About Last Night

“Let me make you dinner.”

How many times in her life had a man offered to cook dinner for her? With vegetables, even? Zero, that was how many.

No dates, she reminded herself. No emotions. Just sex. But it was hard to remember why when he was standing in front of her being all sexy and friendly and sexy.

The obvious solution was to refuse to look at him. She kept her eyes on the floor while he packed his groceries into a bag and thanked the cashier.

Then he touched her, a light caress of his hand at her waist that flipped her ON switch and started her whole body vibrating. “Mary Catherine?”

“No.” Just don’t look up. “I can’t. No.”

He tipped her chin up with one finger, forcing her to meet his eyes. A slow smile spread over his face, devastating her defenses. “If I didn’t know better, I’d begin to think you don’t like me.”

“Who says I like you?” But the question didn’t come out as ballsy as she wanted it to, not when he was close enough to make her skin itch.

He chuckled. “How many times did you come last night?” he asked in a low voice.

Three. “I’m not answering that question.”

“You don’t have to. I remember every one. You like me fine.”

She turned and headed back out to the platform, City at her heels. Just how long would she have to keep turning him down before he stopped asking? Not long, she hoped, because turning him down wasn’t getting any easier.

The train pulled up as they arrived. It was rush-hour crowded, and she ended up pushed against the plastic wall in front of the first row of seats, City directly in front of her. Great.

He was close enough that she could smell him, the delicious blend of pepper and cedar and man that did something a little crazy to her body, a sort of jungle-drums-pounding-in-her-blood thing that was hard to ignore. She kept her eyes fixed on his chest, which didn’t really help because it was a very nice chest in a very nice suit, and she knew exactly what it would feel like under her fingertips.

Time to look somewhere else.

She raised her eyes to the hollow of his throat, the stubble on his jaw a shade darker than the blond of his hair. She had marks on her inner thighs from that stubble.

Look somewhere e

lse.

His mouth. Bad choice. Oh, the things he could do with that mouth. She wanted him to kiss her so bad she could hardly think. Hell, she wanted him to jump her right here on the train.

This wasn’t infatuation. This was obsession.

They hit a bumpy section of track, and Nev pressed full-length against her for a moment—not altogether accidentally, she suspected. It wasn’t for long, but it was long enough for her to learn that he was hard as a rock and ready to party.

He braced his arms on either side of her head. “Cath. Look at me.”

She did, and his eyes told her he wanted her as desperately as she wanted him. He leaned closer. “You’re driving me mad, woman. I’ve been thinking about you all day. Tell me you’ll come home with me.”

She shouldn’t. She definitely shouldn’t.

“Okay. But I’m having the cookies for dinner.”

As soon as they’d passed through the street-level door, he pressed her up against the stairwell wall and kissed her senseless, taking her from want to desperate need in about five seconds with his hungry tongue and the press of his erection against her stomach.

“Upstairs,” she managed to say on a gasp.

She started to strip the second she crossed the threshold to his flat, pulling her shirt over her head and spinning around so she could watch him while she backed toward the bedroom. Nev kept his eyes on her as he shrugged out of his jacket, yanked his tie loose, untied his shoes. She kicked off her heels and shimmied out of her skirt in the doorway to his room; he unbuttoned his shirt and let his pants drop to the floor.

Then they were on the bed and his tongue was in her mouth again, her hips pressing upward and wriggling around until what she wanted was pressed firmly against her warm flesh through the barrier of her panties and she got even wetter, which hardly seemed possible.

“Anytime now, City. For the love of—”