About Last Night

“And?”

“And it seems to me that when I meet a woman with whom I have a phenomenal physical connection, who I think about so much it disrupts my ability to do my job, not to mention sleep, and who I find attractive and interesting and funny and enjoy spending time with, perhaps it’s not a bad idea to get to know her better. Which is why I find it a bit baffling, to be honest, that you’re so determined to keep me at arm’s length.”

As far as she could recall, no one had ever said that many nice things about her at once before. All the compliments gave her a warm, fuzzy feeling she didn’t quite know what to do with. She decided another cookie was the way to go.

He had a point, she thought, chewing. She wasn’t approaching this thing with City in the most conventional manner. But he didn’t know her track record. She wasn’t the most conventional girl.

“For what it’s worth, I’m not doing a very good job of keeping you at arm’s length,” she said at last. “After I left here on Saturday, I decided never to see you again.”

He was sliding the frittata under the broiler, so she could only see his profile, but damn if he didn’t appear to be smirking.

“I know that, darling. It wounds my pride you won’t go out with me, but I can console myself with the knowledge that when you do see me, you can’t keep your knickers on for ten minutes running.”

She threw her cookie at him, feigning indignation. “You bastard! Are you calling me easy?”

“I like you easy. Besides, you’re not to blame. Who’d want to wear wet knickers?”

She had another cookie locked and loaded, but he grabbed her wrist and pulled her to her feet to kiss her. It was a long, slow, lazy kiss, as if he would have been happy to do it all night. Her lower belly got all warm and tingly, and she was about ready to drag him down on the kitchen table when he set her free to pull his magazine-spread-gorgeous frittata out of the oven and slide the tray of Parmesan bread under the broiler to toast.

“You are disgustingly perfect,” she said, happy.

“Let me take you to lunch tomorrow.”

She said no, but she knew her eyes were saying yes.

Chapter Ten

He spotted her as soon as he came through the gate of the park, but it took him at least half a mile to catch up to her. For such a short woman, she was quick, and he was fairly sure he only caught her because she’d decided to allow it.

It was a decent metaphor for their relationship, really. For two weeks, she’d been in his bed nearly every night. They’d done just about everything two people could do to each other, and still he wanted her, every day, all the time. And still she made him chase her down.

Cath called all the shots. She seemed more comfortable that way, so Nev had decided not to press. Much. Instead, he looked for the loopholes and exploited them.

He wasn’t to know what time she’d be on the train, but he could buy coffee and pastries for her on the days he happened to find her there. She wouldn’t tell him when or if she’d be running in the park, but she’d let him run with her if their paths crossed. She refused to say where she worked, though she’d tell him when he guessed wrong.

Nor would she give him her mobile number, even though she’d saved his in her phone. He’d told her where his office was, too, and had issued an open invitation to lunch. He reckoned that if he kept asking, sooner or later she’d break down and let him through her defenses. That, or he’d run out of patience and start begging.

“Morning, City,” she said when he finally drew even with her.

She’d never once called him Nev. The nickname was one more way for her to deny who he really was and what was developing between them. One more wall she’d put up. He gave it a kick. “What do you have against my name?”

“Nothing in particular. I just like City better. Besides, you always call me Mary Catherine, so you deserve payback.”

“But Mary Catherine is your name.”

“So, what, you want me to start calling you Neville?”

“Please don’t.”

“See?”

“But you like it when I call you Mary Catherine.”

“I don’t.”

She did. She loved it. “Every time I call you Mary Catherine, your mouth turns up at the corners just the tiniest bit, and you get this dreamy look in your eyes. Come to think of it, it’s the same look you get when I—”

“Knock it off, or I’ll make you run up the hill three times.”