Going to Extremes

“Actually, that was Dom Perignon. I just happen to agree.”

“I hope this isn’t as expensive as it tastes. I have plebeian preferences, you remember. An occasional beer does me fine.”

“It’s never too late to refine your palate.” Some devilment flashed in her eyes. “Actually, what would people think of the Master of Moderation swilling champagne before five? Très extravagant.”

“No doubt.” He’d only been in the room with her for ten minutes and he was acting out of character. He put the glass on the table.

“Come on, enjoy it, Dan. I’ll never tell.” She touched his hand, just a brush of fingers, but a feeling shimmied through him like tires on ice.

“So,” she said, “you wanted to get together to get our stories straight?” She raised brows as delicate as Japanese calligraphy. “That we met for the first time here? That we know each other’s work…not each other’s…everything?”

He grimaced at the deception. “I know that sounds bad, but I thought it would be best.”

“You’re right.” She gave him a steady look. “If people knew about us, the focus would shift to us as a couple, not us as authors, which is what matters on this tour.”

He’d always liked the way Kathleen cut to the chase.

The mischief returned to her green eyes. “I mean, we wouldn’t want anyone to know that Dr. McAlister once spent an entire weekend in bed, only going to the door for pizza, right?”

“Lord, no.”

“Or that he once had sex in an apartment hot tub?”

“That either,” he said, wincing at the memory.

“No one would believe it if I told them.”

“I hardly believe it myself.”

“Exactly.” She paused, unfathomable emotion in her silence. “Talking about what happened wouldn’t help my credibility, either.” She snatched her lip between her teeth—a sign of hurt—and guilt seized him.

“I’m sorry, Kathleen, about how it ended. I was abrupt and I know that I hurt you.”

She held up her hand. “Don’t apologize, Dan. It was time. We were done.” She stuck her chin up, pride bright in her eyes. “I know I was too intense for you.”

“We were young.”

“And clueless.” She managed a choked laugh. He tried to read her expression, but she wouldn’t hold his gaze. She tipped the delicate glass to her lips and swallowed fast—also not like her. Kathleen took her time with champagne.

He watched her pretty throat undulate, felt the old desire rise in him. Ten years had passed, but he felt the same.

They’d brought out the worst in each other, gotten completely swept away. The whole world shrank down to the size of the two of them and their bodies. Toward the end, Kathleen had gotten irritable and elusive, which had made him even more single-minded in pursuing her. He’d failed classes, let his practicum patients down, couldn’t think of anything but being with her. Not even academic probation had scared him. In the end it had been an inappropriate jealousy that made him realize that he’d let his life spin out of control.

He remembered it all, sitting here, watching her put down her empty glass, lick her soft lips and give him that look—the one that held both challenge and promise, the one he’d sunk into, lost himself in.

He yanked away his gaze and drained the glass as if it held beer on a sunny day. He extended it for a refill. He shouldn’t be drinking so much—and certainly not champagne—but this was a special occasion, right? He’d cut himself some slack this once.

She poured champagne into both their glasses, lifted hers and looked him straight in the eye. “To being older and wiser.” She ticked her glass against his, the delicate ring a warning bell in his head. “And to keeping our secret.”

As the champagne headache kicked in, he wasn’t sure the first was true or the second would be easy.

JUST DESSERT to go, Kathleen thought, gritting her teeth as the dinner with Dan, their agents and Rhonda Lockhart, the publicist from Dan’s house, eased to a close. She’d achieved her goal—behaved with her usual flair and kept JJ off the trail of any dynamic between her and Dan. Dan had managed just fine—cool as gazpacho fresh from the fridge. Sometimes she’d kill for some of his restraint. Her skin itched, her stomach jumped and her heart skittered in her chest like a hockey puck.

At least she didn’t have that hollow feeling that had started that night with Troy, the last man she’d been with. Something was definitely amok with her, which added another knot to the string of knots she’d been tying in her stomach since she’d agreed to this book tour.

Rhonda—their scheduler, media hound and general gofer for the tour—had chattered nonstop, which helped Kathleen hide her feelings. Rhonda reminded Kathleen of Reese Witherspoon—all perky and bouncy and blond, a regular publishing cheerleader. Kathleen could practically hear her pom-poms swish. Go, book tour, go. Win, book sales, win.

Rhonda had gushed over their books, passed out the tour itinerary and asked Kathleen to choose, then sample, her entrée as well as make dessert selections for the entire table.

Which Kathleen was happy to do, since it reminded her of all the joys in the world she loved. Once the desserts were ordered, she excused herself for the ladies’ room for some recuperation time.

Inside the flower-filled, mirrored anteroom, she flopped onto an elegant chaise. Just a few moments all alone was all she needed.

As if on cue, JJ strode in.

Damn.

“Oh, my God, that man has such a thing for you.” JJ plopped into the facing chaise and lit a cigarette, its end glittering like her eyes, hot with her scoop.

“Dan’s agent? Not my type,” Kathleen said, attempting a feint.

“Please.” JJ snorted smoke and flicked the mouth-end of her cigarette with her thumb.

“You mean the waiter?” Kathleen tried, all innocence.

“Don’t insult my vibe meter. I’m talking about you and Dan McAlister. Sparks were flying both ways, hon. I may be a narcissistic workaholic, but I’m not blind. Besides, the waiter was gay and Dan’s agent is dullsville.”

“We were just being polite to each other.”

“When you passed the rolls to him, your fingers touched and you practically dropped the basket.”

“I was weak from hunger.”

“And when you were tasting everyone’s food—”

“That was Rhonda’s idea, not mine.”

“Whatever. The point is that while you were doing it and moaning, he stared at you like you were having a climax.”

That made her breath hitch. JJ had hit on something. She did make similar sounds when she came. And, of course, Dan knew that. Which explained that extra gleam in his eyes.

“Speaking of that, does Dr. Moderate approve of recreational sex? Oh, who cares? Just sleep with the man. I don’t buy all that serenity bullshit.”

“JJ! Are you crazy? Why would I want to sleep with him?” She sat on her hands to hide the way they’d begun to shake.

“To show him he’s human. On general principles. Though…you know…what a book that would make. Kathleen Valentine, Pied Piper of Hedonism, converts Dr. Moderate to her religion of the senses. Herman would be ecstatic.”

“You’re insane, JJ.” Her heart tripped into double time.