Naughty Tonight(3)

What had gotten into him? Sweat beaded on his forehead, his fingers tensed around his keys. Dammit, he should not be thinking about her like this… Not his Kimmy. Not ever.

She was his friend. And he wanted it to stay exactly that way.

Ronnie released a disappointed “Oh” as they stopped at his brand-spankin’-new Jeep, a shiny surf blue with chrome wheels, and her lips contorted as if she’d expected something more.

And didn’t they always? Women. As if a guy who’d just opened his own design company could ever afford a BMW or something.

Hell, up to right now he’d been mighty proud of his new buy, that he was doing well enough to afford it. Jackson hit the alarm, no idea why he said, “Kimmy loves it, borrows the keys whenever she can get away with ’em.”

Ronnie peeled with annoyingly high-pitched giggles. “Probably likes to sit in your driver’s seat and masturbate.”

“Whoa.” Everything in him froze and Jackson, who was about to swing open the door for her, stopped in his tracks. “Don’t ever talk about Kimmy like that.” Not ever.

Face flaming at the thought of his best friend doing anything sexual, Jackson shoved away lewd images. He would not want her.

Ronnie just shrugged and giggled again. “Okay, whatever. But your secretary’s crushin’ big-time. Obviously. She just asked you out.”

“No, not Kimmy. She just wanted me to show at the party.”

“Okay. Believe what you want.”

He would. He had to. He loved Kimmy too much to want anything more with her—nothing good could come out of him acknowledging the change in them lately. Nothing.





Chapter Two



Mirror, mirror, on the wall…

“Don’t fret about it, Kim. Just put it on. Live. Feel,” Mel encouraged, lingering in the doorway, sleek corn-silk hair cast over one shoulder. Tall, fair and devastatingly beautiful, not to mention single by choice, Mel was the life of their condo unit, always throwing extravagant parties. “It’ll feel like second skin in no time.”

Didn’t she wish? But Kim had known she could count on the red-lipped, self-proclaimed diva for the direction—the oomph—she so needed. She had not, of course, told Mel why she wanted to look hot tonight. Only that she needed to.

“I’ll try,” she didn’t exactly promise. “I think I’d be more comfortable venturing out there in nothing but my bare ass though. At least I wouldn’t have to worry about tripping in heels.”

“You’ll be fine,” Mel giggled. “Guests are arriving, darlin’. I need to get out there. Just don’t. Chicken. Out.”

Blowing her a kiss goodbye, Mel ducked out. Kim swallowed as the door clicked shut with deafening finality, glaring at her reflection. Imagining him behind her, arms encircling her waist, gathering her into his embrace. Kissing her neck.

Kim forced the fantasy from her mind. Nope. Not anymore.

I’m just not into getting serious. That was how he’d broken up with her all those years ago, back in high school just after prom. Let’s be friends, he’d offered.

So they had been. Great friends, the best of the best as years waxed by.

Kim hadn’t loved him then. But she did now.

And she had to face it. It was over. Finished. Finite.

She had no hope. Not with him. Jackson didn’t want her, not enough to get over his fear of relationships and give them a shot.

Tears pooled in her eyes and Kim forced them back so not to run the mascara Mel had applied.

Sure, she was just trying to punish him—he deserved it, dammit—but tonight she would be sexy. As Mel promised, she had the potential with the right clothes on and a few drinks to loosen her up. And if Jackson didn’t like it, he could just be jealous. Just go to hell. She deserved some male attention—and he wasn’t giving it to her. Not in the way she needed. Tonight, she proved—to no one but herself—that she was a desirable woman.

And Jackson was just an idiot.

It was the only way she’d get over him.

Clutching to that resolution, Kim shed dark jeans and that godawful lipstick and tear-stained pink blouse, cotton panties and comfort bra.

Mel, thrilled Kim was stepping out of the box, had provided this evening’s outfit and a quick trip into Victoria’s Secret, the new undergarments. Moving like a robot, Kim clipped the lacy gold bra into place—ick, how it scratched—and stepped into the matching butt digger—er, thong—then a stretchy black skirt. Next came a shimmering black undershirt and cropped gold sweater that buttoned twice at the front. Borrowed jewelry and two-inch sling-back heels Kim was sure she couldn’t walk in…

This time, as she squared her shoulders, wobbling to stand straight in those circus-act shoes and face herself in the mirror, Kim saw the her she could be. Big, beautiful brown eyes. Full, pink cheeks. Lush, kissable lips.