she snarled.
No question, Raul was definitely hot, in a lean and lanky Latin lover way. But since they’d first met as lowly grunts at the magazine, they’d recognized they were destined to be friends, particularly since Raul was three years younger than Lacey. She looked at him like he was one of her little brothers, which he claimed wounded his male ego nearly beyond repair. Still, Raul couldn’t help flirting. It was his modus operandi.
“So, you didn’t see it?”
“No. Are you going to tell me?”
He paused as if debating it. A definite act since she knew he got a kick out of the fiery feud between Lacey and her nemesis, columnist Nate Logan who wrote for Men’s World. “Well, he does expect me to,” he finally said.
Lacey frowned. “Most double agents don’t go around bragging about playing from both sides of the deck.”
“Oh, I’m lousy at keeping secrets. Remind me to tell you what he said when I told him you called him a pimply prepubescent boy trapped in a man’s body.”
She groaned. “Raul…”
“Okay. In the column this month, he talks about a certain unnamed female magazine columnist who’s either a man-hating femi-Nazi or a frigid virgin.”
“What?” she shrieked, drawing the attention of those nearby. She immediately lowered her voice. “That son of a…”
“Well, Lacey, you did take a serious shot in your last column. Come on, saying all men who go to nightclubs are cheats looking to score?”
“Aren’t they?”
“They’re not all cheats.”
“But they’re all looking to score!”
“Then you went on to mention certain men who enjoy being photographed in such clubs surrounded by brainless bimbos.”
“I didn’t mention him by name.”
“You didn’t have to, darling, the whole country, let alone the city of Baltimore, knows the two of you have a private war going on.”
She couldn’t deny that. It was entirely true. Somehow, she, Lacey Clark, had gotten caught up in a battle of the sexes with a man she’d never met, never even laid eyes on, except for one grainy photo in a social rag. Even then she hadn’t been able to see much of him since he’d been photographed wearing a Panama hat, dark glasses and holding a big, ugly cigar between his teeth.
Besides, she hadn’t been able to look too closely at the photo considering all the breasts. The man had been photographed framed on all sides by women’s breasts. Proudly. He’d been sitting in a chair while buxom beauties all around him showed just why they’d been finalists in the bar’s wet T-shirt contest, which he’d judged. Sexist pig.
She shook her head, forcing thoughts of Nate Logan out of her mind. Tonight, as strange as it seemed considering he had been driving her nuts for months, he was the absolute least of her problems. If it meant keeping J.T. from revealing the truth about Lacey to the entire world, heck, she’d get up on stage and dance the tango with the man! It wouldn’t, though. J.T. was determined. So she got to deal with the two biggest anxieties in her life on the very same night. J.T. And Nate Logan.
Resigned, she asked, “Is Logan here yet?”
Raul grinned, obviously knowing she couldn’t restrain her curiosity. It was hell never having seen your publicly sworn enemy! “Holding court outside, last time I checked,” Raul said.
“Great. Maybe we’ll get lucky and one of his bimbos will drag him off to a frat party.”
“Probably be more fun than here.”
Lacey grinned reluctantly. “Yeah, you’re probably right. Ah, for the simple days. Games of quarters until you passed out, staggering into class for an exam after an all-nighter.”
Raul raised a brow. “Lacey Clark, Miss In-Control, playing quarters at a frat house? People’d pay money to see that.”
She shrugged, then sighed. No, most people wouldn’t be able to grasp that mental image. Not with the Lacey they knew now. The Lacey most people knew now.
Raul obviously noticed the smile fade from her lips. “My car’s out back. Wanna run away and find the nearest bar?”
“You know I can’t.”
“I know,” he admitted. “J.T.’s still going to do it?”
Lacey nodded.
“Okay, then, we’re stuck. But I know you’re bored outta your skull. If we have to stay, we can at least stir up some trouble. You know you’re just dying inside to go up to Norm Spencer’s wife and tell her everyone in the room can see the line of her girdle because her dress is too small.”
“She either needs a better girdle or a dress two sizes bigger,” Lacey admitted.
“That’s my girl.”
Lacey shook her head. “You’re so bad.”
“Maybe that’s why we get along so well.” Raul’s eyes glittered. “Birds of a feather…”
“Get shot down together? No, I have to behave myself.”
Raul gave her a gentle squeeze on one shoulder. “That’s the problem, doll face. You keep trying so hard to be good, one day you’re gonna just explode.”
Before Lacey could toss off a reply—feeling the need to assure him that being good was more effort than instinct—her attention was drawn to the bar where one man in a sea of black tuxedos stood out. Around her, conversations continued to drone on, but the voices and high-pitched laughter faded to an indistinguishable buzz. Lacey suddenly found herself tense and aware for the first time this evening.
“Who’s he?” she wondered aloud, not really directing the question at Raul, though he stood beside her.
“Who?”
Lacey didn’t reply, still studying the man. She didn’t stare because he was gorgeous, though he was. He didn’t catch her eye because he filled out his tux better than any other man in the room, though he did. No, it was his obvious boredom that caught her attention. His looks merely kept it.
He was taller than average, long and lean. His dark blond hair was thick and wavy, and she imagined his wife or girlfriend would be unable to keep her fingers out of it. The way he held his body screamed self-confidence.
She wasn’t the only one who noticed him. Lacey watched a curvy redhead approach the bar, try to strike up a conversation, then walk away in a pique. The man shrugged and kept talking to the bartender. His boredom radiated toward her from across the room. He barely looked at the crowd surrounding him, instead giving all his attention to the guy making drinks.
The lean, strong line of his jaw made her wonder, suddenly, what color his eyes were. And whether his mouth was really as impossibly gorgeous as it appeared to be from over here. When he laughed in response to something the bartender said, Lacey sucked in a breath. Yes, the man had one heck of a mouth.
“The guy at the bar?” Raul asked, narrowing his eyes as he noticed her interest. “Not your type, Lace.”
“So, you do know him?”
“In passing. And I’m afraid he wouldn’t do for you.”
“Why not? What’s wrong with him?”
“He’s a bonehead, Lacey. A jock with a Jaguar. Not a brain in his head. Got where he is on his looks.”
“Oh, great.” She sighed. “A Nate Logan type, you mean?”
Raul snorted a laugh. “Well, he’s maybe not that bad. But definitely not someone you’d be interested in.”
Too bad. It had been a long time since Lacey had looked at a man and felt such