Tonight, lets just be strangers, she murmured
Then Nora rose up on her toes and pressed her mouth to his.
Petes reaction was instant and intense. With a low moan, he pressed her back against the door, covering her mouth with his and pinning her wrists above her head.
He wasnt going to be sorry for this in the morning and neither would shehed make sure of that.
Slowly, deliciously, he seduced her with his tongue, moving from her mouth, to her neck, to the warm valley between her breasts. With insistent fingers, he tugged at her dress until the pink tip of her breast was revealed. He gazed at her with a hunger hed never known, even as he told himself that she would probably soon put an end to this intimate adventure. Still
Noras breath caught as he drew her nipple into his mouth, but rather than pull away, she melted into him, making him forget everything but the need to be deep inside her.
How much further are you going to let this go? he asked, his voice thick with desire. Because if we continue, I cant guarantee Ill be able to stop.
She looked up at him brazenly. But what if I dont want you to stop?
Dear Reader,
It was a long time coming, but here it ismy first Blaze for Harlequin Temptation. Those of you who read my books regularly will be a little surprised, Im sure. After all, Im more known for writing humor than hot, steamy sex. But when my editor challenged me to try my hand at a Blaze, I couldnt resist coming up with a story that was very sexy in both premise and execution. But nobody told me I couldnt make it funny as well.
First thing, I needed a good recipe for this spicy treat. So I started with Nora Pierce, a very frustrated etiquette columnist whos afraid shes losing her sensuality to her alter ego, prissy Prudence Trueheart. Then I added sexy sports writer, Pete Beckett, a guy who has a way with womenand a way of showing up in every one of Noras private fantasies.
After I stirred in several other ingredients, such as secret identities and a one-night stand that turned into so many more, I came up with a story that I hope all of you will find sinfully delicious.
Enjoy,
Kate Hoffmann
P.S. I love to hear from my readers. Please write to me c/o Harlequin Books, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
Books by Kate Hoffmann
HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION
697A BODY TO DIE FOR
731NOT IN MY BED!
758ONCE A HERO
762ALWAYS A HERO
All Through the Night
Kate Hoffmann
www.millsandboon.co.uk
MILLS & BOON
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To my editor Brenda Chin, who believes in me even when I dont. Youre the best.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Epilogue
1
THERE WASNT MUCH he liked about Prudence Trueheart. But he had to admit, he liked the way she moved.
Pete Beckett braced his arms along a low cubicle wall on the far side of the Bullpen, resting his chin on his hands. All around him, the employees of the Heralds sports department rushed to make the noon deadline, frantically typing copy on computer terminals, the click of keys creating a familiar din. As a syndicated columnist, Pete met earlier deadlines, and his column was already out on the wire. And since he hadnt decided on tomorrows subject, he found himself with nothing to do except ruminate on the physical attributes of the Heralds uptight little etiquette columnist, Prudence Trueheart.
Though she always dressed in a tidy little suit and a prissy white blouse, starched board stiff, the body beneath the suit refused to comply with the outward image. To match the clothes, one might expect a ramrod-straight spine and a clipped gait, heels clicking on the floor, mouth pinched in a permanent expression of disapproval.
But the assumption would not be correct. Prudence possessed a fluid grace, her hips swaying ever so slightly with each step, her neck arched and her chin tipped up in subtle defiance. Her arms swung gracefully at her sides and her long fingers were delicately tipped in a conservative shade of cotton-candy pink.
And her mouth. Well, there was something about that mouth that made words of admonishment a waste of a pair of perfectly tempting lips. No matter how hard she tried to look like a Sunday School teacher, Pete couldnt get past the urge to pull every last bobby pin from the knot of pale hair at her nape. Or maybe yank her into his arms and kiss her senseless. Or at least suck on a few of those pretty fingertips.
Giving Prudence the evil eye will not get you that corner office.
Pete turned to find Sam Kiley standing beside him, his gaze fixed on the same target. Do you ever wonder what shes like outside the office? Pete asked. I mean, does she wear those suits to bed? And is that little bun on the back of her head a permanent thing, or does she let her hair loose when she walks in the front door of her house?
Prudence disappeared into her office, and Pete craned his neck to see inside the open door. He just couldnt figure the contradiction. How could a woman with so much sensual presence, such an abundance of feminine appeal, be such a royal pain in the butt? This question had been bothering Pete for a long time, and though it begged an answer, he wasnt about to get close enough to the prickly Prudence to find out what that answer was.
If youre really that curious, I suppose I could ask Ellie, Sam offered.
Ellie, the former Ellen Wilson, happened to be Sam Kileys wife and the circulation manager for the Herald. She was also, coincidentally, Prudence Truehearts best friend. Ellie and Sam had met at the paper and married just a year ago.
Im not curious, Pete lied, pushing back from the cubicle. He laughed dryly. Why would I be curious about Prudence Trueheart?
She has a real name, you know, Sam said.
Pierce, Pete murmured. Lauraor is it Nora? Or maybe its Nola. Weve had a few conversations over the years. Once when I took her parking space, and another time when she accused me of stealing her stapler. I even kissed her once at a Christmas party. And I think Im the only one in the sports department who reads her little memos. At least, before I rip them off the refrigerator door.
He couldnt really blame Prudence. As the San Francisco Heralds only other syndicated columnist, she really didnt fit into any of the other departments at the paper. Prudence was an orphan of sorts and had been given the only available office commensurate with her salary and her value to the Herald. That office just happened to be in the sports department, though both she and Pete were coveting a huge corner office about to be vacated on the other end of the floor.
Hell, she might have had more luck with her memos in Lifestyles. Or even at the city desk. But trying to whip a bunch of rowdy sportswriters and footloose photographers into a polite group of co-workers was a near impossible task. Still, she never stopped trying. Every month, she posted a new memo about office etiquette in the lunchroom; from refrigerator hygiene to coffeepot protocol, there wasnt a rule of polite society that Prudence Trueheart didnt try to enforce.
But the Bullpen was called the Bullpen for a good reason. And it wasnt populated solely by bullheaded men. The sportswriters and photographers at the Herald, male and female, were an odd lot, stubborn and single-minded in their love of any and all sportsand in their distaste for common courtesy. To some outsiders, they might seem like a bunch of arrested adolescents. But Pete liked the laid-back atmosphere and the daily games that began the moment the noon deadlines had passed. They worked hard and they played even harder.
He pushed aside thoughts of Prudence Trueheart, chiding himself for bothering to waste brain cells on her, then turned his attention to todays competition. On Thursday, they always played baseball. Other days it was hockey or golf or basketball. The diamond was laid out among the desks in the Bullpen, and a plastic ball and bat made the competition safe for windows and other breakable objects. Today, the competition would be against Sam Kiley and his motley crew of city beat reporters, easy marks for the money that was often wagered.
Glancing at the clock, Pete headed for the lunchroom to retrieve the ball and bat from a closet. As he grabbed the equipment, he glanced over at the refrigerator. A new note on crisp Herald stationery had been posted in Prudences precise style. He stepped over and scanned the text. Property Rights for Food Owners, he muttered. Apparently, Prudence had had some yogurt that had gone missing a few days back.
Pete grabbed the paper and crumpled it in his fist. Bottom of the ninth, game seven of the series. The bases are loaded and the winning run is at the plate. Beckett steps up into the batters box and the crowd goes wild. He tossed the paper wad up into the air, then swung the bat. Prudences memo went sailing across the room, hit the wall, then dropped into a wastebasket.
Grand slam home run! Pete held up his arms and bowed before walking out of the room. By the time he reached the Bullpen, the teams had assembled and were eagerly awaiting the start of the game. He tossed the ball at Sam Kiley and stepped into the batters box. Loser buys the beers at Vics tomorrow afternoon, he called.
Kiley let the first pitch fly, low and away, and Pete took a swing, connecting with the whiffle ball and sending a line drive across the Bullpenand right into the open door of Prudence Truehearts office. An instant later a scream split the air, and Pete dropped the bat. The guys looked at each other and then at Pete.
He winced. Hey, I didnt do it on purpose. That was a perfect line drive to right field. Ramirez didnt make the catch. He pointed at the sheepish sports photographer. Error, he muttered.
Sam held up his hands in mock surrender. You hit it, Beckett. Youre the one wholl have to apologize.
Pete cursed softly. The last thing he needed was to be verbally dressed down by Prudence Trueheart, especially when hed so recently fantasized about her mouth. Maybe if he just ignored his faux pas, shed write another memo. But then, they only had one whiffle ball, and the game couldnt continue unless he ventured inside her office to retrieve it.
Ill go, he finally said. He felt the same way he had as a kid, when Sister Amalia, his Catholic school principal, called him in to her office after hed sent yet another wild pitch through the rectory window. If Im not out in five minutes, send a rescue party.
He crossed the Bullpen and slowly approached the office door. When he peeked inside, Pete expected to find a glowering Prudence, pacing her office like a hungry tiger, ready to tear him to shreds. Instead, he found her sitting on the floor next to her desk, rubbing her left brow. He quickly bent down and touched her ankle. Are you all right?
She looked up through watery blue eyes and blinked. The moment her gaze met his, Petes lungs slowly ceased to function and breathing became impossible. Hed spent a fair amount of time speculating about the woman who occupied this office, but with her hair mussed and her glasses removed, he had to admit that she was much prettier at close range. Her complexion was flawless, her profile nearly perfect. Her full lips were parted slightly and her breathing shallow. She had a mouth made to be kissed, and kissed deeplyand had she been any other woman, Pete might have given it a try at that very moment.
Instead, he swallowed hard. Nora, he murmured, his gaze dropping to her long, shapely legs and her trim ankles. Her name was Nora Pierce. Hed always thought of her as Prudence Trueheart, but now, with the scent of her perfume wafting through the air and the heat of her skin beneath his palm, she didnt seem much like a Prudence anymore.
Clearing her throat, she fixed her eyes on the spot where his hand rested on her leg, where his thumb idly stroked the inside of her ankle. Her gaze narrowed, and she picked up the plastic baseball and held it out. Mr. Beckett. I believe this is yours.
Pete forced a smile. He snatched his hand away from her ankle, then took the ball from her fingers, feeling as if hed just stuck his hand beneath Sister Amalias habit. Thanks.
Her eyebrow rose every so slightly, disdainfully. And?
And? His mind raced. And what? Thank you very much? Was that what she was waiting for, some kind of superlative? He scowled, then glanced from the baseball to her cool glareand the faint bruise growing beneath her eye. Oh. And. And I apologize, he ventured. Im sorry. Truly sorry.
Her expression softened slightly, and he bit back a massive sigh of relief. Thank you, she said. Apology accepted. And maybe next time you could close my door before you begin your game?
Um, he murmured, letting his gaze drift over her body, taking in the buttons of her suit. They looked as if he could undo them in just a few seconds. Somewhere beneath that drab fabric was a womans body, and from what he could see, it didnt deserve to be trussed up in such a conservative outfit. Pete clenched his fists and pushed the idea aside, returning his gaze to her face.