them to someone who knows you well? Keep talking, I have nowhere else I’d rather be, and I’m a good listener.”
Ruthie was unable to hide the tears springing up in the corners of her eyes. Here she was in the company of this breathtakingly handsome man, and he was watching her with those soulful brown eyes, gentle, interested, sexy as hell. And she was blubbering over another guy, one she couldn’t even say she was really attracted to in the first place!
She knew better than anyone the main reason she’d attempted to move her relationship with Bobby to another level: she wanted commitment, wanted happily ever after like Celeste and Denise. Even if it was with a man who was nice instead of thrilling, sweet instead of desirable, friendly instead of hot enough to melt the clothes right off her body! Sleeping with Bobby had seemed important because it was a natural progression in a long-term relationship. There’d been no fire. No passionate sparks. Ruthie had thought being with him would be comfortable, nice, sedate. Like Bobby himself.
Seduction had seemed like a good idea. He, judging by the shocked expression on his face when she’d handed him her key, didn’t agree.
Ruthie started sniffling again, not only because of her teary eyes but also because of a bad case of springtime allergies that had been plaguing her for days. She reached up and wiped her nose with the back of her hand, not even caring that another one of her mother’s rules went flying out the window. Her fingers came away with a smudge of chocolate, and she realized she must have had a mustache over her lips. “Oh, great, I look like Charlie Chaplin, don’t I?” This time she couldn’t stop the fat tears that rolled out of her eyes, down her cheeks and landed with a plop on the butcher-block table.
The beautiful man moved his hand to her face, cupped her chin with infinite gentleness and turned her head. Forcing her to look at him, he leaned closer, so close she could smell the chocolate and champagne on his breath, and wondered if her scent was half as intoxicating as his.
“You look lovely to me. And I don’t even know your name.”
For some reason, his words made the tears come faster, and suddenly the day’s events, her loneliness and the blow to her self-confidence crashed in on her with the weight of a ton of cement blocks. “It’s Ruthie. My name’s Ruthie,” she said between sniffs.
He smiled gently and reached toward his pocket. “Here, wipe your tears, Ruth. A woman with eyes as bright and green as yours has no business crying.”
Ruthie watched him reach into the pocket of his sports coat and begin to pull out a handkerchief. It occurred to her to be slightly touched by the old-fashioned gesture, since most men she knew didn’t carry handkerchiefs anymore.
Before she could say a word, however, he tugged the white cotton fabric free, and with it came a few other objects from his pocket. She heard a clink, looked down, and saw the two items that had landed on the floor between the two stools. They were unmistakable. A key and…“Oh, God,” she wailed, “Is everyone in this hotel having sex tonight except me?”
2
IF SHE HADN’T looked so adorably indignant, Robert might have laughed again. He was unable to hide a grin, though, as she threw her crossed arms down on the table in front of her and plopped her head onto them.
Ruthie. Sweet, funny, voluptuous Ruthie. How could he ever have imagined he’d stumble onto such a vibrant woman in the darkened kitchen of a hotel? Or that she’d appeal to him so instantly, so sharply, like no other woman had in years?
For whatever reason, Robert suddenly felt like a kid on Christmas morning, who’d found his favorite gift was one he hadn’t even included on his ten page wish list!
Things were definitely looking up. Maybe he would even have reason to look back on Monica’s ridiculous offer and be thankful. It had driven him here, to this room, at just the right moment to meet someone who had knocked his socks off in less than fifteen minutes.
Someone who, he realized, was still sniffling as she kept her face buried in her crossed arms.
“No, I’m definitely not having sex tonight,” he said, confirming that fact not only to her but to himself. “And I haven’t had it in a pretty long time, either. So you’re not alone. Now, will you please stop crying?”
Her head lifted and she stared at him. Hard. “Why not?”
“Why not what?”
“Why aren’t you having sex? You’re gorgeous. You’re nice. You smell good and you don’t have bad breath. Why isn’t there some woman waiting for you upstairs?” A sudden look of understanding crossed her face. “Oh, great, you’re gay, aren’t you? That’s it. You’re gay. Somebody, just shoot me now.”
He bordered on taking offense, but since she was so obviously miserable, not to mention tipsy, he forgave her for momentarily doubting his preferences. “Not gay.”
“Married?”
“Nope.”
“Sissy mama’s boy?”
He cringed. “My mama’s a mechanic.”
“Why celibate, then?”
That seemed a very good question right now. Particularly since all he’d been able to think about since he’d first seen her licking chocolate off her fork was how much he wanted her to be tasting him.
“It’s been a long time since I met anyone I was seriously interested in.” Not three years, of course. He shuddered at the thought that she’d been unattached for so long. Were men in Philly totally blind? “Why you? Other than the obvious things like your gorgeous red hair has too much curl, and you’ve got a figure most men with stick-thin girlfriends fantasize about?”
His flattery didn’t influence her. She obviously didn’t believe it. “I’ve been busy. Working, helping the family with the business.”
“You work with your family?”
She nodded. “It takes a lot of time and energy. Not that I’m complaining—I love my family a lot. And I do have friends I spend time with.”
“But no boyfriends other than the loser who passed up the chance to spend a night with you?”
She sighed. “It’s hard to meet eligible men when you work ten hours a day, six days a week.”
“I know how that goes. My job requires a lot of travel, not much time for home and family. Not that I mind. That’s exactly what I wanted growing up. I couldn’t wait to leave home, get away from the craziness of five younger brothers, have my own quiet place, then go out and conquer the world.”
“And have you?”
He grinned. “I’m working on it.”
They fell silent. It wasn’t a heavy, uncomfortable silence between two strangers who’d had a very intimate conversation. Instead, Robert just enjoyed breathing the same air, catching the light scent of her perfume, watching the way the glints of gold in her hair caught the light. Hearing her sniffle. “You cryin’ again?”
She shook her head. “Allergies.”
“Good. I can’t stand it when women cry.”
Ruthie sighed, her shoulders drooping. “I love to cry. I rate movies by the tissue factor.”
“How depressing.”
“No,” she insisted, “it’s not. I don’t mean I like to see horror or twisted stuff that brings you down, but there’s something so moving about a real love story, doomed and destined to end in tragedy.”
“Yeah, they move me, all right,” he muttered, “right out of the theater. I like war movies.”
“Yuck. Blood and gore. Sat through half of one last year on a blind date and threw up my popcorn and Sno-Caps right onto his shoes.” She sounded very philosophical about the experience.
“Did