corner.
She didn’t consider it eavesdropping, because she could only hear the occasional word. It was the cadence of the three male voices—Samuel, Anthony and Luc—that she found comforting while the danger increased for the characters at the story’s climax.
“Heather?”
She jumped at the deep voice so close to her. The criminals had now been caught, and she was into the payoff scene at the end of the book.
“Sorry,” Samuel rumbled. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Hi,” she said softly, closing the book and setting it down on the table.
He glanced at the title and grinned. “Good story?”
She nodded. Then she shook her head, looking deep into his dark, unfathomable eyes. “How much is…” She bit her bottom lip. “I am so sorry for what you went through.”
His smile turned sad. “It was a long time ago.”
She came up on her knees on the padded bench seat, making her almost eye level with him. Then she put a hand on his bicep. “It must have been horrible for you.”
He shrugged his big shoulders. “It was no picnic.”
Guilt nipped at her. Her teenage years had been full of designer clothes, sports cars and the right parties. She’d known she was lucky, but she hadn’t realized the full extent of her good fortune. She felt her eyes go liquid with sympathy.
“Hey.” Samuel tipped her chin up with his index finger. “Is there a soft heart under all that sarcasm?”
She blinked and shook her head. “No.”
“Good.”
“Good?”
“I like my women tough.”
The sheen of tears evaporated completely. “ Your women?”
He nodded, moving his big palm along her cheek to cup her face, sending reaction sizzling up her spine. “Don’t pretend you don’t feel it, too.” He paused for a moment. “Anthony tells me you’re leaving tomorrow.”
She nodded jerkily. “I’m taking Joan to Paris.”
He shifted forward, crowding her space, leaning in and tipping his head to one side. “Then I guess this is my last chance.”
Last chance? “To kiss me?”
His lips curved into a lazy smile, and reflected light shone from his dark eyes. “For starters,” he drawled, and Heather’s pulse pounded in her ears.
“Then,” he continued, “I’m going to show you things your white-bread Boston boys don’t even dream about.”
She put on a show of bravado. “You think?”
His smile widened meaningfully. “I know.”
She couldn’t let him get away with this. She was nobody’s sex toy—no matter how rawly sensual he appeared. No matter how many erotic dreams he had spawned. And no matter how curious she’d become.
She opened her mouth to tell him so, but he moved in even closer.
His face was mere inches from hers, and she inhaled his woodsy scent. No designer cologne for this man. Her nose twitched at the unfamiliar sensation of real sweat and unadulterated pheromones.
His thumb stroked her cheek, and his lips brushed hers ever so gently. It wasn’t a kiss. It wasn’t anything, really.
“Only one night,” he sighed. “Such a shame.”
She was still wearing a pair of fleece shorts and a thin tank top after the heat of the day. A breeze wafted through the window screens and sensitized her bare skin. The scent of hydrangeas filled the air, but the scent of Samuel was stronger.
He brushed a first kiss across her lips, and she thought her legs might give way. “My place,” he whispered.
“I can’t do that.” But she was kissing him back, brushing the tips of her breasts against his chest.
His fingers settled at her waist, finding a thin strip of skin between the elastic of her shorts and the hem of her tank top. “Sure you can.” He held back enough to keep the kisses gentle, nearly driving her mad.
“I don’t even know you.”
His hand crept slowly beneath her shirt. “So what?”
It grazed the underside of her bare breast, and she sucked in a breath. “You could be…”
He flicked his thumb across her nipple. “Dangerous?”
“Yes,” she hissed,
She didn’t consider it eavesdropping, because she could only hear the occasional word. It was the cadence of the three male voices—Samuel, Anthony and Luc—that she found comforting while the danger increased for the characters at the story’s climax.
“Heather?”
She jumped at the deep voice so close to her. The criminals had now been caught, and she was into the payoff scene at the end of the book.
“Sorry,” Samuel rumbled. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Hi,” she said softly, closing the book and setting it down on the table.
He glanced at the title and grinned. “Good story?”
She nodded. Then she shook her head, looking deep into his dark, unfathomable eyes. “How much is…” She bit her bottom lip. “I am so sorry for what you went through.”
His smile turned sad. “It was a long time ago.”
She came up on her knees on the padded bench seat, making her almost eye level with him. Then she put a hand on his bicep. “It must have been horrible for you.”
He shrugged his big shoulders. “It was no picnic.”
Guilt nipped at her. Her teenage years had been full of designer clothes, sports cars and the right parties. She’d known she was lucky, but she hadn’t realized the full extent of her good fortune. She felt her eyes go liquid with sympathy.
“Hey.” Samuel tipped her chin up with his index finger. “Is there a soft heart under all that sarcasm?”
She blinked and shook her head. “No.”
“Good.”
“Good?”
“I like my women tough.”
The sheen of tears evaporated completely. “ Your women?”
He nodded, moving his big palm along her cheek to cup her face, sending reaction sizzling up her spine. “Don’t pretend you don’t feel it, too.” He paused for a moment. “Anthony tells me you’re leaving tomorrow.”
She nodded jerkily. “I’m taking Joan to Paris.”
He shifted forward, crowding her space, leaning in and tipping his head to one side. “Then I guess this is my last chance.”
Last chance? “To kiss me?”
His lips curved into a lazy smile, and reflected light shone from his dark eyes. “For starters,” he drawled, and Heather’s pulse pounded in her ears.
“Then,” he continued, “I’m going to show you things your white-bread Boston boys don’t even dream about.”
She put on a show of bravado. “You think?”
His smile widened meaningfully. “I know.”
She couldn’t let him get away with this. She was nobody’s sex toy—no matter how rawly sensual he appeared. No matter how many erotic dreams he had spawned. And no matter how curious she’d become.
She opened her mouth to tell him so, but he moved in even closer.
His face was mere inches from hers, and she inhaled his woodsy scent. No designer cologne for this man. Her nose twitched at the unfamiliar sensation of real sweat and unadulterated pheromones.
His thumb stroked her cheek, and his lips brushed hers ever so gently. It wasn’t a kiss. It wasn’t anything, really.
“Only one night,” he sighed. “Such a shame.”
She was still wearing a pair of fleece shorts and a thin tank top after the heat of the day. A breeze wafted through the window screens and sensitized her bare skin. The scent of hydrangeas filled the air, but the scent of Samuel was stronger.
He brushed a first kiss across her lips, and she thought her legs might give way. “My place,” he whispered.
“I can’t do that.” But she was kissing him back, brushing the tips of her breasts against his chest.
His fingers settled at her waist, finding a thin strip of skin between the elastic of her shorts and the hem of her tank top. “Sure you can.” He held back enough to keep the kisses gentle, nearly driving her mad.
“I don’t even know you.”
His hand crept slowly beneath her shirt. “So what?”
It grazed the underside of her bare breast, and she sucked in a breath. “You could be…”
He flicked his thumb across her nipple. “Dangerous?”
“Yes,” she hissed,
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