About Last Night

For getting me back on the train? For

taking me home with you, undressing me, letting me sleep in your bed, washing my clothes, setting out a towel and a toothbrush for me, and making me breakfast? Oh, and let’s not forget kissing me and touching me until I damn near lost my mind.

“—for taking care of me,” she finished.

It was lame, but it would have to do.

“You’re quite welcome.” He didn’t look over at her, just carried on washing dishes at the sink as if this were a perfectly normal morning and they were having a perfectly ordinary conversation. He wore yellow rubber gloves to do the dishes. She’d never before met a man who could pull off yellow rubber gloves, or who was even willing to risk his masculinity by trying, but City was managing nicely. The jeans, the T-shirt, the gloves: he was really doing it for her, tip to toe.

It wasn’t just the way he looked, either. She kinda liked him. Now that she’d met him, she could see that the pink cheeks weren’t the only thing about City that didn’t square with the portrait in her journal. Hardly anything about him did. She’d thought he’d be rigid, cold, and uptight, but the real-life City was a painter. He was wry and relaxed.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

His tone was nonchalant, but she would swear she saw his mouth twitch with the effort of repressing a smile. She waited. The dimple appeared, and his lips slowly began to curve upward, widening into a grin. He turned around to look at her full-on, leaning one hip against the countertop.

Cath couldn’t help smiling in response.

It was a little bit funny.

Okay, it was a lot funny. This whole thing with City had to be the single most bizarre experience of her life, and she’d had more than her share of bizarre experiences.

He pulled off the rubber gloves, crossing his arms and letting them drape over one forearm, and she started to giggle. The gloves. The jar breaking on the floor as they went after each other like animals. Waking up in his room after her disastrous expedition back into the bar scene. His kindness, and the sharp contrast between the City she’d imagined and this guy, this real-life guy with the Big Bad Wolf smile and the magic tongue. The powerful urge she still had to jump him or, failing that, to see if he could make her another one of those incredible sandwiches.

She didn’t know why, but it was all suddenly unbelievably funny. The giggle turned into a belly laugh, and then she couldn’t stop. Clutching her stomach, she bent over, trying to get a grip. City started chuckling, too, low and sexy, and she lost it completely. Tears streamed down her cheeks, but the laughter just kept coming. She gasped, wiped her eyes, and bent over again with a helpless, breathless scream.

When she finally managed to sit up, gulping air like a walleye on land, City had moved closer, and he was watching her with a bemused smile.

“My name—” She took a gaspy breath and sat up straight in the chair, putting out her hand so he could shake it. In her very best posh accent, she said, “My name is Mary Catherine Talarico. Of the Chicago Talaricos.”

He took her hand, sending an electric pulse straight to her crotch as his strong fingers engulfed hers. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mary Catherine Talarico.”

“Likewise, I’m sure.”

City pulled her to her feet and stepped closer. She moved away, but he kept coming until she was backed up against the countertop and he loomed over her. He was big. Everyone was big when you were five feet tall, but City was big big. Six feet, maybe, and built. He had biceps and triceps to spare, and she knew from the park that under those jeans his quadriceps were a thing of beauty. Bad Cath demanded a closer look.

The indulgence had vanished from his eyes, replaced by a predatory heat that made her heartbeat stutter.

New Cath couldn’t seem to do anything but whimper.

“Is your head feeling better, Mary Catherine?” Bracing his hands on the countertop behind her, he lowered his own head and touched his lips to her neck. She closed her eyes.

“Yes, thank you.” He worked his way to the base of her throat, every kiss sending out its own little shock wave. They radiated down her torso, pooling between her legs.

“No trace of a hangover, then, Mary Catherine?” His voice. She had no defenses against his voice. Low and hungry, that haughty accent such a delicious contrast to his naughty mouth.

“Much better, thanks.” He licked her collarbone, kissed behind her ear, nibbled her lower lip. She had to lean against the countertop, having gone knock-kneed. “Call me Cath.”

“No, I don’t think I shall.” He grasped her by the waist and lifted her, and she locked her ankles behind his back. “I’m taking you to bed now, Mary Catherine.”

“Yeah,” she whispered. “I’d like that.”

Chapter Five

He set her down on the edge of the mattress, then crossed to the window and raised the sash, bringing in fresh air to dispel the heat. The room had grown stuffy since she’d left it.

The bed had changed, too. Before, it had been a stranger’s bed, and she’d been in a hurry to escape it. Now it was this stranger’s bed, and she liked the thought of spending the next few hours giving it a workout.

He drew gauzy white curtains across the open window, affording them privacy from anyone who happened to have binoculars or a telescope trained on the second story of his building. “Aren’t you considerate?” she commented.