10 Rules to Sex Up a Blind Date. Heidi Rice

knot about? Because it was getting uncomfortable. Excitement, maybe? After all, this was a date with actual prospects. The anticipation of flesh-to-flesh contact with another human being, and the promised endorphin rush of good hard sweaty sex, had caused her to waste a good hour debating the appropriate knicker etiquette for tonight.

      ‘Hey, Tally, is that you?’

      She stopped dead at the sound of Sam’s deliberately nonchalant tone, her heels sinking into the deep-pile carpet—and eased a breath out of constricted lungs. Pasting on the surprised smile she’d been practising in the mirror all evening, she spotted Sam standing beside one of the booths. She scanned the rest of his booth as discreetly as possible. A pair of muscular forearms rested on the table, but the remainder of Sam’s companion was hidden in the shadows.

      ‘Sam, fancy meeting you here.’ She winced at her overly bright tone.

      ‘Yeah, fancy.’ The twinkle in Sam’s eyes dazzled her with conspiratorial glee. ‘Hey, Brent, this is Tally, a girl I know from way back,’ he added, being deliberately vague about their connection, as they’d arranged. ‘Tally, meet Brent, a pal from my college days.’

      She dragged in air, trying not to hyperventilate as a tall man appeared from the shadows and unfolded himself from the booth.

       Holy shit.

      She sucked in a breath, nearly choking on the drool that collected under her tongue, as he reached out one large tanned hand. ‘Tally, hi.’

      Sam had said his friend was ruggedly handsome. For a gay man into art and design, Sam certainly wasn’t into flamboyant overstatement. Brent O’Neill wasn’t ruggedly handsome. He was ruggedly awesome.

      Firm fingers folded over hers as her gaze met eyes so blue they were almost translucent, the brilliant aquamarine reminiscent of a Caribbean tourist brochure. She stood momentarily transfixed, the calluses on his palm sending goose bumps sprinting up her arm, as she noticed the bold angles and contours of his face.

      Muscular shoulders stretched the seams of a white shirt and tapered down to the lean waist of his charcoal-grey suit trousers. Despite wearing the standard uniform of a well-heeled office worker, with his height—he towered over her even in her heels—and those mile-wide shoulders, he had the aura of a navy SEAL rather than a tech geek.

      The brutal buzz cut added to the impression of raw, all-American masculinity, accentuating his blunt features and making her fingers itch to caress the soft spikes of hair covering his scalp. Goodness. He certainly had a physique better suited to hand-to-hand combat in a war zone than booting up a hard drive in Mayfair.

      She struggled to re-inflate her lungs, before they collapsed entirely, and say something that didn’t involve whimpering, but then his deep unfathomable gaze roamed down to her cleavage, insolent and entitled—and the supply of oxygen to her brain cut off entirely.

      Given that her bust was clad in sequined velvet precisely for the purpose of drawing the male gaze, she couldn’t exactly be outraged by the bold assessment, but that didn’t stop heat flaring across her chest as the knowledge in his eyes made her wonder if Sam had managed to keep his mouth shut about her intentions.

      ‘Great to meet you. Why don’t you join us?’ His wide, sensual mouth quirked on one side and he gave her hand a gentle tug.

      She cleared her throat. That was supposed to have been Sam’s line.

      ‘Um, thanks.’ She went to slide into the booth next to Sam, but Brent the Magnificent’s large hand touched her hip, sending a jolt of shock and awe up her spine. And stopped her in her tracks. ‘Take my seat. I was heading to the bar. What’s your poison?’

      ‘A daiquiri.’ He brushed past her, the spicy scent of clean male sending her senses into overdrive as his hand slid off her hip. The familiarity unsettled her a little. Either the guy was super-tactile or he was already staking a claim. And while her nipples weren’t objecting, the rest of her felt a bit dazed. After two years without a ride of any description, maybe she’d overestimated her ability to jump back on the horse—or rather, the stallion—this quickly.

      Had she actually requested a huge dick? What had seemed hopelessly arousing in the cab on the way over now seemed overwhelming. Why the heck hadn’t she thought this through a lot more carefully?

      Brent lifted a finger to Sam. ‘Another Bud, buddy?’

      Sam glanced at his watch, not at all subtly. ‘Actually I’ve gotta shoot.’ He gave Tally a peck on the cheek, as if they were old buddies. The faker. ‘Real sorry not to get the chance to catch up.’ He patted her waist. ‘You wanna hang out with Brent for a while?’

      The knot in her throat grew into a boulder.

      ‘You’re leaving already?’ She glared at her now ex-new best friend. What was he playing at? He might as well have put up a sign saying “woman in need of shagging, this way.” And while it was clearly true on a physical level—given the way her clitoris was throbbing in time with her frantic pulse—she hadn’t planned on being quite this obvious. Yet.

      ‘Yeah, I’ve got tickets for the theatre.’ He winked. He actually winked at her. ‘I give you guys full permission to talk trash about me behind my back.’

      Talk trash about him? She was going to eviscerate him.

      ‘Well, thank you,’ she said dryly, trying to stem the panic and convey her displeasure. She needed to ease into this. Not get kicked into the deep end. ‘That should take all night, given the amount of dirt I have on you,’ she added, in case Sam hadn’t got the message that she was not pleased with his sudden deviation from their carefully worked out plan.

      Brent’s gruff chuckle rolled up her spine like warm chocolate sauce—decadent and scarily delicious. ‘Great, I’m always looking for more dirt on Sam,’ he murmured. ‘One daiquiri coming up.’

      As soon as Brent was out of earshot, she grasped Sam’s upper arm. ‘Are you bloody nuts?’ she whispered furiously. ‘He’ll figure out it’s a set-up.’

      ‘So what?’ Sam’s grin widened. ‘From the way he was checking out your rack, the hunt’s already on.’

      ‘Yes, but...’ But what? She glanced over her shoulder to watch Brent the Magnificent stroll to the bar. He was precisely what she’d ordered. So why the heck was she panicking?

      But then she watched him draw the barman’s attention away from the other patrons waiting to get served with a lift of his index finger. And a tremor went through her sex-starved body. A weird combination of arousal, anticipation and extreme terror.

      Brent wasn’t an alpha male, he was an alpha wolf—and for all her big talk last week, she was completely out of practise at handling one of those. Because the last time she’d hooked up with one, he’d ended up ripping her to shreds.

      Was there such a thing as a too-hot date?

      ‘Hey, relax.’ Sam touched her nose, drawing her attention back to him. ‘Flirt with Brent, have some fun. If you don’t want to jump him, give him the brush-off. He’s a big guy. He can take it. He won’t push—trust me, I wouldn’t hook you up with that kind of guy.’

      ‘Okay...’ she said, quelling the sudden urge to ask exactly how big a guy Brent was. That kind of speculation had gotten her into this fix in the first place. ‘I guess I’m not worried about his control...’ She sighed. ‘I’m more worried about my own. I don’t want any emotional fall-out from this.’ While she’d been ready to get back on the sexy-go-round for a while, she was so not ready for the emotional rollercoaster that had gone with it last time. The fact was that her instant, over the top reaction to Brent was reminiscent of her first response to Henry. But more so. Even Henry hadn’t drained the blood from her brain to her clit in ten seconds flat.

      Sam’s eyebrow lifted. ‘Tally, trust me.’ He gave her shoulder a friendly squeeze. ‘That’s not going to happen. Not with Brent. So control’s got nothing to do with it.’