The Man Tamer

“Of course.” He made a face but said nothing more.

She flipped open the phone and checked the number. Rhonda. What was she doing calling this time of evening?

Rachel shut off the phone and stuffed it back into her bag. “It was my sister. I’ll call her back later.” She shifted in her chair and returned her focus to their previous conversation. “You were in Iraq?” she asked. “As a soldier?”

“No, I was there as a tourist.”

She made a face. “Very funny.” Maybe the war wasn’t a good topic for casual conversation. “Why lacrosse? Why not basketball or rugby or something else?”

He shrugged. “I played rugby in school, but lacrosse was what I was good at.” His grin returned. “It’s a sport that requires you to be very good with your hands.”

“And you’re good with your hands.”

“That I am.” He took a long drink, eyes locked to hers.

If she didn’t know better, she’d have sworn her drink was spiked. How else to explain the tingling in her nerve endings and the flush of heat through her body?

She pushed back her chair. “Let’s dance.”

He shook his head. “No thanks. I don’t dance.”

“Everyone dances.” She grabbed his hand and tugged. It was like trying to move a boulder. “Come on,” she said. “I thought athletes were supposed to be light on their feet.”

“Not this one.” But he let her pull him out of his chair and lead him toward the dance floor. “Don’t come crying to me when your toes are all black and blue.”

“Oh please. There are no steps to this kind of dancing. Just move with the music.”

Two minutes later she was doing her best not to laugh. But she didn’t hide it well enough.

“Don’t think I don’t see that smirk,” he said. He waved his arms in the air like a man trying to flag down a plane. “I told you I wasn’t any good at this.”

“You’re terrible!” she said, bending double with laughter. She had never met anyone with such a lack of rhythm. “I hope you play lacrosse better than you dance.”

“Come to a game and see me. The first one is next week. We’re playing the Calgary Roughnecks.”

“Maybe I will come.” She knew as much about lacrosse as she did bocci ball, but she was willing to make certain sacrifices for the sake of her career.

The music switched abruptly to a slow, dreamy jazz riff. Garret stopped flailing about. “This is more like it,” he said.

The next thing she knew, he was pulling her into his arms. His chest was a hard, warm wall she was pressed against, his arms wrapped securely around her. She told herself she should pull back, put some distance between them. Things were happening too quickly and she needed to think.

But being close to him like this felt better than a full-body massage. Not to mention he was a much better dancer at this speed. They swayed together in a gentle rhythm that made her think of other moves they might make, more intimate rhythms they might respond to.

His hand slid down to the base of her spine. The heat of his touch radiated straight to her groin. She squirmed, letting him know he should back off, but that only succeeded in grinding her pelvis against the hard ridge of his erection. She looked up and his eyes met hers. “See what you do to me?” he said.

“You should keep your hands to yourself,” she said.

“Sorry. I can’t seem to help myself. It’s getting to be a habit where you’re concerned.”

One habit she wasn’t sure she wanted him to break. “Have you been drinking champagne again?” she teased.

“No, I’m intoxicated by you.”

It was a terrible line, but delivered in heated tones, in that sexy voice of his, it made her melt. This wasn’t going at all as she’d imagined.

He bent closer, his mouth very near hers. She shut her eyes and held her breath, anticipating his kiss. She was dying to know what his mouth would feel like. She needed to know.

Instead he pushed her away. She opened her eyes and sighed out her breath in exasperation. And men claimed women liked to tease!

“Song’s over,” he said. But his gaze remained fixed on hers, his eyes dark, intense.

She whirled and started blindly across the floor, intending to find the ladies’ room. She needed to get hold of herself. After all, she was the Man Tamer. She was the one who was supposed to be in charge here!

3

Man-Taming Sex

Dear Man Tamer:

There’s a really hot guy at work that I’m very attracted to. I think he feels the same way about me. I want to ask him out for drinks but I’m afraid where we might end up. Is it ever okay to have sex on the first date?

Hot to Trot

Dear Hot to Trot:

Will you respect yourself in the morning? If you’re secure in yourself, and don’t try to delude yourself into thinking it’s love at this early stage of the game, I say there’s nothing wrong with going for it. If he’s as interested as you say, you could have a great time. Just go in with your eyes open, accepting that he may not call you in the morning. And remember to be safe. Bring condoms in case he doesn’t.

The Man Tamer

SINCE A COLD SHOWER wasn’t readily available, Garret decided he needed a drink. He elbowed his way to the bar and ordered Irish whiskey. Though it would take more than one drink to put out the fire Rachel had started in him.

She returned from the ladies’ room, hair freshly combed, lipstick bright on those lips he’d come dangerously close to kissing. Except he’d been afraid he wouldn’t be able to stop at one kiss, that he’d have ended up embarrassing them both in front of a dance floor full of people.

“What should we do now?” she asked.

His eyes met hers, trying to read her thoughts. But she was doing that thing women do, looking up at him through her lashes, pulling a lacy veil over her thoughts. “You really want to know what I want to do?” he asked.

She blinked. “Of course.”

He set the empty glass on the bar and turned to face her. “I want to take you back to my place and take off all our clothes.”

Her lips parted, though she didn’t make a sound. A rosy flush washed over her cheeks and her eyes darkened. He’d caught her off guard, but he knew an aroused woman when he saw one. The knowledge made him even hotter.

“I know what you’re going to say,” he said. “You’re not that kind of girl. But you are a woman, and the idea turns you on, doesn’t it? Admit it.”

She shook her head. “I’m not admitting anything.”

Which, to his way of thinking, was as good as a yes. “All right then. Why don’t we go someplace quieter and have some coffee. And talk.” Talking wasn’t as good as taking their clothes off, but it could be its own kind of foreplay.

There was a coffee shop around the corner and over coffee drinks that cost as much as his whiskey they talked about their families. A nice, safe, first-date conversation. He learned she was the youngest of four children, the second girl, with two brothers sandwiched between her and her older sister. Her parents lived in Houston and her siblings were scattered around the state. He told her about his mum, who’d raised him and his three sisters on a factory worker’s wages.

“She sounds like an amazing woman,” Rachel said.

He nodded. “She is. But after growing up with all that estrogen, it was nice to get out on my own.”

“Maybe that’s what really attracted you to lacrosse—that it’s such a macho game.”

“Is that what you think? Then you definitely should come to our first game.”

“I wouldn’t have any idea what was going on. I don’t know anything about the game.”

“If you’re going to be hanging out with me, it’s time you learned.”

“And am I going to be hanging out with you?”

Their eyes met and he felt again the rush of blood straight south. “I don’t think there’s any doubt about that, do you?”

She looked away, but a slow smile formed on her lips. “Are you sure you’re up for it?”

“Oh yeah.” This might be one time when he really lived up to his nickname “Wild Man.”

RACHEL WAITED until the next day to return Rhonda’s call. She drummed her nails on the smooth surface of her desk and counted the rings while she waited for her sister to answer. Four…five…“Hello?”

“Finally. What took you so long?”

“I was driving and I had to find a place to pull over,” Rhonda said.

Heaven forbid big sister live dangerously. “That’s what headsets are for,” Rachel said.

“Tell that to all those headset-wearing people with banged-up cars. But I know you didn’t call me to argue about cell phones and driving. What’s up?”

“You called me,” Rachel said. “Last night?”

“Oh, yes. Why didn’t you answer then? What were you doing?”

Engaging in what amounted to verbal foreplay with a very sexy man, Rachel thought. She ought to say just that and shock her big sister, but then Rhonda would probably feel compelled to lecture her on safe sex or the evils of promiscuity or something. Not that Rachel was promiscuous, but she didn’t feel like debating the point with Rhonda. “I was busy,” she said. “What do you want?”

“I want to know if you’ve abandoned this crazy idea of going on television with this whole man-taming thing.”

Of course. Rhonda lived in fear that one of her society friends would learn she was related to the woman who wrote the Man Taming column for Belinda magazine. All that talk about sex—so tacky, don’t you know? “Why would I abandon the idea?” Rachel said. “It’s a great idea and it’s going to be very successful.”

“You could be successful in so many other ways,” Rhonda said. “You don’t have to stoop to this.”

Of course Rhonda saw all this talk about sex as beneath her or her sister. Rachel bit back an angry retort and decided to take a different approach—one that relied on one of her own positive reinforcement principles. “I saw the article about the Winter Fantasy ball,” she said. “Congratulations.”

As Rachel had hoped, her words threw Rhonda off balance. There was a long silence, then Rhonda cleared her throat. “Thank you,” she said. “I was really honored to be named official hostess.”

Rachel resisted the urge to laugh. After all the money Harrison had donated to the effort, if Rhonda hadn’t been named hostess, heads would have rolled. “I’m sure you’ll do a great job,” she said.

“Why are you being so nice to me all of a sudden?” Rhonda asked.

Rachel did laugh this time. “What do you mean? You’re my sister. Can’t I be nice to my sister?”

“I get it. You’re just trying to make it up to me for embarrassing me all these months with that column of yours.”

“If you’re embarrassed, that’s your problem, not mine,” Rachel said coolly. “I’m very proud of my work.”

“Oh please. Man taming?” Rhonda lowered her voice. “It sounds so…so slutty.”

Rachel laughed again. “Obviously you’ve never read my column or you’d know that it has nothing to do with sex. In fact, maybe you ought to read it. You might learn something that would help your marriage.”

“My marriage is just fine, thank you very much.” Rhonda’s voice was clipped, conveying her deep offense. Then she responded with a classic Rhonda retort. “At least I have a husband.”

“Never mind that,” Rachel snapped. “I’m sorry if it embarrasses you. You’ll just have to find a way to get over that.”

“I’m not thinking of me right now,” Rhonda said. “I’m thinking of you. No man in his right mind is going to want to be seen anywhere near a woman known as the Man Tamer. You might as well check yourself into a convent this minute.”

“A real man wouldn’t be threatened by the idea.” She tried not to sound defensive, but Rhonda must have heard something in her voice anyway.

“Tell me how many dates you’ve had since that column of yours started running?” Rhonda asked.

Rachel smiled. “I had a date just last night,” she said.

“Who with?”

“None of your business. I’m seeing him again on Friday.”

“You’d better tell me who it is.”

“Why should I?”

“If you don’t, I’ll tell Mom about the time you spent the weekend with that guitarist when you told her you were at the beach with friends.”

“That was five years ago.”

“You think Mom won’t care? She was a virgin when she married Dad, you know.” A fact both girls had heard often in their teen years, much to their deep embarrassment.

“I know.” Rachel hesitated, imagining the lectures she’d have to endure from their mother, who still clung to the fantasy that a woman who had remained single in her late twenties was as pure as a preadolescent milkmaid. “All right, it’s Garret Kelly.”

“Who?” Rhonda was no doubt searching her mental database of socially prominent eligible bachelors and coming up blank. Which meant her sister was dating a nobody. The horror!

Rachel’s smile broadened. “Garret Kelly. Star of the Dallas Devils lacrosse team.”

“Oh. An athlete.” Worse than a nobody to Rhonda’s way of thinking.

“Hey, he’s a great guy and a lot of fun.”

“Just what I want in a serious relationship,” Rhonda said dryly. “You’re almost thirty. You can’t play the party girl forever.”

“I will if it will keep me from acting like someone who sucks lemons for fun,” Rachel said. “Listen, this has been a ball, but I’ve got work to do. Goodbye.”

Before Rhonda could say anything else, Rachel hung up, then sat back and stared at the phone. The two sisters knew just what to say to push each other’s buttons, so that almost every conversation became a verbal duel.

Usually, Rachel enjoyed sparring with Rhonda. Big sister was so predictable. It was fun to poke holes in Rhonda’s inflated sense of propriety.

But today she found little joy in the aftermath of this conversation. She’d secretly hoped that by acknowledging the importance to Rhonda of chairing the Winter Fantasy ball that her sister might extend a similar olive branch and be happy—for once—that Rachel’s career was going great and that she was about to realize her dream of her own television show.

If not that, then couldn’t Rhonda have been more excited about Rachel’s date with Garret Kelly? Couldn’t they have laughed and shared confidences, the way sisters were supposed to do?

She sighed and opened a new file on her computer. Rhonda was Rhonda and there was no sense trying to change her. And she’d never stop trying to change Rachel, but that was a losing battle. Rhonda would never realize that Rachel didn’t want to be respectable and modest. Not when the alternative was so much more fun.

RACHEL CONVINCED MOIRA to come with her to the Dallas Devils game Friday night. “Tell me again why we’re doing this,” Moira said when she met Rachel at the light-rail station. “You hate sports. So do I, for that matter.”

“But you’re my best friend so you’ll come to support me, right?” Rachel fed dollar bills into the ticket machine. The train would drop them right at the stadium, saving the huge hassle of parking downtown.

“You don’t need my support.” Moira accepted her ticket. “Though you must have it really bad for Garret Kelly if you let him talk you into coming to a game.”

“I’m doing this for my career, remember,” Rachel said. Well, mostly for her career. Seeing Garret again was merely a bonus.

“Oh, right. The bet. What does the Wild Man think about that?”

“He doesn’t know. Denton didn’t tell him and I’m certainly not going to.” The train arrived and they climbed aboard.

Moira plopped into the seat beside Rachel and shook her head. “I don’t know. What’s going to happen when he finds out?”

“If he finds out, I’ll laugh it off as another of Denton’s publicity stunts. He’s always coming up with crazy stuff like that.”

“Then why not tell Garret now and get it over with?”

“Because…” She chewed her lower lip. “Because I really like Garret and I don’t want him flipping out over the whole Man Tamer thing.”

“He’s going to find out about your column one of these days. Especially if you take it to TV.”

“But by then he’ll know me better. Plus, I’ll have applied my principles to our relationship and he’ll see how great they’ve been for both of us.”

“I’ll believe that when I see it.”

“I know you haven’t had much success with David,” Rachel said. “But I think that’s because you haven’t given my approach time to take effect.” Granted, maybe the man-taming principles didn’t work for everyone. But letters from her readers and her own studies into behavior modification assured her they were effective most of the time.

“One thing I don’t understand is, I thought your techniques were designed for women to use on their boyfriends or husbands. You and Garret hardly know each other.”

“Yes, but that could change.”

“Oh?” Moira leaned toward her, her expression avid. “So I was right when I said he was interested in you, too.”

“You could say that. He asked me to go to bed with him last night.”

Moira laughed. “If every man who wanted to have sex with you qualified as a boyfriend, you wouldn’t have a free night in the week.”

“Maybe, but this was different.” Rachel allowed herself a small smile. “I wanted to go to bed with him, too.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

She sat up straighter. “We’d just met!”

Moira shrugged. “What better way to really get to know a man?”

She had a point, Rachel conceded. The train arrived at their station and they were swept along in the crowd making its way to the arena. They found their seats—center court, front row, thanks to Garret—and settled in. “Looks like a hockey setup without the ice.” Moira pointed to the nets at each end of the court. “Those are the same as hockey, too.”

“How do you know so much?” Rachel asked.

“I guess I picked up a few things from David.”

Just then the arena went dark and an announcer’s voice boomed. “Get ready to welcome your Dallas Devils!” With an explosion of fireworks and the blare of heavy-metal music, a double line of motorcycles raced into the arena. On the back of each was perched a scantily clad dancer. Behind them, heralded by more fireworks, the players, clad in shorts, loose jerseys, gloves and helmets, raced in.

The crowd screamed and whistled, louder even than the music. Rachel wanted to clamp her hands over her ears, but refrained. “There’s Garret!”

Moira pointed to the fourth man in the first row of players—number thirty-six, the name Kelly stitched across the back. Rachel probably wouldn’t have recognized him. The helmet covered his head and the padded jersey made his shoulders even broader. Her gaze shifted to the only part of him that wasn’t covered. “Nice legs,” she said. They were muscular and toned, dusted with brown hair.

“They all have nice legs,” Moira said appreciatively. “Too bad the shorts aren’t tighter, though.”

After the Canadian and American anthems were played, they settled in to watch the game. Rachel’s bottom had barely touched the seat before the crowd roared and surged to its feet again. “Devils’ goal!” the announcer shouted. Lights flashed and music pounded as the players raced to the end of the court.

“What happened?” Rachel asked.

“We scored, I guess.”

The rest of the game was like that. The action shifted from one end of the court to the other with lightning speed. The Devils scored another goal, then the Roughnecks came back to score three. Thank God for replays or Rachel never would have figured out what was happening.

Even then, she found it impossible to see how anyone could catch a hard rubber ball in a small net at the end of a stick, then run the length of the court with it, all while opposing players whacked at him with their sticks. And then the player with the ball somehow had to fire it past a giant man in pads who stood in front of the net and tried to block the shot. Yet it happened over and over again, on both sides.

In the middle of the second quarter, Garret was sentenced to two minutes in the penalty box. Rachel had no idea why, but the crowd alternately jeered and cheered when the penalty was announced. They cheered again when Garret rejoined the action on the court.

In fact, they spent most of the time cheering. Or waving signs. Or singing along with the loud rock music that blared during every time-out. Rachel had never seen such a rowdy crowd. “These people are scary,” she told Moira. “It’s like a religious revival or something.”

“I think it’s kind of fun,” Moira said. “I might even ask David to take me to a game. This is a lot more exciting than baseball.”

A little more than two hours after it began, the game ended with the score Devils 17, Roughnecks 16. The crowd went wild, then dispersed rapidly. Moira and Rachel stayed courtside to greet Garret.

He spotted them and came over. He’d removed his helmet and his hair, damp with sweat, looked darker than before. The stubble was back along his jaw and his jersey was torn at the neck. But he was smiling, teeth flashing. “Was that a great game or what?” he asked.

“It was great,” Moira said.

“Things certainly happen fast in lacrosse,” Rachel said.

“Never a dull moment. Hey, thanks a lot for coming out.”

“Thanks for getting us the great tickets.” She nodded to the stick in his hand. On one end was an elaborately woven net. “What do they call that stick?” she asked.

“A stick.” He laughed. “How’s that for fancy lingo?”

“Great game, Garret!” Another player, shorter with blond hair, skidded up to them. He grinned at the women. “Can you believe this man? Five goals and three assists.”

“Bud Mayhew,” Garret said. “Bud, you remember Moira. And this is Rachel.”

“Hey.” Bud nodded to them, but said nothing further.

“I remember you,” Moira said. “You were at Denton’s party.”

“Yeah.” He looked around nervously. “Hey, I better get to the locker room. See you around.” He turned and hurried away.

Moira frowned after him. “Not very friendly, is he?”

“Aw, Bud’s a great guy. He’s just shy around women.”

“I don’t know why he would be. He’s cute.” Moira grinned. “Nice legs.”

“I’ll tell him you said so.” Garret turned to Rachel. “Let me get cleaned up and I’ll take you two out to celebrate.”

“I can’t. I have to get home,” Moira said. She patted Rachel’s shoulder. “But you stay.”

Rachel wanted to tell Moira she didn’t have to go out of her way to leave the two of them alone. Part of the reason she’d asked her friend here tonight was to slow things down with Garret. Of course, after their conversation on the train, she was questioning why she should even bother. After all, she and Garret were both single adults. If the attraction between them was so strong, why not act on it?

When Garret returned from the locker room he wore a blue sport coat, tan slacks and a white shirt open at the throat. He’d shaved and he smelled of expensive cologne. Rachel nodded approvingly. “You clean up pretty well.”

“I try.” He ushered her out of the arena, one hand at the small of her back.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“I hear O’Malley’s has good steaks.” He punched his key chain and a black supercab Titan pickup winked its headlights at them. Rachel almost laughed. Of course he drove a truck. This was Texas and real men drove big trucks.

He opened the door for her—give him points for manners—and she slid into the leather seat. When he started the engine, rap music blasted from the stereo. He leaned over and stabbed it off. “Sorry about that,” he said.

“Please tell me you don’t rap along with the radio,” she said.

He grinned. “Only when I’m alone.”

At O’Malley’s they were ushered to a corner table. They ordered drinks and Garret studied her across the table. “Tell me what you thought of the game,” he said.

“It was exciting, but everything happened so fast I still don’t have any idea what was going on. Obviously, the object is to shoot the ball into the opposing team’s net, but I could never keep track of where the ball was. Or how anyone managed to get it past the goalie.”

“That’s the beauty of the game.” He leaned toward her, elbows on the table, and arranged salt and pepper shakers, condiment bottles and glasses onto a “court” defined by their silverware. “Let’s say I get the ball. If I have a lot of defenders on me, I’m going to pass it to a teammate who’s open. If I’m open, I run down the court, cradling the ball in my stick. I’ll either pass it again to an open man or, if I see an opening, I’ll fire it into the net. I may have to shoot low or high to get past the goalie. My teammates try to block so he can’t see it coming.”