Shelby’s eyes went wide and she took a step back as her hand flew up to her mouth. Had she really just said that? Surely she hadn’t really said that.

Except she had. She could tell by the heat that had flared in his eyes in response to her words—an ember that had flashed into flame as quickly and dramatically as if she’d thrown a match into a pool of gasoline.

Never again. She was never, ever, ever drinking again.

“I don’t…” she began, then trailed off uncertainly. Maybe she didn’t, but she damn sure wanted to.

“Don’t you?” There were small lines at the corners of his eyes and she knew he was laughing at her. And, strangely, instead of irritating her, his reaction relaxed her. “And too bad if you don’t,” he continued. “Because I bet you do it very well.”

“Kissing?” she asked, so hyperaware of him that every tiny hair on her body seemed to dance with electricity. And her lips—oh, dear God, her lips tingled with unanswered promises, delicious and shiny and forbidden.

He leaned close, his breath tickling her ear as he whispered, “Everything.”

“Oh.” She swallowed, wondering how one simple word had the power to melt her. And not even a word that made sense. Because somehow they’d entirely lost the thread of the conversation.

Or had they?

She didn’t know. Her mind was all muddled, and she was never muddled. Shelby prided herself on being a very unmuddled person.

It had to be the alcohol. She should be embarrassed, not intrigued. Nervous, not turned on. But there was something about him. Something about the way he looked at her. The way she felt simply standing beside him.

With supreme effort, she tried again to wrap her head around the conversation. “I meant that I don’t usually flirt.”

“Really? I’m surprised. Especially since you’re doing such a great job.” His gray eyes danced as she cocked her head, staring him down.

He laughed, holding his hands up in a defensive gesture. “Maybe it’s the Pinot Punch. That stuff packs quite a kick.”

She nodded seriously, grateful he understood. “Yes.”

He took a step closer, and she breathed in his cologne. Something woodsy with just a hint of spice. “Or maybe it’s me,” he said, and though his voice was low, she caught every word.

“That’s kind of what I’m afraid of,” she admitted.

He pulled himself upright. “Me?”

She shook her head.” No. Me.” She licked her lips and then jumped onboard the honesty train. “My reaction to you.”

“Well, that doesn’t sound so bad. But if it’s truly scary, give me your hand and I’ll help you through it.”

She actually giggled—God, it was definitely the alcohol—and almost reached for him. Then she remembered that they were flirting in public, right there for the whole world to see. Her cheeks flamed, and she looked around the room, certain that everyone would be gawking. Or, worse, snapping pictures of the lusting couple and making fun of them all over the Internet.

Except that everyone was pretty much minding their own business. Even her friends had stopped gaping—all except for Hannah, who wasn’t exactly gawking, but instead looked like she had Shelby’s back. And when Hannah saw that Shel was looking, she grinned and flashed a thumbs-up sign.

So, okay. Apparently Shelby hadn’t crossed the line to embarrassing herself or her friends.

“How long is your party going on?” he asked, apparently noticing the shift in her attention.

“Not much longer. It’s a work night. We're all supposed to be in the office by nine.” She pushed a stray curl behind her ear. “Well, some of us can get away with ten.”

“Early, then,” he said, with a smile she didn’t understand. “My show ends at ten,” he said, obviously noting her confusion. “It starts at six. So I’m usually in the studio by four-thirty to prep, though I can sometimes skate in at five and get away with it.”

“That’s right. You’re a radio guy.”

“You know my show?”

She shook her head quickly. Mornings with Wood sounded way too silly for her taste. Especially when she was still trying to slide into her day. “Brooke mentioned it.”

“Ah.”

Ridiculous, but he seemed disappointed.

“I mostly do podcasts,” she said, as if to justify not listening to him. “Continuing education stuff.” Which was about forty-six percent true. She also listened to classical, classic rock, and some country. But she streamed it from her phone specifically so she could avoid the irritating chatter of a DJ.

She winced, feeling guilty about the thought even though she knew Nolan couldn’t read her mind.

“Something wrong?”

“It’s just—I mean, it’s already past eleven. Do you have a show in the morning?”

“I do.” He shifted his stance, and when he spoke, his voice was the same—but different. A little lower. A little richer. But still laced with that same hint of amusement, as if he loved the way he looked at the world. “Join me, Nolan Wood, every weekday from six to ten on KIKX FM, 96.3 on your radio dial.”

She applauded, laughing. “That was awesome. You definitely have a radio voice.”

He didn’t exactly blush, but he looked pleased.

“So you have to be at work in about five hours?”

“Yup.”

“But—”

“But why am I still talking to you instead of…”

“Instead of?”

The corner of his mouth quirked up. “Instead of buying you a coffee and sobering you up.” He reached out, and gently brushed her lower lip with his forefinger, the connection making her body fire up all over again. “I want my good night kiss, after all.”

A swarm of butterflies danced in her belly. And the truth was, she was already starting to get her wits back. Which wasn’t necessarily a good thing, because all sorts of vintage Shelby doubts were creeping in as she imagined Nolan in here every night, his beautiful eyes searching the room until he found a woman to seduce with that wildly sensual voice. “You have this down to a science, don’t you?”

A shadow crossed his eyes, and when he spoke, his voice had lost that lightness. “You’d be surprised how much I don’t do this.”

“Flirt with women?”

“Pursue a woman.”

She shook her head, not understanding.

He took a step closer, gesturing between them. “I don’t do this. I don’t pursue. I don’t usually have to.”

“Oh.” She studied his face, knowing it was probably a line. But there was an intensity in his eyes that surprised her. And despite common sense, she believed him.

“So how about it?” he asked.

She stiffened, her eyes wide, her whole body going hyper-aware. “It?” The word came out as a squeak.

“A coffee?”

“Oh.” She relaxed a little. “I don’t know. I mean, my friends…” She glanced over, and this time both Celia and Hannah were looking her direction—and waving her toward the door.

Nolan chucked. “If we’re judging by peer pressure, I think I’m going to win. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a group of friends so encouraging. Is that because of me or you?”

“Me,” she said. “I told you, I don’t usually…” She trailed off with a shrug.

“You don’t usually drink coffee?” His voice rose in mock credulity. “Well, fine. I’ll buy you some tea.”

“I—” She’d intended to protest, but couldn’t think of a reason why. “Just coffee, right?”

His smile reached his eyes. “Just coffee.”

She nodded toward the front of the room. “I need to go tell my friends,” she said, then hurried that direction.

“He is so hot,” Hannah said, starting to rise with an obvious intent to hug.

“Don’t you dare,” Shelby said. “He’s watching.”

“We’re all so proud of you,” Hannah said, still seated. She pretended to dry a tear. “Our little girl’s all grown up.”

Shelby rolled her eyes and focused on Celia. “You really think it’s okay? I mean, leaving with a strange guy?”

“Oh, please,” Celia said. “He’s Nolan Wood.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Hang on.” Celia lifted her hand to signal to one of the servers, and a pretty girl with wavy hair hurried over. “Hey, Tiffany,” Celia said. “Question for you. That guy over there. Is he a regular? I mean, is he okay for…” She trailed off, glancing meaningfully at Shelby, who was pretty sure she was going to melt into the floor from embarrassment.

“Coffee,” Shelby said. “We’re just going for coffee.”

“Uh-huh.” Celia waved the comment away, her attention still on Tiffany.

“Nolan?” Tiffany said. “He’s a regular, so I see him around here a lot.” Her attention shifted to Shelby. “He’s a nice guy. And he’s friends with Reece and Brent, and I don’t think they’d hang with an asshole.”

Shelby started to ask who Reece and Brent were, then decided it didn’t matter. Nolan had the earned his seal of approval. Which meant that now it was all on her.

She looked at her friends in panic.

“Go,” Celia and Hannah said at the same time. “And tell us everything in the morning,“ Hannah added.

Shelby made a face. “Um, no. In the morning I’ll be sober, and I really won’t be talking about it.”

“Maybe not,” Hannah said, smiling wickedly. “But tonight, you’re going to have one hell of a good time.”

---

It wasn’t until Nolan saw her start back toward him that he realized he’d been holding his breath. He exhaled, ridiculously relieved that he’d passed whatever test her friends had set for him.

Her. His dark-haired paradox. The woman who’d so unexpectedly grabbed him by the balls.

And, he realized with a start, he didn’t even know her name.

“Nolan Sebastian Wood,” he said, extending his hand as she returned.

“Um, yeah. I know. Well, not the Sebastian part. It suits you.”

He kept his hand extended. “And you are?”

Her eyes went wide, and although she was clearly mortified that he didn’t even know her name, he thought she looked absolutely adorable.

“Shelby,” she finally said. “Shelby Drake.” She slid her hand into his, a simple, polite gesture that shot through him like a goddamn rocket. He wanted to never let go—and at the same time he wanted his hands free so that he could explore every curvaceous, sensual inch of her. He wanted to lose himself in her—in this woman who’d managed to erase his shit day with nothing more than a few heat-filled looks, shy glances, and the sweetest smile he’d ever seen.

But first, he wanted to buy her a coffee.

“Halcyon’s still open for a few more hours,” he said, once they were standing on the sidewalk in front of The Fix. He ran through his mental Rolodex of which downtown coffee shops stayed open late. Frankly, there weren’t many. “It’s a short walk, and we can sip coffee and cook s’mores at the table. What do you say?”

“Um, sure.”

“Not a fan of s’mores? Because I’m not even joking. There are little fire pits at each table, and—”

“You really want coffee?”

“Don’t you?”

She licked her lips, and he realized that he didn’t want coffee at all. He wanted that tongue in his mouth. Or other more interesting places.

He shifted, his jeans suddenly a bit too snug.

“It’s just that—I, well…”

Even in the dark, he could see that her cheeks had turned bright red.

“I kind of thought that coffee was a euphemism,” she whispered.

Oh, dear Lord, he was going to come right then.

“Where do you live?” he asked. “And where’s your car?”

Conveniently, it turned out that she’d come with a friend. Even more conveniently, Nolan’s car was only one block over. And best of all, she lived in Clarksville, a neighborhood right at the edge of downtown, in a rental just behind Sweetish Hill Bakery.

“This is cute,” he said, after she’d fumbled her key into the lock and turned on the lights.

“If by cute you mean tiny, then yes it is.” She turned in a circle, indicating the dollhouse-size house with its tidy, cozy living room with just enough room for a love seat, a recliner, and a television. Several hardback books were stacked neatly on the coffee table, including one called Of Human Bondage, which probably wasn’t about what the name suggested. Her shoes fit perfectly into a small bench with cubbyholes by the door, and blankets filled baskets tucked into odd corners.

“There’s also a kitchen and a bedroom,” she continued, waving vaguely. “And that’s pretty much it. I think it was a guesthouse for the house next door, but I don’t have the history. I’m only renting.” She shrugged. “It’s big enough for me, and it’s close to downtown. I work at a financial management company in the Frost Bank building. And, oh my God, I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

She was, and although chatty women usually irritated him, he thought he could listen to her all night. “Do you have a coffee maker?” He really wanted her sober. To the point that he was on the verge of breaking his strict first date rule. Tipsy was fair, right? Because at the moment, tipsy seemed perfectly reasonable for a first kiss, first fuck, first everything.

Except, of course, it wasn’t. He’d laid down strict rules for himself after Amanda had come to him in tears at the end of her second semester at UT. She’d gotten drunk, slept with a guy, and she’d been terrified that she was pregnant—or worse.

She hadn’t been—thank God. But he’d been the one she’d turned to, begging him to keep her secret from their parents and their friends. Even from Jenna, to whom Amanda told everything. He’d seen her fear and her shame. She’d had her whole life planned out, and she was terrified that she’d knocked it off track because one stupid choice after a night of drinking.

And it wasn’t even that she’d forgotten to use birth control. Even drunk, she’d insisted the guy wear a condom. And he had—but he’d been drunk, too, and, as Amanda had called it with rare humor under the circumstances, they’d suffered a “massive wardrobe failure.”

“But it’s not even that,” Amanda had said. “I’m mad because it wasn’t me. I mean, if I’d been with Dan,” she continued, naming a previous boyfriend, “then drunk just makes it fun. But I didn’t know this guy. So it was this talking.” She pointed to the back of her head. “Some hormone center. But that’s not me. And I didn’t really want him. I mean, I didn’t really know him.”

They’d sat there in the Student Health Center as she shared her regrets and her fears. And even though she wasn’t pregnant or infected, Nolan vowed right then and there to never, ever, sleep with a woman who was drunk, condom or not. He didn’t want to risk hurting her. More than that, he wanted a woman in his bed to be there for him, not because her hormones were on overdrive.

He was almost thirty now, and over the years, he’d walked away from more than his share of tipsy women. But, dammit, he didn’t want to walk away from Shelby. “A coffee maker,” he repeated. “Do you have one?”

She blinked, then nodded. “Um, I have a Keurig.”

“Great. Sit.” He pointed to the couch. “Cream? Sugar?”

“In the fridge and by the machine. But I just take it black.”

“You got it,” he said, then disappeared into a kitchen that was, remarkably, even more organized and tidy than the living room. He found mugs organized by size and color in a cabinet above the Keurig machine. A rack of pods sat beside it, and he selected Columbian for her, figuring that would be stronger than the Hazelnut. And decaf was completely out of the question.

He didn’t bother making one for himself, and as soon as the machine stopped sputtering, he grabbed the mug and carried it carefully back into the living room, only to find Shelby on the gray couch, her head back and her eyes closed, a bright green pillow clutched to her chest.

Well, hell.

“Here,” he said gently. He considered offering to help her into bed, but decided the risk was too high. Once in her bedroom, he wasn’t sure he’d have the strength to leave unless she kicked him out. And he was pretty damn sure she wasn’t going to do that.

“Coffee,” he said, bending to put it on the coffee table. She opened her eyes—green now, but hadn’t they been blue in the bar?—and smiled so sweetly that a lump rose in his throat.

Don’t sit. You’ll only want to stay.

“Thank you,” she said, then scooted over to make room for him before reaching for the coffee and taking a sip.

He shook his head. “I should go.”

Her eyes widened behind the rim of the mug. She swallowed, then shook her head. “Wait. What?”

He moved a few steps toward the door, not wanting to lose his resolve.

Immediately, she was on her feet, the coffee on one of her stone coasters. “But—I thought. I mean, we—”

“What?” he said, then wanted to kick himself. He knew damn well what. He was just stalling because he didn’t want to leave.

Her throat moved as she swallowed, and he saw courage flash in those fascinating eyes that now seemed greenish-gray. “It’s just that I’ve never brought a guy home before.”

Something like pride swelled in him, and he tamped it down. He really didn’t need his damn ego hijacking the situation. “Technically, I brought you home.”

She took another step toward him. “But aren’t we—”

She cut herself off, her cheeks pink. “I just meant I wanted … oh, hell,” she said, then leaned forward and captured his mouth in a kiss so unexpected and so delicious that when she finally broke the kiss, he kept hold of her arm out of the irrational fear that if he let her go, she might vanish like some magical creature.

With his hand clutching her arm, he drew in a breath to steady himself, all of his energy concentrated on not yanking her toward him for another, deeper kiss. “Is that what you wanted?” he asked.

She shook her head, her eyes never leaving his. And though she never wavered, he knew that she was calling on all her courage to make this moment happen. “No,” she said. “I want more.”

He considered his options—considered his rules—and then he said the only truth he knew. “So do I.”

“Nolan—”

He pressed a finger to her lips to silence her and made his choice. “Close your eyes, Shelby. Just close your eyes.”