All's Fair in Lust & War by Amber Page Page A

right. Just this once.”
    “All right. But just this once.”

SIX
    Becky collapsed onto a fluffy white pillow, letting out a deep breath as her heart rate returned to normal.
    “I’ve said it before, and I’m sure I’ll say it again, but you really are Magic Man,” she said. “I can’t remember the last time I felt this relaxed.”
    Mark raised himself up on one elbow and grinned. “Glad to be of service,” he said. “Think I should go into business?”
    Becky giggled. “Sure—I can picture the ad now. It could read something like, ‘Forget the massage. Spend an hour with the Magic Man.’ And there’d be a picture of you, wearing nothing but a top hat and holding a wand.”
    He groaned. “Don’t quit your day job, babe.”
    At the mention of work Becky felt some of the tension return. “Day job? Try twenty-four-seven job. I never stop thinking about the pitch. Do you?”
    “Only when I’m otherwise occupied by you,” Mark said, eyes smiling. “Hey, think we could work orgasmic sex into the Eden campaign?”
    Becky laughed as her stomach growled. “I don’t know. I’m too hungry to think. But maybe if you feed me I’ll think of a way.”
    Pulling on his boxers, Mark said, “Message received. Let me see what I can rustle up.”
    As he padded the short distance over the hardwood floor to the kitchen area Becky couldn’t help but admire the gorgeous contours of his muscled body. He was by far the best-looking man she’d ever slept with—not that there’d been that many.
    She hadn’t had time for boys in high school, and had spent her undergrad years being too afraid of making the same mistake her mother had—dropping out of college to get married—to allow herself to have any real relationships.
    In fact, other than a few drunken encounters, there hadn’t been anyone until Pence. And there certainly hadn’t been anyone after him.
    She sighed. What a waste of a decade. If Mark had taught her anything, it was that sex could be lots of fun—especially when there were no strings attached.
    Mark’s voice brought her out of her reverie. “What do you want? Chinese, Thai, or pizza?”
    She blinked. “You have enough stuff in that tiny refrigerator to make all of that?” It didn’t look big enough to house much more than a six-pack of beer.
    “Nope. I’ve got exactly five green olives, two hunks of moldy cheese, and one gallon of expired milk. We’re getting takeout.”
    “Oh. Thai, I guess,” she answered, leaving her cozy nest on the futon to peek at the menus he was holding out. He pulled her against his chest so they could look at the menus together, but all she could think about was the delicious way he smelled: a little bit spicy, a little bit outdoorsy, and all male.
    Suddenly an idea struck her. “Maybe we could work orgasms into the campaign,” she said.
    “What?”
    “Orgasms. Eden. I bet we could do some funny videos linking them.”
    He blinked. “I thought you had to eat before you could have any more brilliant ideas?”
    “Yeah, well, get me some of that pineapple curry and I’ll be even more brilliant,” she answered.
    “Coming right up,” he said, and punched the number into his phone.
    * * *
    A couple of hours later the block of granite that did double duty as a table and a kitchen counter was littered with take-out boxes and crumpled sheets of paper.
    Becky yawned and stretched. “I think we’ve got some pretty solid scripts here, don’t you?”
    “I think we’ve got some award-winners here—that’s what I think,” Mark said.
    “Me, too,” she said, yawning again. “Which is good, because it’s definitely time for me to go home.”
    Mark glanced up at the clock on the microwave. “It’s practically morning already. Why don’t you just stay?”
    A small ping of alarm sounded in her brain. Coming over for a quick hookup was one thing. Staying overnight was definitely relationship territory.
    “Two o’clock is hardly morning,” she said.