Dash Black. The sexiest man on earth.
Tess moved beneath the silky sheets, her body pleasantly warm from their amazing lovemaking earlier. Dash lay beside her breathing gently. She wanted to get up, call all her friends with the news. Why not? It was her bed, after all. He was a guest. A lover.
Her lover. If she wanted him to be.
Could she just have a fling? Or would she end up losing? She was half in love with him already. Then what? Long lonely nights wishing he was with her? Jealousy every time she saw him in the National Enquirer?
It was foolish to get involved with him. What could he possibly see in Tess from tiny Tulip, Texas, who was trying to make it in the Big Apple?
Dash wasnât going to fall in love with her. This was about fun and sex. Sex and more sex. Which was by no means a bad thing. As long as she didnât confuse it with love. If she said yes to the sex part, what did all the rest matter? He belonged in her bedâ¦and boy, did Dash belong in her.
âSo to do Dash,â she whispered. âOr not to do Dash?â She grinned and gazed over at his nude body.
Even in the dark he was a beautiful man. With that sculpted chin, strong nose and eyes that made grown women weep.
All in her bed. Hers. Tess from Tulip, Texas.
To: Erin
CC: Samantha From: [email protected] Subject: Men Iâm NOT Going To Do!
Okay, picture this: Iâm with Brad. Heâs wearing Armani and he smells like cashmere on ice. His hair is perfect, including the obligatory rakish bangs across his forehead. His frown is fetching, his gaze hurt.
Me: Iâm sorry, Brad. I just canât do this. I want more from a relationship than you can give.
Him: Oh, Tess. Youâve made me realize youâre the only woman in the world for me. Iâd be lost without you. (He drops to one knee and whips out a Tiffany ring box. Flicking it open, the diamond blinds me for a moment.)
Him: Marry me, Tess. Be mine forever.
Me: Put that 1.2 million dollar ring back in your pocket. Weâre not meant to be together. I must go.
Him: Wait! Tess! (He bursts into racking sobs.)
Me: (I wipe a tear as I head for the subway. My posture is excellent.)
Nice, huh? Okay, so hereâs what really happened.
Me: I donât think we can, I mean, uh, I donât think I can see you anymore.
Him: Okay.
Me: (pulling the knife from the center of my heart) Bye.
The first oneâs better. MUCH better, donât you think? Unfortunately, Brad, bless his pointed little head, didnât understand that he was losing a gem. That I am, indeed, one hell of a catch and heâs a fool for letting me go.
Really. I mean that. Honest.
I love it, Erin, that youâve been so lucky with your Man To Do. And I really mean that, too. I sit here and wonder where I went wrong. Dating dangerous, fabulously wealthy, terminally handsome boys seemed like a good idea at the time. What was a broken heart (or ten)? Nevertheless, Iâve learned my lesson. No more Men To Do⦠Iâm doing Men To Marry now. Period. The end. Well, not the end so much as the beginning. A new beginning with a whole new me.
Iâm going to do all the things Dear Abby suggests: church socials (note to self: find church), night classes (note to self: ditto), afternoon concerts in Central Park, maybe some golf lessons. I am determined to find Mr. Right and become Mrs. Right by the end of the year. Or next year. Soon, okay? No more Brads. Ever!
So donât you guys worry about me. You just crawl into your respective beds with your respective hunks and donât give your poor, desperate friend a thought. I mean it.
Okay then. Iâll just go cry myself to sleep. TTYS!
Love and kisses,
Tess
DASH BLACK FINISHED his e-mail and sent it off, wishing he didnât have fifteen more to go. It would take hours, when all he wanted to do was lock himself in the music room and reacquaint himself with his piano.
Kelly, his assistant, was a godsend and handled his life with practiced ease, but she wasnât a magician. With the ever increasing success of Noir, he was just damn lucky he could work at home once in a blue moon. Given all the travel, public appearances and investor relations heâd had to do over the past year, sitting in his home office should have been reward enough, but he was a selfish bastard. He wanted it all. Most people would say thatâs just what he had. He said it to himself often enough. Like the prince who wants to see how the pauper lives, he had never rebelled, never known anything but his life of privilege. It was sick, the way he thought about it, when all he should be was grateful.
Screw it. Self-pity bored him even more than self-aggrandizement. Just do the work, and shut the hellâ
ââ¦the wonder dick. He wasnât even that good in bed, for heavenâs sake.â
Dash swiveled in his chair, but the startling feminine voice with the slight southern accent had come from outside. It wasnât Kellyâs voice. Today was his housekeeperâs day off. It was, damn, what was her name? The plant lady. Teresa, Toni? Tess. Thatâs right. Tess. Tall, curvy, lips like Angelina Jolie. Somewhere in the back of his mind heâd known she came to his place to tend his plants, but heâd only seen her a couple of times. Which was a damn shame. Heâd thought about those curves, and how theyâd feel in his arms. Maybe heâd find out.