Truly, Madly, Deeply

He wasn’t at all surprised to find her publishing a wildly successful newsletter for singles all by herself. Once Jennifer had uncovered the information about Dateline: Dallas, Dustin had contacted a couple of his racing buddies who lived here, and they’d said everybody over eighteen and under forty knew about the newsletter. It was savvy, sexy and just plain fun.

Erica had tapped into a gold mine, and that was exactly the kind of drive and initiative he needed as part of his campaign to reorganize Ramsey Enterprises. He already had printing capability in San Antonio and Houston. Revenue from a hot newsletter could shore up the bottom line for the weeklies his father was so attached to.

Plus, if everything worked out, Dustin would have many opportunities to erase old memories and create new ones with Erica. It was a good plan, and it had to work. Yeah, the strategy might look like a Hail Mary pass in the last minutes of the game, but it was all he had going for him.

He took a deep breath and headed for the set of glass double doors leading into the building. Before he left Dallas, he would prove to Erica that he was capable of excellence in business and pleasure.

Inside the building he discovered stairs and no elevator. Damn. He liked the idea of whisking up to the third floor in an elevator before he could lose his nerve. Taking off his jacket, he started up.

By the second flight he’d convinced himself that this was the most insane idea he’d ever had. Erica wouldn’t be interested in sharing either business or pleasure with him. She’d sounded sort of distant on the phone. He’d been obsessing about her for years and it was possible she barely remembered him.

Still, he’d see this through. He might have screwed around most of his life, but he wasn’t a quitter. That’s why he’d scored so many touchdowns in high school—point him toward a goal and he was unstoppable. He’d just never seen any other goals worth the effort. Until now.

On the third floor he paused and put on his coat. Hefting his briefcase again, he started down the carpeted hallway toward number 310. His heart pounded like a sonofabitch, and not from the climb, either. He hadn’t been this nervous since…since driving out into the country with Erica.

He stood in front of her door for a good thirty seconds, working up to pushing her doorbell. Finally he squared his shoulders and did the deed. Footsteps sounded on the other side of the door.

When she opened it, he managed an automatic smile. He was a Ramsey, and Ramseys always led with a big, Texas-style grin. But he was afraid his eyes popped.

At the high school reunion a month ago, he’d had a chance to see how ten years had treated his classmates, and not a one of them had blossomed like this. Erica had been pretty back in high school, but not especially stylish, wearing both her blond hair and her denim skirts long. Now both were short. Very short.

Her hair was cut in the jaunty style so popular now, and her jungle-print skirt and black tank were the kind of seductive clothes that women wore these days. Not many wore them with this kind of flair though, because not many had been blessed with a long-legged, full-breasted figure that would never go out of style. She wore large wooden earrings and open-toed mules. Urban chick all the way.

He quickly checked her left hand and found bright red nails but no engagement ring. That was a relief.

“Hey, Dustin. It’s been a long time, huh?”

Way too long. “Sure has. You’re looking terrific.” It was lame, but the best he could do considering his jangled brain and dry throat.

“You, too.” Her tone was cautious. “Come on in.” She stepped back and gestured for him to enter.

“Thanks.” He could understand her caution. She wouldn’t want him to get the wrong idea, like maybe she was interested in a date. Assuming she remembered their history, he’d be the last person on earth she’d want to date, old Instant-o-matic Ramsey. Although he was mesmerized by the curve of her breasts and intoxicated by the exotic fragrance she wore, he managed to walk past her and into the room with what he hoped was confident ease.

He kept his voice casual. “So why didn’t you come to the reunion?” She’d cost him precious money by staying away. He’d expected to hook up with her there. When she hadn’t showed up and nobody had known her whereabouts, he’d tried the phone listings in various Texas cities, never suspecting she’d shortened her last name to Mann. He’d had to hire Jennifer to dig up that information.

“Reunion? Oh, yeah, I guess it is ten years, isn’t it? I didn’t get the notice, probably because of my name change.”

“I wondered why you decided to change it.” He inhaled her perfume with relish. It was much more blatant and sexy than what she’d used in high school. Her makeup was more out there, too—pouting red lips and dramatic black lashes, even though he knew for a fact she was a natural blond. While taking off his Jockeys in his room after that fateful night with her, he’d found a blond hair tangled in with his darker ones.

“When I was in journalism at U.T. I decided I wanted a more dramatic byline.”

He nodded. “That sounds like you.” Dazed as he was by Erica, he had trouble focusing on his surroundings. Vaguely he registered a bright, sunny living room with lots of bookshelves, rattan furniture that gave the apartment a tropical look, a counter defining a small kitchen to his left and a hallway leading to the bedroom and bath to his right. Over her sofa hung a huge picture of some kind of flower. The rosy colors inside the flower made him think of sex, but anything would make him think of sex right now.

On an old wooden desk sat her computer, still turned on. The desk was cluttered with paper and advertising flyers. “I see you’ve been working on the newsletter.”

“Yeah, deadline coming up.”

He set down his briefcase and wandered over to the desk. He’d already seen a couple of issues, and he knew the advice column was the juiciest part, with the letters usually focused on sex. He glanced at the screen.

Dear Frustrated Franny,

You deserve long and delicious bouts of sex with many orgasms. Teach your guy to go the distance. Here’s one technique:

“Would you like some iced tea?”

He glanced up into those gray eyes of hers and swallowed. He’d give his cherished Harley jacket to know what she was thinking, now that they were face-to-face again. He’d become more experienced, but so had she. For example, she knew techniques for prolonging an erection. He might not have the edge, after all.

Wired as he felt, he could use two fingers of Jack Daniel’s to settle him down. “Tea would be great.”

She broke eye contact, as if she wanted to preserve her secrets. “Have a seat anywhere you like.”

“Okay.” He walked over to the sofa and sank down on the soft cushions. It would be an excellent make-out sofa, but he had a long way to go to overcome his previous reputation and be allowed to test-drive it.

“Are you hungry?” she called out again. “I have cookies.”

Sharing food with a business associate was always a good thing. He should keep his wits about him and remember tactics like that. “What kind?” he asked, remembering one of the other tricks of the food maneuver.

“Fig Newmans.”

He must have misunderstood her. “Fig Newtons?”

“Better. These are the organic version put out by Paul Newman and his daughter Nell.”

“Oh. Sounds good.” The cookies might be made from seaweed and tofu, but he’d eat the damned things. Urban chick or not, Erica obviously was still into the environmental stuff. He glanced at the magazines on the coffee table and noticed they were back issues of Mother Earth News.

He wondered if he had time to sneak back to the computer and read about her techniques for prolonging an erection. Not that he needed to read them, of course. He didn’t have that problem anymore. For another thing, focusing on the problem might even make it happen when he finally got his second chance. Now that would be a pisser.

“Here we are.” She walked into the room carrying a wooden tray with a pitcher of iced tea, two frosted glasses and a plate mounded with what looked like fig bars. “If you’ll pick up those magazines, I’ll set the tray there.”

He leaned over and scooped up the magazines. From this angle, if he made any kind of effort, he could look right up her skirt. He made no effort. Just watching the way her thighs brushed lightly together as she walked was causing enough damage. He couldn’t seem to concentrate on anything but sex where Erica was concerned.

First things first. He needed to sell her on the idea of expanding her newsletter. Once they’d agreed on that he could turn his attention to other things, and not before.

She poured the tea and sat in the chair on the other side of the coffee table. “So. You have a proposition for me?”

He wondered if she’d deliberately made that sound like a sexual challenge, as if she found it difficult to believe a three-minute wonder could manage a decent business proposal. Maybe his performance ten years ago was coloring everything for her, too. God, he hoped not.

Wrapping his hand around the cold glass of iced tea, he picked it up and took a swallow. Good, strong tea. He looked her straight in the eye. “I’d love to take you and your newsletter to the next level.”

Her gaze flickered. “My newsletter?”

At least she hadn’t laughed. If she’d laughed, he would have been toast. “I think you should consider widening your scope. Ramsey Enterprises could provide a support structure that would allow you to really try your wings and achieve greater satisfaction from your efforts.”

Hey, that sounded pretty good. Maybe he was better at business negotiations than he thought. He’d decided not to mention the weeklies until later on, after she was hooked on the idea. According to Jennifer’s info, Erica used to work for the Dallas Morning News. After being involved with a major daily, she might think a weekly wasn’t impressive enough.

She frowned in obvious confusion. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Then again, maybe he sucked at business negotiations. He sighed. “You have a great product. I think you could franchise it.”