~ Risk Takers ~

by

Eleanor Cocreham

She watched through the window as the two men settled into their chairs. Taking a deep breath, she tightened her grip on Gulliver’s leash and stepped outside.

The dog fought the unfamiliar restraint, giving Emily only a cursory glance at the architect. One was enough. Her attempt to look sexy was wasted. A man wearing multicolored Armani wasn’t likely to get turned on by anything she wore.

When she drew closer and heard the deep timbre of the man’s voice, she froze. What were the odds the famed architect held in such high esteem would land at her feet in a pile of shit the moment he arrived? No wonder her father had hustled her off to San Francisco on a buying excursion that very day. He’d trumped up a trip to get her out of town until the architect cooled off. Damn. Now what? Retreat? She could. Neither man had noticed her.

Emily back stepped quickly and in her nervousness to escape, she dropped Gulliver’s leash and he bolted. She stood horror-stricken as he tore through the clutter of trash toward the newcomer.

Jonathan made a frantic grab for the dog’s collar and missed as Gulliver raced past. Mike reared back as the exuberant animal’s two huge paws landed on his chest. Choking on the whisky he’d just swallowed, he sprayed the front of his pants with scotch. His chair teetered and both of his hands went up to stop the drooling, pink tongue from bathing his face. Regaining his balance, he motioned to Jonathan for help and caught a glimpse of the woman scrambling after the dog’s leash lose her balance in the scattered debris.

Jonathan seemed to be frozen in place, and Mike shoved the mammoth dog aside, leaped up and reached out to help her. Instead of breaking the woman’s fall, his feet got entangled in the long leather strap and he followed her down onto a thick mound of sawdust.

Landing in a most embarrassing position, Mike’s hands spanned voluptuous breasts, his lower extremities were wedged firmly between splayed legs, and his face was buried into warm skin drenched in scents of jasmine and gardenia. He lay still, as if afraid to move.

Emily knew why he wasn’t moving. Pinned down by hips encased in soft, somewhat damp linen trousers, she felt his body’s instant response. She’d worked with enough gay men in the modeling profession to know such a reaction from that type of man was unlikely. She had pegged this man wrong. Despite the choice of flamboyant colors, Randolph was straight and definitely into women.

With the man’s tanned face hovering close and his warm whisky breath teasing her lips, her eyes closed and her body pulsed to life. She shifted unconsciously to accommodate the increasing pressure against her thigh, centering him in place. Seconds later a sudden puff of air feathered her face. Her eyes popped open in time to catch the man’s lips tighten as though suppressing either a grimace or a grin. She couldn’t tell which.

Damn. Damn. Damn! In less than ten seconds she’d acknowledged this stranger’s arousal in the most elemental way. And from the look on his face, he knew it.

She bucked and tried to get out from beneath him. He didn’t budge. Rotating her hips, trying to dislodge that part of him she didn’t want to feel, she grabbed his shoulders with her hands and pushed upwards. He still didn’t move. Her chest began to hurt like it had in childhood when she was held down and tickled by her brothers.

Her breath exploded in a hiss. “Get off me.”

His eyes were shut tight and his teeth were clenched. His lips barely moved in a rush of whispers. “Don’t. Wiggle.”

Emily realized then that her attempt to separate them was adding to his dilemma; that he was so hard he couldn’t extricate himself without Jonathan noticing his bulging zipper. She wondered how the man was going to solve his embarrassing predicament until he somehow managed to remove his hands from her breasts to the terrace floor. Then she decided anything else he did to free himself would be possible.

Anything, that is, except stand. She stopped struggling and waited watching warily as he opened his eyes and unclenched his teeth, his gaze drifting slowly over her face. Was it recognition or distraction he sought studying the freckles that smattered her cheeks, her mouth, the cleft in her chin?

While the architect’s face hovered near hers, Emily realized he was not her father’s contemporary as she’d expected and was probably in his late thirties. Her eyes widened in appreciation of his wavy brown hair and chocolate-colored eyes rimmed by lashes thick as caterpillar bristles. A small white scar crossed the bridge of his nose, and she wondered fleetingly how it got there.

Then his eyes fixed again on her mouth, which under the circumstances was a huge mistake. She became conscious of his tangy aftershave and the all male scent and her pulse quickened. Heat whipped through her when his hot scotch breath teased her lips. So close. So tempting. In one wild, reckless moment she had the insane urge to taste that mouth.

His face dropped as if he read her thoughts and his were the same. She licked her lips and without volition raised her head.

Before either of them could react to the heady moment, Jonathan reached down, lifted Mike by the belt and stood him on his feet. Pulling Emily upright, he asked, “You okay, honey?”

“I’m fine,” she said shakily, shuddering at how close she’d come to kissing a man she didn’t know. What was she thinking? Obviously not about abstinence.

She shot the arrogant Mr. Randolph a quick glance. With his back turned she couldn’t help wondering what was going through his mind as he reached for his half-empty whiskey glass.

Jonathan began plucking bits of wood from Mike’s shirt. “That was a nasty spill. Are you all right, Mike?”

Mike nodded, downing the drink in a continuous swallow.

Emily clenched her fist. Her father was showing more concern for the architect than he was for her. As he continued to dust off Mike’s clothes, she heard her dad say, “That fall was so unexpected, I was afraid you’d been hurt when you didn’t get up.”

She grinned and faked a cough, murmuring only loud enough for Mike to hear, “Oh, he got up.”