Bo stepped closer. "Are you one of those women?"
No, every rational bone in her body screamed. No, she wasn't the sort of woman who would throw her arms around this gorgeous, oh-so-young and too-charming man standing across from her on the porch steps.
But right now she sure wanted to be. "You're smooth, Rokowsky."
"Not smooth enough, apparently, because you're still standing over there." He tapped the toe of her shoe with his.
All of about twenty-four inches away. Close enough to catch the scent of leather. "You want to kiss me?"
"I was thinking you would kiss me in light of the whole 'Bo rocks because he knows kids can run you ragged as hell' revelation." He straightened from the porch post, closer without touching. "And then I would kiss you back."
Her fingers dug into the splintery wood behind her. "Do you hit on every woman in your path?"
Closing in on her, he hitched a foot up one step higher, the heat of his thigh brushing hers as he effectively blocked her way. "No need to be insulting."
Her fingers held tighter to the wooden post behind her until splinters stung. "Glad you realize that would constitute smarmy behavior."
She'd only dated a couple of men—boys really—before Kurt, but she wasn't a total innocent, and she had been married for ten years. Ten? Paige shuddered. She didn't want to think about her dead husband, especially not now.
Something was drawing her to this man in spite of all the logic telling her to keep her hormones sealed up tight for two weeks. A full day of undiluted Bo Rokowsky made for a heady brew to a woman who'd been a damn long time without a drink.
A persistent inner voice that sounded remarkably like her practical big brother reminded her she hadn't been tempted to drink even lemonade with Chuck Anderson, much less taste him. And, man, now that Bo had placed the image in her head of the two of them, legs tangled...
Hello? Like the vision wasn't already there.
"I'm a one-at-a-time guy, thank you very much. Whatever I'm doing, I give it my complete and undivided attention."
"Is that so?"
"Yeah, and I really want to give my undivided attention to kissing you." A furrow tucked between his brows. "No, wait. I would more than kiss you. I'd touch your hair and let it slide through my fingers. I'd smell your neck and wonder what that aloe scent is—"
"Avon's Skin So Soft, a mosquito repellant."
"And a mighty sexy bug repellant it is, suddenly the most erotic scent ever."
Damn, he was hypnotic even when he was funny.
Step away!
Step away from the bad boy, her mind blared like a recorded warning that people too often ignored and vaulted right over the restricted-area rope into forbidden territory.
Fishing the house key out of her pocket, she eased down a stair, farther from the heat of his thigh and the scent of leather. "Well, thanks for the compliment, but I believe I'll pass."
The furrow trenched deeper. "You'll pass?" he growled. "That's all you have to say?"
He did confident just right, self-assurance without arrogance. Although she couldn't resist jabbing, "I guess you don't hear that very often."
The furrow between his brows smoothed as the killer smile returned. "Ah, okay, now I get it. You want to make me work for it. Cool. I can do that. I'll enjoy charming you."
Charming.
One word smacked her right back into stark reality. She had a weakness when it came to charming men. "Anybody ever tell you that you're packing a helluva an ego, flyboy?"
"I may have heard that once or twice."
"Well, believe it. Thank you for flying us around for the next two weeks, but I'm not interested in filling time in between those flights with convenience sex."
"Whoa! Hold on. Who said anything about sex?" He stalked down the step to face her.