Something to Talk About(5)

"Oh, this is going to be good." Dan Rice grinned gleefully. "Dave has the right idea. Those two can't be in the same room without starting a war."

"It'll be interesting. I know I'll be tuned in." Brent, the sound tech, gave Casey a thumbs-up.

Ignoring the jibes and laughter, Casey picked up her notebook and pen and marched from the room without uttering another word. She couldn't work with Rip O'Rourke. He was everything she loathed in a man. He was too laid back; he lacked ambition; he was obnoxious, arrogant, and...and...cheesy. Worse, he flaunted women like they were a different change of clothes to be worn each day.



       
         
       
        

Entering her cubicle, she slammed her notebook on her desk and logged onto the computer to check her e-mail. I mean really, what woman could be serious about a man who wore hairy chest t-shirts in public? And why does he make me forget all about sweet Ferrence?



Rip left the room right behind Casey, a grin stretching across his face. Things were going to get pretty interesting around there. Seeing her promo photo next to the board, he was reminded that he'd almost been tempted to take down the nun's habit. One of the sales reps had pinned it to the wall just as he'd arrived for the meeting. Rip didn't know why he'd taken the rap for the crime-maybe it was because she looked so damn sexy when she was riled.

It really made his day to get under Casey's skin. Ever since he'd started working at K-YAK, Rip had known tight-assed Casey Cramer needed a little shaking up. And he was just the man to do it.

He'd seen her interested looks from time to time. She'd blushed once when he'd caught her checking out his ass. The look he'd intercepted told him she was dying to see if it was as hard as it looked.

And don't tell me she wasn't checking me out back there in the conference room. She'd probably deny the attraction to the last gasp, but it was just a matter of time before she decided to take another little walk on the wild side. Good Ole Rip would be her tour guide. And this time, he wouldn't screw it up.

He didn't know when exactly the idea to take her to bed had occurred to him, but by now he'd been fantasizing for weeks about the different delights he would introduce her to. It would be for her own good. And with his friends nagging him to get married, bedding Casey would let him know if they were sexually compatible-an important factor in any marriage. Maybe the most critical factor, in his mind.

Even without the TBC challenge from his buddies to marry and raise a family, his pursuit of Casey Cramer had become a quest-a challenge of epic proportions. He was going to do this for all of mankind. Without a doubt, he faced an uphill battle against a formidable foe.

The inspiration was especially odd since she wasn't the sort of woman he normally preferred-big bosomed, free-spirited and highly sexed. Casey with her upper-crust mannerisms, petite figure and immaculate grooming should have given him the heebie-jeebies. Good Lord, his father would approve of her. That in itself should have him running in the opposite direction.

But there was something about her shining cap of natural-blond hair, cut short enough to reveal the tender curve of her jaw and the 'sweet spot' at the back of her neck, and the mouth that was a tad too lush to fit with the rest of her scrupulously severe image. That mouth betrayed her passionate nature. 

What he couldn't understand was why, after only two platonic dates, she'd dumped him without a word, explanation or even a "fuck-off." Maybe the "Dodi Incident" had done the damage.

He still winced at the memory of that screw-up. How was he to know his former bed partner was such a sports fan? The radio station had arranged a promotional event for charity and invited several first-string Houston Oilers players to attend as special guests. Casey had looked kind of cute, and definitely out of her element, in her Oilers T-shirt and designer jeans. He'd been watching her so much that night he'd never seen Dodi slip past security and rush for the dais where the radio personalities and players were seated.

One minute, he was at the podium making the introductions. The next, Dodi, clothed only in body paint-the team's colors, naturally-and the words 'Go Oilers Go!' painted across her chest -the O's circling each pert nipple-was flinging her arms around his neck.

By the time security had peeled Dodi away from him, leaving most of her 'clothing' smeared across his chest, he'd had time to only glance over his shoulder at Casey's quick retreat. The last look she'd flung his way had disgust written all over it.

The incident had made for great press, which delighted Dave, but it hadn't done a thing for his quest to win Casey over to Team Rip.

Quietly entering his cubicle on the other side of the short wall diagonal from Casey's, Rip eased into his office chair. He winced at the force with which Casey pounded away at the keys on her computer keyboard.

Rip leaned back in his chair, hands clasped behind his head, a satisfied grin spreading across his face.

Casey didn't know it, but that was repressed sexual tension attacking her keyboard-and he was the cause. Her prim little world was about to be turned upside down.

Dave had given Rip the "in" he'd been looking for. Let the unraveling begin.





3





Casey stifled a yawn and then continued to pick at her cordon bleu. She wondered why she had ordered it again, when she didn't particularly care for the dish. It was just habit-like her once-a-month early dinner date at the Country Club with her parents and her recent fiancé, Ferrence Rutherford.

The mention of her name drew her attention back to the conversation her mother had begun as soon as they were seated. "Casey, did you hear me?"

Out of a lifetime of practice, Casey had zoned out as soon as her mother had opened her mouth. It was an inherited talent. Others might construe her father's perpetually dazed expression in the presence of his wife as abject devotion, but Casey knew better. "I'm sorry, Mother, I must have been wool-gathering. What did you say?"

"I said, the president of the Ladies' Garden Club has decided to retire." Leona Cramer, still lovely in her mid-fifties, glanced expectantly at Casey. "Isn't that wonderful?"

"Millicent Danvers has been president for the last fifteen or so years, hasn't she?" Casey asked out of courtesy, considering she really didn't care one iota for either Millicent Danvers or the Ladies' Garden Club.

"Yes. She's done an outstanding job leading the effort to beautify Oak Hill Estates, hasn't she?"

"Yes, Mother, she's been wonderful." Casey took a large bite of the chicken and chewed slowly. She knew her mother wouldn't expect any further response until she had thoroughly masticated and swallowed. As dry as the chicken was despite the globs of melted cheese, she knew she'd be off the hook for at least the next five minutes. Perhaps Leona would move on to her next victim...er...subject.



       
         
       
        

"It's a perfect time for you to join, dear."

So much for that strategy. Casey took a moment to swallow her food and frame her response. "We've already discussed this, Mother, I'm not interested in joining."

"You have to join in order to run for president, Casey." Her mother always managed to lecture her as if she were a not-so-bright child.

"I don't plan to join, or to run for president, Mother." Casey wondered how many times she'd told her mother that very same thing.

"I just don't understand you sometimes," her mother lamented. "With your degree in horticulture, I would think you'd be more interested in gardening."

She counted ten, then replied with a small, tight smile, "I am interested in gardening. I host a radio program that's all about gardening and home care." Yet another point that didn't quite make it through her mother's hard head, no matter how many times Casey repeated it.

"Darling, when are you going to quit that dreadful job and do something worthwhile with your degree and talents?"

Leona Cramer's words caused Casey's blood pressure to shoot up, sending a rush of warmth to her cheeks. But, before she could respond, Ferrence jumped in.

"Leona, Casey is using her skills the way she chooses by providing practical advice to people who are learning the art of horticulture." He patted Casey's hand. "Don't you worry. When we're married, Casey will settle down. Won't you, darling?"

A prickling of unease settled across her shoulders, and she pulled her hand out from under his. In a low voice only he could hear, she said, "Even after we get married, I plan to continue with the radio station. I thought I made myself clear on that subject."

"Of course, darling...until we have children, that is." Ferrence held his smile. "Let's not upset your mother, just yet."

Casey took a deep breath. He was right, as usual. No one handled Leona as well as Ferrence.

"And when are you two little love birds going to get married?" Leona asked. "Have you finally set a date?"

Casey suppressed a groan and rushed to answer before Ferrence could, "No, we haven't. We've only been engaged for a couple of weeks." No way, was she going to let her fiancé and mother maneuver her into making that decision before she was good and ready-and the way she felt right now, that might take months-maybe, years.