“Artists, sharpen your pencils.”

Kim O’Halloran smothered a smile as she doodled along the spiral spine of her sketchbook. Sounded like her teacher had been watching a few too many NASCAR races, because he loved to start every class the same way.

Her pencil had been sharpened plenty, but this class wasn’t doing it for her. She’d been sure a class called Mastering the Art of the Erotic Technique would be exciting. Wrong-o. She’d taken it partly to fill a few hours on Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday nights, and partly to ogle some hot, potentially young, male licorice without fear of pesky repercussions.

Namely, messy breakups, uncomfortable run-ins at work and disturbing encounters in her driveway when her ex stopped by to make sure she was “healing okay”.

She’d healed and had the scar tissue to prove it. After this many relationships going bust, only a sadist would willingly do something that would cause them pain. Her choice had been to develop a Teflon shell or be perennially doomed to disappointment.

Or she could take up drawing sexy nudes for entertainment. Assuming any ever showed up.

So far? Nada.

Oh, they’d had naked people to sketch, all right, like the rotund man with the rug on his chest. And back. And shoulders. Then there had been the orange-haired woman with abnormally large breasts. Despite the noteworthiness of her cleavage, Kim hadn’t learned much there except how to properly shade an areola.

She shifted on the uncomfortable wooden horse that wore her butt print more often than not. The latecomers to class got their pick of the crappy stations, and they included these hobby horse deals that required her to press her knees into the sides to stay balanced. Since she never closed the Fairdale Bird Sanctuary gift shop until the last souvenir shopper went away happy, she usually skated in right before Randall shut the door. Only two more classes were left after tonight. Then she’d take up naked origami or something.

She blinked as the door opened and sex personified glided across the classroom to speak with Randall. Hoo boy, who was that? His scuffed sneakers barely seemed to make contact with the floor.

“Class, tonight’s model is Michael Montgomery.” Randall leaned against his desk and gestured at the sulky-faced man at his side wearing a hoodie and faded jeans. “Michael’s a frequent model of mine, and I have a feeling you’ll enjoy sketching him. For tonight’s class, he won’t be fully nude. Tomorrow, however, you will draw him during the point of full arousal. Thursday night we’ll go over final techniques and you’ll submit your final project for my approval.”

Kim’s attention shorted out at the word arousal. Did Randall actually mean they’d be able to sketch Michael’s erection? Could she get a job being his fluffer? She’d work cheap, especially since it had been a while since she’d fluffed anything that didn’t reside in her own panties.

“If the muse cooperates,” Michael put in, offering a grin that seemed at odds with the male model pout he’d worn only a moment before.

“Headphones.” Randall winked and took the seat nearest to the model, as he always did. He sketched right along with the class, in the hopes of fostering a collaborative environment. “You know the drill.”

“I do.” Perching on his stool, Michael let his smile drift around the room. The class ratio was heavily weighted toward women, and most of them seemed intent on gazing wide-eyed at tonight’s specimen. His gaze touched everyone briefly, until he reached Kim’s row. She sat in the last seat and waited for him to stare at her while orchestra music swelled in her mind and her crumbled heart magically reknitted at the prospect of rough, sweaty sex. But Michael didn’t even look at her.

Just as well, since he had to be in his twenties. Been there, done that doggy-style.

After breaking up with Gary, a cook in the cafeteria at the bird sanctuary, she’d learned her lesson about dating younger guys. Eagerness to please between the sheets and a shared interest in comic books did not a match in heaven make.

Unfortunately finding single men her own age was equivalent to catching the Loch Ness monster with a fishing net. Which brought her right back around to younger men again. She should know better because knowing better was the first step to doing better. And/or being done.

Hell, why fight it? She’d gladly sign up for the support group if she got to enjoy the addiction first.

While she’d been lost in thought, Michael had unzipped his hoodie to reveal his bare chest above his faded jeans. His torso was a virtual lasagna of muscles—layer upon layer of them, all caught mid-ripple as he sat unmoving in a flex pose. The cheese on top were the whorls of light brown hair on his pecs.

No manscaping. Thank Jesus. With a grateful sigh, she started to sketch.

Michael’s dark hair wasn’t straight or curly, more a mishmash of the two, and so thick she imagined he spent a lot of time in the barber’s chair. His eyelids seemed to be weighted, giving him a perpetually sleepy look. He had a lush look about his face that didn’t match the sinewy lines of his body.

She didn’t consider herself a great artist by any means, but she spent what seemed like forever contouring the hollows and angles of his face. His eyes were deep, dark slashes, hidden by the inky fringe of his lashes. She wanted him to look up and see her, to bestow that panty-warming smile.

Then he did. And sweet dandelion wine, her lady parts sang hallelujah.

Michael broke his position and shifted lazily to his feet, shaking his limbs to get the circulation going again. He pulled his hoodie on, his gaze remaining riveted on hers all the while. He bent to gather the backpack he’d dropped at his feet then straightened to speak to one of the ladies, who was much quicker on the uptake than Kim.

When spotting a delicious man in the wild terrain of the suburban classroom, the importance of haste couldn’t be overstated. Yet all Kim could do was shade more lines around Michael’s eyes on her sketchpad and wonder if his irises were one color or every one of them, which was essentially the make-up of black. Black eyes were unique, at least to her mind.

Vaguely, she realized everyone had risen from their seats. To her right, Randall discussed the benefits of using charcoal over other media with a student. All Kim heard was that buzz in her ears that meant she was back in the game.

God help them both.

The brunette currently eye-mounting him was trouble with a capital F. F for fuck him, he was screwed. Or he would be, if he didn’t watch himself.

Michael Montgomery dug his keys out of his pocket and smiled at one of the other women, expecting the sexy brunette to wander over anytime now. But she didn’t acknowledge him at all. She continued sketching then sailed out of the room without so much as a hello. No phone number coyly dropped on his bag, no wink and an air kiss. Absolutely nothing.

Too late he’d realized why she intrigued him—well, beyond the obvious. She wasn’t some random woman he’d tussled with over melons in the grocery store. This was her. Red glittery dress chick, whom he’d changed a flat tire for on the side of the road months ago. The one he hadn’t been able to forget for reasons he couldn’t figure out. She’d barely spoken two words to him, so occupied was she with her phone.

He hadn’t recognized her right away tonight because she’d worn little makeup and had her hair down, partially covering her face. That night she’d had it scraped back, showing off her gorgeous bone structure. And that lush mouth, painted a bold crimson.

Something about her had called to him then. The determination he’d sensed in her posture. Her fight to remain stoic. Hell, the way her eyes shone gold under the streetlights. Whatever it was, that same something was currently hammering the back of his skull—and the base of his cock.

The next night, she arrived last to class. He’d already stripped and had just returned from the bathroom where he’d primed his pump, so to speak. The pornographic soundtrack in his headphones should keep all thrusters operational.

Randall had taken his share of flak from the founders of the rec center where the class was held for this aspect of the course, but there was no denying that the session always had a waiting list two miles long. The brass couldn’t argue with money, even if they could with method. Nothing inappropriate had ever occurred between Michael and the students. It was art. A chance for them to draw a man fully aroused, rather than in his less noteworthy state of flaccidity.

The soundtrack in his ears was the audio track to his favorite porno—well, truthfully, it was the only porno he’d watched more than once. Years ago he’d been curious by all he’d been missing, but after a while, he’d realized that seeing the greener grass over the fence only made him want to roll in it even more. For the last year, he hadn’t watched or listened to anything overtly sexual other than when he was in this class. And since that was technically for work, he rationalized he had no choice.

Hey, it was a hard job, but someone had to do it.

An hour later, the class was over, the erection he’d shoved into his jeans ached like a motherfucker and the brunette had booked out the door yet again. Her eyes had said plenty as she examined his length with the tip of her tongue caught between her teeth. He couldn’t say definitively which contributed more to his desire—the moans and carnal demands through his headphones or the occasional swish of her pink tongue over her glossy full lips.

Now she was gone. Again.

He’d had trouble forgetting her after their first roadside meeting, but he knew it would be impossible now that he’d had time to study her when she didn’t realize he was watching. Had his arousal while looking at her the last couple of nights imprinted her in some way on his psyche? Or was it more?

He’d followed his gut with Rochelle. Maybe it was time to follow it one more time.

Michael stepped into the hallway and glanced up, surprise stopping him in his tracks. The woman who lingered in his mind like a favorite song stood waiting for him, one booted foot propped against the wall, the other tapping as if she couldn’t bear to be still. Pleasure smothered shock and his smile widened while his fingers tensed around the strap of his backpack.

“Lost, little girl?” The teasing question left his mouth before he had time to consider the wisdom of setting that tone. She was a student, and he was an employee of Rand’s and by extension, the rec center. Despite the fact that his role in her class had ended, he probably shouldn’t go there. Lonely nights by the side of the road weren’t cause to abandon ethics—his or hers. She most likely didn’t even recognize him as anything but her peter model.

Preening peter at the moment, if the tightness of his jeans had any say in the matter.

Then she grinned at him and he forgot he was even still upright, never mind who signed his checks. Just like that night on the road. Except what had drawn him then was her backbone, not her blinding smile.

“Nope, not lost. I was waiting for you.” She strode up to him, her sketchbook under one arm and her fringe purse tapping her hip. She wore it cross-body and the strap did an amazing plumping thing to already pretty impressive breasts.

Not that he’d looked. Much.

“Me?” They started walking, legs brushing until they moved far apart enough to avoid a collision. He’d enjoyed brushing up against her and learning her scent. She smelled like a mixture of charcoal and eraser and, oddly enough, mossy earth. Sort of humid and tropical.

Something he wouldn’t tell her unless he wanted to end this conversation before it even started.

“Yes, you.” She shot him a sideways glance. “Come on, a guy with a cock like yours can’t play shy very well.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised,” he muttered, amazed he didn’t blush.

He didn’t normally have conversations like this with women. Or anyone. Hard to wear the hermit label proudly if talking to strangers came easily.

It had, once. Before Rochelle he’d been a lot more social. His willingness to chat up anyone who came into the gas station where he worked had led to their first conversation. Well, that and desperation. He’d been frantic to escape from his shitty life and Roch with her fancy manners and fancier money had provided a welcome diversion.

Flirting was fun, or it had been the few times he’d tried it since those days. But flirting invariably led to cozying up in shadowy corners with coffee. Then came snuggling and soulful looks in each other’s eyes. Then came fucking, and his London Bridge would come crashing down.

Women always wanted more than he could comfortably give, especially when they saw his big house and heard that he’d lost his last partner. He’d spent far too long taking care of someone to want to resume that role right away again. A good time was one thing. Bindings he didn’t choose another.

“Is that so? You’ll have to tell me all about this shyness problem of yours.” Brown eyes twinkling, she linked her arm through his. The movement caused her entirely too soft breast to rub against his arm, and he stifled a groan. “Let’s go get coffee. I know a great diner across the street.”

“The Bottomless Cup? Yeah, it’s a great place.”

“And it’s raining out, so a hot cuppa and some soup sounds perfect.”

His first inclination was to make an excuse. Despite his interest, he’d dissuaded women for a damn long time. If he said yes to coffee, what would he say yes to next?

And how many regrets would he have if he turned her down and went home alone?

“You’re right. It does.” He smiled and motioned for her to go down the short flight of stairs ahead of them. “I have to be at work early tomorrow but it’s not that late yet. You never told me your name, by the way.” Something he should’ve asked four months ago, workplace boundaries aside.

“It’s Kim,” she replied, continuing before he could comment. “Work?” she asked, bounding down the stairs. “But you were just working. Unless you consider that play.”

“Play shouldn’t hurt that much.”

Her husky laughter dragged sharp nails of desire down his spine. “Sure you want to come out with me? Maybe I should let you have some alone time.”

He didn’t respond. Luckily she didn’t seem to need him to.

“Or maybe we should have some alone time,” she continued, shooting him a sparkling grin. “To, I don’t know, play chess. I’ve heard chess releases a lot of…stress.”

He grinned back, suddenly eager to see where this led. She’d embedded herself inside him months ago. He couldn’t explain why. Didn’t want to. For once, being with someone held vastly more appeal than being by himself.

Lightly, he touched the base of her spine, testing them both. The heat from her body nearly scorched his hand. “Now you’ve made me curious about your moves.”

Her grin turned sly. “Oh, I’ll show them to you anytime you like, shy guy.”

Michael immediately changed the subject, which disappointed Kim more than she could say. Despite the utter stupidity in playing games with a guy young enough to pal around with her baby brother—hell, Michael was probably even younger than Brad—she couldn’t seem to help herself.

His hot body weighed into the equation, absolutely, but it was more than that. He had a haunted thing going on in his dark eyes that drew her like a hawk to a bunny. She wanted to pounce, though not to eat him whole.

Unless they were naked. That had definite possibilities.

Once they were seated across from each other in a corner booth of the diner, Kim propped her chin on her palm and smiled. Considering how they’d met, she found it a little odd that Michael seemed slightly flustered by her attention. Surely he got plenty of notice from the ladies even fully dressed, so maybe he really was shy. That classified him as strictly not her type.

Minus the haunted eyes thing. And the sulky mouth that tipped into a crooked smile at the slightest provocation. And the cock.

Must not diminish the value of the cock.

“How old are you?” she blurted after they’d ordered. She’d already been served cinnamon coffee, while Michael had ordered a lemon-lime soda.

He choked on the sip he’d been taking from his straw. “What?”

“How old are you?” she enunciated slowly. Normally she didn’t ask men their age, since she figured as long as they were legal it wasn’t her place to police other people’s bedroom proclivities. Some guys liked older women, just like she couldn’t help being attracted to younger men. Who was she to judge?

But Michael was setting off too many bells in her brain. What if he was scarily young? Like barely twenty-one? Mid-twenties was one thing. Barely done with college another.

“I’m thirty,” he said smoothly, almost too smoothly to her practiced eye. He flashed her his disarming grin, causing her fingers to flex around the handle of her mug. “What about you? Or should a gentleman never ask a lady such personal details?”

“Perhaps not, but I’m not a lady. Are you a gentleman?”

He flicked his tongue over the corner of his mouth and caught a stray drop of soda. He’d probably taste like a juicy lemon, all tart and sweet. “I always make sure I take care of a woman in my company, so…maybe.”

Kim didn’t reply as the waitress reappeared to take their order. They both chose bowls of the turkey and wild rice soup with thick slabs of sourdough bread. The instant the waitress left, Kim lifted her eyebrows at Michael. “I’m thirty-nine.”

He didn’t jerk back in horror, which had to be a positive sign. “If I’d had to guess, I would’ve guessed upper twenties.”

“I’m not susceptible to flattery.” She reached for a packet of sugar then added two more. After splashing in a healthy dollop of cream, she glanced up to find him watching her. “What?”

“Are you susceptible to the truth? Because you’re gorgeous and honestly, I couldn’t give a fig how old you are.”

Only the fact that he seemed as surprised as she did at what came out of his mouth kept her from tossing back some smart remark. Instead she went with stupid. “Uh, thanks. I guess.”

Now who was the one who sounded inexperienced? That would be her, and that never happened.

She couldn’t figure this guy out. First he played the part of the confident nude model, happily waving his penis around like a pole without a flag. Then he went shy on her. Now he’d bolstered himself enough to toss out compliments accompanied by that panty-abandoning smile.

If she wore panties.

Okay, so she did. But usually only during the work week.

“Come on. Other men must tell you that on the regular.”

She cocked her head. “On the regular? Really? No one who’s thirty talks like that. Actually no one talks like that, period.” She crossed her arms on the edge of the table, her wrist full of bangle bracelets clanging noisily. “Level with me, model man. You’re really about to head off to Cancun for spring break, aren’t you?”

Michael’s jaw locked before he visibly released it. “Did you actually accuse me of being a senior in high school? As in eighteen?”

“I meant college, but if the varsity letter fits…” She shook her head. “Next you’ll tell me you’re a virgin.”

He didn’t laugh or blush, merely studied her for so long that her skin seemed to shrink in direct proportion to the warmth of his stare. “Nope, not going to tell you that.”

The waitress picked that less-than-ideal moment to return with their soups and a basket of hot, yeasty bread. Normally Kim would’ve dug in before the plates even hit the table. Now she couldn’t seem to get her arms to unclamp from the edge of the table. In a second, her muscles would be quivering.

“Just FYI, virginity isn’t a curse,” he said once the waitress left. He picked up a piece of bread and buttered it, then shocked the heck out of her by setting it next to the soup she hadn’t touched. “Surely you were a virgin once?”

“I guess. I can’t remember anymore.”

He surprised her by laughing, and the tension between them ebbed away. He’d been yanking her chain, that was all there was to it. “I’ve heard born-agains are pretty popular.”

“I’m not a born-again anything. The first time was plenty, thanks.”

“New question. Are you single?”

“Dude, I’m so single my vagina thinks I’ve abandoned it for wetter pastures.” At his wide eyes, her laughter turned into a snort. She picked up her piece of bread and took a bite. The moan that escaped was purely accidental.

The look he gave her, however? Incendiary, with a side of oh shit.

Before she had a chance to take another bite, he started buttering the next slice. She had to laugh as he set the second on her plate. “What’re you doing?”

“If keeping you in bread will get you to moan like that again, you’re going into a carb coma tonight.”

She shook her head, smiling. “Are you really single?”

“Yes, I’m single,” Michael said finally, drawing her attention to how long it had taken him to reply. That probably wasn’t a good sign.

So far he was potentially coupled up, could be underage despite his assertions to the contrary and potentially inexperienced if his defense of virgins meant anything. A trifecta of drama if she’d ever encountered one. Which begged the question: why was she still leaning toward him across the table, unintentionally revealing her cleavage thanks to her snug V-neck sweater?

“Sure about that?” she asked.

“I’m sure.” After swallowing another mouthful of soup, he set down his spoon and reached for his untouched bread. He pulled off the crust in a neat ring, unaware that she’d stopped nibbling hers to watch him. “I’ve been single for more than a year. Before, the person I was with…it was complicated.”

“How?”

For a moment, she didn’t think he would answer. “Rochelle and I had an unusual relationship.”

“She was into freaky shit?” Kim nodded sympathetically and lifted her soup-laden spoon.

Narrowly, she managed to resist moaning again as the spices, tender meat and warm broth flowed over her tongue. It was a chilly November night, and man, did the soup hit the spot. One of them anyway. With the low lights of the diner glowing against the windows and chasing the rain away, she almost felt cozy.

Now if she could find her way to being comfortable with her dinner guest, she’d count the evening a success.

“No. Not at all.” He laughed and tilted his head, sending a hank of his unruly hair into his eyes. “But it sounds like you’ve been there yourself.”

“Oh you have no idea.”

“Like what?” Clearly fascinated, he leaned forward. “Tell me.”

She waved her free hand without letting go of her spoon. The soup was going to be gone in thirty seconds or less with the way she was sucking it down. “If you can imagine it, some guy has suggested it.” She grinned. “Or I have.”

“Tease.”

“It’s not teasing if you intend to put out.” His eyes lit. “Eventually,” she added, laughing as he pulled off a hunk of bread and shoved it toward her lips. She bit down, deliberately dragging her lips and teeth over his forefinger.

His eyes narrowed, thick lashes framing irises rimmed with gold. They were black. “I may hold you to that.”

“I meant verbally, shy guy. I wasn’t referring to physical affection with a near stranger. What kind of girl do you think I am?” She flung a bit of her own bread at him. It landed in his soup with a plop.

“An intriguing one,” he said quietly, bypassing all of the usual flattery in favor of something that sounded an awful lot like the truth.

Just like that, she melted. Rain dripped down the pane of glass at her side, and her good intentions puddled beneath her feet. She’d believed she had irreversible immunity to any game he threw at her—other than the game she chose to respond to—but she hadn’t expected honesty or anything real to transpire between them. The steadfast expression on his face put a lie to that assumption.

“I’m not that fascinating.” Partially to distract herself, she trapped a chunk of carrot against the side of her bowl and flipped it over the edge onto her napkin, then wrapped it up and tucked it next to her unused fork.

When she looked up, he was grinning. He seemed to get a charge out of watching her, which should’ve been creepy instead of charming. Maybe she’d mellowed.

Maybe she should ask for the check and get the hell out of there.

“Yes, you are.” He inched forward on his bench seat and reached across the table to grab a feather off her shoulder. “Like this. What’s this all about? Do you own a bird?”

“Actually I sort of own twenty of them.”

She enjoyed the way his normally sultry eyes bugged out. “Seriously?”

A laugh escaped before she could stop it. “I work at Fairdale Bird Sanctuary.”

“No fuckin’ way. That’s so cool. You get to work with all the rare and exotic birds?”

“I’m actually the gift-shop manager, so that means I mostly get to play with stuffed ones and soothe the ruffled feathers of the annoyed patrons who wanted a blue-footed booby toy rather than a pelican. My best friend is one of the sanctuary’s zoologists.”

For the next half hour he questioned her thoroughly about the sanctuary, even going so far as to ask how he could donate. Which made her antennae wiggle. He worked at least two jobs, so how much discretionary income could he have? The modeling position was probably only infrequent at best.

Not that it mattered. Even a small donation helped in this difficult financial climate.

“Do you model often?” she asked once they’d dug into large wedges of cake for dessert. His carrot, hers molten chocolate lava. He’d probably taste like cream cheese frosting and the vegetable she couldn’t stand. Damn carrots.

Still, she had to appreciate the unintended deterrent to dueling tongue action. Too bad it didn’t offset the smoldering eyes, razor-blade cheekbones and suckable lips.

And suckable other parts.

“Here and there.” He dragged the tines of his fork over the plate as he chased an errant walnut. “I’ve worked for Rand a few years now, since shortly after he moved into my neighborhood. Occasionally I pick up jobs for other art studios.”

“Naked jobs?”

His lips quirked right before he pushed that sneaky walnut between them. “No. That’s only for Rand.”

“Hmm.” Something about the way he said that made her wonder if there was more to that story. Probably just wishful dirty thinking on her part. “Is that so?”

He cocked his head. “I’m not sure I’m following you.”

Yeah, clearly wishful dirty thinking. He looked as wide-eyed as Bambi newly out from under his mama’s legs. She shoveled a bite of cake into her mouth, chewed and swallowed. “In any situation, I think the most lewd thing possible. It’s in my DNA. So I immediately wondered if you and Rand were lovers because, well, I’m me.”

“We’re not but that’s fascinating. You have atypical reactions.”

“You have no clue, buddy. I’m outside the norm in lots of ways.”

“Such as?” If glee had a facial expression, it would’ve been Michael’s as he made an impatient gesture with his fingers. “Let’s get to the main event. Stop with the previews already.”

What would it hurt? It was seeming more and more likely that nothing would happen between them. Not because of his age, but because messing around with an earnest guy like him could only lead to problems. With her tendency to bruise hearts and egos even when it wasn’t intended, she didn’t want to risk hurting someone so genuinely nice.

“I don’t want children, for one.” She held up a hand before he started to object. “In case you were about to ask if that was even an option for me anymore, I’ll have you know my reproductive organs are all still functioning normally, thank you very much. I’m not too old to have children, it’s just not what I see in my future.”

“Why?”

She pushed her cake around her plate. Talk about a heavy topic for a diner and dicking-around excursion. “I had a couple of miscarriages early on, when I was married. Way back in the dark ages. My husband wanted to keep trying. I didn’t. That was one of many reasons we divorced. After the papers were signed, I got my tubes tied. No kids for me from here on out.”

“I’m sorry.” He covered the hand she’d set beside her plate with his own. She stared at his big palm cradling hers as if he’d produced a live snake from his pocket. “If you’re in such different places emotionally, it doesn’t make sense to stay together. I don’t blame you for walking away.”

Kim dragged her gaze from their linked hands to the compassionate dark eyes trained on hers. “What, no token encouragement for me to put my heart on the line? To stop running from love and offer my viable eggs as proof that I’m a real woman?”

He didn’t smile. Didn’t look away. “You feel pretty real to me, Kim. Eggs optional.”

Proving it, he curled his fingers around hers and she let out a shuddering breath she couldn’t hold back. Her lungs ached. Just inhaling and exhaling seemed like a Herculean task all of a sudden.

“I don’t want children either,” he said in that same conversational tone, picking up his fork with his other hand without releasing her. “They’re not in the cards for me.”

“Why?” She tossed his own question back at him, expecting him to evade it. Perhaps he donned his straightforward demeanor only when it suited him.

He ate a couple of bites of cake then let go of her long enough to lift the napkin from his lap and wipe his mouth. The blunt tips of his fingers snagged her focus an instant before those same fingers were sliding over the back of her hand to loosely grasp her wrist. For how intimate the gesture felt, he might’ve slipped into her panties instead. “I’m one of nine kids.”

“Nine?” Holy shit, he was stroking the inside of her wrist. Slowly. The pads of his fingers were rough with calluses and immediately brought to mind all the other places he could touch that would appreciate his thoroughness even more. “Where…” Breathe. “Where were you in the mix?”

“The second. My older sister didn’t stick around long after she turned eighteen, so I was the one left with the kids most of the time while my parents worked. My dad died when I was twelve. Congenital heart defect that he found out about right before he passed.”

“Oh no. That’s terrible. I’m so sorry.” Not the most articulate of responses, but his wonder fingers were still circling her skin and those seven words strained her addled brain to the max.

“Yeah. It was worse on my mom. She couldn’t work and be home with the kids at the same time. And she couldn’t afford daycare on a waitress’s salary, so a neighbor helped during the day and I took care of them as best as I could after school. Until I stopped going to class. Then I could take care of the younger ones during the day too.”

“How old were you when you dropped out?”

“Sixteen. I hated school. It bored me senseless and the counselor kept wanting to get me on drugs for ADHD or ADD or some three-letter diagnosis that wasn’t reason enough for me to lose the only thing I had going for me.”

“Which was?” His hand had finally stilled on hers while he ate the last of his cake. In its place, his jumpy knee beat a staccato rhythm under the table, making it shake. She doubted he even noticed.

“My ability to think my way out, for me and my family. I couldn’t take the chance the meds would slow me down in any way.” He toyed with the edge of his fork, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Eventually the crappy gas-station job I worked a few hours a week led me to Roch, and it turned out I didn’t need to think about anything except what I could give her. And what she gave me.”

Nerves sprung to life in Kim’s belly, and this time they weren’t for her. These were all for Michael. “So you accuse me of teasing you with the main event and you bury a lead-in like that?”

“Sorry.” He shook himself and dazzled her with a full smile. “Roch was older, wealthy, sophisticated. She was looking for a relationship. I grew to care for her quite deeply and she…provided for me.” The pinkening of the tips of his ears snatched her focus until his words sank in.

She provided for me. What the hell?

“You kids need some more drinks?” Their waitress gestured with her coffeepot and Kim glanced down at her nearly full cup. She must be out of her element if she wasn’t inhaling caffeine by the jug.

“Do we?” Michael asked softly.

Though she would’ve been happy to talk to him for a few more days, a glance at her watch told her they’d already been occupying this booth for an hour. It wasn’t a bustling place, but he’d mentioned an early day tomorrow and she wanted to finesse her sketch of him before she turned it in at her next class. Her drawing of Michael would be her final project and despite the class being non-credit, she hoped to get at least a B.

Unlike Michael, she’d always been a hopeless school nerd.

She shook her head and smiled at the waitress. “No, thanks. Check, please.”

Her smile faded as she caught Michael’s obviously dismayed expression. Did he think she was in a hurry to split? Worse, did he think his subject matter had put her off?

Her cell rang before she could inform him how wrong he was. So wrong that she wouldn’t mind another quasi-date at this very diner or maybe somewhere a little more upscale. She definitely wanted to see him again, even if alone time with her teacher’s young, clearly complicated model wasn’t the best way to secure her loosely cinched chastity belt.

Pretending she could convince herself not to be interested in Michael—and his intriguing, slightly disquieting past—was basically a sucker’s bet. And she was no sucker.

Okay, that was a lie. But only if the dude believed in reciprocation. Michael would, she was almost sure.

Irrelevant information, O’Halloran.

Seeing her brother’s name on the Caller ID made her grin. “’Sup?” she said into the phone, noting Michael’s quick smile in response. That smile could become addictive if she didn’t watch herself.

“Hey. You staying out tonight?”

There could be no mistaking the hopeful tone in Brad’s voice, which meant he probably intended on romancing his girlfriend in every room of the house. “Lemme guess. Sara bought a new teddy?”

His rich laughter made her relax into the seat. She loved her stupid lug of a little brother and knowing he was blissfully happy with her best friend did wonders for her own equilibrium.

At least until he asked her if she could “stay scarce” that night.

“Yeah, and where exactly am I supposed to go?” She supposed she could always sneak back in the house like Brad and Sara had done the last time she’d asked them to get gone, but she really didn’t want to see anything she couldn’t unsee without bleach and surgical implements. “The library’s not open twenty-four hours, last I checked.”

“Starbucks?”

She glanced at her almost untouched coffee and scowled. “Nah. Think I’ll pass. Don’t worry, I’ll figure it out. Do your thang and remember you owe me.”

“Thanks. And I do owe you big-time. We both do.”

“I hope that involves giving me serious details ASAP. It sounds like something major’s up.”

“It is. Way up.”

“Wait, we aren’t talking about you, are we?”

He laughed. “Talk to you tomorrow, sis. Love you lots.”

“Uh-huh. Ditto.” Her grin lasted until she hung up.

Brad and Sara had been together a little more than a year. A relatively short time in the scheme of things, if they hadn’t been friends before that and as serious as heart attacks about each other. Were they getting married? That would be amazing. Beyond.

Except for the housing situation that meant she’d have to find a new place if they were shacking up officially. And the fact that she was ridiculously jealous for no good reason at all.

She was happy for them. Ecstatic. They were perfect for each other. So what was her problem?

“What has you looking so sad?”

Kim glanced up at Michael, and the intensity of his expression dragged her forcibly from her thoughts. “My brother and my best friend are maybe getting married. Or having a baby. Could be both.” She forced the tension out of her shoulders and relaxed into the booth. “I’m so happy for them. They’re celebrating privately tonight at our house. We all live in my mom’s old place.” She licked her dry lips. “The house I grew up in.”

“That’s great news.” He tilted his head. “So why are you upset?”

“I’m not,” she said quickly. Too quickly. “They’re the best couple I know. If anyone can make it, they can. I’m—” Already missing them after things change. Focusing on myself. As usual.

“You can stay the night with me.”

Before he’d shown her more glimpses of the sweet, decent guy with possible mommy issues behind the gold-standard penis, hell yeah, she would’ve been a-okay with that plan. Now? She couldn’t help considering the vat of trouble that might land her in for more reasons than one.

“No thanks. I’ll go…somewhere.” Where? Dammit.

Sometimes the fact that her BFF was in love with her brother seriously sucked. Sara was the only friend she could’ve crashed with on such short notice. Ah, the irony.

“I’ll go to a hotel,” she decided. “Thanks anyway.”

“Don’t be silly. I have a perfectly good bed you can have. Not mine,” he added at her blank stare. “Just as a friend.”

She didn’t have any male friends she spent the night with platonically. Did people really do that? If she went over to a guy’s place, it wasn’t to warm his couch cushions.

Hell, she didn’t know Michael. A hookup at her place was one thing with her big, burly brother down the hall. On the guy’s turf? Not so bueno. Much better to get a room at the clean, dismal, possibly bedbug-infested motel down the street. Sixty-nine dollars a night would get her a nice hot breakfast and all the clichés she could stand.

“I appreciate the offer, truly. But I’ll be fine.” With an entirely fake smile, she reached for her purse, only to have him clasp her wrist.

“My treat.” He continued before she could pelt him with her objections. “How about this? We drive separately to my place. If you don’t like the looks of things once you arrive, you can leave.”

“Did you get the Spic-and-Span award three years running or something? I guarantee how your place looks won’t convince me to stay.”

His mouth curved. “So that’s a yes? You’ll follow me home?”

She sighed and dropped her purse on the bench. Who was she kidding? She didn’t have a lot of options and her teacher had known him for a few years. Odds were in her favor that the danger he represented wasn’t to her physical person.

“Sure. Just platonically,” she reminded him.

That would be the prudent way to proceed, especially when her edginess over the potential new situation with Brad and Sara was making her reckless to go along with horny. Best not to engage on that level at all.

He’d thank her later, when she hadn’t unintentionally smeared his heart on the interstate. Despite her fervent attempts, delicate with other people’s feelings she was not.

The way his smile spread didn’t convince her he was wholly on board with the platonic idea. This had to be a first. For once she wasn’t encouraging a guy to get naked, she was practically insisting he remained clothed.

“As you wish,” he murmured.

Kim drove up the winding circular driveway behind Michael’s car, her eyes widening the farther they traveled. They’d left behind the city for the country, and she could smell it in the cool air, tinged with rain, wafting in through her car window. Hard to enjoy the breeze, though, when she had such a visual banquet in front of her.

In the rainy darkness, it was hard to make out much of the enormous property other than the sheer number of trees and the house. Sheesh, house wasn’t a big enough word to describe the place. She glimpsed enormous columns and the dense shrubbery guarding them. Lights beamed through every window, and holy Mary, there were a lot of them to go with the multiple balconies, turrets and thatched roof.

This was the closest thing she’d seen to a mansion around Fairdale. Definitely a far cry from the rambling fixer-upper she and Brad had inherited from their deceased mother. Michael’s Architectural Digest-special put the homes in her neighborhood to shame.

He parked at the base of a stoop that looked like it belonged to a library, not a personal dwelling. There weren’t any lions or gargoyles that she could see, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have some gigantic animal head mounted over the fireplace.

Oh, a fire would be perfect on a night like this. Nothing chased the fall chill away like the warmth from crackling wood. She could picture it now. The soft rug, the kindling flames casting golden sparks over his dark hair. His broad chest on display, gilded by firelight. His abs rippling, her panties dampening—

Lord, she was in deep.

With effort, she pulled herself out of her daydreams and met him on the stoop. The overhead light cast the area beyond the porch in shadows, emphasizing the seeming vastness of the property. She tilted her head back to note the scrollwork in a pane of glass above the door—it looked like some kind of crest—and endeavored to sound unaffected. “Nice digs.”

Michael chuckled and hitched the backpack up on his shoulder. “Thanks.”

“Sure this isn’t a long-lost uncle’s place?”

To her utter relief, he only laughed. “My name’s on the deed, Kim. I promise.”

She liked how he said her name with that twinkle in his normally pitch-black eyes. For an instant they seemed to lighten, and he smiled.

Addictive smile. Gorgeous house. Waning conscience.

“You also promise you’re not a serial killer?”

“Yes. Just the occasional lady.” When she frowned, he laughed at his bad joke and waved for her to walk ahead of him. He leaned around her to open the door, his mouth hovering too close to her ear. “Enter my lair, beautiful spider.”

In spite of herself, she shivered. He obviously knew how to turn on the sexy when warranted, but she wasn’t some wide-eyed innocent. She couldn’t be lured.

She was almost sure she couldn’t be.

“Oh dear God,” she whispered, reaching back to grab his hand to steady her shaky knees.

Again he laughed, soft and husky. “I know it’s a lot to take in.”

Was it ever. A gigantic chandelier adorned the front hall, sending prisms over the glossy black marble floor. The spiral staircase hugged the wall to the second-level loft and a hallway full of doors, probably to bedrooms beyond her wildest imagination. A tall archway to her right led into a living room with a classic brick-fronted fireplace, a cathedral ceiling and regal jewel-toned sofas and chairs that somehow looked as comfortable as they were elegant. Large black-and-white photos of sights like the Eiffel Tower and Big Ben hung on the cream walls, offset by sconces that offered soft, romantic light.

And in front of the fire sat a plush red circular rug that made her want to stretch out and purr. While naked.

“So let me get this straight. You’re young, work as a nude model for an art class, have some other unknown job that requires early hours at least on Thursdays, drive a beat-up pickup and live in a mansion. Am I missing anything so far?”

Michael scratched the scruff darkening his jaw. “Nope. Seems like you’re on point so far. Except young is a relative term. And my pickup is not beat-up. It’s rugged. Remember that.”

She fought back a smile, unwilling to give him even one more inch until she figured out how he’d already taken a mile. “Are you a spy? A military operative? A real-life Christian Grey?”

“Who’s that?”

“Never mind.” Blowing out a breath, she decided she’d save her official tour of the house for when she wasn’t so starstruck. When that would be, she had no idea.

Alcohol would help. Alcohol always helped.

“Do you have any wine?” she asked, staring up at the sparkling chandelier in the hopes that it might blind her and render her incapable of seeing Michael’s ridiculously handsome face.

It wasn’t fair that a guy who looked like he did also owned this kind of place at his age. She’d met up with him after class expecting a quick meal, and if things went well, hopefully a long ride. She’d also expected him to be the usual sort she’d slept with. Friendly enough, probably middle income, passably intelligent. How had she even ended up here, in this palace? She was a gift-shop manager with dubious taste in men. This one, it seemed, had vaulted right out of the backstreets of poverty and into a gold mine.

“No, sorry, I’m not a big drinker. I don’t have any wine.”

“Of course not,” she muttered. “I’m amazed you ordered a soda and not a soy latte, since your body’s a temple and all that.” Before he could reply, she whirled on him and steeled herself not to be fazed by his innate sexiness. He was a toad in sex god’s clothing. Good luck convincing yourself that. “Is there a convenience store anywhere around here? If I go driving through these woods, will I come across a cabin and some one-eyed, slobbering half-man, half-beast with a shotgun?”

Yet again he laughed, shaking his head at her as if she were the most amusing woman he’d ever encountered. Pedestrian sort that she was. “Why do you have to go to a convenience store?”

“I need a drink, just something to get the chill out of my bones and—” And the impulse to jump you on that thick rug out of my brain.

Alcohol probably wouldn’t help her impulse control much. Eh, whatever. At least she’d be warm and sitting by the fire while her brother and Sara probably made love on the dining room table and pledged themselves to each other for all eternity over her heirloom china with the little hand-painted roses.

Yep, she was losing it. Officially.

“Would you like some Cristal? I think I have a bottle of that somewhere.” He unbuttoned the cuffs of his pale blue shirt and shoved the sleeves up to his elbows, baring ropey forearms. The sprinkle of dark hair over his muscles worked for her as much as the rest of him.

She preferred her men with body hair. Maybe that meant she wasn’t progressive. Considering she’d fretted over her brother getting freaky next to her china cabinet, she’d clearly regressed a few steps.

“Yeah, what the fuck. I mean…uh, thanks.” She rubbed her forehead and the vague ache brewing there. “Pop the cork. Let’s party.”

Watching Kim unwind was like a little miracle taking place in his living room.

For more than a year, Michael had lived alone except for the company of the two ornery cats that helped make the house less lonely. He’d grown used to silence a long time ago, and after years spent packed in with way too many other people, most of them squabbling or whining, he’d actually welcomed the void. Rochelle had never been an interactive partner, so he’d been on his own long before she’d actually passed away.

Since then, he’d continued caring for this house as part of his duty to Roch, despite how isolated it made him feel. She hadn’t wanted to sell. Hadn’t wanted to live anywhere but this huge estate that had been in her husband’s family for years. But with Kim in his space, he saw what he’d been missing.

Life. Laughter. Lust.

The other L—the most elusive of all—he wasn’t concerned about. That would come someday or it wouldn’t. In the meantime, he was tired of waiting. For once he wanted to remember that he still had a world of experiences left to chase. Being so jaded twenty-four-seven was exhausting.

He’d turned on the Bose music system shortly after he poured them each a glass of champagne, and she’d only needed a few sips before she started to move to the sultry jazz music all on her own. She had a natural, easy rhythm that stole his breath. She must realize how tempting she was, right? Even lightning bugs could see their own glow.

While she wandered from photo to photo in his living room, asking questions, he watched her hips move and plotted how he could get her into his bed.

It was probably a mistake. She didn’t know what she was getting with him, and he damn sure wasn’t going to clue her in. Not yet. But he’d learned a long time ago that when the right situation presented itself, a smart person cast aside their reservations and went for it.

That night on the road, he’d considered and decided against asking for her name or number. He’d been out on his first call and hadn’t wanted to mix business with pleasure. That factor had come up again tonight yet he couldn’t seem to give a damn. Not when she was dancing her way around his living room like seduction personified. She was grace and beauty and strength, wrapped up in an innate sexiness he’d love to try to capture on paper if he had skill. But he didn’t. He only had words, fumbling ones at that, and his honest appreciation.

Hell, he had good instincts. The very house he was sitting in served as proof. Some people might question his choices, but those people didn’t see the happiness on his mother’s face when he sent that check home every month. When he invited the kids out for long weekends and they ran through his place like it was Disneyland. Their laughter made worthwhile all the nights he lay in bed wondering if he should’ve resisted trading one kind of poverty for another.

He’d shared a house with Roch but he’d never shared her life, not in the way he’d imagined couples did. Their closeness had been one of proximity, not emotions. That hadn’t stopped him from trying for far too long.

Now he knew better. Entanglements beyond a certain level only meant demands, not reciprocity.

“You’ve traveled a lot,” Kim said thoughtfully, sipping while her hips did that slow roll thing that made his brain scramble.

“Actually no. Those are Rochelle’s photos. She traveled before I knew her but I chose which ones to display. I also matted and framed them.”

“You have a good eye for details.”

“Moguling’s hard work. I need to play too.” He grinned at her arched eyebrow. “Sorry, couldn’t resist. I know you’ve formed some opinions of me, so why not try them on for size?”

“Like a Batman costume?”

Laughing, he took an experimental sip of champagne. He’d never been much of a drinker, but he liked the flush the alcohol put in her cheeks. Plus a little liquid courage never hurt. “Not the analogy I would’ve chosen, but sure. It’s fun to watch you try to shift parts of me around and try to make a whole picture.” He gestured at the photo of a quaint pub in Ireland that she was currently studying with her lower lip caught between her teeth. “You mentioned details. They tell the story, don’t they?”

She caught him in the snare of her alluring baby browns, softly blurred from her drink. “I think I must be on my way to drunk because I’m finding this conversation really deep. Too deep for me. I’m a gift-shop manager with a penchant for balling younger men. That’s why I zeroed in on you, Michael. Not because you’re an intellectual. I don’t give a shit about that.” She licked her lips and his cock reacted as if she’d touched him with her bare hand. “Sexually, you ring all my bells. Which means I need to go find a nearby guest room and play Asteroid Eater on my phone until I fall asleep.”

“Asteroid Eater?” He shook his head, laughing again. Drinking more. Amazing the way the alcohol fuzzed out the edges. He’d missed out on this stuff years ago, back when he’d been a control freak kid who refused to try anything that could dilute his focus from being the hero of his family.

He didn’t have to toe the straight-and-narrow anymore. His family was doing okay. He was too. Getting there, anyway. Sex was one of the last frontiers he’d yet to tackle, and he had faith Kim was different from the other women he’d met. She wouldn’t expect more than he put on the table. And maybe if he moved quickly enough she wouldn’t realize he was completely clueless between the sheets.

He jerked to his feet, cutting her off as she told him all about her game. Another time he would’ve cared. Tonight? He had other priorities. “I have condoms,” he announced. “Let’s head upstairs.”

“Um, excuse me, what?”

Maybe he should’ve stuck to offering her coffee and cuddling. Oh well, too late now. He’d made up his mind, so why should he pretend otherwise?

“You just said you want to have sex with me. I’m interested. Extremely.” He walked slowly toward her, stalking his seductive prey. “You’re clearly not a game player, and I respect that.” She wasn’t coy, which only heightened his attraction. So he was doing his best to be straightforward—mostly—too. “Why don’t we—”

“Hold on, buckaroo. Maybe you missed the part that I like younger men because I like to run the rodeo my way.”

“I didn’t miss it. You didn’t say it.” He shrugged and finished off his champagne.

“Fine. Consider it said. I like everything about younger men. Their outlook, their enthusiasm.” Her gaze sharpened on his mouth. “Their staying power in bed.”

“Not hearing the downside here.”

Her lips twitched. “I like control. Out of bed and in it.”

Difficult for him to argue with that statement. “Okay. I’m open-minded.” He wasn’t sure what she meant exactly, but he didn’t have a problem with finding out. “I have a California King bed. Lots of room for whatever…you prefer.”

She gaped at him, her full damp lips parted with surprise. Or dismay. “No wonder you weren’t interested in Asteroid Eater. You’re from outer space yourself.”

“Why? Because I’m honest?”

“No one is this honest.” She set her empty glass on the hearth. “Look, Michael, I realize you think you’ve got the world by the tail what with all this.” She waved her glittery copper fingernails at his living room. “You figure you just snap and boom, women fall in your lap.”

“I’m sorry, weren’t you the one who waited for me after class? I’m pretty sure you didn’t want to offer me tips on how to pose.”

Moose, his gray and white Maine Coon cat, picked that moment to slink into the room. Noticing the newcomer, he sniffed the air for a moment then proceeded to plop down at Kim’s feet. Kim bent to pick him up, only to have Moose dart away. Typical. The cat took forever to warm up to people. Not that there were all that many around for him to get close to anyway.

Kim sighed and rose. “Maybe I was looking for a friend.”

“Me too,” he countered, driven to touch her hair. “Why are you making this so complicated?”

“Me?” Her indignation nearly made him grin. “Sorry, I’m not feeling this whole pseudo-seduction of yours. Does this routine usually work for you? Unfortunately, I’m not the usual female.” She caught his hand in mid-air and gave him a warning look that could’ve frozen lava. “What happened to your diner speech? You telling me you have condoms is not platonic behavior.”

“Sure it is. Buddies share latex. Isn’t that a thing?”

“You are completely weird. Why am I even attracted to you?”

He didn’t even bother trying not to smile. “So you aren’t offended. I didn’t think so.” He curled his fingers around her hand, still gripping his. “I thought you might appreciate someone on the same page as you. You probably confuse some of those guys. I bet they don’t get what you’re all about. You want a good time and they dare to fall in love with you and fuck up your no-strings affair. Isn’t that right?”

From her quick glance away, he’d nailed her problem in one. “Why do you say that?”

“You’d be very easy to fall for,” he said softly. Back when he’d still been idealistic about love and relationships and thought give and take truly existed.

Not anymore. He was fine with the taking part of the equation. But giving—other than during sex—was off-limits.

“See?” As the question burst out of her, her sweet breath blew over his mouth. His cock stirred, eager to be set free from its restrictive confines. Eager to be gripped in those long, agile fingers still trapped in his. “You pretend to be so candid about how different you are yet you basically admitted you’re the same as everyone else.”

“You didn’t let me finish.” He placed a finger over her lips and he could tell she was tempted to bite it. “You’d be very easy to fall for—for any man who wasn’t me.”