Free Heard It All Before by Michele Grant

That was apparently all I was getting.
    My own damn fault; I was the fool who said, “Not yet.” Actually, no, he said that; I just agreed. What was it I was waiting on again? Oh yeah, a commitment. Damn the commitment—it was time to get down and dirty. Look, if he had been building me up all this time for a weekend of frolicking and then planned to disappear into the sunset, there was nothing I could do about it. But I didn’t think it would go down like that. I felt like I had been reading him a little better; I thought he was pretty into me. We had been hanging out for about two months now, and if a quickie hit-’n’-run was his goal, he would have been long gone, right? Was I rationalizing too much because I really wanted to do this or what?
    I talked to Jewellen about it yesterday. She said I should go with my first instinct. My first instinct was to lure him to my bedroom and body slam him till I pass out. She laughed and told me to go for it. If he decided to sky up afterward, at least I’d have gotten two months’ worth of first-class wining and dining and a much needed episode between the sheets.
    My mind was made up as I sunk into my decadent tub of silky water. I opened the latest Sandra Brown novel and started reading. Thirty minutes later, I was overheating. The jets kept the water hot, and Sandra’s book had me all aflutter. I wrapped up in a towel, padded to the fridge, and grabbed some juice. Whew, I was dying of thirst. That woman could write! She understood the South, Southern men, and sex; you had to respect a writer for that. Anyway, that last scene triggered a memory of one of her other books, and I’d formulated me an idea or two. Thought I’d slip on a little something and pay Gregory a visit at the bank. Two could tease, you know.
    Â 
    Â 
    Now, you would think a man would know he was in trouble when a woman strolled into his office at two in the afternoon, at the beginning of June, with a trench coat on. This was Texas, the South—shit, it’s hot outside, without a doubt. He was either a lot cooler or a lot dumber than I thought. After I quickly convinced his secretary to let me go in unannounced (no dummy, she knew it was ninety degrees outside), I expected some sort of reaction out of the boy.
    I came in, shut the door, and locked it behind me. He was looking good and corporate, as usual. Charcoal-gray suit, flash of personality in the dark green paisley tie, and mint-green shirt. I dropped my purse, turned around, looked at him, leaned up against the door in my best seductive lounge, and what did he have to say?
    â€œHello, Renee. It’s nice to see you feeling better. I called your office, and they told me you were ill.” I could have strangled him. Did I look ill?
    Instead, I smiled engagingly and said, “Hello, Greggy. I think I’m on my way to a speedy recovery.” When I was teasing him, I could call him whatever the hell I wanted.
    He raised one eyebrow over those Polo tortoise shells. “What can I do for you?”
    Ah, my cue. I untied the belt, undid all the buttons (still trying to look coolly seductive, mind you), and dropped the coat. His mouth dropped, the glasses tilted ... finally, a reaction. I was laced into an emerald green teddy with matching four-inch peep-toe pumps, total. Matched perfectly thanks to the Victoria’s Secret spring/summer catalog. Sorry, sometimes I got off on things like that. Back to the moment. In my patented, come-to-Mama-Sweet-Daddy voice, I said, “Come here, Greggy, and do for me.” Good line, don’t you know? It was one of many I practiced in the car on the way over here. This seduction shit had to be carried out perfectly. Couldn’t be too bold or too shy. Gotta get the right words, the right tone, and by all means, the right lingerie!
    He yanked off his glasses, vaulted over the desk (which was pretty impressive, as it was a big desk), and was standing in