made himself available for questions after his talk. It wouldn’t be fair to run out on the people wanting to speak with him. Anyway, now that he knew Kara was at the conference, he could find her.
Eventually, the crowd of people dissipated and he glanced up to see Kara still sitting in the second-row seat, her arms crossed. He grinned at her, then excused himself from the last couple of people, whose questions had turned to chatting. She watched him approach, her expression dark.
Kara wasn’t exactly sure why she was so irritated with him. Because he’d suddenly shown up at her conference? Because he not only believed in Tantra, but was a Tantra expert ? Or because a part of her was so damned glad he was here? Whatever the reason, annoyance seethed through her.
“Kara, it’s great to see you,” he said. “I’m meeting with a reporter for an interview in a couple of minutes, but will you meet me afterward for dinner?”
“Actually, I’m the reporter.”
His face lit up. “Really? That’s great. But . . . I thought you didn’t like Tantra.” His mouth curled up in a teasing smile.
“True. Tantra is a tight-assed prude’s way of allowing himself to enjoy sex by calling it sacred. Obviously that means the rest of us are just animals who don’t know any better.”
A couple of people at the side of the room glanced around at Kara’s sharp tone and she felt her cheeks flush. She clamped her mouth shut.
J.M.’s smile broadened. How did he have the nerve to look so damned sexy when she was so damned mad at him?
“I see. Well, it looks like we’ll have an interesting interview,” he said. “Where do you want to do it?”
“I had planned on the Rose Garden Restaurant off the lobby, but . . .” If they did it there, she was likely to spout off and embarrass herself and him. Though her anger didn’t seem to faze him in the least, which only sparked it more. “Maybe we should go somewhere more private.”
“That’s a great idea.” His brown eyes twinkled. “We could go to my room.”
She gritted her teeth. “Fine.” She didn’t care which of their rooms they went to. She just wanted to get this over with.
She felt way too conscious of him walking alongside her. When the elevator doors opened, several people filed in with them, forcing her to stand closer to J.M. than she would have liked. Irritation skittered through her—right along with a tingling sense of excitement.
“This is my floor,” he said as the doors opened at ten.
She stepped off the elevator and followed him to his room, which turned out to be a lovely suite. She walked past the comfy-looking couch and armchair and sat in one of the two chairs at the round table by the window. He crossed to the bar fridge and opened the door.
“Would you like some juice? I have orange, apple, and cranberry.”
“Cranberry, please.”
He grabbed two individual serving-size bottles and two glasses from the dresser and placed them on the table.
“So you’re a reporter.” He sat down in the chair opposite her, then opened the cranberry juice and poured it into one of the glasses and set it in front of her.
“I have a column with Urban Woman magazine.”
“That’s why you had my book in your bag.” He poured himself an apple juice, then took a sip.
“That’s right.” She glared at him. “Why did you lie about that?”
“I didn’t lie.”
“You didn’t tell me you were the author.”
He shrugged. “You made it clear you didn’t like Tantra. I saw no reason to embarrass you.”
Kara felt some of her indignation dissipate. It would have been terribly embarrassing to find out he was the author after what she’d said about the book—and trust J.M. to want to spare her feelings. In the end, however, hiding it had caused her more embarrassment, as she remembered how she’d accused him of just wanting to sell books. That wasn’t J.M. She might not believe in Tantra, but it seemed clear he
Eventually, the crowd of people dissipated and he glanced up to see Kara still sitting in the second-row seat, her arms crossed. He grinned at her, then excused himself from the last couple of people, whose questions had turned to chatting. She watched him approach, her expression dark.
Kara wasn’t exactly sure why she was so irritated with him. Because he’d suddenly shown up at her conference? Because he not only believed in Tantra, but was a Tantra expert ? Or because a part of her was so damned glad he was here? Whatever the reason, annoyance seethed through her.
“Kara, it’s great to see you,” he said. “I’m meeting with a reporter for an interview in a couple of minutes, but will you meet me afterward for dinner?”
“Actually, I’m the reporter.”
His face lit up. “Really? That’s great. But . . . I thought you didn’t like Tantra.” His mouth curled up in a teasing smile.
“True. Tantra is a tight-assed prude’s way of allowing himself to enjoy sex by calling it sacred. Obviously that means the rest of us are just animals who don’t know any better.”
A couple of people at the side of the room glanced around at Kara’s sharp tone and she felt her cheeks flush. She clamped her mouth shut.
J.M.’s smile broadened. How did he have the nerve to look so damned sexy when she was so damned mad at him?
“I see. Well, it looks like we’ll have an interesting interview,” he said. “Where do you want to do it?”
“I had planned on the Rose Garden Restaurant off the lobby, but . . .” If they did it there, she was likely to spout off and embarrass herself and him. Though her anger didn’t seem to faze him in the least, which only sparked it more. “Maybe we should go somewhere more private.”
“That’s a great idea.” His brown eyes twinkled. “We could go to my room.”
She gritted her teeth. “Fine.” She didn’t care which of their rooms they went to. She just wanted to get this over with.
She felt way too conscious of him walking alongside her. When the elevator doors opened, several people filed in with them, forcing her to stand closer to J.M. than she would have liked. Irritation skittered through her—right along with a tingling sense of excitement.
“This is my floor,” he said as the doors opened at ten.
She stepped off the elevator and followed him to his room, which turned out to be a lovely suite. She walked past the comfy-looking couch and armchair and sat in one of the two chairs at the round table by the window. He crossed to the bar fridge and opened the door.
“Would you like some juice? I have orange, apple, and cranberry.”
“Cranberry, please.”
He grabbed two individual serving-size bottles and two glasses from the dresser and placed them on the table.
“So you’re a reporter.” He sat down in the chair opposite her, then opened the cranberry juice and poured it into one of the glasses and set it in front of her.
“I have a column with Urban Woman magazine.”
“That’s why you had my book in your bag.” He poured himself an apple juice, then took a sip.
“That’s right.” She glared at him. “Why did you lie about that?”
“I didn’t lie.”
“You didn’t tell me you were the author.”
He shrugged. “You made it clear you didn’t like Tantra. I saw no reason to embarrass you.”
Kara felt some of her indignation dissipate. It would have been terribly embarrassing to find out he was the author after what she’d said about the book—and trust J.M. to want to spare her feelings. In the end, however, hiding it had caused her more embarrassment, as she remembered how she’d accused him of just wanting to sell books. That wasn’t J.M. She might not believe in Tantra, but it seemed clear he
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