she couldn’t help but wonder if her readers would still be intrigued by her stories if they ever met the mess of a woman behind the computer.

The blinking cursor taunted her. She closed her eyes and willed the words to come. As always, she’d started with a love scene—or smut, as she affectionately called the steamier bits. Sexy and sweet. According to her agent, her special blend of heat and heart was the reason a woman would choose her book over dozens of others. But at the moment, the smexy stuff wouldn’t come.

She snorted and settled back in her chair. No pun intended.

Staring at the ceiling, she focused on thinking stimulating thoughts.

A deep, rumbling laugh. Soft, ragged breaths. Hot, slow, wet kisses. Taut, hard muscles bunching under creamy skin. Thick, rich auburn hair clenched between her fingers...

Sara flung herself forward in the chair, almost panting as she glared at the blank monitor. She tried to blink away the picture of her best friend’s blinding white smile, but it wouldn’t go.

Stop, stop, stop that!

The teetering stack of books on the shelf above her desk shifted when she pushed away. Her latest release tumbled over the edge, landing on her keyboard and making her jump. She glowered at the dark-haired hero on the cover. The guy was all wrong.

The raven-haired rake whose hands splayed possessively over the female model’s bare back was not at all the man she envisioned when she wrote the book. At the time, the cover suited her just fine, but now the arrogant set of the model’s jaw reminded her too much of her ex-husband.

Adam didn’t grace these pages. He didn’t have enough imagination to set any heroine on fire.

Sara bit her lip. A swarm of hummingbirds took flight in her stomach. She pressed one hand to her belly to quell them. This had to stop. It wasn’t fair. But she couldn’t help but worry that the words flowed so easily before because the words had been taboo—he was taboo. Her hero’s true inspiration was her secret. But now the taboo no longer existed.

I’m free. He’s free. Steve and I can be anything we want to be to one another.

She snatched the book from the keyboard and shoved it onto the shelf. Her fingertips played over the spines of her other titles—six in total. The seventh would hit the shelves within a month, and once again her best friend would be an unsuspecting star.

Steve Larson didn’t fit the image of the typical romance novel hero. He wasn’t a wealthy cattle rancher, or a ruthless corporate titan. He didn’t have flowing jet-black hair, piercing blue eyes, or a jaw carved out of granite. To be honest, he was one of those men you have to look at twice to realize he’s so much more than just another attractive man. Yet, he had played a starring role in almost every book she’d written. He just didn’t know it.

His presence wasn’t particularly commanding. At least, not at first glance. Sure, at six-foot-five he towered over most people, but Steve’s easy-going smile put most everyone at ease. He wasn’t a ruthless businessman, but he and his partners worked hard, and the computer consulting firm they started five years before was thriving. His natural charm and the dregs of a southern drawl leftover from his childhood in Virginia were a winning combination, both with clients and most every woman he’d ever met.

Every woman. She dropped into her chair, and the swiveling began again. As his friend, she was too aware of Steve’s social life. He dated a lot. So much, that she once teased him about trying to conquer Christendom with his endless parade of Christies, Kirstens, Crystals, and Kristines.

At first she’d been a little shocked to discover the super-model caliber of women Steve attracted. Once she got to know him better, she understood his allure. Sadly, by then she was already married and just self-aware enough to know that though she was attractive; she didn’t believe she had what it took to topple the competition.

She wondered if he let those women know what a geek he truly was, or if he kept his Battlestar Galactica obsession carefully concealed under his tailored suits. He probably kept those little factoids under wraps until he was ready to cut his woman-of-the-moment loose. Then he’d whip it out like a lightsaber. That degree of latent nerdiness was too strong to hold back forever.

So say we all.

Kicking back, Sara stared at the blank wall above her desk until her vision went hazy. There was no denying her feelings for him though. Year after year, the attraction only grew stronger, and the results were starting to show through her carefully cultivated ‘friend’ persona. Thank goodness Steve wasn’t the least bit inclined to read her work.

Every hero she’d created seemed to have hints of red in his hair, but not one of them could be called a dead ringer for her buddy. Mainly because she could never quite find the right words for him. The exact shades russet and mahogany lurking in his auburn locks didn’t exist in the Pantone color wheel. The sun burnished skin so popular in the romance genre had nothing over milk glass purity of Steve’s complexion. His eyes sparkle with hidden depths—shockingly dark and beautifully expressive. She often thought they were the same rich chocolate brown of a melting Hershey’s bar sandwiched between graham crackers and a toasted marshmallow.

A tiny groan tangled in her throat and Sara shook her head, trying to dislodge the tantalizing image she had conjured. It was no use. She couldn’t deny it any longer—she wanted Steve. Wanted him so badly she could almost taste him.

I hope he tastes like chocolate….

Sara knew on some level she’d wanted Steve while she’d been married to Adam. In the year since her divorce became final, the want grew more pervasive and insistent. So insistent, that she’d been avoiding Steve for weeks. The surge of lust she battled each time she was near him frightened her. She couldn’t stand the thought of losing him as a friend—her best friend.

But it was getting harder and harder to keep her hands to herself.

The truth was, she’d shared more of herself with Steve than she had with anyone else in the world. Even her ex-husband. She was pretty sure she was the only woman he spoke to at length about the dangers of violating The Prime Directive when exploring strange, new worlds. She knew he had a replica of Captain Kirk’s Starfleet shirt in his closet because she’d given it to him, and he was acquainted with most of the skeletons in her closet. Most of them. He didn’t exactly know he was the secret to her success.

Grabbing a pen and legal pad, she pressed the ball point to paper, determined to come up with a new plan. Her avoidance scheme wasn’t working. She missed him. Missed his bright smiles and the rumble of his laugh. She needed to see him. See the dark heat that sometime flared in his eyes when he looked at her.

She tossed the pad and pen aside and closed her eyes. She hadn’t imagined those hot glances. Hell, just one of them was enough to launch a thousand fantasies. His warm hands splayed over her bare back. Her hair spilling over her shoulders like the heroine on a book cover, the ends teasing his facile fingers. She’d surrender to his plundering kisses, arcing into the heat of his palms and quivering like a leaf. The weight of his long, lean body crushing the breath from her lungs….

Sara sat up with a jolt. The corner of her cell phone peeked from beneath a stack of papers, calling to her as if the damn thing dialed itself. She couldn’t go on like this. Being near him was torture, and staying away from him unbearable. Galvanized by the hot rush of arousal flooding her veins, she snatched the phone from the desk.

Hey. A blush warmed her cheeks when she caught the husky timbre of her own voice, but there was no squelching the smile the sound of his voice sparked. He was exactly what she needed, and damn it all, she was tired of fighting.

Hey! I was beginning to think you’d forgotten all about me.

A teasing grin that colored his words. God, she loved that grin. Never. I’ve never known anyone else who looked so much like Richie Cunningham.

Ouch. First she ignores me, then she gets abusive.

She laughed. What are you doing?

I’m working, he said dryly. Shouldn’t you be working, too?

Falling back in her chair Sara heaved a dramatic sigh. I’m wrestling with my muse.

Tell Sharon Stone she should be more cooperative, or no one will hire her.

My muse is not Sharon Stone.

You picture your muse the way you want to, I’ll picture your muse how I see fit, he muttered. "Besides, she should be thankful for the gig. She hasn’t made a decent movie since Casino."

His faint drawl never failed to send a shiver down her spine. Taking a deep breath, she straightened her spine. So, are you busy tonight? Do you want to come over and watch a movie?

Tonight?

She caught the rhythmic clicking of a pen. The invitation had thrown him off balance. The clicking was a nervous tic. Just the same, his hesitance wasn’t doing much for her equilibrium.

If you don’t have other plans. She clenched her jaw in preparation for rejection.

Will Ms. Stone be around?

I can’t guarantee that, but I’ll provide beer and the movie, if you’ll pick up a pizza.

Okay. Try to pin Sharon down and hold her until I get there. She laughed, but he forged ahead with his prurient fantasies. "Do you have a video camera? Never mind, my imagination is better. I’ll be over at six, but I’ll be picturing the two of you all day. If