deliberately look for trouble. Sex wi th Nicky Les daux would compromise Jordi’s tree house—sure as hell.
Especially transient sex.
So seriously, she was off-limits—as in no way, no how.
Grappling with his rare need for restraint—sexual temperance an oxymoron in his world—he blew out a breath. A vehement, deeply frustrated one.
Nicky’s lashes lifted at the sound, her eyes flaring wide at the sight of Johnny staring at her. Still half-asleep, she scanned the room, trying to come to grips with her unfamiliar surroundings, struggling to make sense of what she saw. Paris—that was it— Johnny Patrick’s hotel suite, Vernie and Jordi; she must have fallen asleep. Oh, Christ, how gauche was that? She opened her mouth to apologize.
Johnny silenced her with an upraised hand, then pointed at his sleeping daughter.
Having cleared away the traffic jam in her mind, all she wanted to do was escape as fast as she could. Falling asleep in Johnny’s suite was so juvenile or worse—like maybe some groupie attempt to hit on him? Quickly rising from the couch, she waved and moved toward the door, hoping he didn’t think she’d intruded purposely. Women were always trying to inveigle their way into Johnny’s life she suspected. The last thing she wanted was for him to think she was hustling him.
A u contraire.
Johnny was too busy dealing with his own indecision.
Should he or shouldn’t he give chase? he was wondering.
Where exactly did prudence rank in the grand scheme of things?
Or more particularly in terms of tree house construction?
Or let’s be honest—in terms of his life?
She was almost to the door. It was crunch time.
What the hell. He came to his feet.
Call it lack of restraint.
Or maybe innate male behavior.
Or more likely, a long-standing habit of instant gratification.
Pulling off his headphones, he quickly dropped them and his notes on a side table and caught up to Nicky just as she stepped out into the hall. “Wait,” he said, catching her hand to bring her to a halt. Easing the door shut behind him, he drew her around. “I’d like you to come to dinner with us tonight.” How was that for benign? It was only dinner. No ulterior motive. Or so he told himself. He might have even half meant it.
They were standing very close in the empty corridor.
Too close, Nicky thought.
Not close enough , he was thinking when he shouldn’t be thinking anything of the kind. He let her hand drop. “How about it?”
“Sure,” she whispered, trying to find breath to speak when he was looking at her like that, when his last question was open to interpretation.
“Dinner—right?”
Now that was less ambivalent. But she found herself nodding yes anyway, her words caught in her throat with his heated gaze triggering desires she’d been trying real hard to suppress.
“Perfect.”
His smile was boyish and sweet. Like on that People cover of the sexiest man alive. Soooo damnably sweet she could no longer resist, and rising on tiptoe she impulsively kissed him.
He tensed.
Shit, shit, shit. Was she a complete imbecile or what? “Sorry,” she muttered, dropping back on her heels, flushing red with embarrassment. As if women throwing themselves at him was anything new; she was probably the ten-thousandth this week.
After a millisecond, he smiled again. “No problem,” he said. “I’ve been wanting to do the same thing.”
“Really?” she said.
He grinned, her breathless disbelief apple-pie charming. “Yeah.” Cupping her shoulders, he bent low so his mouth was only a hair’s breadth from hers. “Really.” His mouth touched hers, curtailing any further speculation she might have apropos of the vast differences in their lives, the warmth of his lips ultralight, as though he liked to take his time.
She shouldn’t have melted against him so willingly. She should have shown more restraint. Yeah, right. When this might be her only chance to kiss the sexiest man alive, she wasn’t about to
Especially transient sex.
So seriously, she was off-limits—as in no way, no how.
Grappling with his rare need for restraint—sexual temperance an oxymoron in his world—he blew out a breath. A vehement, deeply frustrated one.
Nicky’s lashes lifted at the sound, her eyes flaring wide at the sight of Johnny staring at her. Still half-asleep, she scanned the room, trying to come to grips with her unfamiliar surroundings, struggling to make sense of what she saw. Paris—that was it— Johnny Patrick’s hotel suite, Vernie and Jordi; she must have fallen asleep. Oh, Christ, how gauche was that? She opened her mouth to apologize.
Johnny silenced her with an upraised hand, then pointed at his sleeping daughter.
Having cleared away the traffic jam in her mind, all she wanted to do was escape as fast as she could. Falling asleep in Johnny’s suite was so juvenile or worse—like maybe some groupie attempt to hit on him? Quickly rising from the couch, she waved and moved toward the door, hoping he didn’t think she’d intruded purposely. Women were always trying to inveigle their way into Johnny’s life she suspected. The last thing she wanted was for him to think she was hustling him.
A u contraire.
Johnny was too busy dealing with his own indecision.
Should he or shouldn’t he give chase? he was wondering.
Where exactly did prudence rank in the grand scheme of things?
Or more particularly in terms of tree house construction?
Or let’s be honest—in terms of his life?
She was almost to the door. It was crunch time.
What the hell. He came to his feet.
Call it lack of restraint.
Or maybe innate male behavior.
Or more likely, a long-standing habit of instant gratification.
Pulling off his headphones, he quickly dropped them and his notes on a side table and caught up to Nicky just as she stepped out into the hall. “Wait,” he said, catching her hand to bring her to a halt. Easing the door shut behind him, he drew her around. “I’d like you to come to dinner with us tonight.” How was that for benign? It was only dinner. No ulterior motive. Or so he told himself. He might have even half meant it.
They were standing very close in the empty corridor.
Too close, Nicky thought.
Not close enough , he was thinking when he shouldn’t be thinking anything of the kind. He let her hand drop. “How about it?”
“Sure,” she whispered, trying to find breath to speak when he was looking at her like that, when his last question was open to interpretation.
“Dinner—right?”
Now that was less ambivalent. But she found herself nodding yes anyway, her words caught in her throat with his heated gaze triggering desires she’d been trying real hard to suppress.
“Perfect.”
His smile was boyish and sweet. Like on that People cover of the sexiest man alive. Soooo damnably sweet she could no longer resist, and rising on tiptoe she impulsively kissed him.
He tensed.
Shit, shit, shit. Was she a complete imbecile or what? “Sorry,” she muttered, dropping back on her heels, flushing red with embarrassment. As if women throwing themselves at him was anything new; she was probably the ten-thousandth this week.
After a millisecond, he smiled again. “No problem,” he said. “I’ve been wanting to do the same thing.”
“Really?” she said.
He grinned, her breathless disbelief apple-pie charming. “Yeah.” Cupping her shoulders, he bent low so his mouth was only a hair’s breadth from hers. “Really.” His mouth touched hers, curtailing any further speculation she might have apropos of the vast differences in their lives, the warmth of his lips ultralight, as though he liked to take his time.
She shouldn’t have melted against him so willingly. She should have shown more restraint. Yeah, right. When this might be her only chance to kiss the sexiest man alive, she wasn’t about to
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