Nothing In Common

  Nothing In Common

  Megan Hart

  Smashwords Edition.

  ~~**~~

  Copyright 2010 Megan Hart

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  To Billy Zane for being just too darned pretty

  To my kids for all the love and pride

  To my family for their support

  And to DPF, the true survivor of the shark cage…

  I’m the one who got lucky

  CHAPTER 1

  Men like that should be illegal.

  The man standing across the room from Lila Lazin was utterly, unquestionably perfect. Broad, strong shoulders, flat stomach, narrow hips, long, lean legs. His midnight-colored hair was cropped short around his smooth neck and perfectly shaped ears, but left longer on top so the errant pieces fell across his forehead to brush eyes a pure light hazel, like amber touched with green, contrasting sharply with the brows the same inky shade as his hair. His strong, firm jaw and sensuous lips looked as though they could bring a woman to her knees with one kiss.

  Some other woman, maybe. Handsome men were like bargain basement grab bags. They came in attractive packages that promised an exciting surprise inside, but once you got them home, all you ended up with was a bunch of junk. He’d spout words as pretty as his face until a better prospect came along, just like her last boyfriend had done. Though it had been over for two years, the memory still stung enough to make her rattle the ice cubes in her glass. William Darcy had told her he’d only dated her to do her a favor. He’d left her for a woman who looked like she’d been built from the Everyman’s Dream catalog.

  No, Lila had been there, done that, didn’t need to do it again. Men who looked like that were great as eye-candy, but anything beyond that, she could do without. Unfortunately, he’d caught her staring. With a slight smile playing about his incredible mouth, he headed toward her. Now she’d done it.

  It’s all fun and games until someone catches your eye.

  "Excuse me, but I couldn’t help noticing you from across the room," the object of her attention said.

  His voice, low but not rumbling, smooth like silk, went straight to the pit of her stomach, where it took a sharp turn south. Satin sheets and candlelight, she had time to think before he spoke again and saved her from her own long-ignored and petulant libido.

  "Have we met before?"

  That mouth and those eyes might be thigh-opening, but his opening line left her flatter than day-old beer. In a way, it was a relief. A convenient buffer against his unbelievable face and perfect body.

  "I don’t think so."

  "I’m sure I’ve seen you before. I’m pretty good with faces," he insisted.

  "Me, too, and I’m sure I would have remembered yours." Distracted by the sight of his mouth moving, she spoke before she knew it. Her cheeks heated as she realized what she’d said. Of all the idiotic replies! Not that he seemed to mind or even notice. Then again, a man who looked like he did must surely be used to women drooling and fawning all over him.

  He smiled and stuck out his hand. "Tom Caine."

  "Lila Lazin." She allowed him to capture her hand with his for a moment. His fingers were warm.

  The silk of her dress began to rub her in all the right places. Lila shifted, and the cloth whispered first on her stocking-clad legs, then higher up, against the bare skin of her thighs. Damn her laziness for not buying more pantyhose. She'd thrown on a garter belt and stockings earlier because she had no pantyhose without runs, and they'd suddenly started to seduce her. She forced herself to stand still, even though the pressure of his fingers on hers still made her want to squirm.

  "Lila." Tom mouthed her name as though tasting it. "I had a goldfish named Lila once."

  He’d managed to tease a smile from her. "I was named after my great-grandmother. I don’t believe she ever had a goldfish."

  They stared in silence for a few minutes, until Tom gestured at the crowded room. "Quite the party."

  Lila nodded. "It certainly is."

  Her sister’s paintings always drew large crowds. Rivka Delaney had won Best Local Artist in Capital Magazine's Best Of Central PA Contest over other, more prominent Pennsylvania artists for two years in a row. Tonight’s theme centered around Rivka’s latest project. Teasingly called "The X-Men" after a popular comic book series her husband adored, Rivka had done twenty portraits of local men: businessmen, doctors, accountants, cashiers at the local grocery store, the janitor from her building. Though they came from many different backgrounds, Rivka had somehow looked at each of them and found something—an expression, a way of standing—that made even the ones who were not "classically" handsome look like models. It was Rivka’s gift. She had a way of finding whatever beauty the subject had inside and bringing it to the canvas.

  "I love Rivka Delaney’s work." Tom pointed at the piece directly behind them and sipped from his drink. "I have some of her prints at my house. I’d love to have an original, but they’re hard to come by."

  Lila watched the way his smooth throat worked with every swallow, and her own mouth went a little dry. Pretty face, she reminded herself sternly. Bargain basement junk.

  "Rivka doesn’t like letting go of her paintings."

  "You know her?"

  Lila glanced over her shoulder toward the knot of people surrounding her flamboyant sister. "I guess you could say I’ve followed her career since she started."

  He gave her that stunning grin again. "Lots of people here tonight."

  "Yes."

  "You’re a woman of few words, aren’t you?"

  It’s because I want to use my mouth for other things than talking, Lila thought and gave herself a mental shake. This was dangerous ground. It had been a long time since a man had affected her this way, but she knew all too well the end results. She didn’t answer, just gave him a raised eyebrow that made him laugh. He tipped his head back so she could see the smooth motion of his Adam’s apple as it bobbed in his throat.

  Oh, he’s perfection. Absolute, sheer, unadulterated perfection.

  "Listen." Tom leaned in closer to her. "Crowds drive me bonkers. How about we go someplace quiet and have a cup of coffee? We can talk about Rivka’s work."

  He’d done it again. The cheesy pick-up line, meant to melt her like butter. Lila supposed it worked on most women, him being the beautiful specimen of manhood that he was and all, but she wasn’t most women. She breathed deep, grateful to have resisted his siren song.

  "I don’t drink coffee."

  "Brrrr." The curve of his smile didn’t affect her so much this time. "Did it just get colder in here or is it me?"

  "Look." Lila attempted to soften her comment. "I’m sure you’re not used to being turned down. It’s just that—"

  "What’s that supposed to mean?" His full lips thinned as his smile vanished completely. "I’m not used to being turned down?"

  Lila tilted her chin, knowing she’d put her foot in something, but not willing to admit what. "Men like you aren’t used to having women tell them no."

  "Men like me?"

  Heat flared higher in her cheeks.

  "I meant men who look like you." She paused and gestured toward the painting on the wall behind them. "X Men."

  His hazel gaze flickered, unreadable. "Is that what you think?"

  The heat in her cheeks deepened. "Haven’
t you ever looked in a mirror?"

  "Haven’t you?"

  Lila gave a short, sharp laugh. "I know what I look like."

  "So do I. You look like someone I’d like to get to know."

  Her laugh was genuine this time, surprised out of her. "You should write a book. A thousand and one cheesy pick up lines."

  "Come for coffee with me, and I’ll give you a cut of the royalties."

  He was pursuing her. Lila let her gaze slide over his perfect features, imagining those full lips on hers. A man like that would probably be too sure of himself in bed. Too certain he knew how to push her buttons. Too cocky, too arrogant…but oh, so easy on the eyes. And it had been a long, long time since she’d had any man’s hands on her….

  She stood straighter and made her voice more aloof. "I told you I don’t drink coffee."

  "Tea then."

  Lila sighed. "Why are you doing this? Why me?"

  "Why not you?"

  Lila waved her hand at the crowd in the gallery. "This room is filled with models, actresses, and other biologically blessed females. Why not ask one of them? Why me?"

  "None of those other biologically blessed women, as you call them, are standing in a corner looking interesting. They’re all swarming around each other, trying to sound interesting…and failing."

  She knew the lingo. Interesting meant the same as "she has a nice personality." William flashed in her mind again, and heat turned to ice. She wasn’t interested in being any man’s pity fuck. She turned to move away. "I don’t think so."

  Tom caught her elbow. An electric tingle went all the way up her arm, a sensation so fierce it made her actually stumble. He reached out with his other hand and kept her from falling, like something out of some corny romantic comedy.

  Her breath caught in her throat. His hands, each large enough to wrap the fingers entirely around her upper arms, seared imprints on her bare skin. The scent of him, some cologne she couldn’t name, tantalized her nostrils. The scrape of her garters on soft flesh too long neglected made her bite her lip, and she spoke before she could stop herself. "All right. Tea then."

  Tom jumped up and punched the air. "Woo-hoo! She said yes!"

  Embarrassed, Lila looked around to see if anyone had noticed his antics. As he had already pointed out, however, everyone in the room was competing with someone else to sound more profound, witty, or esoteric. Nobody was looking into the corner she shared with him.

  "Don’t." She had to laugh. "Do you do everything with this much enthusiasm?"

  "Everything."

  His answer sent another flash of heat through her. Lila could just imagine all the things Tom Caine did with enthusiasm. "Let me just get my coat."

  "I’ll get it for you. I’ve got to get mine, too."

  She needed a few minutes to compose herself. "No, really, I can get it—"

  Tom held up his hand to silence her. "Lila, I’m not trying to set back women’s rights here or anything. I’d just like to get your coat for you. If it will make you feel better, you can get mine for me."

  He had made her laugh again, which was actually more of an accomplishment than making her sigh. It seemed the pretty face had something of a sharp wit behind it. She handed him her claim ticket.

  "It’s a mustard-colored field coat with a plaid scarf."

  She watched him wend his way through the crowd with far more grace than such a large man should have. He didn’t stop to ogle the half-naked society belle who had staked herself out in front of one of Rivka’s larger works, with champagne in hand and a gaggle of sycophants surrounding her. Though the woman clearly saw him, even angling her body to watch him pass, Tom didn’t even look her way. Lila was impressed despite herself.

  "What a tramp." Rivka’s familiar husky voice sounded just beside Lila’s ear.

  "She seems to be enjoying the show," Lila noted dryly, returning her sister’s hug.

  Rivka waved one bangled arm. "So? She hasn’t bought anything from me, and she sure could afford to. She’s just here to get her picture in the paper, Lila-love. But how do you like the show?"

  "It’s wonderful, as usual." She did love her sister’s art. It was bold and sassy, sometimes sexy or sentimental, just like her sister.

  Rivka’s skin-tight, black sheath dress dipped down to the dimples of her back and was covered by a sheer, flowing overdress of purple gauze. On her feet were thigh-high, red leather boots with heels tall enough to bring Rivka almost, but not quite, up to Lila’s five feet, six inches. A multi-colored set of bangles on one arm was offset by the simplicity of a single gold chain around her neck.

  Rivka saw her sister’s look and shook her hips. "You like?"

  "It looks like something Mick picked out."

  "Are you kidding?" Rivka’s hoarse, throaty laughter made both men and women turn their heads. "Mick wanted me to ditch the black dress and come in just the purple thing."

  And she’d look great in that, too, Lila thought, just a trifle jealously. They both shared the same dark chocolate-colored hair and the same startling blue eyes. They even had the same thick, untamed brows. So why did it all come together on Rivka’s face looking like a million bucks, while the face Lila saw in the mirror barely registered a dollar and change?

  "Why didn’t you?"

  "That’s not the way I wanted to get my face on the front page." Her sister pressed a lipsticked kiss to Lila’s cheek. "Gotta run, Lila-love. I see Martin over there chatting up one of my best customers."

  In a cloud of purple gauze, Rivka skipped her way through the crowd to meet with her agent. Lila watched her go, unable to keep from smiling. Her sister, the artiste.

  "Ready to go?"

  Lila turned to find Tom holding out her worn field coat as though it were some sort of offering. "Sure."

  He settled the coat around her shoulders and lifted her hair free of the collar before smoothing the material flat on her shoulders. That simple, attentive gesture stunned her and made her throat close with sudden, inexplicable emotion. Clearing her throat and stepping away from his grasp, Lila forced a smile. "I’m ready."

  "Me, too." His smile made her shiver, and Lila realized she’d lied. She wasn’t ready for Tom Caine.

  Not at all.

  * * * *

  The tea had grown bitter in the pot, but Tom drank it anyway. Sitting across from Lila was a sweetness that more than made up for the brew’s taste. They’d been sitting for three hours at MJ’s Coffeehouse at the Allen Theater, discussing everything from college theater classes to practical jokes gone awry. She had a keen sense of the ridiculous that delighted him. On top of that, she was bright and not afraid to let him know it.

  She’s definitely not the sort of woman he was used to taking out, he thought, watching as she tucked a curl of coffee-brown hair behind one of her ears. Lila had long and slender fingers, nails short and neat, unadorned by any rings. Her face glowed with good humor, not makeup. Her features were slightly too uneven to be called beautiful, but her eyes were vivid blue ice and her mouth was damn near perfection. Her lips were full and soft, one front tooth slightly crooked enough to snag his tongue if he wasn’t careful. He didn’t plan on being careful. No, Lila Lazin wasn’t like the hardbody hotties he normally went out with. She was smart and funny, and Tom was completely and utterly smitten.