take-me-now surge of want.
She got it now. She understood what it felt like to
need
another person.
Trouble was, she didn’t know what would happen after this. If the kiss had had that kind of effect, the next step just might kill her.
Because Riley was scared to death that just one night with Sam Compton wouldn’t be enough. That the longing she needed to put to rest would only be ignited when she slept with him, and she’d spend the rest of her life comparing every other man to him.
She understood now what Julie felt for Mitchell, and what Grace felt for Jake, and if her intuition was right, what Emma felt for Alex Cassidy underneath that layer of southern frost.
She just wished she knew how to shut it
off
.
Also on her list of Riley’s being an idiot?
Agreeing to let him take her
out
. There was to be no greeting him at the door wearing nothing but a negligee and a smile, with maybe a wee bit of wine to help with the nerves.
Oh no
.
No, no, Sam Compton apparently had a gentlemanly core beneath those sexy rough edges, because he’d insisted on a date.
And she still didn’t even understand why, because all he’d done was grumble,
something something, not a goddamned booty call
.
Riley slammed her closet door shut. A booty call was exactly what this was supposed to be. It was easier to put a booty call behind you. But a date?
Men and their morals.
She checked herself in the mirror. Short black skirt, stacked-heel boots, a red halter top.
And some very
decadent
black lingerie.
Too bad the lingerie didn’t have a Valium dispenser for her nerves.
This was about sex. Just sex. She needed to keep it clinical. Just phalluses and wombs, and …
“Oh for God’s sake, McKenna. Get it together,” she muttered, grabbing her purse off the chair and heading out the door.
She was just locking up when she remembered that she hadn’t washed the sheets. Hell, she hadn’t even made her bed. And there might or might not be a candy bar wrapper …
But maybe that was better. If it didn’t look like she was trying too hard—or at all—maybe he wouldn’t catch on to the fact that
she didn’t know what the hell she was doing
.
Fifteen minutes later she paid the cabdriver and stepped into the Lower East Side bar he’d picked out. She’d never heard of it and had been half terrified that he’d choose some snotty, upscale place that was all wrong for him just because he thought
she
wanted it.
But the bar was perfect. The worn wood floors kept it approachable, and the minimal lighting made it sexy without being over the top.
It was the ultimate first-date spot.
Oh God
.
She was on a first
date
with Sam Compton. The thought almost had her backing out the door.
Then she saw him.
Sam sat at the far end of the bar, wearing his usual jeans and the black sweater her sister had bought him for Christmas. He was nursing what she assumed to be some sort of whisky, looking completely at ease and not at all like he was about to make a run for the bathroom the way she wanted to.
He shot a look over his shoulder, and then his mouth kicked up in the corner before he turned back to his conversation with the bartender.
Riley instantly relaxed.
It was Sam. The same old Sam. She could do this.
“You look surprised to see me,” he said, pulling out a bar stool for her as she settled next to him. “Did you think I was going to chicken out?”
“Nah, but I was a
little
terrified you were going to show up in a borrowed suit while ordering fancy champagne.”
He snorted. “You overestimate your charms, McKenna. However, I
did
put on deodorant. You’re welcome.”
Riley fanned herself with the bar menu she’d snatched up. “You must have to beat the women off.”
She froze as soon as the words escaped. “Oh God.
You’re
not seeing anyone, are you?”
Sam gave her a dark look. “You really think I’d agree to your stupid sex plan if I was seeing someone else?”
“You mad I ruined things with
She got it now. She understood what it felt like to
need
another person.
Trouble was, she didn’t know what would happen after this. If the kiss had had that kind of effect, the next step just might kill her.
Because Riley was scared to death that just one night with Sam Compton wouldn’t be enough. That the longing she needed to put to rest would only be ignited when she slept with him, and she’d spend the rest of her life comparing every other man to him.
She understood now what Julie felt for Mitchell, and what Grace felt for Jake, and if her intuition was right, what Emma felt for Alex Cassidy underneath that layer of southern frost.
She just wished she knew how to shut it
off
.
Also on her list of Riley’s being an idiot?
Agreeing to let him take her
out
. There was to be no greeting him at the door wearing nothing but a negligee and a smile, with maybe a wee bit of wine to help with the nerves.
Oh no
.
No, no, Sam Compton apparently had a gentlemanly core beneath those sexy rough edges, because he’d insisted on a date.
And she still didn’t even understand why, because all he’d done was grumble,
something something, not a goddamned booty call
.
Riley slammed her closet door shut. A booty call was exactly what this was supposed to be. It was easier to put a booty call behind you. But a date?
Men and their morals.
She checked herself in the mirror. Short black skirt, stacked-heel boots, a red halter top.
And some very
decadent
black lingerie.
Too bad the lingerie didn’t have a Valium dispenser for her nerves.
This was about sex. Just sex. She needed to keep it clinical. Just phalluses and wombs, and …
“Oh for God’s sake, McKenna. Get it together,” she muttered, grabbing her purse off the chair and heading out the door.
She was just locking up when she remembered that she hadn’t washed the sheets. Hell, she hadn’t even made her bed. And there might or might not be a candy bar wrapper …
But maybe that was better. If it didn’t look like she was trying too hard—or at all—maybe he wouldn’t catch on to the fact that
she didn’t know what the hell she was doing
.
Fifteen minutes later she paid the cabdriver and stepped into the Lower East Side bar he’d picked out. She’d never heard of it and had been half terrified that he’d choose some snotty, upscale place that was all wrong for him just because he thought
she
wanted it.
But the bar was perfect. The worn wood floors kept it approachable, and the minimal lighting made it sexy without being over the top.
It was the ultimate first-date spot.
Oh God
.
She was on a first
date
with Sam Compton. The thought almost had her backing out the door.
Then she saw him.
Sam sat at the far end of the bar, wearing his usual jeans and the black sweater her sister had bought him for Christmas. He was nursing what she assumed to be some sort of whisky, looking completely at ease and not at all like he was about to make a run for the bathroom the way she wanted to.
He shot a look over his shoulder, and then his mouth kicked up in the corner before he turned back to his conversation with the bartender.
Riley instantly relaxed.
It was Sam. The same old Sam. She could do this.
“You look surprised to see me,” he said, pulling out a bar stool for her as she settled next to him. “Did you think I was going to chicken out?”
“Nah, but I was a
little
terrified you were going to show up in a borrowed suit while ordering fancy champagne.”
He snorted. “You overestimate your charms, McKenna. However, I
did
put on deodorant. You’re welcome.”
Riley fanned herself with the bar menu she’d snatched up. “You must have to beat the women off.”
She froze as soon as the words escaped. “Oh God.
You’re
not seeing anyone, are you?”
Sam gave her a dark look. “You really think I’d agree to your stupid sex plan if I was seeing someone else?”
“You mad I ruined things with
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