Chapter One
Annie Long could trace her problems with men back to her
first high school dance. Billy Ray Smith begged her to put
her sweet lips where her sweet lips didn't want to go.
Annie gagged at the thought, and vomited bright red punch
all over the white leather interior of his rich daddy's
brand-new Cadillac.
Even for a naïve sixteen-year-old with a weak stomach,
that should have been Annie's first clue that more often
than not relationships basically do suck. But instead of
heeding that warning, Annie bravely continued lily pad
hopping her way through life, fully convinced she would
eventually find a prince among the usual suspects milling
around in society's frog-filled pond.
Hop. Hop. Hop. Zip past successful entrepreneur Ben, who
claimed he was a leg man instead of a boob man-Annie's
mile long legs really were her best feature. Dirty liar
Ben dumped her at twenty-two for a waitress from Hooters
with fake boobs the size of Annie's beloved state of
Georgia.
Zoom past independent moviemaker Dan, whom Annie met at
the popular Atlanta Film Festival when she was twenty-
four. Slightly perverted Dan dumped Annie when she refused
to star in his upcoming documentary Women Making Love to
Women.
And skip past handsome pharmaceutical salesman Ron
altogether. Amazingly, idiot Ron somehow got it into his
hypochondria-impaired mind that some evasive mineral in
Annie's twenty-six-year-old saliva was responsible for his
excruciating migraine headaches.
It wasn't until promising young advertising executive Dave
came along when she was twenty-nine that Annie thought
she'd finally found her Mr. Potential. Dave claimed he
loved Annie's small perky breasts just as much as he loved
her long silky legs. He had no apparent lesbian sex
fantasies as far as she could tell. And he didn't even
mind swapping saliva on a regular basis.
Dave, in fact, was the reason Annie was humming happily to
herself during Thank-God-It's-Friday early morning rush
hour. Black lace teddy. Candles galore. Dom Perignon and
Russian caviar. She ticked the items off in her mind,
ignoring the downtown Atlanta traffic that was a total
bitch as usual.
Music? The red light caught her, giving her a minute to
ponder. Dave was a huge jazz fan, Annie knew that. But
jazz really didn't fit the mood she had in mind. She'd
have to give it more thought when she reached her office.
Go with something more Motown maybe. Something slow and
sexy.
A pushy SUV the size of a tank cut her off, which usually
catapulted Annie close to the road-rage edge. She didn't
even honk her horn. Clean sheets. Fresh towels. The new
Hilfiger terry cloth robe as a surprise gift for Dave. She
smiled. He would complain she was spoiling him, of course.
Tell her she shouldn't spend her hard-earned money on him.
But he'd love it. She knew he would.
Finally, she inched her way to the Bank of America Plaza-
not as tall as buildings in Chicago and New York City, but
a skyscraper nonetheless with fifty-five stories of prime
office space. She parked her vintage 1975 Volkswagen
convertible in the underground parking garage, unconcerned
that her bright purple bug looked like a giant Easter egg
sitting between a shiny Lexus and a sporty BMW. Trendy had
never been at the top of her to be list.
Still thinking about the special night she'd carefully
planned for Dave, Annie reached the parking garage
elevator with a cheerful smile. "Have you ever seen such a
glorious June morning?"
She'd made the comment to no one in particular as she and
fifteen other people crammed themselves into the elevator.
But a heavyset man standing beside her mopped his moist
brow with a handkerchief, looked over at her, and
said, "It's the Prozac, right? That's the only explanation
for anyone calling seventy-two degrees at eight a.m. a
glorious June morning."
Annie ignored him. Everyone else laughed.
She hopped off the elevator on the thirty-second floor and
entered the offices of Paragon Technology, one of the
nation's major interactive software developers and second
to none in the video game industry. Today Annie didn't
even give in to that crestfallen I'll-never-be-anything-
but-the-token-female-of-the-creative-department feeling.
Not today.
After a month long business trip to San Francisco, Dave
was finally coming home.
Nothing was going to rain on Annie's parade today. "Wow.
Annie. You look wonderful." Annie smiled appreciatively.
Kathy Welborn, her only true gal-pal at Paragon, was
pretty and blonde. A dead ringer for Helen Hunt, most
people said, but Annie thought Kathy was prettier. Like
most receptionists, Kathy always had the inside scoop on
everyone in the company. In other words, a good friend to
have.
Annie made an exaggerated curtsy in front of Kathy's
desk. "I thank you. The academy thanks you. My mother
thanks you."
And yes, she had gone a bit overboard today. The Anna Sui
floral sundress fit her like a second skin. And her sexy
Manolo sandals had a price tag that still made her
shudder. She'd bought the shoes partly because they
matched the periwinkle blue flowers in the dress
perfectly. But mainly she'd bought them because she wanted
to see what all the Manolo Blahnik hype was about. Sadly,
three hundred and fifty dollars poorer she still hadn't
figured it out.
She'd even managed to restrain her stringy mop rather
neatly in a poofy strawberry blonde swoop on top of her
head. And she'd applied a little makeup, which she rarely
ever wore. Because today, dammit, called for one of those
sundress, Manolos, and makeup kind of moods. "You really
do look great, Annie," Kathy said. "What time did you say
you were picking Dave up from the airport this afternoon?"
"Four o'clock sharp," Annie said, beaming. "And does the
poor guy have any idea about the deliciously sinful agenda
you have planned for him the entire weekend?"
"Not a clue," Annie said with a wink. She headed off down
the hallway to the large corner office reserved for the
creative department, complete with a coveted window and a
breathtaking view of the city of Atlanta. For once, she
was the first one to arrive.
Annie stopped at her desk, which had Nerdette on her
nameplate. She had just stuffed her purse into the desk's
bottom drawer when Collin Adair rushed into the office,
two large paper cups deftly clasped in each manicured
hand.
He came to a screeching halt the second he saw her. And
the first words out of Collin's mouth were, "Well, aren't
you a sight for my queer eye. You look fabulous, Annie.
Absolutely fabulous."
Annie twirled around for inspection, pleased. Any
compliment coming from Mr. Buff-to-the-Cuff (one of
Collin's favorite expressions) was one Annie didn't take
lightly. The man had a designer-filled closet himself that
would make a grown woman weep. The double-box pleat tan
Geneva pants, pale yellow Cacella silk shirt, and the
Pelagio linen oxford shoes he was wearing today were
Collin's idea of "casual" wear. He tossed his Brad Pittish
dirty-blond locks back away from his forehead and looked
her up and down again with eyes ten times bluer than any
color-enhanced contacts could make them. "If Dave doesn't
throw you down and ravish you the second he steps off that
plane, the man's a complete buffoon."
Annie laughed. "No, I'm the buffoon. For letting you talk
me into blowing an entire week's salary on Dave's
homecoming dinner." She shook her head and sighed,
thinking about the catastrophe that used to be her
checking account. "I still can't believe I paid eighty-
five dollars for a teaspoon of caviar."
"And your idea of Domino's pizza or Chinese take-out was
better?"
Annie stuck her tongue out at him. "I'm not that clueless
when it comes to entertaining."
Collin raised an eyebrow to challenge her
statement. "Here," he said, thrusting one of the steaming
cups in her direction. "You can't risk having too much
blood in your caffeine system today. I brought you a
transfusion." When Annie took the cup, he said, "This is
Latte Land's early-morning special. Triple-mocha latte.
Fully leaded.
A dash of cherry flavor. And with yummy cinnamon sprinkles
amidst a rich whipped cream topping." He tapped his cup
against hers. "Here's to homecomings. And then to multiple
comings and comings, and ..." Annie rolled her
eyes. "Forget caffeine. What I need is a Valium smoothie."
She held a shaking hand out as proof.
Collin shook his know-it-all head. "Wrong again, sweetums.
Excitement masked as anxiety does incredible things to the
libido. A little anxiety will give you the energy and
stamina you need later in the bedroom." Annie groaned.
Collin leaned against his desk-his nameplate boasting
Queer Nerd since he had been responsible for the silly
titles. "Listen, lovey," he said. "Forget the nervous
jitters. Just clear your mind and focus on nothing but how
wonderful it's going to be after you pick Dave up at the
airport. You're going to spirit him away to your apartment
for a scrumptious five-star meal, already prepared
exclusively by moi." He polished his nails proudly against
his expensive silk shirt. "And then you're going to render
that boy senseless with a multimega lovefest he'll never
forget."
Annie managed a weak smile. "You're right. You've helped
me plan everything perfectly." "Right down to the designer
condoms waiting on his pillow," Collin chirped.
"I know," Annie said. "I'm just nervous. Dave and I
haven't seen each other in four long weeks. There's also
the blasted time difference. And Dave's e-mails are
strictly one-liners. Plus-"
"Stop it." Collin took Annie gently by the shoulders and
forced her to look at him. "Now. Stand up straight. And
take one long, deep, cleansing breath to calm yourself."
Annie only made it as far as standing up straight before
Kathy's voice rang through the intercom. "Haz-Matt's on
line one. And he wants to talk to you, Annie."
Annie automatically glanced across the room. The vacant
desk hogging the window in the place of authority had
Neanderthal Nerd on the nameplate for obvious
reasons. "Haz-Matt" was the head of the creative
department, Matt Abbington. The nickname, like his
nameplate, was self-explanatory. Matt's tall, dark, and
deadly good looks could be hazardous to a woman's better
judgment, not to mention her heart.
Annie looked back at the blinking line and frowned. She'd
had her own lapse in judgment where Matt was concerned
shortly after she'd first joined Paragon a year earlier.
It wasn't something she was proud of. It was just one of
those situations where the beauty of the moment had been
strictly in the eye of the beer holder, for lack of a
better explanation. To date, they'd both had the good
sense to pretend that night never happened. "You'd better
answer that, Annie."
Annie glanced in Collin's direction. He looked anxious,
playing the role of peacemaker as usual for his old
college roommate. It was no secret that Matt had taken
Collin right up the corporate ladder with him after
designing a successful video sports game that immediately
made him Paragon's wonder boy extraordinaire.
Gratitude and a close friendship kept Collin in check. But
for her part, Annie was growing tired of Matt expecting
his creative team to continually take a backseat to his
own brilliance. Lately she and Matt had been clashing at
every turn. Especially since no one had the power to jerk
her chain faster than Matt Abbington.
Rattle. Rattle. Rattle. Clang. Clang. Clang.
"Annie. Pick up the phone. You know Matt hates to be kept
waiting."
"I know," Annie said, staring at the blinking line. But,
dammit, he was going to ruin her good mood. Annie knew he
would. Matt always did.
For the first time during her glorious June morning, Annie
sensed black clouds slowly gathering above her head.
If Matt hated anything, it was being left on "ignore."
Annie knew it. Collin knew it. So where the hell were
they?
They had their heads together oohing and aahing over some
fashion magazine, most likely. Or discussing what they
were going to wear to the next big function on their
social calendar.
Well, screw that. He needed to talk to Annie and he needed
to talk to her now.
He disconnected the call and hit speed dial. "It's Matt
again, Kathy," he said the second the receptionist
answered. "Do I suddenly need a special password to get
someone to answer the phone in my own department?" He
groaned when the shut-up-and-wait music kicked in.
Matt shook his head disgustedly. He deserved a gold medal
for putting up with Collin and with Annie. In fact, most
of the time he felt like he was living one long PMS
nightmare. He, of course, was always the bad guy because
he had no interest whatsoever in getting in touch with his
feminine side.
Like that was going to happen in this lifetime. Besides,
Collin and Annie were the ones who always seemed miserable
with their ultra-feminine selves. Not him. Annie, for
instance, had been moping around for weeks over dick head
Dave, with whom she was supposedly having a "meaningful"
relationship. As opposed to the meaningless overnight
relationship she'd had with him.
Sure, he'd been sore at first when Annie pretended their
night together never happened. As her boss, he could have
used his authority to get back at her. He hadn't done
that, at least not intentionally. In fact, Annie had
actually done both of them a huge favor by giving him the
brush-off. She was looking for happily-ever-after. He
wasn't looking, period.
Now, he never let himself dwell on that near disaster.
Just as he refused to dwell on Annie's little-girl grin
and her body made for sin. Or her down-her-back reddish
gold hair that was sexy as hell. Or those saucer-size eyes
so blue a man could get lost in them. He'd had one weak
moment, that was all. Miss Meaningful Relationship was
strictly off-limits. Because the last thing this homeboy
wanted was any type of relationship.
Relationship. Even the word made him queasy. Mainly
because he just didn't get it.
Women claimed they wanted to be treated as equals. They
demanded equal billing in the boardroom and in the
bedroom. They even insisted they wanted carefree single
lives and successful careers first, and families later.
But was that enough? Nope. They just had to pull out the
old relationship trump card that quickly pushed going out
and having a great time together into the No-win Zone. For
a guy, that is.
Because the rules constantly changed. Call a woman up
during the day just to say hello, and you could guarantee
she'd be (a) hurt, (b) confused, or (c) just mad as hell
(take your pick) because you didn't call her the evening
before to say goodnight. Take her to an outdoor concert on
Saturday, then brace yourself for the (a) whining, (b)
crying, or (c) screaming fit (again, take your pick) she'd
wage on Sunday because you wanted to play golf and she
assumed you would want to (a) drop by her parents' house
for lunch, (b) walk through the mall looking into jewelry
store windows, or (c) just spend some quality time alone
with her (you get the idea).