On the Move by Pamela Britton

pulled her up against him.
    “Don’t do that,” she said quickly.
    “Do what?” he asked.
    “Kiss me.” Because she’d begun to realize that the fission of awareness she always felt when he came near had less to do with sexual attraction and more to do with something she sensed in him, something that drew her as surely as a hummingbird to sweet nectar. Loneliness. She knew all too well what being alone was like.
    “Why not?” he asked.
    “Because I’m your agent. Or I’m kind of your agent. Scott’s still your main man. But I’m assisting him, and if you keep on kissing me, then something might happen, something we might both regret, and I don’t think that’d be good because just right now you need me—”
    “Vicky?”
    “Yes,” she said.
    “Shut up.”
    “Brandon—”
    He silenced her with another kiss, even as a part of Brandon knew she was right. This would complicate matters. But he didn’t care. It was good between them…for whatever reason. Maybe it was a chemistry thing. All he knew was that every time he kissed her, every time he touched her, something went zing and his mind went zap. He couldn’t get enough of her.
    “Vicky,” he moaned against her lips.
    She kissed him back, her fingers caressing the nape of his neck.
    Never, ever would Brandon have expected her touch would make his knees grow weak, but it did. Or maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe this was all because of the alcohol, but suddenly he wanted her. Up on the counter. Atop the kitchen table. In his bedroom…yeah, definitely in his bedroom.
    He picked her up.
    “Brandon,” she said.
    He didn’t want to drop her. That would ruin a near perfect moment, but his equilibrium seemed to be just a little bit…off.
    “Brandon,” she said again, more sternly.
    She didn’t weigh much, he thought, hefting her so that she rested in the crook of his arm. She sure looked sexy with her hair all mussed up and her lips swollen from their kiss.
    “Put me down,” she said.
    “I’m gonna,” he said, having to turn sideways to fit through the kitchen doorway. Lucky, his bedroom wasn’t far. One of the perks of owning a small home.
    “I mean, now, ” she said.
    He glanced down at her again, then the oddest thing happened. Staring up at him the way she was now, resting in his arms, she made him feel strange. Almost like the time his crew chief handed him his brand-new baby boy, and Brandon, who’d sworn never to have children, had looked down at that soft, wiggly little boy, and he’d felt his whole world sort of tilt.
    He let Vicky go.
    “Hey,” she cried, because he literally dropped her. He reached for her at the last moment, catching her under the arms. Unfortunately, his last-minute rescue caused them both to go down in a tangle of legs and arms.
    “Nice move, Romeo,” she said as he lay beneath her, groaning.
    “Sorry,” he moaned. She moved off of him and he slowly sat up. “You okay?” His head spun.
    “Fine,” she said, sitting next to him.
    “You said let go.”
    “I didn’t mean drop me.”
    “You should probably get out of here before I kiss you again,” Brandon said.
    “What?”
    “Leave.”
    She must have read something on his face because her brows shot up. Those pretty eyes of hers widened. But then she scrambled up. “Right,” she said quickly.
    “Vicky,” he called when she turned away. “You going to my race?”
    That wasn’t what he’d been about to say at all, but he couldn’t beg her to stay.
    “Scott expects me to.”
    That wasn’t really an answer, but he let it go.
    She didn’t leave. “Brandon, about your reading—”
    “I don’t want to talk about it.”
    “I really want to help you with your problem.”
    The only problem he had was the nearly irresistible urge to scoop her up in his arms again—and look into her eyes again and recapture that fluttery sensation when he held her hand one more time.
    “We’ll talk about it later,” he said.
    He needed her to leave. Now. The