Write It Up!: Rapid Transit / The Ex Factor / Brewing Up Trouble

A tall slender redhead caught his eye as he was pondering her hormonal composition, and she smiled at him. Naturally, Daniel smiled back. He waited for that kick to the gut that usually hit him when a pretty woman smiled at him that way, but it never came. Neither did the heated speculation about what she looked like naked that usually came right after the kick to the gut. Nor did the deep-seated sexual anticipation that had his fingers curling over imaginary breasts.

Which could mean only one thing.

He was so far gone on Julia that it was absolutely, unequivocally, irretrievably essential that Daniel get that woman into bed tonight, and enjoy every last inch of her. Twice. At least. Because maybe that, finally, would work Julia Miles out of his system, and put him back on the road to eternal hound-dogging perdition, which was where he wanted to be. Right?

Damn right.

Daniel had neither the time, nor the inclination, to be besotted with anyone. Besotment led to even worse things. Things like commitment and monogamy and chick flicks and remembering obscure milestone anniversaries like the day they discovered a gum wrapper on the street together. He had far more important things to do. He had a sensational story to write. A postadolescent dream job to keep. A lifestyle as an arrogant alpha male to maintain. And it was about time he remembered that.

Instead of remembering how good it felt to have his arm around Julia’s waist. And how nice she smelled. And how her hair caught the light in a way that made it look like liquid gold. And that soft, husky laugh that was just so damned sexy. And that afternoon they discovered the gum wrapper on the street together…

JULIA CAUTIOUSLY WATCHED the retreating back of her sixth speed-date of the night, whose identifying number looked way too much like what would appear under his mug shot, and wondered again what she was doing here. Oh, yeah. Trying to get a story for Tess magazine. She hoped Abby and Samantha were having more luck meeting write-worthy men than she was, and couldn’t quite curb the fear that they might have to scrap the whole story. Or at least her portion of it. So far, the only decent guy she’d met speed-dating was Daniel.

Which, okay, might provide her with all the material she needed for the story, since she’d pretty much decided he was her Mr. Right. But her contribution to the article was going to be pretty short and pretty boring if she didn’t have at least a few good guys she could hold up as examples. 40387—yeah, that was definitely a prison jumpsuit number—wasn’t anywhere close. She riffled through her notes for the night so far and sighed. Neither was any of the other guys.

And for this she’d dressed in a screaming red, lace-trimmed, curve-hugging slip dress? What a waste of perfectly good designer clothing.

She had flipped to a clean page and was tipping back her glass to suck up the last of her appletini—the way things were going, she needed every last drop of vodka she could absorb—when she saw Daniel sitting at the table of some tarty redhead in the corner of the room. Worse, he was smiling at the tarty redhead in much the same way he had smiled at Julia that first night they met. Worse still, he was holding the tarty redhead’s hand. Or maybe the tarty redhead was holding his hand. Hard to tell from this angle. In any event, they were both holding hands and neither seemed to mind very much.

What was he doing here? she wondered as something cool and heavy slithered into her stomach. Why was he still speed-dating when the two of them had been getting along so well? He’d told her that first night he was looking for companionship. So what was Julia? His faithful canine friend?

Okay, so she didn’t have any major claim on him, she reminded herself. And they’d only known each other a week. But they’d seen each other nearly every day this week, and they’d had a lot of fun. And, yeah, they’d done a lot of making out. That was part of the fun. Daniel had been totally affectionate with her, and God knew she’d felt affection—and then some—for him. The night they’d cooked dinner at her place had been one of the most enjoyable Julia had ever spent, even before the lip-locking on the couch. And things had only gotten better after that.

Okay, so maybe she hadn’t been as ready to do the horizontal boogaloo as he was, despite her claims to Tess at lunch Wednesday. That was actually a good sign. It was. It meant Julia cared enough for Daniel to want to make sure she didn’t screw things up with him. Sex could make people weird with each other if it came into a relationship too soon. Which—she had to be honest with herself—Julia had finally decided was what she and Daniel had.

Maybe she should have told him that, she thought now. Well, the worrying-about-things-getting-weird thing, if not the actual relationship thing, since guys tended to get really weird after that word came up. But she’d been afraid even that small mention of her feelings might spook him. Even when things were going really well between a man and a woman, guys didn’t want to cross that emotional bridge as soon as girls did. And if the man and woman weren’t progressing at quite the same pace in their relationship…

Something hot and scary splashed through Julia’s midsection. She had assumed Daniel was getting as serious about her as she was about him. He’d been as eager to see her from one day to the next as she had been to see him. They’d spent their final moments together every night locking lips in a way that indicated they were both fully sprung on each other.

But what if she was wrong?

Why was he speed-dating? she asked herself again. He knew she was still doing it, too. He had to have realized he might run into her at one of these things. But he’d done it, anyway. Evidently because he didn’t care if she saw him here. With a gorgeous, if incredibly tarty, redhead. Smiling at the tart. Holding her tarty hand. Still holding it as both of them stood up to say their goodbyes at the conclusion of their speed-date. Kissing her tarty cheek before leav—

Kissing her cheek? Julia realized in openmouthed amazement. He hadn’t kissed Julia’s cheek that first night! Just who did he think he was? Why, she ought to march over there right now and tell him—

What? she asked herself, deflating some. He’d never said he wanted to be exclusive with Julia. She’d never said that, either. She’d just figured he felt the same way she did about the way things were progressing between the two of them. She’d assumed he wasn’t seeing anyone else because he liked her well enough that he didn’t want to see anyone else. The same way she didn’t want to see anyone else, either. Because she liked him well enough, too.

She was such an idiot.

He was such a jerk.

The tarty redhead said something to him that made him laugh, and Julia’s stomach knotted tighter. Before she even realized what she was doing, she was palming her purse and walking slowly across the room. But he left the tart’s table before Julia reached them, so she turned to follow him.

She kept her distance as he went to the bar—was he getting the tarty redhead a drink, the way he’d gotten one for Julia that night?—then ducked behind a chatting couple when he turned to look behind himself. But he didn’t look back at the redhead, Julia noted. Instead, he seemed to be scanning the crowd, looking for someone else.

Jeez, just how many women was he hoping to meet tonight?

He picked up his order from the bar—one drink, the color of Scotch, she saw with some meager reassurance—and started to make his way back across the room. He was looking over his list of dates as he came toward her, so he didn’t see her standing where she was…still cowering behind the same two people who were now looking at her as if she were a complete moron. When someone accidentally bumped him, making him drop his list barely two feet from where she was standing—oh, all right, where she was cowering—Julia took her chance. Stepping forward, she scooped up the list just before he would have grabbed it himself, and stood.

He straightened, too, saying as he did, “Oh, thanks for getting that for me. I really appreci—”

And that was when his gaze connected with Julia’s and he realized who he was talking to.

“Julia,” he said softly.

“Daniel,” she replied tersely.

“I…” he began vaguely.

“You,” she remarked pointedly.

He smiled, that boyish, self-deprecating smile he’d used so successfully the first night they’d met.