She narrowed her eyes. He probably figured if he made her look dumb, he’d be able to refute her comments from the Risqué interview.
“Actually, no,” she said slowly. “I’ve complete confidence in my evaluations. After years of reviewing, I believe the opinions I share generally reflect the public consensus.”
“You’re claiming to speak for the average reader?”
She considered that. She’d never been average anything, so the concept was intriguing. But she had consistently seen her reviews reflected in sales numbers, to say nothing of the mail she received. After a few seconds, she gave a slow nod.
“If you use the definition of average as the consensus of readers of the given genre, then yes. I’m comfortable saying that my reviews tend to fall into the norm.”
His brows drew together in a frown. Delaney wondered if she’d stepped too far over into brainiac-land. She wet her suddenly dry lips and hoped she hadn’t blown her cover.
Having anyone connect Delaney Madison, makeover winner and popular fiction reviewer with Dr. D. M. Conner, Associate English Professor, aka the invisible woman, was definitely not acceptable.
She had the feeling that whatever game Nick was playing could seriously jeopardize her anonymity and quite possibly ruin her shot at the promotion.
But she wasn’t about to back down. There was something about the man that demanded she stand firm, give one hundred percent. She wished she could figure out what it was. That way she could figure out how to ignore it.
“If you’re so sure of yourself,” Nick drawled with a satisfied smile that told Delaney rather than stepping into brainiac-land, she’d actually stepped into his trap, “how about we place a little bet?”
NICK LEANED BACK in his chair, ignoring the heat of the camera lights, and grinned. As hot as the lights were, they had nothing on Delaney Madison’s glare. The angry look suited her flame-colored hair, bringing a sweet flush to her porcelain skin. Huge doe eyes dominated a face that was all planes and angles, sharp rather than curved.
A man who prided himself on doing research, he’d been surprised at his misconception about the hot little reviewer. He’d read all her book reviews, and both her Risqué interview and the magazine’s makeover feature.
Apparently he’d missed a few details. Number one, the woman was razor sharp. Number two, and definitely more important, she was sexy as hell. Her “before” shots had been mousy, but that was obviously part of the magazine’s bid to play up the makeover. Ms. Madison was clearly one of those über-sexy ladies who had done the makeover thing to mix things up. He’d known plenty of women like her—easily bored, always looking for change. Their looks, their job, their men.
“What kind of bet did you have in mind?” the slick blond cohost asked. Nick could see the guy’s mind working, trying to find a way to turn this into a ratings-buster event. Fine by him, the more people watching his triumph, the easier job Gary would have telling editorial to ditch the push for emotional crap in his books.
“I’m of the opinion that despite her obvious appeal, Ms. Madison doesn’t speak for the average viewer,” Nick restated. He didn’t understand the surprise in her gaze, but her furrowed brow made it clear she disagreed with something he’d said.
“Over the past few weeks we’ve polled viewers on Wake Up California’s fabulous interactive Web site, www.wakeupca.com, and I’m sorry to say they don’t seem to agree with your assessment. Delaney has a growing fan base,” the cohost, Sean Something-or-other, challenged with a gleeful smirk.
Nick gave the host a long, dark look that had the guy visibly swallowing. Reminding himself why he was there, he barely managed to rein in his impatience. The last thing he’d planned was to give the hottie reviewer from hell any further ammunition to support her claims about his work.
“That’s all well and good, for what it’s worth,” Nick said in a tone that made it clear how worthless he considered their little poll.
“I can understand your disquiet with my comments about your book,” Delaney mused, her lips in a contemplative moue that reflected the bright lights. His gaze traced her lower lip, the full cushion of it inviting small, nibbling bites. “Nobody likes to have their intimacy issues brought to public attention. Then again, you don’t seem like an insecure kind of guy who’d worry about that.”
She shifted in her chair, her body language screaming challenge. The sweet curve of her breasts pressed against her silk blouse, showing the lace outline of her bra. But it was the expression in her eyes, that look of intelligent curiosity, that was the major turn-on. Nick’s body reacted in tried-and-true fashion, desire spiking through his system.
Wait…Intimacy issues?
“I don’t have intimacy issues.”
“No? You’re in an emotionally mature, committed relationship?”
The glint in those dark eyes made it clear she thought she’d cornered him.
“Is that how you equate intimacy? Commitment? I define it a little differently.”
She ran her tongue, just the tip of it, over her bottom lip. His eyes followed the movement, even as he wondered if she’d accept his challenge. She gave an infinitesimal sigh. Obviously she knew she had to take up the gauntlet, but she wasn’t thrilled.
“The dictionary’s definition of intimacy is ‘a close personal relationship, or knowledge resulting from a close relationship or study of a subject’,” she asserted.
“The dictionary also defines intimacy as a sexual act,” Nick said, shutting her down with a wicked grin.
Her grimace, so slight the cameras probably didn’t pick it up, showed she’d figured he’d use that response. Damn, he wasn’t sure what was more appealing. Her curvy body and sexy lower lip, or her intelligence. He wanted nothing more than to debate semantics with her. While naked, of course.
“You’re claiming, then, that sexual relationships without emotion are on the same level as emotionally committed sexual relationships?”
“Apples and oranges,” he declared with a shrug. “But notice both are fruit.”
“And you’re only shopping for apples, apparently. Which is clear in your books. The singular focus on lust over love only seems to highlight a one-dimensional aspect of intimacy.”
“I don’t claim to write about intimacy,” Nick defended. “I write erotic suspense. Heart-pounding excitement, both in plot and, yes, in the explicitly detailed sex scenes. Hardly one-dimensional.”
She tugged the corner of her lower lip between pearly white teeth, obviously debating how far she wanted to take the conversation. Nick was becoming obsessed with that mouth.
“I hate to disagree with an author whose work I honestly admire a great deal,” she said slowly. Then she gave a one-shouldered shrug that let him know that she was a woman who didn’t back down from things, no matter how much she hated them. “But if you were to analyze your last…oh, let’s say three books just to keep it current, then you’ll find the sex scenes actually are one-dimensional.”
She gave him what could almost be taken for an apologetic look and continued, “Predictable, even.”
If she’d accused him of having a tiny dick, he couldn’t have been more appalled.
“The hell they are.” Nick growled. “I do kick-ass sex. It’s hot, it’s wild. I’ve never had a single complaint.”
“We’re actually talking about writing, not sex. Even though they are apparently similar in your world, I didn’t review your sexual prowess.”
“Anytime you want a shot at that review, you just let me know,” he offered with his most wicked grin. His temper,