The Taming of a Wild Child. Kimberly Lang

as he relented. She glanced at the article for its byline. “Evelyn Jones.”

      He knew Evelyn slightly through the newspaper. Her true calling was in tabloid gossip, and the New Orleans society pages were the closest she’d gotten. “Was she a guest at the wedding?”

      Lorelei seemed to be thinking. “She was there. I’m pretty sure she left after the cake-cutting, though.”

      “Then she’s reporting hearsay. Everyone in the bar that night was just as far gone as we were.”

      “Except for the servers—”

      “And the one who gave up that little tidbit probably got a nice fat tip for the story.”

      “That’s a terrible—”

      He shrugged off her outrage. “That’s the way it works. For a hundred bucks I could get a source to swear they once saw Mother Theresa doing keg stands. Times are tough all around. Money talks.”

      Lorelei looked outraged. “That’s dishonest.”

      “That’s tabloid journalism for you.”

      “And you wonder why—”

      “I don’t wonder anything, Lorelei. It is what it is.”

      “So you’d sell someone’s reputation out just for money?” She looked worried. He assumed she’d only just now realized that he now had quite the story about her to sell. He wouldn’t even have to lie or embellish it, either.

      “Calm down. I see no need to spread the news, and I certainly don’t need the money.”

      Lorelei shot him a look he couldn’t decipher. Then she sighed and sank back onto the couch. “So how do I disprove something when I don’t know how much of it is true? I’m not a very good liar.” The corners of her mouth turned down as she confessed that like it was a character flaw.

      “We did not engage in any PDA at the bar. It was later that …” He trailed off as Lorelei flushed that rosy color. “We laugh it off. That’s it. We and the others were just having a good time—as one does at a party—and any other claims have been exaggerated for effect.”

      Lorelei started to nod, but caught herself. “Wait a second …” A suspicious look began to pull her eyebrows together. “How are you so certain that there was no PDA in the bar? You told me it was all fuzzy from the tequila.”

      Damn. She’d caught that. “Fuzzy, yes. Total blackout … no.”

      “So you do … remember?” The suspicion on her face turned to horror, and then that rosy embarrassed color she’d had since he’d brought up PDA deepened to an amazing shade of red. She crossed her arms over her chest again, but this time it was more a gesture of modesty, like he could see through her clothes. “Oh, my God. It was bad enough to know it happened even though I didn’t remember it. But to know that you do and I don’t …”

      Now he felt like some kind of pervert, which made absolutely no sense at all. And he had no idea what he should say to take that vulnerable, disgusted-with-herself look off her face.

      “Did I—? Did we …?” Lorelei pushed to her feet and picked up her purse. “Oh, God. I have to leave now.”

      “It was just sex, Lorelei.”

      “Oh, well, that completely alleviates my mind. Thank you.”

      “You want a rundown? A play-by-play?”

      Her eyes widened. “You could provide that?”

      He let his silence answer her question.

      She swallowed hard and cleared her throat. “Oh, this just keeps getting better and better.”

      Now he felt like a twisted pervert. “Lorelei …”

      She squared her shoulders. “I think you’re right, Donovan. We should just ignore the innuendo and laugh it off if anyone has the bad manners to bring it up. Forgetting it ever happened doesn’t seem to be an option anymore—at least for you—but we’ll go with pretending it didn’t.” Lorelei grabbed her purse from the couch and a bitter laugh escaped. “I mean, who’s really going to believe it, right? Me and you? Please. I can barely believe it. It’s absurd.”

      The more she tried to convince herself, the more insulted he got. He wasn’t a leper, for God’s sake, and most women wouldn’t be acting as if they’d committed some gross, shameful, unforgivable sin like Lorelei was. Most normal women—women who weren’t like Lorelei and her ilk—considered him a pretty good catch and would be trying to capitalize on this instead of flagellating themselves over it. Their hook-up might have been insane, but it certainly hadn’t crossed over into the absurd. They were both of the same species, whether Lorelei wanted to admit that or not.

      She might not remember it, but she’d enjoyed herself. It wasn’t as if he’d forced her into his bed, either. She’d been a willing, active participant who’d gone to sleep with a smile on her face.

      His ego had had just about enough of the martyr act, and when Lorelei tried to brush past him, heading for the door, still muttering about absurdity, he grabbed her elbow and turned her to face him.

      “I won’t have the ‘bad manners’ to bring this up the next time we meet, Princess, but at least let me leave you with the truth. It was hot, sweaty, athletic sex, and you enjoyed it. You’re quite flexible, you know.”

      Lorelei swallowed hard. He had to give her credit, though. She met his eyes and never wavered as he described, in graphic detail, the way she’d ridden him like a polo pony and begged for more. Her pupils dilated until only a small ring of blue remained, and her breathing turned shallow. But as his skin heated with the memory and his erection pressed painfully against his zipper, he cursed the fact he’d let his ego and pride take it this far. Being this close to Lorelei allowed the scent of her perfume to fill his nose with each breath, sending sharp pangs through his belly. Even the soft skin of her arm where he held it seemed to sear his fingers. When her tongue snaked out to moisten her lips he could practically feel it moving over his skin instead.

      The air around them felt charged and heavy, and time slowed to a standstill as he let his eyes wander down to her lips and then to the pink flush climbing out of her cleavage. He had so much more to throw at her, but the words seemed trapped in his chest under the desire to do something entirely different.

      Lorelei closed her eyes and took a deep but unsteady breath. When her eyes met his again he saw regret there. “You know, the worst part of this isn’t what other people might think.”

      He braced himself.

      “What really kills me is that you remember it and I don’t.”

      The words were out there before Lorelei could stop them, and Donovan’s sharp intake of breath had her regretting them instantly. The moment he’d touched her, though, every nerve in her body had cried out, wanting more of what her mind couldn’t quite remember but her skin obviously did.

      And his words … Crude as they were, they had spoken to something inside her, awakening that same feeling of frustration she’d faced every morning this week. The achy need in her core, the shivers in her belly … She wanted to find the cause and the cure.

      Donovan is both, her mind whispered.

      Lorelei gritted her teeth. That wasn’t an option. The last thing she needed right now was to get involved with anybody. This was a time to focus on her professional life, not her personal life. Hell, it was probably that focus that had led her to Donovan’s bed in the first place; she hadn’t had the time for a social life—and hadn’t wanted the scrutiny, either—and celibacy must not sit well with her. If she gave in to that little whisper, it could torpedo everything.

      She stepped back quickly, breaking the web of heat and electricity that had snared her and led to that embarrassing admission. The air felt cooler immediately,