Sleepless in Savannah (2 page)

"You are incorrigible, Maddie."

Maddie was on a roll now. "Rule number five: Make sure his teeth are sunk in, then reel him in. Translation: Getting half-naked and sweaty is allowed, but no consummation. And six: Once you reel him in, keep the line tight. That means keep him sated."

"Ahh, the fun part." Sophie sighed, her stomach fluttering. It was almost airtime. "I just hope we get that far."

"Me, too." Maddie grinned. " 'Cause rule number seven is to drop the line, rebait the hook, and find another fish."

Sophie sighed. "Right. A girl has to know when to cast another line."

"But you won't have to," Maddie argued. "He'll fall in love with you in Cancun. After all, you're beautiful, smart, and wonderful, Sophie; how can he resist?"

Sophie forced a smile. "Let's hope he never figures out that I set him up to be my date."

Maddie pressed a finger to her lips. "Don't worry; it'll be our little secret."

* * *

Their little secret?

Lance Summers had just emerged from the bathroom when he heard his sister talking to Sophie Lane about him.

The little sneak.

Fuming inside, he leaned closer to the doorway, watching as she bent her spiked dark head in collaboration with his darling kid sister's curly russet one. So, troublemaker Maddie and her cohort in crime, Sophie Lane, had set him up. He should have known the two conniving females would turn his acceptance as a bachelor for her silly dating game show into a scheme to get the two of them together. Now that Maddie was married, she'd embarked on a quest to get everyone around her hitched.

What else did Sophie have up that silk-clad sleeve of hers? Were she and Maddie already choosing wedding rings and china patterns? Did she have a limo waiting outside, ready to rush them to the church? Were they naming
his
children?

Sweat broke out on his brow and dribbled down his cheek.

Lord help him.

He was not ready to relinquish sole custody of his remote or forgo Sunday football for a relentless day at the mall, purse holding, while his wife tried on countless expensive outfits that he couldn't afford.

Footsteps clattered across the green room and he ducked behind the open doorway, determined not to get caught spying. Sophie pranced out the door, sashaying her voluptuous little body past like a sex siren purring his name, beckoning him to follow along like a bewitched innocent trailing along behind the Pied Piper. Maddie sauntered beside her, the two of them huddled together in hushed whispers, no doubt negotiating the details on the demise of his treasured bachelorhood.

He waited until they'd rounded the corner before he emerged, silently congratulated himself for not falling under her spell, and wiped the sweat from his brow as he formulated his own plan. They might think they'd outsmarted him, but he had been dodging husband hunters since college. Right now he had to focus on the company he and his brother, Reid, had just gotten off the ground; he could not be sidetracked by exotic dark eyes, red-hot lips, and a pair of sexy legs that belonged to a certain talk-show host.

He liked quiet, sensible females who didn't draw attention to themselves.

He had to remain in control.

And every time he got near Sophie that control shattered like a sheet of glass struck by a bulldozer.

The jazzy music that signified the beginning of
Sophie Knows
piped through the sound system, and he jogged across the hall to the room where the other contestants were waiting. Two other sets of bachelors had to endure the taxing ordeal of the dating game before he was forced through the torture.

He found his competition for round three pacing nervously.

"I'm Lance Summers, bachelor number three." He extended his hand in greeting.

The tall, scrawny blond offered a wimpy handshake. "Bachelor number one, Bailey Boxlighter."

"Rory Dalton." The dark-haired football type pumped Lance's hand, nearly breaking his fingers, as if brute force would prove his manhood. "Bachelor number two."

"Listen, you guys." Lance extracted his numb appendages, barely resisting the urge to shake back the feeling in them. For God's sake, he was six-two himself, almost two hundred pounds, not some kind of pantywaist. Who did this cretin think he was?

"What's up?" Boxlighter asked.

Lance jerked his thoughts back on track. "I was wondering if one of you would trade spots with me."

The blond frowned, his tanned forehead glowing bronze in the harsh lighting. No, almost orange. The guy must use that fake tanning cream. In fact, he'd missed a spot on his forehead.

"Why the switch?" the football hulk asked.

Lance shrugged, fighting the urge to brag that Sophie wanted him so badly she'd set him up. No sense rubbing it in to the other guys that they hadn't stood a chance.
He
didn't have to show off to prove his manliness. "Uh, I... I hate the number three." A lame excuse if he ever heard one, but he was groping in the dark without a flashlight. "It's my unlucky number."

The blond wrinkled his nose. "What are you, some kind of numerology freak?"

Lance shrugged.
Braniac.

"I'll trade," the football hulk said. "I'm kind of superstitious. Three's my jersey number."

Lance chuckled to himself. "All right, buddy. You take the third chair and I'll take the middle one."

"Do we need to tell the producer?"

Lance shook his head. "Naw, they don't really care what number we are." Besides, he didn't want to take the chance on Sophie discovering the switch.

"All right." Rory grinned. "And thanks for changing man. I feel lucky tonight."

The guy's cocky grin irritated Lance. The hulk wasn't getting the date through his charm. Still, the switch would mean
he
was off the hook, so what difference did the guy's attitude make?

Now, on to the next part of his plan—disguise his voice and offer terrible answers so Sophie would never expect the switch. Then he'd be off the hook and free to get on with his bachelor life.

Just what he wanted.

The assistant producer peeked her head in the room and motioned for them to follow her. The orange-faced blond checked his reflection in the mirror, then licked his finger to tame a cowlick that had sprung up in back.

The football player flexed his muscles in a boxer's warm-up motion. "I'm ready."

Lance gritted his teeth as protective instincts for Sophie surfaced. Did he really want this lug to go out with her?

* * *

Sophie fought the quiver of nerves that tightened her chest as she congratulated the second couple. "Shandra and Dwayne will be heading off to Barbados in the morning. And we'll see them back next week to hear all about their romantic getaway."

Applause rang out and the audience cheered as she and the happy couple waved to the crowd. So far, their remake version of the
Dating Game
show had been a huge success.

Now she would take the hot seat.

"Ladies and gentlemen, for our third couple, the producers felt it would be a nice segue into the singles series we're running this week if I take part in the game."

Laughter bubbled through the audience.

Sophie played into their excitement. "I'm going to be asking three bachelors questions of my own; then I'll choose from one of them. Our camera crew will follow along on the date and you'll get to see firsthand if our dating game leads to successful matchmaking."

More applause, and the cameras panned the audience, where Sophie's assistant polled the crowd for comments.

The producer reviewed last-minute instructions with Sophie while another crew member miked her as she settled onto the stool on the right side of the floral divider. Neon-green letters spelled out the dating game in cursive lettering, while yellow daisies dotted the black silkscreen. It was very seventies, very retro. She felt as if she should be wearing go-go boots and a miniskirt.

Tense, she wet her lips and pulled her questions from her jacket pocket. The low sound of voices and men's shoes shuffling onstage echoed from behind the screen as the bachelors situated themselves in their assigned chairs. She pictured Lance's handsome strong jaw and wondered how he'd dressed for the occasion. Had he worn those faded jeans that hugged his muscular butt and that white shirt unbuttoned at the top with the cuffs rolled up? Or a dark suit that would accentuate those sultry coffee-colored eyes? Or maybe he'd decided to be daring and had sprung for some tight leather pants?

A frisson of desire danced in her belly at the thought. She had wanted Lance forever.

Well, for at least the last six months, but it
seemed
like forever.

The producer signaled showtime and the lights darkened onstage, one dim camera light zeroing in on her. "Welcome back to
Sophie Knows,"
Sophie said. The females in the crowd started whispering their choices behind their hands. Were they admiring Lance? Choosing him for her weekend tryst?

The music zinged to a close and Sophie pasted on her bright entertainment smile. "All right, bachelor number one. What is your idea of a romantic date?"

Bachelor number one's chair rattled. "First we'd start off with an afternoon shopping spree, where I'd buy my lady a sexy party dress. Something slinky and expensive." The audience murmured their approval. "Then we'd take a nice moonlight drive in my convertible to a cozy little Italian place on the beach. And afterward..." He let the sentence trail off, his voice low and seductive. "Well, afterward we'd have dessert. But it wouldn't be in the restaurant."

Low laughter and whispers echoed throughout the audience.

Sophie twisted in her seat. She hoped Lance would have an equally romantic answer. In fact, she'd save him for last. "That sounds wonderful. Now, bachelor number two?"

"Order in pizza and watch the Braves game on the tube."

Sophie frowned, guessing by the audience's silence that they were unimpressed as well. Oh, well, it didn't matter. She'd already made up her mind. "Bachelor number three?"

A deep voice rumbled out.
Lance?
"We'd start off with an afternoon picnic in the mountains, then explore the woods together, wade in the creek. That night we'd sleep under the stars, cuddled together in a sleeping bag for one." He chuckled. "Except we probably wouldn't do much sleeping."

The crowd clapped. Sophie tingled all over as she imagined making love with Lance out in the open beneath the moon and stars. Tangled legs, sweaty bodies, and panting breaths, soft touches and erotic kisses...

She didn't need to ask any more questions.

But she had to play out the game. "All right. Bachelor number two, I'll start with you this time. If you could be an animal, what would you choose to be?"

"A wolf."

"So you could chase women?"

"No, so I could run free in the woods."

Hmm—commitment issues. Strike him out of the game
. "Bachelor number one?"

"A cat, so I could curl up in a woman's lap at night and have her rub my back. Then I'd lick—"

"Wow," Sophie cut him off, "thank you, bachelor number one." If Lance wasn't careful, that first guy was going to knock him out of the game. "Bachelor number three?"

"A bear." His voice echoed with innuendo. "So I could wrap my arms around you and give you a bear hug. And we could hibernate all winter..."

Catcalls and laughter erupted, and Sophie's face heated. Who would have thought Lance would be such a ham on camera? And his voice sounded even deeper than normal. Huskier.

"All right, let's start with bachelor number one again."

"Honey you can start
and
end with me anytime."

The audience played along, enthusiasm building with their laughter.

"What food best describes your taste in women?"

He moaned suggestively. "Ice cream. I like my women sweet, dripping in chocolate sauce."

Oh, my.

"Bachelor number two?"

"A good burger. Nothing like simple, plain, and hearty."

What a dud. The coproducer waved at the clock.

"Number three." Lance.

"Hot tamales. I want my women spicy and hot."

Sophie shivered; once again the crowd murmured their appreciation.

"Last question, gentlemen. If you were going to choose a romantic gift for your lady, what would it be? Let's start with number two this time."
And get it over with.

"A
toaster."

Had he really said a kitchen appliance? What was wrong with this guy? "You think a toaster is romantic?"

"Well, it would save time in making breakfast the morning after."

Silence stretched after his answer as Sophie contemplated the meaning. In a Mars-Venus sort of way, she supposed it was a suitable answer. More time for lovemaking, less for cooking.

"Bachelor number one?"

"A fur coat." His voice grew lower. "Of course, she'd be naked underneath."

Judging from the whispered innuendoes and uproar of the crowd, the bachelors must have started male posturing or flexing their muscles behind the screen. Maybe she should have sneaked a look at the other two candidates before she decided on Lance.

After all, bachelor number one's answers were pretty romantic. "Bachelor number three?"

He cleared his throat and spoke in a low tone that sent her senses spinning. "I'd buy her a see-through negligee. Something silky that would brush her skin just the way I want to caress her with my fingers." He paused, then continued in a breathy voice. "And it would be red. Red-hot for the passion we'd feel in each other's arms."

The crowd roared, several women shouting out, "Pick him! Pick him!"

Sophie released a shaky breath, dabbing at her neck where perspiration had started to bead. The peppy music picked up, leading into the break, and the camera focused on the ticking of the clock, signifying that she had two minutes to make her decision. Then the camera zoomed to the audience, where her assistant polled the crowd.

"Psst."

Sophie folded the sheet of questions into a triangle in her hands.