When He Was Bad.... Jane Sullivan

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      A big grin spread across Nick’s face. He leaned into his microphone. “Tawny, I’ve got to tell you. This woman really knows what she’s talking about.”

      “Hold on, Nick,” Sara said. “I’m not finished yet.”

      “Oh, I’m sorry,” he said with a smug smile. “Did I interrupt?”

      She leaned into the microphone again. “Given his excessive good looks, I suspect he never developed any real talent because he never had to. That’s why he hosts a radio show that relies strictly on his physical attractiveness and his magnetic yet misguided personality. Where women are concerned, he’s as full of empty promises as he is of BS. He’s the kind of man who wouldn’t think to ask ‘Was it good for you, too?’ because he couldn’t fathom that five minutes in his presence wouldn’t drive a woman to orgasm. And while you’re busy thinking about the future, he’s wondering how many beers are left in the fridge.

      “So, without demeaning him by asking him to strip to make the assessment, I’d give him a ten-plus for looks. What I’d give him for what’s underneath those good looks, though, would be a big fat zero.”

      A few seconds of dead air passed, and the flicker of amazement on Nick’s face gave Sara a rush of vindication. Yes. She’d scored a direct hit. Let him try to mess with her after that.

      To her surprise, though, his expression morphed into a grin of sheer delight. “Well,” he said into the microphone, “there may be a little frost on her windows, but it looks as if the furnace inside is going full blast. So how about it, guys? If you like your women feisty, this one might be worth turning off the big screen for. Give me a call and tell me what you think.”

      As the phone lines lit up, anger rumbled inside Sara like a volcano ready to blow. Feisty? Had he just called her feisty? And how had this interview gotten to be about her, anyway?

      Nick started to touch a button to pick up another call, only to put a finger to his headphones. “Oops. Sorry, guys. Butch is telling me we’re out of time.” He swung around and grabbed the copy of Sara’s book from the table beside him. “The name of the book is Chasing the Bad Boy, by Sara Davenport. Buy it because you believe it or buy it because you don’t, but whatever you do, buy it. Then drop Sara an e-mail at—” he flipped to the back of the book “—Sara at Sara Davenport dot com and tell her what you think. Now, don’t go away. We’ll be back in just a few minutes with a little sports talk.”

      Nick punched a button, then pulled off his headphones and faced her. “Wow, Sara. You really let me have it, didn’t you?”

      Sara couldn’t believe this. As if it was her fault they’d squared off the way they had? He’d baited her, angered her and demeaned her, and now he was upset because she’d given him a dose of his own medicine?

      She pulled off her headphones. “Look, Nick. If you’re expecting an apology—”

      “Apology? Are you kidding? That was what I call damned good radio.” He gave her a radiant smile. “Don’t let this get out, but I swear sometimes it’s better than sex.”

      Huh?

      He leaned toward her, dropping his voice. “How about you, Sara? Did you feel the rush?”

      What the hell was he talking about? “All I felt,” she said hotly, “was the desire to get out of here. You made me look like a fool.”

      Nick drew back. “Nobody looked like a fool. Least of all you.”

      “But all those things you said—”

      “Yes. I said a lot of things. And you gave them right back to me. We lit up those lines. That’s a good thing.”

      “No, it’s not,” she said, standing up. “Not when you humiliate me to make it happen.”

      She turned to leave. Nick rose and grabbed her arm. “Hey, take it easy, okay? I don’t want you going away mad.”

      She shook her arm loose and glared at him. “Too late for that.”

      “Okay,” he said, holding up his palms. “I can see that we got off on the wrong foot here.”

      “You have a talent for understatement.”

      “So how about we start over?” A smile eased across his face. “Say…with dinner tonight?”

      Sara drew back in total disbelief. “You have got to be joking.”

      “I never joke about food. I know a great steakhouse on Campbell Road that’s got a rib eye that I just might sell my soul for.”

      “No, thank you.”

      He frowned. “Oh, boy. It’s the red meat thing, isn’t it? Are you one of those women who eats only green stuff?”

      “No!”

      He sighed with relief. “Thank God. Nothing’s worse than taking a vegetarian to a steak house. They end up eating a salad and poking at a baked potato.” He smiled again. “So how about it, Sara? Wanna make an evening of it?”

      This was absolutely unbelievable. How could he even think she’d take him up on such a thing?

      “I told you I’m not interested,” she said. “And I can’t imagine why you would be, either. I mean, why would you want to get stuck with a six like me when you could thumb through your little black book and come up with a perfect ten?”

      “Come on, Sara. That rating thing is just a gimmick. My listeners love it.”

      “Well, I don’t.”

      “Okay, then. Forget the numbers. Here’s the truth.” He moved closer, his mouth edging into a warm smile. “When you walked in here a few minutes ago, my very first thought was that you were just—quite simply—one beautiful woman.”

      For a moment, she thought she heard a note of actual sincerity in his voice, one that almost made her think he wasn’t just tossing compliments around because she’d turned him down and his ego couldn’t take it.

      Almost.

      “No, Nick. Here’s the truth. Your opinion of my physical appearance doesn’t interest me in the least. I was here to promote my book, not to subject myself to your adolescent behavior. But you know what? It’s my fault. I knew what your show was like, and I let my publicist book me on it, anyway. But you can bet your life I won’t make a mistake like that again.”

      “Nick!” Butch said. “You got fifteen seconds!”

      Nick’s smile faded, replaced by a look of resignation. “Okay, Sara. I get the message.”

      “Good.”

      She started to walk out.

      “Sara?”

      “What?”

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