Make Her Mine

suddenly she’s there, beaming up at me, every inch as beautiful as she was last night. It’s a punch straight to my gut. Well, if punches also made my cock hard.

She’s put on makeup tonight, not that she needs it. She’s flawless, even when she’s sweating from a workout. I want to kiss that damn bright red straight off her lips, but I’ve got to admit, it looks sinful as hell when she grins at me sideways and steps out of the apartment building’s main entrance.

“I heard you pull up,” she explains, still smiling, so open and innocent. “Is everything okay? Looked like you were a little upset or something.”

Shit. She saw me on the phone. “Just some work stuff.” I wave the question away, and try not to let any panic show on my face. “You ready?” I extend an arm, and she ducks her head with a shy blink before she slides her hand through the crook of my elbow. I move my other hand up to cover hers, her skin so damn impossibly soft against mine, and we cross the parking lot like that.

“What do you do for work?” she asks as she presses herself against my side, and I curse myself internally for bringing up the question.

“I used to fight.”

“Boxer?”

“MMA.”

Her gaze pops up to mine and a slow grin splits her face. “Why am I not surprised? Why’d you stop?”

“Broken femur. By the time I was able to get back in the ring, the fans had moved on and even then, I wasn’t as good as I was before my injury. Now I’m in acquisitions,” I respond, praying she won’t ask what I “acquire.” “But honestly, I hate it. My boss is a complete… ” I bite back the end of that sentence. I normally don’t mind swearing in front of women, but that one would be taking the dirty mouth a bit far. “Anyway. I’m making a career change. Soon.”

We reach my truck, and I open the door for her, still holding her hand as she climbs into the passenger seat, her fingers clenching around mine briefly. That touch makes me want to grab her, pull her back down, press her up against the door and take her right here, in full view of the street.

Luckily she lets go a split second later, and the momentary craziness fades a little.

“So, you’re the open-doors-for-ladies type, huh?” she asks when I start driving. She leans against the door to get a good look at me. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for that.”

“Not most ladies. Only the irresistible ones.” She’s so irresistible, in fact, that it’s taking all my willpower not to stare at her. Every shift of her body is a distraction—her hip popping up to press against the seatbelt, her hands winding around each other in her lap. It makes me think about the way those hips would look gripped tight in my hands, how it would feel to have her soft fingers wrapped around my hard shaft, jerking up and down until I blow.

Skye fidgets again in her seat, restless, and I wonder if she’s thinking along the same lines I am. “Yeah, well, still,” she says at last. “Politeness is a rare thing these days, I’ll tell you that.”

“You’re right, Skye.” I can’t get enough of saying her name. My eyes dart to her and then back to the road in front of us. I hate that I’ve got to focus on driving when she’s right next to me, smelling the way she does. Looking so innocently fuckable. “But you’re rare, too.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see that she’s blushing and I can’t help but wonder if she’ll do the same when my tongue is between her legs. “Not really,” she mumbles under her breath.

“If you only knew,” I tell her, and her flush deepens, but she doesn’t argue with the statement, at least.

If only I could make her see how wrong she is. If I could project the her I’m watching beside me right now, the her who dealt with all that shit in the diner last night from her bitchy co-workers to her douche boss, the her who’s sexy as hell without even realizing she’s doing it, without even trying, I would. I wish she could see herself the way I can see her.

If she knew how hard she’s making me…

If she knew why I asked her out in the first place, my brain counters. She’d fucking storm out of this truck right now, and who could blame her?

“What are you changing to?” she asks, and I blink, confused. “You said you were changing careers,” she clarifies, and I almost laugh.

I don’t think anyone has ever listened to me as closely as she does before. The girls I usually go out with are the shut-up-and-fuck-me type, or on the rare occasions I choose badly, the listen-to-me-bitch-nonstop type. I normally don’t talk. And they sure as hell don’t listen to anything I say if I do.

“Mechanic.” Then I shrug a shoulder. “Who the hell knows but I’ve always been good with my hands and my pop was a mechanic before he died. It’s hard to think about a new job when you’re still caught up in the old one, you know?”

“Do I ever,” she murmurs, and I want to ask more, want to pry. Want to see where else she sees herself besides serving at Monroe’s for all the rest of forever. It’s clear from the hunch in her shoulders that she doesn’t want to go down that road, though, so I leave it be for the moment.

Eventually, I’ll learn everything there is to know about Skye Banner.

Twenty minutes later, I turn into the parking lot of the restaurant I’ve picked out, an upscale fusion place that does some amazing things with Chinese food. Or so I’ve heard. This type of restaurant wouldn’t be my usual haunt, but I think Skye will like it. “Here we go.”

Her eyes widen. “This place just opened last month; it’s practically impossible to get a reservation even like a week in advance.”

I may or may not have called in a couple favors of my own through Rich’s chain of Man-Bunned thugs, but it’s not like I can tell her that. “It wasn’t that hard,” I bluff.

She’s grinning in a way that tells me that she knows damn well how hard it was to get a reservation and that she appreciates it. As I wrench the gear shift into park, she leans across the seat to press a quick kiss to my cheek. “Thank you,” she whispers, and then she’s already leaning back in her seat. She unbuckles and jumps out of the truck before I can even think about kissing her back.