The Kiss Quotient (The Kiss Quotient 1)

Breathing heavily, she picked up his note, crumpled it into a misshapen ball, and tossed it in the trash. That was what she thought of his pity.

If she wanted to get over a man, she was going to get over a man.

She sat down and read over the last few lines of code on the programming screen. Her brain was too distracted to concentrate. She kept thinking about Michael. Her body still yearned for his caresses and his dirty words. More than that, she missed him and the routines they’d made together.

He couldn’t really want her back, but it would be wonderful if he did. When she noticed the hopeful direction of her thoughts, she scolded herself and told herself to focus on the data. It didn’t work. Making a frustrated sound, she fished his note out of the trash, smoothed it out, and stuffed it in one of her drawers.

* * *

• • •

Each day that week, he called and asked her out to dinner. Each day, she refused. She didn’t need or want his help. She could take care of herself just fine.

As of Friday evening, her desk sported the vase of still lovely calla lilies, another vase of roses ranging in shade from bloodred to pink, a bundle of balloons, and a fuzzy black teddy bear in a karate gi. She was far too old for stuffed animals, and the sight of it embarrassed her. Michael’s extravagance was making her the talk of the office. She had to figure out a way to make this stop.

When it was time to leave, she powered off her computer, grabbed her purse, and headed for the door, snatching Karate Bear on the way out. She didn’t want him, but the thought of him sitting alone in her office all night made her heartbreakingly sad.

She squished the bear under her arm, making him as small as possible, and exited the building. No one needed to see her walking around with a stuffed animal in tow.

“Heading home?” The solitary voice came from behind as she crossed the empty parking lot, and her heart leapt into her throat.

She whipped around with a hand on her chest.

Michael pushed away from the wall of her office building, thumbs hooked into his pockets. He wore a fitted black vest over an oxford shirt that was unbutton

ed at the throat and dark slacks. Too gorgeous. She dragged her eyes away and went to pick up her bear from his abandoned location on the blacktop.

Brushing off the bear’s fur, she said, “This can be interpreted as stalking, you know.”

He ducked his head with a sheepish smile. “I know.”

“You need to stop all of this.”

“It’s not just a little romantic? I don’t have a lot of experience with courting, so you’ll have to excuse me if I come across too strong.”

She pursed her lips. With his looks and charisma, she was sure all he generally had to do was crook his finger and wait for women to crawl to him. She didn’t want to be one of those foolish women anymore. “Cut it out, Michael. We both know you’re not courting me.”

His shoulders stiffened. “What do you mean?”

“You don’t need to protect me from Philip anymore. He’s switched his attention to the receptionist.”

“None of this has been about Philip.” He stalked toward her, his brow furrowed and his jaw tight.

Her instincts told her to back away as he neared, but stubbornness had her digging her feet in. She lifted her chin. She wasn’t scared of him. “I’m done being your charity case. I don’t want—”

Clasping the sides of her face in his hands, he kissed her. Sensation shocked through her, ending her struggles before they began. The cool silk of his lips on hers felt like heaven. As he stroked his hot tongue into her mouth, his salty taste and familiar scent intoxicated her. She gripped his shoulders and pressed her body to his. He surrounded her with his arms and aligned their hips, her softness to his hardness. Liquid aching pervaded her limbs.

“Look at you melting for me,” he rasped against her mouth. “I’ve missed you.”

He kissed her again, a deep, slow tasting that curled her toes and made her sigh against his lips. Her hair loosened, and she shivered as he threaded his fingers into the mass.

“Pretty Stella,” he whispered, running his hands over her loose locks. “I might not have the hang of courting, but I kiss you right.”

That snapped her out of her kiss-induced haze immediately. She jerked free of his arms and wiped a sleeve over her mouth. “Don’t kiss me. Don’t touch me. I don’t want you doing anything with me out of pity.”

“Why do you keep talking about pity? I never said I pitied you,” he said with a frown.

“Then why didn’t you take my money?” Without waiting for his response, she retrieved the bear from the ground for the second time. She wanted to hug it close, but she made herself hand it to him. “This past week was nice, but I’ve had enough. I’m asking you to stop. Please.”