Heat Exchange
By: Deana FarradyHis lips twitched. "We're pretty simple."
"Yeah, right. I can't believe I'm talking to you about it, anyway," she muttered.
"You don't tell people about it?"
"Oh, sure, friends. But you're a stranger. Some strangers might be okay to talk to. But you're my last idea of a good confidante."
His amusement broke through in a laugh. "Why do you say that?"
"Oh, you know." She waved her hand dismissively. "Gorgeous. Sexy. Successful. Smooth. Out of my league."
As if to prove his popularity, his cell phone went off. He withdrew it from his pocket, but after one glance he put it back.
"Now, what were you saying?" he prompted, looking at her narrowly.
"Out of my league," she answered.
"Right. I take it you've heard of me?"
Her eyes widened. "No. Heard of you? Why, are you famous? Nyall Anderson," she said to herself. It didn't sound familiar.
He frowned, studying her. "No," he said finally. "I'm just a businessman."
She snorted. "A posh one, though, right? What do you do?"
"Start-ups," he said. "Starting them. Then selling them."
"I see," she said. "I have a small local catering business. Oh, I told you that already, didn't I? My specialty is allergy-friendly baking. Nut-free cookies. Seed-free bread. Dairy-free, egg-free donuts."
"I see." He stared at her.
She grinned. "Now you're hungry, aren't you, with all that food talk?"
"No, unlike you, I had lunch already. But you were saying about my being a bad confidante…"
"Oh, yeah. I'm talking about the whole package." She gestured vaguely at him. "The way you dress, the way you look, the way you live."
His tongue poked his cheek. "I see. Amazing what you can tell from first impressions," he drawled. "But what does all that have to do with who you talk to about losing your virginity?"
"I don't know. Just that if I were in a room full of people and had to pick someone to spill my soul to, you'd be the last person I'd approach. You're in a different universe from me."
"We seem to be in the same elevator."
"Purely by accident." She paused. "Although now that I think about it, you might actually be the perfect person to talk to. Especially if you're married. Or have a girlfriend. Or are otherwise unavailable."
He leaned forward and tilted his head. "Why do you say that?"
"Because then you could tell me why your type makes sleazy passes at my type."
"Oh, I can tell you that in any case." His gaze lowered pointedly. "It's probably your tits. They're sensational. And your ass isn't bad, either."
Janey gaped. Instinctively her arms crossed over her chest and her whole body suffused in a blush.
His lips quirked, but he went on. "But as to being committed to anyone…sorry to disappoint. I don't do girlfriends or wives these days."
"You're gay?" Her eyes popped.
"No," he said with forced patience.
"Then why…"
"I do sex," he said deliberately. "Not relationships."
"Oh." Get a grip, Janey. This is unreal, but you can handle it. "Anyway, you're not the kind of man I usually associate with. You're the right age, just…a different lifestyle. And you're hot. I don't usually go around with studly guys who belong on the covers of men's magazines."
He sighed. "I'm getting the point. I'm a god. You're a peon."
She blinked. Frowned. Then sighed wistfully. "Yeah. I just wish I could meet somebody nice and normal who wants me and wants to be my boyfriend. Everyday stuff. Somebody I'd trust to lose my virginity to. Who'd…"
"What?"
"Teach me all about sex. What the big deal is."
He shook his head. "You're doomed for failure."
Again, his words managed to bring the tears to the forefront. "That's what I thought."
"Not the way you're thinking." He sounded impatient. "You're looking in the wrong place. If you want someone to teach you how to enjoy sex, you don't look look to nice guys."
"I'm not having sex with a sleazeball," she said emphatically.
"I didn't say you should."
