Free Hot Spot by Susan Johnson Page A

stop. Turning, she gazed at a room that looked like the Pentagon war room—electronic equipment by the score—a half dozen computers and monitors, two huge plasma screens, and several unfamiliar machines with lights and screens, buttons, and knobs.
    "My office," he said.
    "For?"
    "Computer stuff."
    "No shit. So you
do
have a job."
    "Sort of. I design video games." He didn't say he'd designed the most popular video game in history when he was still in college and sold it five years later for mega-millions. He never offered up that information.
    "You can make a living doing that? Duh. I guess you can," she said with a wave. "This is a very nice farm."
    "Thanks. I like it. I'll show you the creek and tire swing in the morning." He pulled the office door shut and continued walking, preferring not to talk about his business. His friends like Buddy knew he had enough to live on, but he never discussed his finances.
    "I
love
tire swings."
    Jesus, she was appealing—fresh as dew and hotter than hell. "You can go first then," he said with a grin.
    "You're awfully sweet."
    "Not really."
    "Allow me to disagree."
    "I'm on my best behavior."
    "Because you want sex."
    Because I want you
, he thought. Sex he could have anytime. "Something like that," he said with a faint smile.
    "This is going to be a memorable sleepover."
    He laughed. "I don't plan on sleeping. In here," he murmured, pushing open the door to his bedroom.
    She stood arrested on the threshold. "You must have a decorator." She was pretty sure about the no wife after one look. The room didn't contain a hint of a woman—with the exception perhaps of the decorator's sense of color. The space was coordinated from die paint on tüe walls to the rugs on either side of the bed. And not a stick of furniture cost less than a grand, including that footstool with the needlepoint image of a black lab.
    "My sister," he said. "She works for the Sierra Club. I think we have a nature theme going here."
    Along with an opulent, gentleman's retreat motif, the furniture was antique, English probably, Ralph Lauren maybe, the carpet a muted green, the large four-poster bed covered with a tailored egg-shell-colored linen quilt. A museum-quality tall-boy stretched across one wall; a bow-front desk occupied anotJier; and upholstered chairs were arranged on either side of a fireplace, their size commensurate with their owner's proportions, their color a star-ding blood red and dandelion yellow stripe overlay with a fish design. Numerous prints on the walls depicted fishing scenes as well.
    "Do you like to fish?"
    "Every once and a while. Libby does though. My sister," he added.
    "Ah." Stella swung her arms gently at her sides.
    "Enough conversation?"
    "Was I being rude?"
    "I'm not really in the mood to talk, either."
    She smiled. "It must be karma. Or maybe it's because we both collect comics; I've never been so obsessed before."
    "Could be." He didn't know, either, but whatever it was, he wanted to keep it going. Shutting the door, he drew her to the bed, lifted her up, and sat her down on the pristine linen cover. "Where were we?"
    "When we were so discourteously interrupted? I think we'd both just come."
    He grinned. "Something different."
    "Something really fine. And a word of warning. I'm afraid I'm addicted. You may have a junkie on your hands."
    "It must be my reward for brushing after meals."
    "I suppose you say that to all the women."
    "Nope."
    "So I'm unique."
    She said it with a flourishing sweep of her arms and a grin, and drama aside, damned if she wasn't.
    "Like a unicorn, babe. The one and only."
    "I just adore flattery. However…" She gave him a significant look in a significant area.
    "Gotcha. No more talk."
    "Take note of how I dressed for success tonight." She pulled her chartreuse sleeveless sweater over her head, kicked off her sandals, and wiggled out of her green-stripe capris in five seconds flat.
    He grinned. "It works for me." She hadn't worn underwear.
    "Now if you