Page 58 of Cougar Chronicles

Her skin tingled under his touch. “Amazing genes?”

“You’re beautiful, Stacy. But I’ve already told you that.”

Oh, yes, he was good, all right. Warmth flooded her cheeks and neck. She had no idea what to say, what to do.

Be Johnny Carson.

Advice from the therapist she’d seen before she and David decided to call it quits. She had complained that she never knew what to say in social situations, that she felt shy, awkward, and conspicuous. The therapist had said, “Be Johnny Carson. Ask the person questions about himself. Everyone likes talking about himself.” The only problem was, what to ask?

She took a sip of cosmo. “How about you? Have you ever been married?”

“Nope. Never had the pleasure. I was engaged once. It…didn’t work out.”

The writer in her sensed a story there, but she couldn’t pry. She wasn’t that brave. Hell, she wasn’t brave at all.

Why was she here again?

“Any kids?”

Shit. Foot in mouth. He’d never been married. How would he have kids?

He lowered his eyes for a second. Was that sadness? When he looked back at her, the question didn’t seem to faze him. “Nope. No kids for me either.”

“Sorry. You already told me you hadn’t been married. That was a stupid question.”

The left side of his mouth curved up into a crooked smile. “You don’t need marriage to have kids, beautiful. A lot of my friends have them and haven’t been married.”

“Right. Of course. I just meant…”God, shut up, Stacy!She let out a short laugh. “I don’t know what the hell I meant.”

Michael’s finger traveled farther up her forearm and rested in the ticklish spot inside her elbow. “You have a great laugh.”

His touch ignited her. “Yeah, and I’m great at saying the wrong thing.”

“Listen”—he scooted her chair closer to hers—“why don’t you loosen up? Let the real Stacy out? I’d like to get to know her.”

“Why do you want to get to know me?” She truly wondered. David had been married to her and had never wanted to “get to know her.” “Besides, I’m a lot older than you are.”

“Do I look like I care? How old are you, anyway?”

Stacy didn’t believe in lying about her age, even to impress the likes of Michael Moretti. “Forty-five.”

“Well, you’re beautiful. You don’t look a day over thirty.”

Right. She looked good for her age, she knew, but thirty? “Right.”

“I’m not lying, sweetheart. You’re hot, and I really do want to get to know you.

“Why on earth would you want to get to know me?”

His hazel gaze penetrated hers. “Because when I first saw you standing there looking at my photograph, I couldn’t wait to get you into bed.”

Three

Goosebumps prickled her flesh. Her heart pounded and her tummy somersaulted. A gush of feminine awareness assaulted her from inside.

This is what it felt like—the sexual attraction she wrote about. That initial crackle of energy that passed between a man and a woman, so intense it was almost visible. A hunger, deep and carnal, stirred to life between her legs. A hunger that needed—no,demanded—to be sated.

She downed the rest of her cosmo just as the waitress set the drinks Michael had ordered onto the table. The alcohol scorched her throat, warmed her belly, intensified the raw heat growing in her core. She swallowed.

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