Chapter Two

 

After unlocking and handing me his black helmet, Brick straddled the bike and revved the engine to life. “Hop on,” he shouted over the roar.

I silenced my father’s cautioning voice, slid the heavy protection over my head, and threw my leg over the back of the bike. Instantly my pelvis slipped forward on the leather toward Brick’s delectable butt. A throb of excitement pulsed through my body. It had nothing to do with the powerful engine rumbling between my legs and everything to do with the hot man I’d just settled around.

The bike suddenly jerked forward and I let out a gasp of surprise.

“Hang on to me,” Brick ordered over his shoulder.

Hastily, I fastened my arms around his waist and linked my fingers just above the waistband of his jeans. He tipped forward as we zipped across the parking lot and I leaned with him, my breasts pressing against his spine.

“You okay?” he asked, thumping down his foot to balance the bike as he paused at the parking lot exit and looked left and right.

“Yeah, great.” Despite my anxiety, I couldn’t ignore the feel of his soft cotton t-shirt on my bare midriff. I couldn’t ignore the taut muscles of his stomach beneath my hands. And there was no way in Hell I could ignore the lust screaming through my body.

“Where to?” he asked.

“Head toward Richmond Hill. I’ll show you from there.”

He twisted his wrist, the bike let out a roar, and we sped onto the street considerably faster than was legal. I spent more time on a bike than off, but this was amazing. This was different. This was so powerful. I gripped the seat with my legs, the wind buffeted my body, and heat from the man I gripped poured into me like molten lava.

Shops and houses flew past, streaks of color in my peripheral vision. Brick weaved between cars and buses. He overtook a truck and sped through the lights as they switched. His t-shirt flapped around his hard torso, though his hair was too short to move. I glanced up at his profile as he scanned the road. His jaw was set tight in concentration. I’d seen that look before when I’d watched him on the ice. It did strange things to my hormones.

Eventually we came to Richmond Hill and I pointed the way down the next few streets as he rolled along gently. When we reached my condo I called into his ear, “This one, we’re here.”

The bike came to a stop and the monster of an engine silenced. He banged down his feet and straightened his back.

“Carly,” he said, his voice sounding quiet after the roar of the wind and the engine in my ears.

“Yeah?”

“You can let go of me now, honey.”

“Oh…oh, of course.” I released my hands, quickly got off the bike and handed him the helmet. Instantly my body cooled despite the relentless heat. Not being pressed against his hot torso felt wrong. As if I was missing something I needed.

“Did you enjoy that?” he asked, still straddling his bike and shoving a hand over his hair.

I grinned. “Yeah, it was great. Bit faster than mine.”

“A bit more expensive than your bike, too.”

“You reckon?” My bike had been custom made. Its total value was probably worth more than the average family home. All thanks to sponsorship, of course.

He tipped his head. “Mm, I guess maybe not if you’re as fussy as I am about the equipment you use.”

“Oh, I’m fussy all right.” I glanced at my second-floor condo with its small balcony overlooking the tree-lined avenue. Inside it was like a show home. Not a thing out of place and all sparkling clean. Just how I liked it, nice and ordered. It made me feel in control. I was tempted to invite him up but I knew it was too soon.

“Are you hard to please too?” he asked, narrowing his eyes at me.

“Depends what you’re talking about.” I tried and failed to resist a smile because I had a feeling Brick would find me incredibly easy to please in certain departments. Shockingly so. The touch of a finger, the flick of a tongue…

His mind was clearly wandering down the same route as mine. His gaze slipped from the hollow of my throat to my chest—nipples still erect—to the spot he’d stroked earlier at the top of my stomach. He carried on over my tight Lycra shorts and down my suntanned legs. When he reached my sneakers, he raised his gaze until he was looking at my face again. For the second time that day, he made me feel completely naked even though I was clothed.

“What about food?” His voice was husky as his gaze finally reconnected with mine.

I cocked my head and tugged at my bottom lip with my teeth. “Go on.”

“Are you easy to please in the food department or do you follow some weird training diet?”

“No weird diet.” I hardly dared to hope where the conversation might be leading.

“Good, then you’ll come to dinner with me tonight.” He gave a confident grin.

“I can’t.” I shook my head. “I’m busy.”

“Why?” His brow furrowed into three neat lines. “What are you doing?”

“That’s another very personal question.”

“I want us to be personal.” He shrugged. “Do you have a date tonight?”

“I might.”

“Cancel it. Come out with me, you’ll have more fun.”

“You reckon?” I took a step away and threw him a challenging smile.

“Yeah, I know you will. You know you will. Come on, Carly, come out with me tonight, not with some loser who won’t know how to show you a good time.”

“You’re so full of yourself.” I shook my head, smiling and reaching into my bag.

“Yeah, but don’t you just wish you were full…” He paused and pressed his top teeth onto his bottom lip. A grin balled his cheeks.

I snapped my head up. “Don’t I just wish I was full of what?” Surely he hadn’t been about to say what I thought. Something crude about wishing I was full of him? It was true, hell, I was aching for it. But he didn’t know that. I couldn’t let him know that.

“Nothing,” he said through a broad grin. “How about tomorrow night then?”

“No can do.” I pulled out a piece of paper and scribbled down my mobile number.

“So when?”

“Lunch. I can do lunch tomorrow but not dinner.” Lunch was safe. Lunch would mean I wouldn’t be tempted with wine and wouldn’t go and forget my rules. The harsh light of day and the sobriety of lunch would keep me on track.

He gave a shrug. “A late lunch could work. I’ll pick you up about three after I’ve finished practice.”

I handed him the scrap of paper with my number. “Call me if you’re going to be late. I can’t bear hanging around waiting. You’ll blow your chance, forever.”

He took the number, poked it into the front pocket of his jeans, and slotted his helmet over his head. “I won’t be late,” he said, his voice slightly muffled. “Forever is a long time.” The bike roared to life and gave a deep rumbling bellow as he twisted his wrist.

Quickly I turned. I wanted him to watch me leave, not the other way around. I strutted up the path, hips rolling and shoulders back. My butt was great, so I’d been told. Taut and toned, pert and in perfect proportion. I definitely wanted Brick to get a good eyeful of it encased in tight black Lycra. It would even up the score.

He must have had a good look because I was safely inside the building before the bike burst into action. I smiled and leaned against the wood. Today had gone even better than I’d dared hope.

The cool air-conditioning blew down on my sun-hot shoulders and I relished the thought of a night alone with fantasies and my vibrator. Fantasies that I hoped would soon be realized.

 

*****

 

Three o’clock precisely, I heard a bike rumble down the street. I ducked my head through the balcony doors and beat down a thrill at the sight of Brick rolling to a stop.

I smoothed my t-shirt and pushed my hair behind my ears. Pressed my lightly glossed lips together and slipped into flat sandals. I’d made an effort, a huge effort. But I didn’t want it to look as though I had.

I waved to show I’d seen him, then scooted through the condo. Locked the door behind myself and paused in the corridor. I counted slowly to sixty, then hit the button on the elevator. I didn’t want to look too keen.

“Hey, sexy,” he said as I sashayed up to him.

“You surprise me,” I replied, tipping my eyebrows.

“What, ’cause I think you’re sexy?” His gaze roamed down my legs, which were encased in dark denim.

“Oh no, I know I’m sexy.” I treated him to a dazzling smile. “The fact that you’re on time surprised me. I was expecting you to be late.”

“Didn’t want to blow my chance,” he said, handing me a small black helmet and putting on his own. “Come on, let’s get going. I’m starved. Coach really put us through our paces getting ready for Saturday’s big game in Seattle.”

I slipped onto the seat behind him and once again wrapped my arms around his body. Today he wore a black t-shirt with his distressed jeans. It was as soft against the inside of my arms as the one he’d worn yesterday.

The bike pulled forward and I tightened my grip and leaned in closer. As I inhaled his freshly showered scent, I studied the neat angle of blond hair behind his left ear. The skin there looked baby soft. Golden and delicate, a contrast to the rest of his big, strong body. My lips tingled with the thought of kissing that small patch of skin. Of tasting his flesh. Savoring his flavor.

I forced myself to resist the urge.

We hit the main road and I clung to him with my arms and legs, wondering if he was going fast to make me hold more firmly. I wouldn’t put it past him.

He pulled to a stop outside a small, backstreet restaurant with Ciao! handwritten on a wooden board over the doorframe.

“This is my favorite place to eat after practice,” he said, kicking down the bike stand.

I released him and climbed off. “It looks…nice,” I said, studying the net curtains at the window and the peeling paint on the gutters. Since NHL players earned megabucks, this seemed an odd choice of eating establishment.

He locked our helmets to the bike and offered me the crook of his arm with a grin. I took it and he led me to the door. “It’s real nice,” he said. “And the best thing is there are never any photographers around.”

“You mean paparazzi?”

“Yeah, they drive me crazy. Always trying to get a scoop on what I’m up to or who I’m dating.”

“Like when you were seeing Mae French?”

“Yeah.” He pushed the door open and a wonderful aroma of garlic and cheese, basil and oregano flooded out. “Like when I was seeing Mae French.”

He settled his palm in the small of my back and urged me into the restaurant. It was no bigger than an average living room but had dozens of chairs and tables packed in. It was half full and the conversation created a gentle hum. Our arrival didn’t alter the flow. White-shirted waiters darted about with laden trays and a young girl with a shiny chestnut ponytail clutched a notepad to her blouse. She nodded profusely at an elderly couple and pointed at a chalkboard on the wall.

“Oh Brick, Brick. I so glad you here today. I not seen you all week, my boy. I was worried. So worried.” A small woman with a bobbing gray bun and wearing an apron printed with the Italian flag rushed over. She slapped her hands on Brick’s shoulders and pulled him over almost double at the waist so she could plant noisy kisses on both his cheeks. “You naughty boy,” she said. “You get too thin without my cooking at least three times a week.” She slapped her hands against his concrete abdomen. “We don’t want you skinny. That would be terrible.”

“Sorry, Benita, I’ve had a busy week. You know, training and that.” Brick grinned.

“Not just training, I see.” Benita turned to me with a gappy smile. “You been busy with pretty lady, too.”

“Not as busy as I’d like to be,” he said, winking at me.

“Oh you such a bad, bad boy.” Bonita grinned even more broadly then pulled me into an embrace. She pressed kisses to both my cheeks. “You are beautiful, my child,” she said into my ear. “Simply beautiful. But watch out for him. He likes beautiful ladies a little too much I think.”

“But you know you’ll always be my favorite, Benita,” Brick said, pulling a serious expression.

“Oh such a smooth talker.” She giggled, wagging an arthritic finger at him. “But it will get you nothing more than a table and some food here. A glass of wine if you lucky.” She took a step away. “Corner, yes?”

“Cool,” Brick said, gesturing for me to follow Benita.

We sat on straight-backed chairs at a table covered in crisp, white cotton cloth. Brick placed his back to the room as Benita made a big show of going through the specials board with me. Eventually I decided on salmon pasta with pesto and a seasonal garden salad.

“You want your usual?” Benita turned to Brick. “I give you extra.”

“Perfect, and a bottle of wine, too. Whatever will go with Carly’s meal.”

“No, no, really no wine,” I said. “Water is fine.”

“Oh, go on, honey.”

The way he called me honey had my stomach melting and my knees weakening even though I was sitting down.

“This is our first date, after all,” he said.

I looked at his irresistible grin and it killed my resolve. One glass of wine would calm me down. So much was at stake and it would be foolish to let nerves get in the way. “Well, just a glass then,” I conceded with a nod.

Bonita smiled and walked away. “I don’t usually drink during the day,” I said over the table. “It makes me sleepy.”

“Sleepy, eh?” His eyes sparkled naughtily. “Does that mean I might get to put you to bed?”

“Like you just said.” I rested back in the chair and reached for my linen napkin, spread it neatly on my lap. “This is a date, a first date, so you won’t be going anywhere near my bed.”

“And on the second date?”

“What second date?” I folded my arms.

His gaze dropped to my chest and I followed his eyes. The small amount of flesh my breasts possessed had squashed upward against my forearm and since I was braless my nipples poked at my t-shirt, straight toward him. “On the second date, will I get to put you to bed?” he asked quietly.

“That,” I couldn’t help a flirty little smile, “is for me to know and for you to find out.”

He grinned, reached for a water jug heaving with ice and lemon, filled up first my glass then his own. “You’re a woman of mystery,” he said, shifting on his seat.

“I am?”

“Yeah, I got loads I wanna find out about you.”

“So ask.”

“Okay.”

Something about his dark smile and tone made me wonder just what trouble I’d invited.

“Why don’t you wear a bra?”

I unfolded my arms. “I don’t need to.”

He tipped his head and openly studied my chest.

“My breasts are small. I don’t need the support most women do.”

“You maybe don’t need support but you need something to keep those torpedoes under control, honey.”

“Are you complaining?” Torpedoes, seriously!

“Hell, no. I just wondered if you minded guys ogling them, that’s all.”

“Well, there’s not much to ogle.”

“I promise you there is. There’s plenty to ogle and plenty to think about.” He took a gulp of water. “Did your date last night study your nipples?”

I frowned. “What has it got to do with you what my date last night did or didn’t do to me?”

“You said I could ask questions, I’m asking.”

Reaching for my water, I took a slow, time-buying sip. If only he knew that my date last night had been seven inches long, neon blue and battery operated. If only he knew that while my favorite toy had brought me to a toe-curling orgasm, an image of him standing naked next to his motorcycle had hovered before me. His name had slipped from my mouth on a pant, several times over if I remembered correctly. I wondered what Brick would think if I told him he was my absolute top fantasy, every time.

“So how about I ask you a question.” I pushed the memory to the back of my mind before it gained too much control.

He shrugged. “Fire away.”

A waiter came over and set down two large glasses of pale white wine.

I smiled my thanks, took a grateful slug and looked back over the table. “So,” I said. “Does even your mother call you Brick?”

He laughed. “She does now, everyone does. It’s a long time since anyone called me Ben, and unless I’m speaking to my bank manager I prefer to go along with Brick.”

“It suits you,” I said.

“Which one?”

I smiled. “Ben.”

“I’m glad you think so, but stick with Brick. It’s good for my image plus my agent just had it trademarked.” He took a sip of his wine. “Any more questions?”

“How did you find this place?”

“I grew up a few blocks away.” He gestured out the window.

I knew this fact about him. I’d read enough interviews and articles in the sports rags to know he was a local boy.

“We didn’t have much money. Dad had a car accident, hurt his back and couldn’t work. Mom juggled cleaning jobs but it was hard for her, what with having to look after Dad as well.” He pulled in a long breath. “I did what I could around the house, but by the time I was thirteen I was into hockey in a big way and getting noticed, too. Trouble was, skates and gear were expensive, so was getting to games. So one day I just wandered in here and asked Benita if she could pay me a few dollars to do the dishes.” He smiled. “She must have taken pity on me, scruffy little urchin that I was, and gave me a job. But I worked my fingers to the bone. If I wasn’t at school or on the ice I was here, scrubbing and drying pots and pans.”

I glanced at Benita, who was fussing over guests. I could just imagine her collecting waifs and strays to do jobs and then taking them under her wing. “Must have been hard fitting all that in.”

“Yeah, it was, but Benita has always been my biggest fan, along with her husband Marco—after Mom, of course.”

“Your dad isn’t a fan?” I was surprised.

“We lost Dad a few years back.” He took a gulp of his wine and glanced out the netted window again. “He never saw me reach the NHL. Mom lives down in the Keys now with one of her sisters.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

Brick looked back at me and took a deep breath. “We all lose things we don’t want to.”

I nodded, I could relate to that. I’d lost Tim when I hadn’t wanted to. But somehow, sitting here with Brick, all that upset seemed years away and the pain only a memory instead of an actual physical ache.

“When I signed for the Orlando Vipers,” Brick went on, “you should have seen the party Benita and Marco threw me here. All the guys came, it was awesome. More pasta and tiramisu than you can imagine.” He chuckled and I was relieved to see the sadness lift from his face. “I wouldn’t be where I am today without their generosity and belief in me even when things were tough.”

I held up my wine. “To Benita and Marco,” I said, feeling grateful to the two people who had brought light into his life.

He clinked the rim of his glass with mine. “To Benita and Marco.”

“You toasting me?” Benita appeared at our side balancing two enormous white plates on her palms.

“Yeah, I was just telling Carly how we met,” Brick said.

She sighed. “Oh you should have seen him, bella. He worked so hard to buy those skates and those sticks. And he was so thin, too. I fattened him up good though, didn’t I?” She placed down our meals and ruffled her fingertips through Brick’s newly short hair. “What you done to those angel curls, boy? You look all grown up now.”

“I’m twenty-five, Benita. That does kind of make me all grown up.” Brick grinned and turned to me. “Besides, it’s a hit with the ladies. Look at the gorgeous girl I got to go out with me today with this new hairstyle.”

“Well, I liked your curls,” Benita muttered as she walked away. “They’ll take months to grow back.”

Brick leaned across the table. “My curls were the butt of endless jokes in the locker room. They had to go. Phoenix’s wife, Brooke, made a comment that I looked like a beefed-up cherub and the cherub part stuck.” He shook his head. “Brick’s not the best name to be given, but there’s no way in hell I can live with Cherub.”

I giggled. Cherub was the last word I’d use to describe Brick. There was nothing remotely angelic about him.

“You think it’s funny?” He grinned and dug into his steaming lasagna.

“Yeah.”

“Unfortunately so did the guys. I love ’em, especially Phoenix, who’s been an older brother to me. But they show their affection in strange ways. Lots of cursing and plenty of whacks and wrestling.”

I took a bite of my salmon. Delicious. Light and fluffy with the perfect amount of nutty pesto.

“Are you going up to New York next week for the Ray Lenon show?” I asked, even though I knew he was. My agent had told me Brick was doing the interview so I’d put myself up for it, too, hardly believing the opportunity to spend more time with him was being handed to me on a platter. Who knew charity work could be so wonderfully convenient?

“Yeah, I’m going, are you?” he asked.

“I think so. I just need to confirm it.” My train tickets were booked and so was my hotel room. My bag was half packed and there was a big red circle marking the day on my calendar.

He set down his knife and fork and reached for his napkin. He wiped the corners of his mouth then leaned toward me. “I hope you do,” he said quietly, his gaze capturing mine. “Because if all goes as planned, we’ll be well past our first date by then.”

The lust in his eyes hit me like a cannonball. I thought I was in control but suddenly I had doubts as to whether I’d be able to keep him harnessed. Whether I’d be able to keep my own carnal desires harnessed. I took another mouthful of wine. I was getting hot—hot and flustered.

“How did you like the recording studio?” I asked to change the subject. We’d all gone in individually, all eighteen of us Florida athletes, to record our parts of the Promises and Dreams song. No one had actually met until the morning for the promotional photo, unless of course they were already teammates or friends.

Brick groaned. “I’m no singer,” he said. “That much is obvious by the fact they’ve only given me one solo line in the whole song.”

“I only have two,” I said with a smile.

“Yeah, but you sound sweet. I sound like a troll who’s been kicked in the nuts.”

I laughed. I’d heard his solo and a troll kicked in the nuts wasn’t a bad description. I guess he couldn’t be completely perfect, so if I had to take something I’d happily settle for a bad singing voice.

He laughed, too. “So I’d better not give up the day job for a career on Broadway then, eh?”

“I think the day job is suiting you very well.”

“Yeah, it is a dream career,” he said with a smile. “And pretty lucrative.”

He placed down his cutlery and his face fell serious. “I’ve been poor and now I’m rich. But it’s doing a job I love and having good people around me that makes me happy. Not cash. Not stuff. Sure, money takes away worries, but I’d rather be poor and have something I feel passionate about and people to love than be rich and alone with nothing to make me feel alive.”

I set down my own knife and fork. The need to touch him was overpowering as a sudden feeling of tenderness washed over me. Sure, he was big, tough, gorgeous and the stuff of all my erotic fantasies, but I now realized he was also a gentle soul who needed and wanted the same things everyone did. Love, passion, companionship, a reason to get out of bed in the morning. I reached forward and placed my hand over his. My fingers were so small in comparison to his big knuckles and wide bones. “I’ve never been poor and I’ve never been rich,” I said quietly. “But I agree. I’ve always valued people—my parents and my coach above all others.”

“You must have sacrificed a lot to get to the Olympics.” He turned his hand over and trapped mine within it. “All that training and traveling.”

“Sure,” I said. “I’ve very few friends other than the cyclists I see on the competition circuit and let’s face it, they’re…well, they’re competition. I guess friends are what I sacrificed to reach my goal.” I felt a fizz of sensation snake up my arm as his thumb caressed the underside of my wrist.

With my free hand, I reached for my wine. “But I’m very close to my parents.”

“Did you always know cycling was what you wanted to do?”

“I was good at it. Like, really good at it. So I wanted to prove I was the best.”

He smiled. “You always so determined?”

“Once I decide I want something I go for it,” I said, taking a slug of wine.

He tipped his head and narrowed his eyes. “Do you want me?”

Oh, hell. Now I need a cool answer.

“What do you think?”

His lips curled into a dirty smile. “I think you do but you just don’t know it yet, honey.”

I pulled my hand away and reached once more for my knife and fork. “Well, I’ll be sure to let you know if and when I do.” I popped in a cherry tomato. Let it roll around my mouth, filling my cheeks before I bit it in half.

He bobbed his head. “Yeah, you do that. I wouldn’t want to miss it.”

I reached for my wine. Went to drink but the glass was dry.

“You want another one?” He gestured to the drained glass with his fork.

“No, no, really I’m good.” I reached for my water. No wonder I was feeling lightheaded and rolling tomatoes around my cheeks. I’d downed a huge glass of wine in minutes. “And this salmon is amazing,” I added in an attempt to dampen down the conversation and the heat on my face.

“Good,” he said, “I’m glad you’re enjoying it.”

As we finished lunch, I made a point of keeping the conversation light. I tried my best to ignore his cheeky flirting but it was possibly the hardest thing I’d ever done. I wanted to flirt back like crazy. Offer every innuendo and suggestive remark I could think of. Leave him in no doubt where he could end up and in exactly what position if he wanted to.

But I stayed calm and relaxed. Drank my water and thanked Benita for a wonderful meal on the way out.

We drove back to my condo and once again I relished being so close to him. It was a nice habit to have slipped into so quickly and I pressed against the angle of his shoulder blade and hung on for the ride.

When we pulled up outside my building I dismounted and fluffed my hair. He climbed off, lifted his shades to his forehead and balanced our helmets on the seat.

“Thanks for lunch,” I said.

“My pleasure. Come on, I’ll walk you to your door.” He glanced up and down the quiet street.

“But it’s just there.”

“So, I’ll walk you. Make sure you get home okay.” He shrugged.

“Its broad daylight and this really is a very nice area.” I smiled and frowned at the same time.

“So, it’s a date. I have rules. I want to make sure you get home safely.”

I wasn’t sure how safe I was with him around. My body didn’t feel as if it was under control. Sin and a craving for dirty deeds were only a whisper away. The date had been exciting and charged with sexual tension and the fact he’d talked so freely about his emotional needs had only added a new, deeper layer to my admiration of him.

He pressed a hand into the small of my back and urged me to the entrance of my building. I keyed in the code and stepped into the shaded cool of the small communal lobby.

I turned to Brick. The door clicked shut.

He pressed the palm of his right hand to my cheek. “Thanks for coming to lunch,” he said quietly. “I had a real nice time.”

“Me, too.” I leaned my cheek into his hand even though I knew I should say something tempting and suggestive then walk away. That was my plan. Not leaning into his calloused palm and staring up into his eyes. Definitely not swaying toward him as blood pounded to every erogenous zone I possessed. That was not what I was supposed to be doing. No way.

He stepped closer and his big body loomed over mine. His shoulders were impossibly wide in my peripheral vision. “Carly,” he murmured.

“Yes.” I studied the shadows slicing across his profile and a haze of fair stubble dusting his jaw and chin.

“Am I allowed to kiss you on a first date?” He lowered his head and heat from his sweet breath washed over my cheek.

I looked deeper into his eyes, sparkling from beneath hooded lids. They were the color of the forest floor gilded with late-afternoon sunlight. I’d dreamed of this moment. Looked at his eyes in magazines and on TV and wondered what it would be like to have them really there, hovering over me and brimming with desire.

Now I knew.

Now I knew it was wonderful. It felt like the moment I’d pushed my front pedal through the finish line in first position and heard the crowd lift the roof of the velodrome.

“You’re taking a long time to decide,” he whispered as his other hand came up and circled the back of my neck. He tucked his fingers into my long hair and cradled the base of my skull.

I caught my breath. The possessiveness of the touch knotted my stomach. The way he was holding my head was so dominant, so utterly masculine. “Yes,” I said quietly as darts of sensitivity snaked across my scalp. “Kissing is allowed.”

He gave the tiniest of smiles, then his lips were on mine. Soft and gentle but also confident and determined. His tongue probed, I opened up and the tip slid into my mouth and met mine. I released a small moan of pleasure.

He continued to hold my head firm but the hand on my cheek dropped to my shoulder. His fingertips pressed into my flesh and stopped me falling into him and molding my body with his.

“You taste so good,” he said onto my mouth before dipping back in for another sample. This time it was hotter, more urgent. Soon it was a full, open-mouthed kiss that made my head spin and my heart ricochet off my chest wall. He was devouring me and I was taking what I could from him.

I pressed my hands to the front of his chest and curled my fingers over his collarbones. The raw power beneath my palms was intoxicating, edgy. I wanted more. I wanted that power driving into me. I wanted him naked and at my mercy. I wanted to own him, pleasure him. I wanted to drag him upstairs and forget my crazy plan. I had basic needs demanding to be met. Now.

He broke the kiss. “I have to go,” he said breathlessly.

“What?”

He released me, took a step back, and reached for the door. “I’m sorry, Carly, but I have to go.”

My arms fell to my sides and I faltered to regain my balance. I wasn’t sure how my watery legs were managing to support me. And my spine, my spine had turned to dust.

“I’ll call you.” His lips were moist. His jaw set like stone.

“Sure,” I said in a hoarse voice.

He pulled open the door and heat from outside blasted in. “I’ll call you tomorrow, from Seattle.”

And then he was gone.

The door slammed shut on its heavy spring.

I pressed my fingertips to my lips, tingling from the pressure of his kiss. I could taste his tongue on mine and still feel his hand in my hair. What the hell had happened? I was just about to throw all my plans in the air and get naked and primitive and he’d walked away.

I turned and stabbed at the elevator button. Broke a nail. The doors opened immediately and I stomped in and hit two.

He’d wanted me. I had no doubts about that. I’d seen it in his eyes. Felt it in his kiss. I could even smell desire in the air, his and mine. It was thick and vital, another presence.

I stomped out of the elevator and let myself into my condo. Dashed straight to the balcony doors and peered out. He was climbing onto his bike. I watched as he adjusted his position on the seat and roared the engine awake.

He turned and looked up.

I ducked behind the curtain.

The bike bellowed then screamed up the gears as he charged off. A loud, rude noise in the quiet street. So much for being inconspicuous. So much for my cool, calm plan.