Unlike Elle. who lived for these types of events, who had been brought up attending parties and receptions from girlhood. She both looked and acted the part of the poised, sophisticated professional, knowing exactly what to say. She wore one of her seemingly endless supply of chic little black dresses, this one of a summer weight fabric that bared her Pilates-toned arms, and a pair of low-heeled black slingbacks. Her dark hair was sleeked back into its usual chignon, and pearls glistened discreetly in her ears and around her throat.

She seemed happy and content this evening, which was a huge relief to Ben after the argument they’d had two nights ago. He had been tired and stressed out after another hectic day at the office, but had still consented to going out to dinner with Elle and her former roommate who was in town for a visit. He’d been nearly comatose from fatigue upon arriving home, and had been largely incoherent when she’d kissed him good night and told him she loved him.

And when he’d merely smiled tiredly in response, Elle had grown teary-eyed and Ben had felt guilty yet again at not being able to say the words back to her. One thing had led to another, and soon she’d been weeping and telling him in her very best martyred tone that he didn’t have to feel obligated to stay with her if he didn’t want to. Ben had sighed, knowing this particular scene by heart, and had quietly offered to move out if that was what she really wanted. But Elle had flung her arms around his neck, begging him to stay, and assuring him that she didn’t mean it, and that she was sorry for being a nag.

The next morning she had acted as though none of it had ever happened, and things had returned to normal. But Ben knew it didn’t take much to set Elle off, and that it was only a matter of time before another such incident occurred.

He thought at times that it would just be kinder all around if he were to move out and allow Elle to get on with her life, to find someone who could truly love her and give her everything she deserved. He had told her just that on more than one occasion, but each time she’d pleaded almost desperately that she didn’t want to lose him, that she was perfectly content with the state of their present relationship, and that he didn’t need to worry about her feelings.

And truthfully, their present relationship far more resembled that of the platonic roommates they had been at one time, or best friends, than it did of lovers. He worked late so often, and was so worn out when he was at home that he didn’t have the patience it took to be intimate with Elle. She found it almost impossible to be spontaneous, had to schedule or plan out sex as though it was an appointment on her day planner. And she was usually so prim and reticent in bed that it took awhile for him to become aroused. Then, too, her parents had been spending more time than usual in New York over the past few months, and Elle still stubbornly refused to share a room with him while they were in residence.

He shouldn’t have minded, really, given the lengthy periods of celibacy he’d endured in the past. But it seemed that whenever a certain curvy, troublesome photographer was in town – and in his proximity – that all of a sudden he was constantly horny.

He’d jacked off in the shower just this morning, in fact, with an image of a glistening wet Lauren washing her body more than enough stimulus to bring on an almost violent climax. She had been the most spontaneous lover he’d ever known, had always been eager and almost voracious for sex, and he’d kept his fingers crossed that he would be able to keep up with her.

While Elle was deep in conversation with her father’s good friend the editor-in-chief, Ben excused himself to get another glass of wine. As he took a sip of what he considered a decent Merlot – though Elle had told him it was barely palatable – he almost choked when he spied the woman who stood in his direct line of vision.

He recognized her – knew her – and yet she looked completely different from any previous image he had of her. She looked like a femme fatale, a sexy pin-up girl, and he had never wanted her more than he did at this exact moment.

She had apparently taken his half-joking advice to wear a skirt and then ran with it. Though there was no possible way she could run a step in the snug fitting black skirt that clung to her hips and ass lovingly. And he wondered how she could even walk in those red stiletto heels. A sleeveless white silk tank top and a wide red patent leather belt that cinched her small waist completed her simple but screamingly sexy outfit.

Lauren normally pulled her abundant hair back into a braid or ponytail, but this evening it fell in thick, glossy curls halfway down her back. And she was even wearing makeup – including bright crimson lipstick that made her mouth look like the most forbidden fruit ever created. He wanted that lush, red mouth wrapped around his cock, wanted to plunge his tongue deep inside of it, wanted to kiss her until they were both breathless and dizzy.

She glanced up and saw the way he was looking at her, and for a few moments it was as if five years had never passed. She, too, was drinking red wine, and she smiled as she raised her glass in a mock toast before taking a sip.

He started walking in her direction without conscious thought, not stopping until he was right in front of her. Up close, she looked even more delectable, her sumptuous breasts more than filling out her top, and the lavish lace of her bra was clearly visible beneath the fine, silky fabric.

“You, ah, look – different,” he said haltingly. “You look – nice.”

She snickered. “Nice? Is that the best you can do, Blue Eyes? Nice is how you describe what your grandma is wearing. But then, for a writer, you always were a man of a few words. Strange. So why don’t I tell you what I think of your outfit instead?”

Ben took a fortifying sip of wine, grateful that he’d kept his suit jacket buttoned since it helped to hide his burgeoning erection. “Okay. Have at it.”

Lauren ran a finger down the sleeve of his jacket. “Hmm. I’m not anywhere near as good at this as my sister or aunt, but I’m going to guess this is Armani.”

He nodded, gritting his teeth as the scent of whatever perfume she was wearing – another first – teased his nostrils and made his cock feel like it was going to burst.

“Fancy,” purred Lauren as she tugged playfully on his tie. “Silk. Very nice. In fact, dressed like this you might have had a chance with my sister. She’s got a real thing for a man who can wear a suit as well as you can. Which, for her, has resulted in a couple of really bad lapses in judgment where men are concerned.”

“But I take it you’re not a fan of this look?” he observed.

“Of the suit?” She shrugged. “It’s okay. But it’s nowhere near as sexy as a pair of faded jeans and an old T-shirt. In fact, this whole scene here – ” she waved an arm around the crowded hotel reception room – “isn’t you. I’m guessing you’re hating all this bullshit as much as I am, and would much rather be drinking a cold beer and chowing down a bacon cheeseburger.”

His mouth quirked up at one corner. “Is it that obvious? And here I thought I was putting on a convincing act.”

Lauren shook her head. “I mean, you might be fooling most of the others, but not me. There’s not a lot that gets past me, after all. Not to mention the fact that I know the real you. And this,” she gestured at his suit and loafers, “is definitely not the Ben I met in Big Sur.”

He gazed down at her, unsmiling, and for a few moments completely forgot there were a couple of hundred other people in the room. Those eyes of hers – the ones that saw everything, missed nothing – were locked with his, and he wished with all his heart that he had the guts to yank her against him and capture that plush, sinful mouth in the longest, deepest kiss anyone here had ever witnessed.