Getting It Good!. Rhonda Nelson

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СКАЧАТЬ informed decision, right, Zora?” Frankie leaned back in her chair, crossed her arms over her chest and regarded him with something close to pitying amusement.

      His gaze bounced from Frankie to Zora and he felt his eyes widen in shocked disbelief. The rest? There was more? As it stood, he’d have to be on the road with Frankie—hell, in and of itself—and yet there was more?

      Ross smirked, looked heavenward for patience, for divine intervention before he did something stupid. Like telling his boss and his evil wife to shove it. “Do tell, Zora,” he said sardonically. “I do want to make an ‘informed decision.’”

      “Very well,” Zora replied. “You’ll be accompanying Frankie as CHiC’s Duke of Desire. You, too, will dole out sex advice, speak for the male population.”

      Ross blinked, certain he couldn’t possibly have heard her correctly. “Come again?”

      A familiar feminine chuckle sounded. Frankie’s, no doubt, the vindictive witch. He could think of a million other ways to put that carnal mouth to better use, Ross thought, as his blood began to boil.

      “You’ll go as the Duke of Desire,” Zora repeated. Her lips quivered with the urge to smile and an evil twinkle danced in her triumphant gaze. She slid her husband a glance, then met his gaze once more. “You’ll do exactly what Frankie does, only you’ll speak for the male audience.”

      It was that triumphant gaze, that laughter at his expense that checked Ross’s immediate impulse to tell them all to go to hell. And it was a strong impulse, almost overwhelming.

      But that look simply wasn’t acceptable.

      It strummed his let’s-rumble nerve, hit his competitive vein releasing a flood of you’ll-wish-you-were-never-born cutthroat blood that instantly pushed a lazy do-or-die grin up his lips. They wanted to play, did they? Fine. He was up for it.

      He passed a hand over his face. “Let me get this straight. You want me to go with Frankie and talk about sex for the next week?” he asked. He let his gaze drift to her, then purposely over her, and had the pleasure of watching that annoying smile she’d been wearing slowly capsize.

      Zora nodded, sensing his abrupt change in mood as well. She stilled. “That sums it up nicely, yes.”

      He looked at Tate. “And the Maxwell account is mine when I get back?”

      “That’s right.”

      Ross grinned, and despite the fact he was wound tighter than an eight-day clock, he lifted one shoulder in a negligent shrug. “Then it’s a no-brainer. Count me in.”

      “Excellent,” Zora replied. She stood and nudged her husband, who belatedly left his chair. “We’ll get ours to go. Frankie, you take a long lunch, fill Ross in on the particulars and I’ll see you back at the office.” She and Tate hurried off before Frankie could voice the protest that had formed silently on her lips.

      “Looks like it’s just me and you,” he told her, enjoying his advantage. “Guess we’d better get used to it. A whole week,” he needled significantly. “Together.”

      Frankie’s gorgeous face went comically blank. Obviously she’d been so caught up in his future misery that she’d failed to consider her own.

      Ross’s mood instantly improved—perhaps he should enlighten her.

      THINGS HAD GONE EXACTLY as she’d imagined right up until five minutes ago, Frankie thought as her former glee turned into furious despair. Ross had reacted much as she’d predicted for the initial part of the lunch, then he’d surprised her by capitulating so easily. She hadn’t expected his abrupt change of heart and, quite honestly, the fact that he was taking this so well infuriated the living hell out of her.

      He wasn’t supposed to take it well.

      He was supposed to stomp and roar like an outraged elephant. He was not supposed to dismiss the next week as the Duke of Desire as mildly amusing, then dig into his lunch as though he didn’t have a care in the world.

      It was exceedingly unsporting of him.

      “Look, Ross,” Frankie said, coating her patronizing tone with a hard layer of ice. “I don’t think it’s going to be as easy as you think.”

      “What?” he asked. He grinned that lazy, sexy grin, the one that never failed to simultaneously turn her on and irritate the hell out of her. “I’m going to give sex advice. How hard can it be?” He winked at her. “I happen to be an expert.”

      Frankie snorted, staunchly ignored the flash-fire that quickly spread over her thighs. “That’s a matter of opinion and, just for clarification, not yours.” God, could a man be any more conceited?

      “It’s a fact, and can be authenticated if you require proof.”

      To her horror, she felt a blush creep up her neck. She swallowed and donned an exasperated expression. “Trust me, that won’t be necessary. My point is, you’ll be representing the magazine. You’ll need to be careful what sort of advice you dole out, otherwise you’ll make CHiC look bad. Which for obvious reasons isn’t the goal.” She snapped her napkin into her lap. “In short, you won’t be able to act like your typical obnoxious know-it-all self.”

      Looking irritatingly unconcerned, Ross chuckled low and sprawled back into his seat. “Now that’s the pot calling the kettle black if I’ve ever heard one.”

      Annoyed, Frankie picked up her spoon and chased a piece of sausage around the bowl. “Furthermore,” she added, “merely having sex does not make you an expert.”

      Ross cast her a twinkling glance, washed a bite of his burger down with a deep drink of his iced tea. “Yeah…but having sex a lot does.”

      Frankie’s fingers tightened around her utensil and she futilely wondered if it were possible to claw out her mind’s eye. “That’s more than I needed to know.” Way more. Hell, she knew he was experienced—from what she’d covertly gleaned from Zora, Ross was never without a date, had to practically beat the women off his sexy hide with a stick. Furthermore, she also instinctively knew he was the expert he claimed to be, but the reminder played havoc with her senses and she’d just as soon not hear it.

      “Really?” he said, evidently enjoying this suggestive line of conversation. A droll smile rolled around his lips, and those sexy-as-hell kaleidoscope eyes crinkled at the corners. “I would have thought that I’d need to list my experience. That you might even need to call a few references for this job.” His voice dropped to a sensual purr. “Or, maybe you could interview me personally,” he suggested. “Check my job performance, make sure that I’m competent enough to be your Duke of Desire.”

      The innuendo in that low, hazy voice conjured an image of her interviewing him until her eyes rolled back in her head. Cool sheets, hot naked bodies, candlelight and massage oil. Hot, hard and fast, then slow, easy and deliberate. Her feminine muscles clenched, forcing a shuddering breath from her lungs. “No,” she said tightly, blinking the vision from her mind. “That won’t be necessary. Dammit, Ross, you’re not taking this seriously.”

      “Why should I?” he countered, seemingly oblivious to the fact that she’d just produced her own mental porn film, featuring them in the starring roles. “We both know I’ve been manipulated into this. I became a pawn in Zora and Tate’s СКАЧАТЬ