“We’re done?” Malik said.

“All done.” Lindsay’s mouth still throbbed from that kiss. No surprise that with lips like his, he was a great kisser. The tingles from the kiss attacked her extremities—fingers, toes, nipples.

“I’m getting out of here. You leaving?”

She hid her disappointment by opening her purse. “In a few minutes. I need to call a car.”

“Forget that. I drove.” Malik held up his keys. “I’ll take you where you need to go.”

“Are you sure?”

“As long as you don’t mind if I stop somewhere first and get a bite to eat. I’m starving.”

“No, I don’t mind.”

“Good. Let’s get out of here.” He started toward the exit.

Lindsay said goodnight to Hal and the others before hurrying to catch up to Malik. She fell into step beside him. “You really hate being around people, don’t you?”

“I’m doing my best, believe me,” he muttered.

They left the building and headed up the street, crowded with other pedestrians going back and forth to a live music venue nearby. When they arrived at the parking lot, Lindsay pulled up short. “Why’d you park in this muddy lot?” The ground looked treacherous, with random rocks sticking out here and there, and the red Georgia dirt saturated with water from rain earlier that night.

Malik looked back from a few feet ahead. “It was the only place available to park because of the band playing nearby.” He glanced down at her heels and shook his head. “All right, fine.”

“What do you mean, ‘fine’? What are you—”

Malik swung her up in his arms. Lindsay gasped, but immediately fastened her arms around his wide neck.

“Y-you don’t have to carry me.”

“Isn’t this what a fiancé would do?” His dark eyes looked down into hers, and her stomach tightened.

If he were the perfect fiancé, Lindsay thought. But instead, she said, “I guess.”

This was too much. Malik was not only a great kisser, he was actually carrying her across the muddy parking lot, stepping on jutting rocks and walking between cars so she wouldn’t have to.

Who was this guy?

Now she was fantasizing about having him carry her to her bedroom. The sizzling thought filled her head, of being laid on the sheets and having Malik follow her down, right before he slid his bulk between her legs.

Settled in the passenger seat, she watched him climb into the black truck, her mind already veering off into nasty thoughts of what he looked like without a shirt on. If his arms and the press of his torso against hers during the kiss were anything to go by, he had a magnificent body hidden under his clothes.

“I’d like something to eat, too,” she said.

Malik glanced at her as he backed out of the lot. “What are you in the mood for?”

“Whatever. A burger is fine.”

“You like Mexican food, right?”

Surprised, she stared at him, but he kept his eyes on the road. “How do you know that?”

“You told me, the night of…you know.”

She focused on the taillights of the car in front of them. “I’m surprised you remembered.”

“Why? I wasn’t the one drunk.”

“I wasn’t drunk,” she said, extra bite in her tone.

“Drunk, tipsy, whatever.” Malik made a sharp turn and hit the highway.

“There’s a difference. I remember everything from that night. For instance, I vividly remember your rejection.”

He flicked confused eyes at her. “What? I didn’t reject you.”

He sounded genuinely shocked, but she distinctly remembered looping her arms around his neck and telling him in no uncertain terms how much she wanted him. You’re so damn hot. Let’s fuck.

His response had humiliated her and cleared up the cloudiness in her brain. I don’t think so, Lindsay. Regret tastes particularly bitter in the morning.

“You did reject me. I heard what you said, but don’t worry, I won’t be throwing myself at you again.”

“What I said wasn’t meant to insult you. I—”

“Because I should be flattered you said you’d regret sleeping with me?”

“Would you listen!” He glared at her. “That wasn’t rejection. When I said regret tastes bitter in the morning, I was talking about you. I didn’t want you to regret sleeping with me in the state you were in. You’d been drinking, and I didn’t want to take advantage of you. Damn.” He shook his head and gripped the steering wheel, muttering under his breath.

All this time she thought his response had been rejection, when in reality he’d been…considerate? Way more thoughtful than other men would have been in the same situation.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.”

Malik drove in silence for a while, and Lindsay stared out the side window, folding her arms protectively around her torso. What was she even protecting herself against? Malik?

Ridiculous. She slid a covert glance at him from the corner of her eye. Not so ridiculous, actually. He was hot, sexy, and now she could add considerate to his list of traits. A bit of a chip on his shoulder, but definitely her type. Big and sexy. Look at the way the jacket sleeves gripped his biceps, and that beard—well, now she knew the texture was somewhere between soft and rough. She’d enjoy the sensation of the hairs against her sensitive nipples or between her thighs.

Whew. Biting her lower lip, she focused on the flash of lights and buildings going by. She was in trouble.

“Are you still up for Mexican or not?” he asked.

Lindsay shrugged. “Sure. I know all the good spots, if you’re interested.”

“Any of them on Buford Highway?”

“I’ve never eaten Mexican on Buford Highway,” she said slowly.

“You’ve never—” He broke off with a head shake.

Buford Highway, also known as International Corridor, contained an ethnically diverse community of mostly Asian- and Spanish-speaking people. With such a high concentration of foreign-born residents, there were a ton of restaurants that featured food choices from as close as Mexico and as far away as Vietnam, but Lindsay had never ventured there for Mexican food.

“I’ve been through there but never eaten there,” she said.

“That’s about to change tonight. I’ll take you to a spot that’s open late and has authentic Mexican. Everything is made from scratch, including the corn tortillas. Trust me, you’ll never be the same after you eat there. How can you say you like Mexican food and you’ve never been to a taqueria on Buford? That’s the real deal.”

“Since when did you become the expert on all things Mexican food?”

“Since I know where the hell to get the best in town.”

“Huh. I guess we’ll see.”

“Yeah, we’ll see.”

They didn’t speak to each other again until he pulled into a parking spot in front of a convenience store. They walked around to the side, where a small structure painted in green, red, and white was illuminated by bright lights. About fifteen people stood patiently in line, the majority of them Hispanic-looking.

Malik let Lindsay stand in line ahead of him. “What do you normally get?” she asked over her shoulder.

He bent close to her ear. “Every item on the menu is delicious, but I usually get a couple of tortas and two or three barbacoa tacos.”

Her nipples tightened when his warm breath brushed the side of her neck. Lindsay inhaled deeply, telling herself not to get so turned on, but finding it absolutely impossible not to be.

“Sounds good,” she whispered. A blunt fingertip trailed lightly down the back of her neck, and she jumped. “What are you doing?” she asked.

“How many tattoos you got?” His eyes were lowered to half-mast, his voice low.

“Five.” Her skin was still alive where he’d touched her. The tattoo that ran down the back of her neck said live life to the fullest in cursive. “Once you get a tattoo, it can get a little addictive. My sister and I both have this one.” She pulled up her sleeve and showed him the inscription on the inside of her left bicep: My sister is my best friend. “Then there’s this.” She showed off the sunflower on the inside of her left wrist.

“That’s three. Where are the other two?”

“Hidden,” she replied. He arched a brow, watching her intently. “I have three butterflies running down my right side, and four linked hearts on my right hip.”

Malik’s gaze dropped to her right side, and she couldn’t have felt that more if he’d touched her.

“What about you? Do you have any tatts?” Lindsay asked.

“Nah. I hate needles.”

The line moved and she edged forward. “What is it with men and needles? Stephan hates them, and my stepdad didn’t like them, either.”

“I don’t know what it is. I avoid getting stuck as much as possible.”

He sounded so serious, Lindsay giggled to herself.

When their turn at the window finally arrived, it became clear Malik was a regular.

“Hola, Manuel, my man.” He slapped hands with the Mexican behind the counter, a good-looking man whose hair made him appear older than the lack of lines on his face suggested.

“¿Cómo estás?” Manuel asked.

“Estoy bien. How about yourself?”

“I can’t complain. I’m alive, you know? What can I get for you, my friend?”

Lindsay placed her order first—one barbacoa taco and the other two with carne asada. Malik placed his order, and they both chose large cups of horchata, a sweet rice drink.

They decided to eat there and sat in front of the little shack on plastic furniture that had spent so much time in the elements, the chairs and tables had turned from white to gray.

With guacamole salsa poured on a carne asada taco, Lindsay took the first bite. “Mmm.” Coupled with onions and fresh-chopped cilantro, the flavors of the seasoned meat burst onto her tongue.

“Good, right?”

She finished chewing and swallowed. “How did you know the food would be so good? I mean, how did you find this place?” She glanced back at the nondescript building and the line of patrons waiting to be served.

“Don’t you know the rules of ethnic cuisine?” Malik popped a jalapeño in his mouth.

“What rules?”

He smiled across the table at her, and she thought again how utterly good-looking he was. It should be a crime, really, to be that attractive. His dark-copper skin looked darker in the dim light where they sat a little bit away from the restaurant. His lips curved into an indecent invitation to pleasure.

“Go where the people go,” Malik answered. “You want authentic Caribbean food, go where the Caribbean people eat. You want the best Indian, it’s served where Indians eat. Likewise, if you see a Mexican restaurant with a line of Mexicans waiting, that’s where the best Mexican food is. Stick with me and I’ll show you the ropes.” His brown eyes sparkled as he bit into the torta.

Lindsay shook her head. The food turned out to be one of the best meals she’d ever had. Which was crazy, because she’d eaten in some of the best restaurants in the city, with much better ambiance. But there was something to be said for sitting outside under the stars on rickety plastic furniture, listening to the cars whiz by, eating cheap, delicious tacos and drinking sweet horchata with the sexiest man she’d ever met.

A decent man who set aside his own desire after she’d been drinking and was strong enough and thoughtful enough to carry her across a parking lot so she wouldn’t muddy her shoes.

He was almost perfect. And she wanted him.