As You Like It. Lori Wilde

she said.

      Fan? Oh no, was she some kind of computer-geek autograph seeker who’d acquired carpal tunnel syndrome from countless hours of playing his most popular video game, Star Tazer?

      She indicated his baseball cap with a wave of her hand and he laughed. Oh yeah. The Yankees.

      He was still trying to puzzle together who she was and what she was doing here when she said, “I was wondering if I might have a moment of your time.”

      Now, that sounded like the prelude to a sales pitch. She was a saleswoman not a lawyer. Yes. That would explain the shoes.

      But not his sudden disappointment because he’d misjudged her smile.

      “I’m just the silent partner,” he said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at Remy. “My brother handles all the purchasing orders.”

      “I’m not selling anything.”

      He folded his arms over his chest, his hands tucked under his armpits and his feet planted shoulders’ width apart. “No? Isn’t everyone selling something?”

      “Can we talk?”

      He waved at the chair across the table. She eased into the seat and he plunked down opposite her. Remy hustled over with her Perrier and a fresh beer for Beau.

      “Got yourself a live one,” Remy whispered. “Go for it.”

      Marissa’s lips curled in amusement. “I appreciate the compliment.”

      Remy grinned back, nudged Beau in the shoulder with his elbow, winked and nodded at him.

      Beau kicked Remy lightly in the shin. Knock off the matchmaking.

      Thankfully, a couple of customers strolled in and claimed Remy’s attention.

      “Ignore my brother. He can’t stand it because he’s married and I’m not.”

      She dropped her gaze for a fraction of a second and pressed her lips together before raising her head and meeting his eyes once more. There it was again, the hint she didn’t feel quite as competent as she hoped to appear.

      “Mr. Thibbedeaux. Beau.” She took a sip of Perrier, and then settled her hands in her lap. “Why don’t I just cut to the chase? I’m an account manager for Pegasus software in Manhattan.”

      He said nothing, just watched and waited. He’d heard of Pegasus. It was a small but rapidly expanding company that had built their reputation on cutting-edge technology and a penchant for maverick risk taking.

      “Our largest client is Baxter and Jackson.”

      “The sex institute?” He purposely put an emphasis on the word sex to see if he could provoke a blush. No such luck. Her professional persona was firmly in place and she wasn’t about to encourage him. But, although her lips didn’t turn up at the corners, her eyes did crinkle and he felt as if he’d been awarded a grand prize.

      “Yes. The sex institute.”

      “Must make for a titillating work environment,” Beau said, exaggerating the first syllable of titillating. He made sure his voice was low and husky and provocative.

      “At times.”

      Cotton candy wouldn’t melt in her mouth; her expression was that dry. He wondered what it would take to wet her up from the inside out.

      “So what does all this have to do with me?” he ventured, although he had a pretty good idea where the conversation was headed and he was loath for it to roll there. Maybe he was wrong and she would surprise him, he hoped wistfully.

      “Baxter and Jackson have commissioned Pegasus to produce a virtual-reality video game for them.”

      “A touchy-feely video sex romp? I thought Baxter and Jackson were strictly clinical.”

      “It’s an interactive, instructional type game designed to assist couples who have trouble letting themselves go during intimacy.”

      “You’re kidding.”

      “I’m not. Baxter and Jackson have done considerable research that shows a sense of whimsy is a key ingredient in happy relationships. Apparently a lot of their patients don’t know how to instigate their own bedroom fun. Hence the idea for a video game.”

      “You don’t say.”

      She kept her voice just above a whisper and leaned in closer. “Just between you and me and the fence post, I think it’s a preposterous notion, but they are the clients.”

      “What’s so preposterous about it?”

      “You shouldn’t have to play a game to get closer to your significant other.”

      “Personally, I’ve always been a big fan of whimsy in the bedroom. I like toys and games and role-playing. How about you?”

      He was being wicked and he knew it, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. He had the strangest urge to ruffle her feathers. Maybe it was because she’d ruffled his without even trying and he could not stop thinking about undressing her and discovering exactly what delicious treats lay beyond her composed exterior.

      Now here it was at last. The pink flush staining her cheeks. He suppressed a triumphant grin.

      She straightened, pulling away from him. “I suppose your sublime appreciation of wacky boudoir antics is why they asked me to contact you about designing the game for them.”

      “Boudoir antics?” He laughed and wriggled his eyebrows.

      “It’s an expression.”

      “Yeah, if you’re seventy-five.”

      “What would you have me say? Love-shack frolics?” She narrowed her eyes and her nostrils flared. “The mattress tango? The sleeping-bag slide? Tube-steak boogie?”

      “I was thinking something a little more down and dirty.”

      Wooo, he’d pushed her hot button and she was fun to tease. He murmured a phrase that would have spurred his Italian grandmother to scrub his mouth out with Ivory.

      She glared in irritation. “Get over yourself.”

      “Excuse me?”

      “Do you have to make a joke of everything?”

      He shrugged. “Sorry. It’s my nature. Survival mechanism.”

      She drummed her fingernails on the table. “Can we return to the topic at hand?”

      “If you insist. I’d much rather bug you about sex. It’s so easy to make you squirm.”

      Ignoring that last comment, she said, “We’re prepared to offer you significant compensation if you sign on to the project”

      Beau shook his head. He had to admit, the idea of creating a virtual-reality sex video game was intriguing, especially if he would be working closely with Marissa, who, it seemed, could morph into something of a spitfire when she got charged up. And once upon a time he would have found the Baxter and Jackson concept quite challenging. But not anymore.

      “I’m sorry you wasted your time coming down here, Ms. Sturgess, but I’m retired.”

      “People come out of retirement all the time.”

      “Not me.”

      “Perhaps if you slept on it.” She reached up a hand and fingered her beaded necklace.

      “Really, I’m not interested.”

      She fished a pen from her briefcase, jotted down a number on a cocktail napkin and passed it across the table. “Would this help persuade you?”

      “Money isn’t going to win me over.” He pushed the napkin back toward her without even glancing at it.

      “What will it take then?”

      “That