“So I guess we’re even, huh?”

Nikki leaned forward to set down her cup on the cocktail table. Her robe gaped open as she did so, and Adam’s gaze fell straight to her spectacular breasts.

Noticing where his attention was, she put her hands up to tug the edges of the robe together.

“Please don’t,” he asked softly.

She swallowed, hesitating. Then, blushing furiously again, she tugged the lapels of the robe open. And then, to his stunned disbelief, she let her breasts spill out to greet him.

The air went out of him so fast that his lungs almost collapsed.

D cups. Perfect, high and round and cherry-capped. Fair? No, this was incredibly unfair. Because Adam wanted to touch them in the worst way.

He was crazy; he shouldn’t have brought her here.

Dear Reader,

Over the years, we’ve all read stories about brides, grooms and bridesmaids. One day a thought came to me. I couldn’t recall ever reading romances that revolved around those other hot guys in tuxedos at a wedding: the groomsmen!

And so the idea for my series All THE GROOM’S MEN was born. I decided that the first book would begin at the groom’s bachelor party, and I started making notes. Out of nowhere came an image: a girl exploding out of a cake and knocking one of the bachelors to the floor.

The heroine of this book, Borrowing a Bachelor, was very clear in my mind. She wasn’t a professional dancer—she was an accidental stripper, someone who had taken a one-time gig out of financial duress. And the hero told me that he didn’t want to be at the party in the first place…

I hope you enjoy reading about the misadventures of Nikki and Adam as much as I enjoyed writing them! I love hearing from readers, so let me know. Feel free to e-mail me at Karen@KarenKendall.com, and check my website www.KarenKendall.com for upcoming stories, contests and more!

Have a great year filled with joy and good books!

All the best,

Karen Kendall

About the Author

KAREN KENDALL is the author of over twenty novels and novellas for several publishers. She is the recipient of awards such as the Maggie, the Book Buyer’s Best, the Write Touch and RT Magazine’s Top Pick, among others. She grew up in Austin, Texas and has lived in Georgia, New York and Connecticut. She now resides in south Florida with her husband, two greyhounds, a cat…and lots of fictional friends! Of course, she claims to have real ones, too.

Borrowing
A Bachelor

Karen Kendall

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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With thanks to Young Royce for the information on

medical school courses and texts!

xo, Karen

1

MEDICAL STUDENT ADAM Burke was deeply engrossed in his anatomy text when a size-twelve foot kicked it out of his hands. It flew up and banged him in the chest.

“Pull your head out, nerd! We have a bachelor party to go to. Ogling strippers is a much better way to study anatomy.”

Adam hated strip joints—the cheesiness of them and the overpriced drinks, just for starters. He groaned. “Devon, I have a killer exam on Monday. And it’s not on the finer points of silicone implants.”

“All work and no play will turn your hair prematurely gray,” Devon said, seizing the twenty-pound anatomy book and tossing it onto the king-size bed in their hotel room.

“No, you will. Where did you come from, anyway?” Adam frowned and then belatedly noticed the open door.

Devon followed his gaze and laughed. “Good detective work, Holmes. I can’t believe you didn’t hear me come in—you’re scary intense when you study.”

That was true—though there had been a time in high school, when he’d been “in love” with the class bad girl, during which Adam had been just as intense about screwing off to impress her. He’d tried his best to mess up his life.

“I have to be. You don’t get into, or through, med school without the ability to focus.” Adam, now twenty-five, ran a hand through his hair and reluctantly got up from the armchair he’d been sitting in. “Bachelor party, huh?” He said it without a trace of enthusiasm.

“Fire up, buddy. Mark’s getting married—going over to the Dark Side. We’re the groomsmen. We gotta send him off in style, with lots of drinks and lots of well-endowed women.”

Adam saw the glint in Devon’s eye. It told him that protesting would do no good. His only hope was to go to the damned party and wait the requisite hour or so until all the guys were so shit-faced that they wouldn’t notice him sneak out. He really didn’t have time for this.

Devon started to describe the various abilities of the “talent” that awaited them. “They’ve got this one chick who walks around with a selection of cigars tucked in her G-string. You get a lap dance while you choose one. Then another girl will hold your cigar for you between her hooters while girl number three bends over and lights it with a match between her teeth.”

“I can’t wait,” said Adam without a trace of sincerity.

“And that’s just the beginning. This place we’re going gets wild. Later, this other chick, the star attraction, will take it all off and do things that you can’t even imagine. She’s got a prehensile—”

“Enough. I get the picture.”

“No, really, she can pick up a lit cigar from an ashtray with her—”

“Gross. Dev—”

“—and bring it up to your mouth again. I once saw a guy—”

“Devon! Enough. And do you have any idea how unsanitary that is?”

“Dude. I’m not saying I’d smoke it again myself, just that it was a trip to watch.”

Blek. Adam would rather have a root canal. Not that he didn’t like naked women. But he liked them a little more wholesome than that. He wasn’t a fan of strippers and blatant womanly wiles. The whole scene was so far removed from his daily life, where most of the females he encountered wore either sweats, jeans or surgical scrubs—not fishnets or pasties.

Adam also didn’t care for most of the men who hung out at these clubs. They were generally either creeps or assholes. After they left the clubs, it wasn’t unusual for the former to use their fists to abuse themselves and the latter to use their fists to abuse others. Emergency rooms were full of bruised and bloody idiots who had limped out of bars.

“C’mon, c’mon,” Dev urged him. “You got ten minutes to grab a shower and pull yourself together.”

“I am together,” said Adam, looking at Devon’s spiky, product-laden hair and the chain around his neck. He looked like some kind of designer dog. “And at least I don’t have grease in my mop like some others I could mention. You’re the one who needs the shower. Also, if you’re going to wear a choke chain, where’s your rabies tag?”

“Grease? This is Pomade à l’Hommes, imported from Paris, and it costs a mint, thank you very much. I’m going to ignore your gratuitous comment about my—”

“Pomade a l’homosexual, more like,” Adam said, grinning.

“Dude. You know better. I scored with number three hundred and twenty-six last month. That’s a lot of women since age fourteen…”

“Yeah. It makes me wonder when your dick’s gonna fall off and what you’re trying to prove.” Adam disappeared into the bathroom, ignoring the insults Devon hurled at him through the door. Devon didn’t have a gay bone in his body, but it was fun to rile him.

The quick hot shower cleared Adam’s brain of fog and snapped him awake, since the anatomy text had had a sedative effect in spite of his legendary focus. He wrapped the hotel towel around his waist and shaved, though he didn’t know why he bothered.

Then he threw on his clothes, cracked his knuckles like a caveman and girded his decidedly not inflamed loins for the evening.

NIKKI FINE STARED AT the huge, hollow plywood cake on wheels in front of her. It was frosted with spackle and house-paint in unfortunate shades of peach and blue, and it had seen better days. Scuffs and footprints marred the once-festive surface, and a big chunk of icing had chipped off one side.

She shook her head. “I can’t get in there,” she said. “I’m claustrophobic and I’m afraid of the dark.” Nobody had told her she’d be wheeled into the bachelor party this way. The inside of the cake might as well be a coffin as far as she was concerned. And was that a spiderweb down there? She shivered involuntarily.

Nikki always kept a tiny light plugged in next to her nightstand. Rationally she knew that there were no monsters under her bed. She was an adult, after all. But somehow she’d never outgrown her fear of total blackness in a room. And lately she’d had recurring nightmares about being buried alive after seeing a news story on the modus operandi of a particularly charming serial killer.

She was not getting into that small round box. No way.

Her neighbor Yvonne Morales blinked at her, tossing her glossy dark mane over her shoulder. Then she laughed. “Get over it, chica. You’ve been hired. Climb into the damn cake.”

“I can’t,” Nikki said for the third time.

Not even in the name of paying off her crushing debt could she get in there.

“You want to lose this job in the first hour you have it? What about all that whinin’ you did about being broke and needing to pay the minimum on your credit cards? What’s your problem?”

Nikki gulped. Small, dark places. That’s my problem. And total fear that I’m going to make an idiot out of myself in front of a hundred guys. Who was I kidding? I can’t moonlight as a stripper. “Look,” she said to Yvonne. “I kind of exaggerated my dancing skills. I can’t dance at all. I didn’t even make pep squad in high school.” In fact, she’d been mocked by the mean girls for even attempting it.

Hey, Nikki, you’re so fine, you’re so fine, hey, Nikki!

She pushed aside the painful memory and the chorus line of the song they’d used to torment her. How she’d hated her name back then.

Yvonne laughed. “You don’t gotta dance. You pop the top off the cake and wiggle around. Then pop your own top. The dumb-asses in the bar are all drunk, anyway. They couldn’t tell the difference between you and Britney Spears out there. Just shake it and smile and lick your lips a lot.”

The more she thought about it, the more Nikki realized exactly how bad an idea this was. “What if someone I know recognizes me?”

“In ten pounds of stage makeup, false eyelashes and pasties? I really don’t think so. And believe me, they will not be focused on your face.”

No, they would be focused on her breasts and her booty. No secret there. She flushed with humiliation as she remembered her experience at Yvonne’s waxing place.

C’mon, honey, we got to get you a Brazilian before tomorrow if you’re goin’ onstage in a G-string.

Nikki had had to take off all clothing—all—below her waist. Then she’d been ordered onto a platform table and told to spread ’em while a strange woman had smacked noisily on her gum and stared at what Yvonne would call her “box.”

Not only had the strange woman stared at it, she’d snipped at it with small scissors and then spread hot wax in highly embarrassing places with a wooden tongue-depressor. Far worse, she’d pressed muslin strips into the wax and then—

“Oww!” Nikki had shrieked.

The woman snapped her gum and rolled her eyes as she tossed the strip into the trash. Then she grinned evilly and grasped another.

Approximately seventeen yelps later, her tormentor had made her roll over and assume an even more horrendous position…. Nikki closed her eyes simply thinking about it. She’d refused to speak to Yvonne once she emerged from the chamber of horrors, while her neighbor just laughed and laughed.

Nikki had raced home, submerged her lower half in a tub of cold water, clamped her knees and gulped a glass of wine without stopping to breathe. Then she’d poured another and popped four painkillers.

This morning the angry red bumps had faded to a nice pink blush, a perfect background for the tiny heart that now nestled at the apex of her legs. I am a fallen woman, Nikki thought. Now, do I really need to pop out of a cake and fall again? Right on my butt in front of a bunch of horny, drunken men?

No, I do not. Best to walk away from this cake and this terrible job and figure out a different way to pay my credit cards.

The balance on the cards haunted her and made her want to puke when she thought about it. And it wasn’t from irresponsibility, either—who could have foreseen that a perfectly healthy twenty-four-year-old would fall victim to appendicitis right after losing her job and declining to pay the huge hike in fees for COBRA?

It seemed beyond unfair. But she was the one who had been dumb enough to borrow money last month from Yvonne…to tide her over until her new job started.

Yvonne grasped Nikki by the upper arms and shook her—not so gently. “Get a grip, girlfriend. I put myself on the line for you. You can’t back out now or I’m gonna look bad and my manager will blame me when these guys call and complain. I do not need that, and I don’t have time to get somebody else over here to cover this event. So you move your little culo and climb into that cake before I slap you into next month.”

Nikki stiffened in surprise. Yvonne’s tone wasn’t so friendly and lighthearted anymore. Neither were Yvonne’s fingers as they dug into her flesh. And her eyes—they’d hardened to the point of glassiness.

Nikki should have known better than to trust a woman who’d succumbed to Miami’s latest in cosmetic surgery trends and gotten butt implants.

That friendly neighbor who had become a neighborly friend? She’d turned into Tonya Harding with PMS. What had Nikki gotten herself into?

“Do it,” Yvonne ordered, in a menacing voice. She looked utterly capable of going after Nikki’s knees with a tire iron.

That, combined with the fact that she had committed to tonight’s job, persuaded Nikki to raise her left foot in its ridiculously high spike heel and swing it over the edge of the wooden cake.

“Good girl,” said Yvonne.

Nikki refused to look at her. Good girl? I am dressed like a hooker and I’m walking around with a Brazilian. She straddled the edge of the cake and peered around, looking for any sign of the occupant of that spiderweb. Nothing with beady little eyes or more legs than her stared back.

Nikki swallowed hard.

“C’mon already,” Yvonne said, wearing a look of contempt and little else herself. She grabbed Nikki by the ankle that still dangled outside the wooden cake and shoved it in, knocking her off balance.

Nikki lurched and clutched wildly at the walls, finally sliding down into a nervous crouch. Her rear end felt unnaturally exposed and the G-string gave her a fierce wedgie that she didn’t have room to fix.

No spider, no spider, no spider, she repeated to herself. Nothing to be afraid of. Thirty seconds, a couple of minutes at most, then you’ll be wheeled into the party and you’ll jump out on cue. Breathe evenly. You can do this. Just for one night.

Because this was the last night, the only night, that she’d humiliate herself this way. Monday she started her new job. And she would deliver pizzas on the side, do data entry at night, sell cosmetics—whatever it took. She’d pay off her cards somehow. But not like this.

“I’ll be hanging in Ralph’s office,” Yvonne said. Ralph, her cousin, owned the strip club. “You can come get paid afterward.”

She shook her head as she stared unblinkingly at Nikki. “You’re actually scared. That’s pathetic. Get a smile on your face this second. Now, head down.”

Nikki produced a smile as genuine as a Vuitton bag on a New York street-vendor’s cart and bent forward. Then everything went terrifyingly black and airless as the lid crashed into place.

ADAM TRIED TO LOOK as enthusiastic as the other raucous, on-their-way-to-drunk guys at Mark’s bachelor party. He waved a beer around and even did a couple of tequila shots, but inwardly he sighed.

The only good thing about his rebel year in high school was that it had gotten the partying mostly out of his system—and then he’d had to pay a steep price to get his life back together. Not even the local junior college had wanted him until his persistence wore down the admissions people. He’d finally been able to transfer to a state university’s pre-med program, but only after two years of a solid 4.0 GPA.

He cast a surreptitious glance at his watch, making plans to sneak out and spend a passionate night back at the hotel with his anatomy text. And he cheered wildly and made ape noises with the rest of them as a bouncer wheeled in a giant, shopworn “cake.”

Mark’s round cheeks had flushed with alcohol, which turned his naturally ruddy complexion a dark red. His short, curly hair stuck up in tufts, courtesy of all the headlocks and noogies the guys had inflicted. He gazed at the cake expectantly, and the others moved like a herd to stand around the front of it.

Derek made coyote noises, as if he were howling at the moon. Pete grinned his good-natured, Mr. Customer Service grin and waited patiently. Gib stood, bowlegged as he always did, looking as though he’d produce a rope and lasso the girl as soon as she emerged. Jay lounged with his hands in his pockets, eyes almost crossed. He was probably writing a murder mystery in his head.

Adam rolled his own eyes and stepped around to the back of the wooden cake, since he figured watching their expressions would be a lot more fun than watching the skanky chick who’d jump out of it.

Joe Cocker’s “You Can Leave Your Hat On” suddenly blared from the speakers in the room. How original. Adam turned an amused gaze toward Mark’s face and waited.

Then the top of the plywood confection exploded off. Adam had a brief impression of golden corkscrew curls and a gorgeous, smooth ass in a hot red G-string before a feminine elbow slammed into his nose. Pain seared him between the eyes, and his glasses damn near embedded into his forehead. Adam lurched backward from the impact, sliding through a pool of some spilled drink. The next thing he knew, he was on the floor, with something cold and sticky seeping through his pants.

“Oh, God!” A distressed feminine voice floated down to him. “I knew something like this would happen!”

Was this a nightmare or a dream? Despite the pain, Adam registered that delectable ass again, facing him as she clambered out of the stupid cake, on legs that seemed to reach all the way to heaven. Funny how heaven looked a lot like the satin string that disappeared between her cheeks.

Correction. Heaven looked a lot like the barely restrained breasts that now swiveled toward him and bounced as she tottered over on her ridiculously high heels.

Adam’s eyes widened as she bent over him and dangled the breasts like ripe, luscious fruit above his face.

“I’m so, so, so sorry!” she said. “I told Yvonne I was claustrophobic. I told her not to make me get in there. Are you okay?”

He blinked. The guys were all falling over themselves laughing—especially Mark. Only Pete, Mr. Customer Service, called out—between knee-slaps—the same question. Was he okay?

Adam gazed up at the spectacular breasts again. And like a gift from the universe, they lowered closer to his face as he lay prone. “Yeah. I’m okay,” he said weakly, eyes glued helplessly to them.

The breasts heaved, and a sigh of feminine relief wafted down to him in the form of sweet, minty breath. “Oh, thank goodness. I was afraid I’d killed you.”

Manfully, Adam looked away from her breasts and focused instead on her face, which was a mistake, since he found himself drowning in her large, seawater-green eyes. Not even the fact that she wore awful false eyelashes and cauldron-black liner could change the loveliness of those eyes or the shocked concern they expressed.

Adam gingerly put a hand up to his nose to confirm that it was still there, and hadn’t been knocked through the backside of his skull. His hand came away bloody, and Cake Girl winced.

“I’m so, so sorry,” she said again, and to his consternation she burst into tears. Fat, heavy drops rolled down her cheeks, gathering mascara and makeup in their wake.

“Really, it’s okay,” Adam told her, struggling up onto his elbows. Her tears began to plop onto his head, and her distress grew.

“I’ll take you to the emergency room right away! You could have a concussion. Oh, God, why did I ever think I could do this? I should have known that if I tried to dance in public I’d murder someone.”

“I’m not dead,” Adam reassured her. But he almost had a heart attack as she straddled him in the high heels and then crouched down to take his face between her small, soft hands. She peered intently into his eyes, now raining black, inky tears onto his face.

They left pale white streaks down her heavily made-up face and he didn’t think he’d ever seen someone so beautiful look quite so pathetic. She sniffed woefully.

Of course, the rest of the guys could see nothing but their evening’s entertainment hovering provocatively over him. They leered enviously at the picture Adam and Cake Girl made, eyes fixated on her luscious bottom with its disappearing G-string. For some reason that bothered him. Vaguely, he noticed Dev snapping pictures with his cell phone.

“I’ve never done this before,” the girl sobbed.

Poor thing. She was truly upset. “What,” he teased. “You’ve never coldcocked a man before? It’s fun. See?”

“Of course I’ve never—” Briefly, she looked indignant. “What I meant was that I’ve never, um, stripped before. And I don’t know how to do it properly, and because of that I’ve hurt you—but I had to get out of there. I just had to! I was coming unglued.”

Adam struggled to sit up more, which brought him nose to, er, nipples. Or two inches of shadowy cleavage, depending on which way he looked. She removed her hands from his cheeks and moved back self-consciously.

“Well, I can assure you that none of the men here want you to strip properly.” He winked. “They’d much rather you did it improperly.”

Her lush mouth worked for a moment. Then she stood so that his eyes now met her—Oh, Christ. A tiny scrap of satin covered it, and it looked so sweetly beckoning. His mouth went dry and he averted his gaze.

She grabbed a handful of cocktail napkins and brought her breasts back to eye-level as she crouched again and gently held the napkins to his nose. “What can I do to make this up to you?”

Oh, honey. Don’t you know better than to ask a man that question? Adam swallowed with difficulty and tried yet again to reassure her. “Really, it’s okay. Calm down.”

“It’s not okay. I can’t calm down. And Yvonne is going to kill me now for sure. In the first hour of my employment.” She put a hand over her mouth as a thought occurred to her and she gazed at him in horror. “Oh, my God. You’re not going to sue me, are you?”

Adam shot her a wry grin. No, suing was not what I had in mind, sweetheart. But it rhymes.

He shook his head, which was a big mistake, since it made his nose throb like crazy.

“But I shouldn’t even be thinking about me. Come on. We need to go straight to the emergency room. You could be seriously injured, could have a concussion—”

“From a blow to the nose?” Adam laughed.

“Anything’s possible. My friend Becca once ran smack into a stop-sign pole because, you know, she was talking to someone over her shoulder? And she knocked herself out cold. So please, please, please let me take you to a doctor and make sure you’re okay.”

Her agitation was almost endearing. Adam finally made it to a full sitting position and reiterated that he was fine.

“C’mon, darlin’!” Gib bellowed drunkenly. “Show us what you’ve got! Shake it. Somebody start the music again.”

“Emergency room,” she pleaded, her eyes locked on Adam’s and strangely intense.

“But I don’t need—”

“Please,” she said piteously.

“But—”

She leaned forward and whispered, “Don’t make me get out there and dance. I can’t do it tonight. I just can’t. I’ll throw up.”

Her breasts nestled against his chest and her lush lips moved inches from his own. Adam felt the room begin to spin as all the blood in his body rushed south from his throbbing nose to his groin. His willpower spiraled down with it.

“Please,” she said again. “I’ll make it worth your while. I’ll dance privately, just for you….”

Only a complete pig would take advantage of this situation and exploit the poor woman, Adam’s big head told him.

Too bad he was now listening to the little head. She broke your nose, dude. And she’s a stripper. She does this a lot, no matter what she says. Why not have a private dancer, just for tonight?

Adam got to his feet, conscious of the fact that because of the spilled drink on the floor, he looked as if he’d messed his pants. He pretended to be dazed. “Guys,” he said. “I’m sorry, but I need to have my head examined.”

2

NIKKI FELT A RUSH of gratitude as she and her victim helped each other to stand. “I’ll drive him to the emergency room,” she said to the boys. “I’m the one who knocked him down.” But her gratitude turned quickly to alarm as she and Bloody Nose were surrounded by a wall of drunken, denim-clad testosterone and various expressions of male disappointment.

The consensus was that she, Nikki, had a job to do and she wasn’t going anywhere until she’d done it to their satisfaction.

“You gonna load him up into that cake, darlin’?” mocked the bowlegged guy who’d yelled for her to start dancing again. “It’s obviously made for the autobahn.”

Nikki bit her lip. “No, of course not. My car’s outside,” she said, turning to Bloody Nose. And she couldn’t wait to get into it, before Yvonne caught her and disemboweled her for screwing up the gig. “By the way, what’s your name?”

“Adam,” he said. “What’s yours?”

“Nikki.”

“Is that short for Nikita, female assassin?”

“No,” she said, flushing. “It’s short for plain old Nicole.”

“Plain and old are not adjectives that I’d use to describe you,” said Adam, wincing as he examined the blood-soaked cocktail napkins.

Nikki grabbed another handful, extended them to him and looked into the steady brown eyes behind their wire-rimmed glasses. She wondered which adjectives he would choose. But she didn’t have the nerve to ask. Clumsy and moronic might be among them. Or slutty. She needed her street clothes and purse, but she was petrified of running into Yvonne.

“I’ll drive you to the E.R., Adam,” said a cheerful-looking dark-haired guy who reminded her of a teddy bear. “Leave the talent here for everyone else to enjoy.”

Adam shot the guy an evaluative look. “Pete, you couldn’t drive a Big Wheel right now. You’ve had half a bottle of tequila. But thanks.”

“I got you covered.” Another member of the bachelor party pushed his way forward, this one with a gold chain around his neck and enough gel in his hair to grease down a Siberian husky.

Adam outright laughed. “We took a cab here, Devon. Remember?”

Devon stopped talking midprotest and looked sheepish. Then he said, “I’ll drive Pete’s car.”

“No way,” Adam said. “Who here hasn’t had at least four or five drinks already?”

The bowlegged guy squinted and started counting on his fingers. The one Adam had called Pete turned redder than he already was, and the groom burped sheepishly.

“That’s what I thought,” Adam said. “I’m the only sober one here—apart from Nikki. So I’m afraid, gentlemen, that the talent comes with me.” He put his arm protectively around her shoulders, and she could have kissed him.

Pete frowned as he swayed back and forth, looking owlish. “No, no, no. Talent gotta stay. I have a cell phone!”

“Congratulations,” Adam told him.

Pete blinked. “Thank you.” He hiccupped. “I have a cell phone, so I can call a cab. To take you to the ’mergency room. C’mon, bro. Talent stays.”

Horrified, Nikki looked at Adam to see if he had an answer for that one. He didn’t seem to.

“Wait!” she said. “The talent should go…because I have no talent. Really!” Not to mention the issue of that jumbo bag of M&M’s she’d eaten yesterday. She was sure that they’d already adhered in sugary little lumps all over her hips and backside.

But the idiots didn’t seem to be listening. They stood gawking at her as if her breasts were two NFL announcers debating the last play at the Super Bowl—and they each had a thousand bucks riding on the outcome.

The bowlegged guy they’d called Gib said hoarsely, “We don’t care about talent, sweetcakes. Just get out there and wobble around for us. Shake it like you mean it.”

Nikki gulped and looked at Adam. “Please get me out of here,” she mouthed. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“Guys,” he said, “let her drive me. I’ll pay for the next round and I’ll get you two other strippers. Just let me take this one.” He dug some cash out of his pocket and slapped it into Gib’s hand.

The general consensus among those who could still employ rational thought was that two was better than one, and free booze wasn’t something to be turned down. So, feeling a little like a piece of traded livestock, Nikki tiptoed into the dressing room behind the stage, thankful that there was no sign of Yvonne. She fell on her belongings like a vulture, not even taking the time to dress, and scrambled out as fast as she could.

Then she took Adam’s arm and tottered toward the door with him. She’d bet her feet in the high heels hurt almost as much as his nose.

The humid South Florida air washed over her nearly naked body as they left the bar. She inhaled the scents of auto exhaust, sweetly decaying vegetation and fast food, but none of them made her feel as sick as the idea of dancing in there for the wolf-whistling, howling crowd of men.

“Thank you,” she said to Adam.

“No, no. Thank you,” he said. Oddly, he seemed to mean it.

She flushed. “I’m really sorry that I’ve ruined your good time.”

“You didn’t. I hate those places. Cheap booze, cheap wo—” He broke off, but she knew he’d been about to say cheap women.

She looked down at her current get-up and couldn’t really argue. Only the vitals were covered, and just to remind her of it a stinging insect bit her on the backside. “Ow!” Nikki exclaimed, slapping at it.

Behind the cocktail napkins, Adam’s eyes widened slightly, and he swallowed hard, averting them.

“I’d offer to pay for the, um, other talent and the round of drinks,” she said, “but I’m dead broke, which is why I even considered doing this.”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Adam.

She led the way to her car, a powder-blue Volkswagen Beetle. “Where’s the nearest E.R.? Or minor emergency center? Do you know?”

“I’ll be fine. Really.”

Nikki looked at him doubtfully. “What if I broke your nose?”

“I don’t think it’s broken.”

“But it could be. And I’ve heard of all kinds of freak things that can happen—a bone fragment could pierce something in your brain, and boom! You’d be a vegetable.” She shuddered.

Adam laughed. The sound was reassuring but also annoying—he wasn’t taking her seriously. He was treating her like the dumb blonde she appeared to be.

“I’m serious. Look, you’re not a doctor,” she said in reasonable tones.

He cocked an eyebrow at her but didn’t argue.

“So why don’t we make sure that you’re okay?” she prodded.

“Not necessary. They’ll tell me to elevate the nose, keep an ice pack on it and take a couple of ibuprofen for the swelling. If a shard of bone had pierced my brain, I wouldn’t be standing here talking to you. So really, you can drop me at my hotel.”

Nikki gulped. She owed him a private dance in his hotel room, and she was none too eager to pay up. Any delay was a welcome one. “I’m sorry, but I insist that we get you checked out, if only for my peace of mind.”

Adam sighed. “Fine,” he said. “But it’s a waste of time.”

Wasting time sounded very good to her, especially if she could do it clothed. She dug her keys out of her purse and unlocked the Beetle. She opened the driver’s-side door, tossed her things onto the seat and found her shirt. She slid on a bra—red, of course—pulled the shirt over her head and tugged it into place as Adam rounded the car and got into the passenger seat.

He watched her out of the corner of his eye as she held her white denim miniskirt in front of her, and she could have sworn she heard a swift intake of breath as she raised her leg to step into it. She pulled it up over her hips and buttoned it at the waist.

There. Now she felt better. She still wore the skyscraper stilettos, but every woman in Miami wore those. Nikki tossed her purse into the backseat and slid behind the wheel. “Should I take you to Jackson Memorial?” she asked.

Adam shuddered. “No—the E.R. there will be full of gunshot wounds, auto-accident victims, ODs and God only knows what else. We’d wait all night.” After some thought, he gave her the name of a minor emergency center close by, and directed her to it.

The building, not surprisingly, was regulation stucco with a standard red-tile roof. Adam signed in, and they waited in a shabby but comfortable sitting area done in blues and greens. The only other people there were a shrunken old man with a severe cough and a young couple. The wife rocked back and forth, clutching her stomach.

Nikki shot her a sympathetic glance, but the woman closed her eyes and wiped perspiration from her forehead with a paper towel.

After inspecting the faux wood tables, the utterly uninteresting plants and the dog-eared magazines perched haphazardly in a small rack, Nikki had nowhere to look but at Adam.

“Heh,” she said idiotically.

He raised his eyebrows at her over the wad of blood-saturated cocktail napkins. “Did you say something?”

“No,” she supplied, even more idiotically.

Silence fell between them again.

Nikki fidgeted. “So…what do you do?” she blurted, to make conversation.

“I’m a student.”

“Of what?”

He dodged the question. “What do you do, Nikki? Besides, er…dancing?”

She felt a blush climbing her neck and then suffusing her face. “I told you—”

“Right. You’ve never done it before.” His tone was polite, but the inflection of his voice indicated that the jury was still out on whether he believed her or not.

“I’m starting a new job on Monday,” she announced defensively. “I’m an administrative assistant.”

He nodded and adjusted the napkins slightly, peering at her from behind them. His glasses were smudged, which wasn’t surprising. Lucky she hadn’t broken them when she’d whacked him. “Do you like office work?”

Was he trying to reconcile the image of her filing with the image of her popping out of the cake wearing a G-string? She sighed. “It’s okay. It’s not what I want to do for the rest of my life, but it pays the bills and it gives me medical insurance.” She’d never before realized what a crucial thing that was, even to a twenty-four-year-old in “perfect” health.

“Besides,” she added, “I got appendicitis out of the clear blue, and had to have emergency surgery when I didn’t have medical insurance. So I have huge debt from that.”

He made a sympathetic noise. “What do you really want to do?”

She felt suddenly defensive. He was clearly a brainy type, a grad student going to school for something special, something focused, while she… Nikki wrapped her arms around herself and hunched her shoulders.

What she wanted most in the long run was a husband and a family, but it seemed so unhip to say that. Yet, given her childhood with a single mom and the fact that she’d never known her father, that was her dream: domestic bliss.

She pictured rabid feminists chasing her with pitchforks and cringed. “I don’t know what I want to do, exactly…except that it involves having my own business.” And she’d love to somehow help single moms like her own mother.

She pictured a small business that gave her plenty of time to spend with her children. She wouldn’t be like her mom, who spent her days on her feet in a bakery and covered in flour, at the beck and call of other people.

But first, Nikki had to find and date the right guy. Meanwhile, she had to pay off her medical debt—and then there was the fact that her mom needed a new roof and had no way to pay for it. Meanwhile, Nikki’s own rent and monthly bills didn’t go away. How did anyone manage to save money, except rich doctor and lawyer types? It seemed impossible.

A nurse appeared and called Adam’s name. He got up and went with her through a door to the back, while unaccountably Nikki fixed her gaze on his buns. Granted, his pants were damp and stained, so he did look a little as though he’d messed himself.

But she happened to know that the stains were her fault, that they’d come from the floor of the bar…and the wet fabric clung provocatively to the shape of his rear end.

It was an exceptional one. Sitting on it and studying a lot hadn’t flattened it out at all.

“Nikki?”

In fact, it looked pretty muscular… especially as it turned to the side…

“Nikki.”

“Huh?” She pulled her gaze upward, and realized that Adam had turned, along with his butt, and was saying her name.

Mortification was becoming her constant companion.

3

AS HER CHEEKS CAUGHT on fire, Adam eyed her quizzically from behind the paper napkins. “I said that I should be right out.”

“Great!” Nikki said brightly, and quickly picked up one of the magazines, spreading it open and holding it in front of her face.

Idiot! Idiot, idiot, idiot…

She dared to peek over the top of the magazine.

Adam’s mouth had quirked, and his eyebrows had lifted at her choice of reading material.

It wasn’t until he’d disappeared again that she looked at the cover: Forbes. Was he amused because he’d caught her staring at his ass, or because of her choice of magazine?

Why shouldn’t she read Forbes? Okay, it was a dry financial publication, but for all he knew, she could be passionately interested not only in his buns—she squirmed with embarrassment—but in money. In fact, she was passionate about money, as far as making some went. Immediately.

Her gaze fell on one of the topics highlighted on the cover: Securities and the Single Mom. Hmm… To take her mind off the fact that she still felt like a moron, she began to read.

By the time Adam came out with a blue-fabric, medically issued ice bag across his nose, Nikki had devoured the whole article and learned quite a bit in the process. There were all kinds of organizations and websites out there devoted to helping single moms not only with their finances, but with furthering their education—and she had the germ of a business idea.

The sight of her strip-assault victim brought her back to reality, though. “Are you okay?”

“Fine.” He nodded. “It’s not broken.”

“Oh, thank goodness.” She put down the magazine.

He walked over to the little window to pay what he owed for the visit, and Nikki jumped up. Did she have enough space free on her MasterCard to pay?

Oh, God. She wasn’t sure. But she should make the offer. It was her moral obligation.

“Adam, let me take care of that. It’s the least I can do.”

“It’s okay,” he said. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I will worry about it,” Nikki insisted, muttering a prayer to the credit gods under her breath. She gently nudged Adam aside. “Excuse me,” she said to the woman behind the window, “but I’d like to take care of his visit.”

Nikki handed her card to the woman with a smile, only barely refraining from tapping her nails nervously on the laminated countertop during what seemed an interminable wait.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but it didn’t go through.”

Mortified, Nikki rummaged in her handbag and came up with a ten-dollar bill that she’d had earmarked for eggs, bread and milk. “Here, how about if you take this and then run the card again, for the balance?”

At this point, Adam took over. He folded both card and bill back into Nikki’s hand and said, “I’ve got this. Thanks, but I’ve got it.” He handed a credit card to the lady.

Nikki wished that a convenient sinkhole would open up in the floor and swallow her whole. A tic started at her left eye, though she tried to rub it away. Loser, loser, loser, it seemed to say.

She struggled with her desire to go home and crawl under the covers, to block out this whole evening and the ridiculous idea that she, the fat kid they’d called Chubba Bubba in grade school and mocked even more in high school, could possibly dance in front of men for money.

Was she crazy? Had Yvonne dropped something in her drink to make her agree to do it?

But unfortunately, she’d made this nice boy with the bloody nose a promise, and her mom had brought her up that only scabs didn’t keep their promises.

Was it worse to be a scab than a loser? Nikki didn’t want to think about that too much.

“Okay,” she said to Adam once they were outside the door. “I promised you a private dance if you’d get me out of there. It’s the least I can do—ow!” Another South Florida mosquito evidently flew up her skirt and bit her on the butt, and she slapped at it, hard.

There was an audible gulp from her male companion. “That’s…not necessary,” he said, as if it cost him great effort. “Don’t worry about it.”

For a moment she was relieved and elated. Then her conscience got her again and Nikki raised her chin. “I hit you in the nose and then I made you a promise, and I’m going to keep it. Besides, I want to see you settled properly with your feet elevated and your head tipped back. So I’ll drive you to your hotel and make sure you’re comfortable…and…and then …we’ll just get it over with.”

Adam looked at her oddly. “You don’t sound as if you want to do this, Nikki.”

“What? Oh, no—I do,” she lied.

He frowned.

“I, um—” She waved a hand. “I need the practice. Really. You’ll be doing me a favor to watch.” Okay, that was probably laying it on too thick, but Adam didn’t call her on it.

“Come on. Let’s stop talking and go.” She teetered out to the parking lot and over to her car. She pulled on the driver’s-side handle, but it was locked. Nikki fumbled her keys out of her bag and poked the relevant one toward the lock, but her hands shook and it was dark.

A couple of steps brought Adam up behind her, so close that she could smell his laundry detergent—the same brand she used—and a masculine-smelling shampoo. There was another scent that clung to Adam: faint traces of beer from the bar, but also something that reminded her of a library. Books? Paper? Ink?

“Excuse me.” His arm reached around her, his hand covered hers, and with long, lean, competent fingers he inserted her key into the lock of the door, then turned it. “There,” he said.

Nikki stood still for a moment, drawn to the warmth of him, the brush of his soft cotton shirt against her bare skin. She wanted to stay encircled by his arm, even lay her head against his chest. But Adam opened the car door for her, so she blinked and got in.

Adam shut the door and walked around the Beetle, getting into the passenger side. She started the engine, and seconds later the air conditioner shot a blast of lukewarm air straight between her thighs, making her jump and squirm.

He turned his steady, chocolate-brown gaze on her once again, still holding the ice pack to his nose. “You sure you want to do this dance?”

As she looked at him, at his slightly mussed dark hair, the crinkles of good humor around his eyes, the tough jaw and the tiny indentation in his chin, Nikki found to her surprise that she did want to dance for him. She wished it were under different circumstances—after a date maybe, when they’d eaten at a nice restaurant and maybe gone to see some live music.

That wasn’t the case, but she responded to his innate kindness and decency as well as his good looks. Here was a guy that she wanted to want her…and she had to meet him under these circumstances? She sighed inwardly, but turned her brightest smile on him.

“I absolutely do want to keep up my side of the bargain. I promised you a dance, and I’ll give you one.”

“It’s not smart to come back to my hotel room,” Adam told her. “How do you know I’m not a serial killer? A twisted rapist?”

Nikki frowned. “You don’t seem like the type.”

“What type would that be? They’re all pretty normal-looking white guys. Most of them are married with children.”

“Are you married with children?”

“Not even close, but you’re missing the point.”

“Are you a rapist or murderer?”

“No,” he said, sounding a bit exasperated. “But you shouldn’t take my word for it.”

“Would you like me to check on you from my iPhone? Find out if you have an arrest record before I get out of the car?”

Adam leaned his head against the seat, adjusted the ice pack and closed his eyes. “You can’t possibly be this naive.”

“There’s no need for name-calling,” Nikki said. “I have a solution. We’ll stop by the front desk at the hotel and let them know that if I’m found scattered in pieces anywhere, I spent my last hours with you. How’s that?”

“Fine, laugh at me. I’m simply trying to tell you that it’s a scary world out there and you shouldn’t go back to strange men’s hotel rooms.”

“Just how strange are you?”

“I give up!”

Nikki grinned, then put the Beetle into Reverse and backed out of the parking spot. “Look, I appreciate the good advice. I really do. But I have pretty good instincts about people and my creep radar didn’t go off around you.”

“She has a creep radar,” Adam said to nobody in particular. “Whatever that is.”

Nikki laughed. “If you were a sicko, you wouldn’t have tried to talk me out of going to your hotel room with you. You’d have been trying to convince me that you were the most harmless, trustworthy person on the planet. You might even have leaned on a crutch and begged for my help, Ted Bundy–style.”

“Whatever,” said Adam. They rode in silence for a little while.

“So you weren’t having a good time at the club?” Nikki asked. “Why not?”

“Just not my scene.”

“What’s your scene, then?”

He shrugged. “Quiet music, smoke-free air, a beer on a back porch, watching the sunset.”

“That sounds nice.”

Silence fell in the car again. Nikki thought about how to dance for him. What would a guy like Adam be looking for?

“Do you have an iPod or anything for music?” she asked. She hadn’t gotten around to downloading any songs on her own phone.

“Um. No, but there’s a clock radio in the room.”

Nikki nodded. Not ideal, but it would work in a pinch. Now…how to read him? She might as well ask.

“So,” she blurted. “Do you like it fast and skanky, or do you prefer slow and sensual?”

Adam’s jaw dropped. He swiveled toward her and the ice pack fell off his nose and into his lap. “Excuse me?” he asked, in strangled tones.

4

UNDER THE ICE PACK, Adam popped a woody. Had the girl really asked him that?

“Oh, my God!” she said. “I didn’t mean that the way it came out. I meant, you know, about dancing.”

Adam’s brain was still locked on the concept of fast and skanky sex, even though he tried valiantly to get rid of the images. It didn’t help that the girl sitting in the driver’s seat was so smoothly, er, curvilinear. Or that he’d seen her practically naked, peered either up or down every one of her female crevices.

His woody wasn’t going anywhere, which was inconvenient to say the least, since they were now approaching the hotel. Down, boy! Play dead.

Adam really didn’t want to do introductions in the parking lot. Nikki, meet Johnson. He’s enthusiastic to make your acquaintance…as you can see.

Adam got himself under control with difficulty as he gave her somewhat convoluted directions on purpose. At last Nikki pulled into the Marriott Courtyard where he and the guys were staying.

“Didn’t we just pass this?” Nikki inquired.

Adam mumbled something about being tired and forgetting to tell her to turn, but her puzzled frown told him that she didn’t buy it.

Nikki opened the driver’s-side door and got out, treating him to another view of her spectacular legs and ass, though he vaguely wished she hadn’t felt the need to put on the skirt.

He got out as she surreptitiously scratched at one of her insect bites, and he took pity on her. “I have a first-aid kit with some cortisone cream in my room.” It stayed permanently in his carry-on, and had come in handy more than once.

She nodded, her face a study in mortification under all that makeup. “Thanks.” She wobbled along next to him and he took her arm to brace her as they crossed a small hillock of grass to reach the sidewalk.

Adam slid the key card through the slot at the rear door of the place, and stood aside to let Nikki enter before him. That was when he noticed the little clumps of mud and grass stuck to her spike heels. He turned his sudden laughter into a cough/snort.

Nikki turned. “Are you okay?”

“F-fine,” Adam said. “Allergies.” And he led the combination stripper/lawn-aerator to room 198. Another electronic snick and they walked inside.

The door closed behind them and the two of them stood there like morons, Adam looking everywhere but at her and she looking everywhere but at him. Finally he broke the silence. “I believe I promised you some cortisone cream.”

“Oh, yes,” she said gratefully. “And you should probably get some more ice for your nose.”

He nodded.

Adam went into the bathroom and rummaged the tube of cream out of the first-aid kit. He handed it to her, noticing that the skin of her chest and neck had flushed deep scarlet and perspiration had beaded at her temples. Clearly she was nervous. Had she really never done this before?

As she took the cap off the tube and squeezed some cream onto her finger, he retreated back into the bathroom, wet a washcloth with cold water and brought it out to her. He stopped at the sight of Nikki, twisted like a pretzel with her skirt rucked up, rubbing at the bites on her behind.

How anyone could find the sight provocative, he didn’t know—he guessed he was just an unusual guy. But the position she was in elongated her neck and emphasized her curves, displaying all the lean muscle on either side of her elegant spine and the sexy flare of narrow waist into hips.

If only he could get past the indignity of what she was doing, she’d look like one of those portraits of nude bathers that he’d seen in museums. Though he doubted that Degas or Renoir had ever painted anything called Nude with Cortisone Cream.

“That’s much better,” she declared, pulling down her skirt again with a forced smile. She handed back the tube. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“So, I guess I’ll just, um, turn on the radio…and you can get, um, comfortable.”

While she gets even more uncomfortable. But Adam nodded and she teetered over to the nightstand and began to fiddle with the clock. A burst of static had both of them wincing, but Adam couldn’t look away from the sight of her bent over.

“What kind of music do you like?” Nikki asked over her shoulder.

“Any rock station is fine.” He swallowed hard. He remembered from the bar that she appeared to be completely hairless under that tiny thong she wore. Completely.

“I’m just, uh, going to go get that ice,” he said in strangled tones. “Be right back.”

“Okay.” She looked relieved, and he wondered if she’d bolt while he was out of the room. But when he returned with some fresh ice cubes in his nose pack, she was still there, swaying awkwardly to an oldie but goodie—”Light My Fire” by the Doors.

“I can do this,” she declared, as if she were trying to convince herself as well as him.

“Even with no pole, huh?” He couldn’t resist teasing her a little bit.

“Oh. I forgot about the pole,” she said, looking distressed.

“Don’t worry about it. You can use a chair or something, right?” Adam pulled a chair out from under the room’s desk and set it in the middle of the floor. Then he sat on the edge of the bed and held the ice pack to his nose.

Nikki took a deep breath, approached the chair and grasped the back. Then she began.

She gyrated her hips to the beat of the music and pressed her pink lips into a pout. After a few moments, she took the bottom of her shirt into both hands and began easing it up, teasing him with the sight of her breasts in a red push-up bra. She whipped the shirt over her head and spun around.

When she turned to face him again, she ran a hand down her smooth, flat stomach, sort of slithering it around. She played with the button at the waistband of her skirt.

The bra was the second article of clothing to go, leaving her breasts bare except for a pair of strategically placed pasties with tiny tassels that shook in every direction and betrayed her total lack of rhythm, but who cared.

She was all enticing skin and curves.

A minute or so later, she ditched the skirt, letting it drop to the floor. She stepped out of it, gyrating her hips, and kicked it to the side.

Adam’s woody made a return appearance when she plunged her hand into the front of the G-string.

Adam stopped breathing at the sight.

She rotated her hips as if they were mounted on ball bearings, then leaned forward and squeezed her breasts between her arms so that they thrust forward. Then she worked her shoulders, shimmying them, too.

A cold trickle of water, followed by another one, rolled down Adam’s throbbing nose and dropped onto his now equally throbbing denim-clad crotch. He was half-afraid it would start to steam.

Nikki put her hands up to her hair and pushed it on top of her head as she gyrated, letting it tumble down over her shoulders as she turned her back to him. Hot! Hot!

But then his gaze dropped again to her ass and the mosquito bites, now shiny with cortisone cream…not to mention the tufts of mud and grass on her heels. Worse, the twin mosquito bites now stared out at him from each cheek like a couple of angry red eyes.

Her thong formed two frowning eyebrows as it dipped horizontally from each hip, and the vertical part in this context looked like a nose. The cheeks were, well, cheeks. And that sweet, sweet underside as her bottom met her thighs—well, it grimaced at him.

Adam couldn’t help himself—he guffawed, knowing as he did so that it was probably the worst offense he could commit.

Nikki stopped dead, her whole body stiffening in outrage.

He winced and ducked reflexively, thinking that she’d throw something at him. But it wasn’t anger on her face as she turned—it was something much worse: shame. Complete and utter humiliation. And shock. And deep, deep hurt.

“Nikki—”

Shaking, she ran into the bathroom and slammed the door.

Nice, Adam. You’ve sure gone and done it now, haven’t you? His bedside manner needed work. He groaned and walked to the door, then knocked softly. “Nikki, I wasn’t laughing at you—”

“Yes, you were!” Her voice was thick with shame.

“No, not the way you think.”

“I know I have no rhythm or talent and I know I’m fat,” she wailed.

“Fat? Are you crazy? No, Nikki, you’re not. And you do have talent…” Okay, not much, but enough to get a guy’s motor running, that was for sure.

“It was the M&M’s,” she blurted.

“Huh?”

“Oh, God…why don’t you have something in here that I can just kill myself with?”

Alarmed, Adam tried the knob, but she’d locked herself in. “Nikki, you can’t be serious. Please, please, let me explain.”

“There’s nothing to explain,” she wailed. “I danced and you laughed.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Yes, it is.”

“No, no, no. Look, just give me a chance—”

“You would have to have an electric shaver,” she said bitterly. “I can’t slit my wrists with that.”

“Nikki!”

“And no sleeping pills. Not even any freaking dental floss that I could strangle myself with.”

“Nikki, don’t you think you’re blowing this out of proportion? I mean, even if I had laughed at your dancing—”

“You did!” This time she bellowed it.

“No, I didn’t. Not the way you think.” Adam ran his hands over his face, which was a mistake, since he aggravated his nose all over again. “Look. Nikki, do you have a sense of humor?”

“What?”

“I asked if you have a sense of humor.”

“What do you mean?”

“If you have to ask,” Adam said patiently, “then you probably don’t have one.”

“I do, too.”

O-kay. “Then turn around and look at your, uh, bottom in the mirror.”

Silence. Then, she said, “You want me to check out my own butt?”

“Yes. Just do it.”

More silence. “Whatever,” she said, in tones that indicated she was only humoring a lunatic.

Adam waited.

“Oh, my God!” she shrieked. “It looks like there’s a whole face back there!”

“Exactly.”

Now a definite giggle emerged from behind the bathroom door. Almost faint with relief, Adam made another suggestion. “Okay, now look at your heels.”

This time she whooped.

More progress.

“I ask you,” Adam appealed to her, “if you would not have laughed yourself.”

Silence.

Then Nikki unlocked and opened the door, her eyes brimming with mischief and streaky makeup behind the wet washcloth she held to her flushed face. She’d pulled on the hotel’s terry bathrobe.

Adam held up his hands, palms out. “Funny?”

“Funny,” she confirmed, nodding.

He nodded, having absolutely no clue what to do or say next. “Listen, I feel really bad that you thought I was laughing at your dancing.”

“It’s okay.” She scrubbed at her eyes with the cloth, only succeeding in smearing around all the black and purple goop she had on.

“Can I fix you a drink from the minibar while you take that stuff off your face? It’s the least I can do to make things up to you.”

She hesitated, then nodded. “A bourbon and Coke, please.”

He made two of them and handed one to her when she came out. “Cheers.”

“Thanks.” She took a deep gulp. “How’s your nose?”

“Fine. How are your mosquito bites?” He grinned.

She wrinkled her nose at him. “Fine.”

“Nikki, where did you ever get the idea that you’re fat?” he asked abruptly.

She tugged at the robe around her body and hugged herself with her free arm. She took another long swallow of her drink. “Oh, you know.” She shrugged.

“No, I don’t know. You have a smokin’ body.”

“I was a really chubby kid,” she blurted. “They used to call me—” She took another swallow of the bourbon and Coke, effectively finishing it off. “Never mind.”

Adam took the cup from her and went to the minibar to make her another. “What did they call you?”

She picked up a guide to local attractions and thumbed through it without seeming to see anything inside.

He didn’t know why he cared, but he did. “Nikki?”

“Chubba Bubba,” she said, snapping the magazine closed. She shrugged again. “Stupid, huh? Really dumb that I still think about it now, at age twenty-four. But I guess it’s still a sore spot.”

“It’s not stupid,” Adam said. He gave her the second drink. “Kids can be incredibly mean.”

“You have no idea,” she said, taking another big gulp.

He almost advised her to take it easy, but he’d already offended her once and was unwilling to repeat the offense. “Oh, I do have a good idea. I got picked on a lot in junior high.”

“Really? Why?”

He shrugged. “I was a small, nerdy kid with glasses and braces and a bad case of acne.”

Surprise crossed her face. “Yeah?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“But you’re gorgeous,” she blurted. Then blushed. Then gulped more of her drink.

It was his turn to blush. He felt color searing his face. He’d filled out, gone to a dermatologist and lost the braces by his sophomore year in high school. “Uh, thanks, I guess.” He covered his discomfort by burying his nose in his own drink.

“I embarrassed you,” Nikki said. “I’m sorry.”

“Well, I laughed at your backside,” Adam said. “So I guess we’re even, huh?”

She dimpled and leaned forward to set down her cup on the cocktail table. Her robe gaped open as she did so, and his gaze fell straight to her spectacular breasts—what his buddy Devon would call her “luscious golden Winnebagos.” The idiot.

Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was temporary insanity. Or maybe—

“I’d never, ever make fun of your front side,” Adam croaked, as she noticed where his gaze was fixated.

She instantly put her hands up to tug the edges of the robe together.

“Please don’t,” he asked softly.

She froze.

He tried a smile. “They’re so beautiful. Like the rest of you.”

She swallowed, hesitating. Then, blushing furiously again, she tugged the lapels of the robe open. And then, to his stunned disbelief, she removed the pasties on her nipples and let her breasts spill out to greet him.

The air went out of him so fast that his lungs almost collapsed. His mouth gaped open like a grouper’s.

D cups. Perfect, high and round and cherry-capped. Fair? No, this was incredibly unfair. Because Adam wanted to touch them in the worst way. His palms itched, he wanted them so badly. He was afraid he was going to start panting like a dog. He was crazy; he shouldn’t have brought her here. He needed to be studying for the exam on Monday. Where was his legendary hard-won focus?

“Are you okay?” Nikki asked. “Because you have a very peculiar expression on your face.”

He groaned. His woody was back with a vengeance.

“Adam?”

“Look,” he said. “Nikki, don’t take this the wrong way…but the expression on my face is lust, pure and simple. The fact is, sweetheart, that I’d like to fu—uh, screw you into next Friday.”

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