One Little Kiss (Smart Cupid) Read online

  5. Blow. Her. Mind.

  Eyes glued to the promise of those words, Kate adjusted the straps of her sundress in an effort to distract herself from the sexy hum building inside her body. Clearly, the book had been a bestseller for a reason. After a quick glance at the door, she turned the page and read the next words aloud, her voice a near-whisper. “Embrace your shared moments of humanity and laughter, your partner’s imperfections, and her playfulness—that’s where the sexual magic lives. Invest in her as a person, show deeper interest. It’s not about the sex. The sex is only one factor. It’s about knowing who she is.” Barely breathing, she closed the book.

  Yowza.

  Kate had known she’d gain some insight into Jake from reading his book, but she never bargained on feeling seduced by his romantic, sexy words. But she had been. Seduced. And now, more than ever, she needed to know how the man who’d written this list had become the man who refused to believe in love. Because from what she’d just read, not only did this man believe in The One, but he’d treasure every inch of her.

  And what woman doesn’t want that?

  Chapter Five

  Jake wasn’t sure when, or if, the hurricane would hit landfall, or how long the storm might last, but he’d prepared as if they’d be facing the apocalypse. Growing up in a situation that felt like the bottom might drop at any minute had made him a guy who prepared. Lots of folks gave him a hard time for being rigid, emotionally distant, always seeking perfection, but he felt more grounded when everything was in order. Dealing with a father who bullied his family over a lost hoodie or a late dinner made a kid grow up fast. Shut down fast, too.

  He gave his preparations the once-over. Boarded up, the living room fell dark without the electricity, lit only by two hurricane lamps and the candles he’d set out in mason jars on every table and in the fireplace. He was surprised by the effect. If he hadn’t uttered the words “stuck here all night” the upshot might have been romantic. Not that he was aiming for romance. He most certainly was not. But stuck here all night? Not the most generous way to frame the situation, even if he hadn’t been expecting an overnight guest. Especially not one with a set of curves and legs that wouldn’t quit.

  Suddenly claustrophobic, he pulled at his crewneck and shoved aside the disarming thoughts. His brusque words and uncomfortable feelings had nothing to do with Kate Bell or her idealized notions about soulmates and outspoken desire for perfect sex.

  Perfect sex. The words were still echoing through his brain when he heard the soft footfalls of bare feet against the hardwood. He turned to see her approaching the fireplace, following a path lit by the glow of her flashlight. The room’s shadows played across her face. She was beautiful, straight up, pin-up girl gorgeous, all curvy and blonde. Clad in a killer red dress with barely-there straps and a sheer skirt, she was like a vision out of a man’s dreams.

  His dreams.

  But there was something else. Something she’d said earlier rang in his ears. “Don’t give me the sweetheart treatment.” As if she was judged on her femininity more than she liked. Jake suspected there was more to her than beauty—although there was a helluva lot of that going on. But more, too. Intelligence. Determination. A kind heart. He was curious, more so than he’d been about a woman in a long time.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey.” He swallowed hard and gestured toward the floor. “Ready to ride out the storm?”

  In a spot away from the unprotected skylights, he’d set up a makeshift camp next to the fireplace. Bottled water, a stack of sandwiches, a Thermos of coffee, an open game of Scrabble, a few other board games, and a battery-operated radio. Plus, all kinds of snacks.

  Kate wrapped both arms around her chest in a sweet, protective gesture that inadvertently enhanced the whole pin-up girl view. “Looks like we’ve got enough supplies for a week.”

  Jake nodded his acknowledgment and looked away. Hell, he was only human. He cleared his throat. “Never hurts to be prepared. And Scrabble is…”

  “The best board game ever.”

  “Love Scrabble.” He pinned her with a look. “But I’m competitive. Don’t go easy on me.”

  A smile tugged at the edges of her mouth. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Hungry?” he asked.

  “Thank you,” she said, their words overlapping. “I am…hungry.” She drew in a breath and handed him the pain reliever. “And…I’m also really sorry.”

  He held up the bottle. “For emptying my Tylenol supply?”

  “No, I mean…” Still wrapped in that protective gesture, she looped her index finger inside the tiny red strap at her shoulder. “I’m sorry about my behavior.”

  Jake tried to concentrate, but his gaze kept drifting to her shoulder. He’d been in a sex-free zone for longer than he cared to admit. Concentration was tough. “Your behavior?”

  “Earlier. On the tarmac. In the hallway.” She let out a long sigh. “The martinis and the winking and the less-than-appropriate questions.”

  He waved her off. “You don’t need to worry about anything. Do you feel better?”

  “Yes, I do.” Kate shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “Or I would if we could forget everything I said about my ex and the whole star-spangled sex thing…” Her words drifted off in a mixture of desperation and hope.

  “Yeah, that’ll be difficult.” Jake smiled, amused by her obvious chagrin. “And, not to get too personal, but I think your point was that the sex was less than star-spangled.”

  A charming pink blush colored her cheeks. “Yes.”

  “No worries. All’s forgotten.” He set the plastic bottle on the mantle above the fireplace. “Pain officially killed.”

  She smiled over at him. He returned the smile and took a step back. Then another. Kate Bell was a love blogger sent to fuck up his peaceful world. He needed to remember that. But damned if he could keep from smiling.

  She nodded at the radio. “Any news?”

  Putting more distance between them, Jake picked up the battery-operated radio. “Only one way to find out.” He flipped on the power, tuned to the AM frequency, and dialed through the interference to a local emergency station.

  A series of high pitched sounds preceded the start of the announcement. “According to the Caribbean Oceanic & Atmospheric Center, Dante has been downgraded from a Category 1 hurricane to a tropical storm. Atmospheric conditions associated with El Niño have made it difficult for hurricanes to develop this season and Dante will be no exception. Nevertheless, island officials ask people to remain vigilant and indoors.”

  The broadcaster delivered additional news and instructions in an easy islander accent. But no crisis data, no evacuation order. “Sounds like we’re going to get lucky.”

  Her eyes widened comically at the edges. “Oh yeah?”

  “Not that kind of lucky,” he teased. “But it does sound like we’re not going anywhere tonight.” He tuned in to the classic blues station and eased onto the faux fur blanket next to the stone hearth. Once settled, he placed a sandwich and a single serving bag of Sunchips onto a paper plate. “Not exactly five star, but…”

  “Thank you.” Accepting his no-cook, emergency-style meal, she took a seat next to him on the blanket. Close, but not too close. The room grew quiet, save the wind whistling outside the paneled windows. He ripped open his chips.

  She cleared her throat. Took a bite of the sandwich. “This is good. Better than my usual Friday afternoon splurge at the deli on 4th and Lex.” She made a sound of appreciation that had him wishing he’d meant the other kind of lucky, but he’d be a damned fool if he gave in to that kind of thought. She plainly wanted—needed—love and romance, the whole package he couldn’t give. Except her mouth was so inviting. And her neck… But then she said, “Do you ever miss New York?”

  And—boom. Just like that, he felt the immediate shutdown of his expression. His self-imposed exile from New York was a personal topic and a great place to start an interview. He drew in a breath and
tried to stay cool. “Part of Smart Cupid’s company line?”

  “What? No. I only meant…” Her words trailed off, and he waited silently, hoping to be wrong, hoping he wasn’t being played. “From what I can tell, you’ve been away a long while, and I know what that’s like. To be away from your family. Away from home.”

  The muscles in his jaw clenched. The subject of home and family was as off-limits as his boxer briefs. “And yet, you’re not in Ohio.”

  She set down her plate, not looking at him as she straightened. “No, I’m not.”

  “Why not?” He watched her from across the blanket as the sound of the rainfall against the skylights reverberated between them. Time to put the love blogger in the hot seat.

  Her response was quiet but certain. “Because I need to be my own person.”

  Surprised by her candor, he pressed for more. “And how is that different than me?”

  Still avoiding his gaze, she continued. “Because unlike you, I’ve never been taken seriously, and I want to be.” She moved the plate in a circle, clockwise. “But until my dad can go into the Arcadia grocery store and hold my by-lined, full-colored copy in his hands, well, to him, to my whole family, I’ll just be the dream-filled girl wasting her time in New York, when I should be home, running the business.”

  A bitter sound formed in the back of his throat. “Being taken seriously isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

  Her next softly spoken words were a challenge. “Well, at least I’m not hiding.”

  “And I am?” He hated the sudden cynicism in his voice, but living through the fallout of that damned book, not to mention his marriage, had killed some deep-rooted part of him. “Is that the theory my sister is currently floating? Or are you just another woman who’s read the book and feels like she knows me?”

  Her eyes flashed, stormy as the skies outside. “Who says I read your book?”

  The muscles tightened in his jaw. “By a ‘factor of sex,’” he said, adding air quotes as a reminder. “A few hours ago you were citing the damn thing. Or was that the martinis talking?”

  She winced. “Knowing the title of your bestseller isn’t exactly ‘citing the damn thing,’” she said, throwing in a set of air quotes for good measure. “Why are you being so defensive?”

  “Defensive?” He jumped on her words, not believing for a second she wasn’t working an angle for her interview. He stabbed at his glasses. “You really expect me to believe you don’t know?”

  “Know what?”

  “About my marriage, my career…the blowback from the whole mess.” Her reply was a simple shake of her head. “Well, you are one in a million.”

  He ran a hand over the stubble on his chin, drifting back in time. The Sex Factor had hit all the lists. He’d made it. He was successful. Out of Brooklyn. Best time of his life. Blessed with a great marriage—or so he’d thought—a strong, respectable counseling practice and a commercial literary triumph that would’ve allowed him to focus on serious psychological study, he was flying high. And then—bam—all of it, gone.

  Overnight he’d become the relationship therapist with the cheating wife. He remembered the humiliation, the professional embarrassment. Rather than stay in New York, he’d taken the money left after the divorce and bought the island. A year later, he built the resort, a place for couples to get away from all the bullshit, to rediscover love. But not him. Never him.

  Had he ever been able to feel that way? He wanted to think so. But if he ever had been able to, he couldn’t anymore. Not now. He was broken.

  “If you want to talk…” He shook away his thoughts and watched her absently moving a few tiles around the Scrabble board. “Off the record.”

  “Off the record?”

  She offered a small smile. A short nod. Stacked up a few game tiles.

  Damn. She was sweet, and he hadn’t talked, really talked, with anyone in… “Off the record, my ex is the reason I came to Paradise. To get away from the media circus of my divorce.” Forget the promises thrown back in my face.

  Hell, even standing at the altar in his monkey suit, he’d felt uneasy, unsettled. Fashion shows and the Grammys were held in Gotham Hall, not weddings. Not his kind anyway. He’d wanted St. Brigid’s in the East Village, but the 19th century church wasn’t built to accommodate the four-hundred strangers gathered to wish him well. His ex had always been more interested in his celebrity than in him. He’d simply failed to notice.

  He felt a sharp pain in his chest, like his heart flinched. Yeah, he’d felt like something was missing with his ex. But she’d seemingly adored him. His instincts had told him that whatever was missing, they’d figure it out. They’d build it. Together. Forever.

  Wrong. Wrong in every single way.

  How could he trust his instincts again?

  The room grew quiet except for the wind, the rain, the click-clack of letter tiles rising in a tower at the edge of the board. Kate sighed. “My ex, the one who fit the company-line package to a T, emptied out his side of the closet and left me with a box of donuts.”

  Jake made a sound at the back of his throat. So she’d had it rough, too. “Not a nice guy.”

  “No,” she said in a soft, faraway voice. “Not a nice guy.”

  Stupid jackass. His mouth twisted to one side. “Mine slept with my agent, or rather, my ex-agent, all while I was building my career as an authority on romantic relationships.” He rubbed at the back of his neck, not quite believing he’d told her. “Didn’t exactly make me look like an expert.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Yeah—ouch.”

  Thinking about it made his teeth ache. Maybe he was hiding, but fighting it out in New York had felt impossible. Even now, the last thing he wanted to do was respond to his ex-agent’s calls demanding that he get back to the city and stand by his commitment to a second book. What a joke. Jake could terminate the damn contract based on the little known who-can-write-a-book-for-an-asshole clause. If there wasn’t such a clause, well, for fuck’s sake, there ought to be. He scrubbed his face with both hands.

  Kate cleared his throat before saying, “So your wife—”

  “Ex-wife.”

  “Ex-wife.” She met his gaze with what felt like a combination of empathy and surprise. Empathy, courtesy of the fact that she’d experienced a recent love disaster, and surprise that he’d revealed something so personal. “So she didn’t love you the right way. That doesn’t need to make you cynical. Not forever anyway. You’ve got to know what you wrote is amazing.”

  Jake slanted his gaze in her direction. “So you admit you’ve read it?”

  “No. Yes. Part of it.” She picked up a bottle of water, opened it and took a swallow. “I may have bought a new copy on the way to the airport.”

  He raised his brows above the glasses. “A new copy?”

  “Let’s just say, this was a last minute assignment. I’m only here because…long story, short…it might be the only way to save my career.”

  “Since I’m not going to do the interview…” He gave her a smile that let her know he was no longer completely averse to the idea. “What’s your backup plan?”

  She snapped the strap of the sundress. “Oh, I brought plenty of things for a backup plan.”

  He kept his expression neutral. “The dress?”

  “Definitely the dress.” She laid down tiles for the word “BIKINIS” in the center of the board. “Maybe even a few bikinis…”

  “Bikinis, huh?”

  “Several bikinis, actually.” She laughed and tilted her head toward the board. “Twenty-six points. Double word score.”

  Jake nodded, amused, and a little impressed by her game. Not to mention her laugh. Man, she had a great laugh. “So you’re here to save your career and get over your ex?”

  She gave him a sidelong glance. “Not necessarily in that order.”

  He nodded. Interesting. “Career versus love. The age-old question.”

  LOVE. She built the word on the edge the board. �
��Not much of a question for me. I always go into a relationship looking for love.” She shrugged. “Maybe that’s my problem.”

  “What’s the alternative?”

  “What’s the alternative?”

  “To love?” She blushed a pretty pink that had him wondering how far past the edge of her sexy dress that sweet blush extended. “Take things as they come.”

  Man did he want to see where a kiss with her could lead. But that was stupid. She wasn’t here for that. Certainly not from him.

  Right?

  “So you’re not here for a relationship?”

  She chewed on her bottom lip, which only made him want to kiss her more. “I know that’s what I want. One day. But maybe forgetting about that for a while is what I need for now. Thinking it’s time for something different. Spontaneous.”

  He’d kill for that to be true. “You sure about that?”

  “Hard to say. I’ve never done that sort of thing.” Another glance up from beneath those lashes. “Just forgotten about the future and jumped a guy.” Her voice had gone low. Become sultry. Irresistible. “First time for everything, right?”

  “First time.” First time in a long time. Not smart. Not smart at all. He cracked open a bottle of water, hoping it would cool down his thoughts. “What else do you write for Smart Cupid? Besides the Man Candy Crush of the Month.”

  “You mean, besides the bachelor profile,” she said, her tone laced with teasing reproach. “I write a daily blog about the dating scene in Manhattan. Modern Love. Relationships.”

  “Ah, relationships,” he repeated, raising the water bottle in a mock toast.

  “With a capital R.” Her fingers sifted through the letters, adding the R-word to the game. “But there’s room for other possibilities, too.” She offered a smile. “Flirtations. Passions. I blog about everything. Friday Night Love Bingo at the Brooklyn fire station. Speed dating in Tribeca. No topic is off-limits.” She tucked a blonde curl behind her ear, a gesture he found oddly endearing. “Last week, we featured an online quiz about finding his passion threshold.”