setting into her lush bottom lip in the ultimate expression of uncertainty.
It shouldn’t have gone straight to his groin, but it did. At least until he saw her fooling with that phone she carried around. One thumb brushed the smooth screen and—was she … texting?
Immediately he thought of his sister, “using a lifeline” to make some inane decision she didn’t trust him enough to help her with. Was that what this was? Indecision over whether to step over to a corner and talk with him?
Sure, he had every intention of taking it further, but for now—
Wait … What the hell …? She was not holding that phone up to take his picture.
Eyes on the screen, only half listening to an escalating debate over whether the outlying suburbs and thus the John Hughes classics counted, Nichole had been trying to frame the shot when her subject was suddenly front and center—closer than he’d been edging past her down in the access stairwell.
Oh, God. She’d been busted taking his picture to send to Maeve. This was an all-time low.
Her gaze crawling up the towering expanse of Oxford cloth and then creeping over the tantalizing stretch of bare masculine skin at the base of his neck, she forced herself to keep going until she reached the now steely blue of his eyes. Her stomach tumbled into free fall.
“What’re you doing, Red?”
Swallowing past the tight knot in her throat, she shook her head.
What was she doing? Trying to snap a picture of some virtual stranger because she couldn’t account for the reaction she was having to him? Because she couldn’t keep her eyes off him for more than three seconds at a stretch and she needed the judgment of a reliable outside source? Someone who knew her just about as well as she knew herself. Maeve.
So, basically, she was acting like a complete nut-job.
And yet a part of her still twitched with the need to get a photo and hit “send.” It must have been obvious too, because seconds later a hand firmed around her wrist—loose, but uncompromising—and pushed the phone down to her side.
The skin beneath his grasp warmed as though a low charge ran from his hand up through hers. It felt good. Too good. And suddenly all she could think about was how long it had been since anyone had touched her for more than the briefest instant. What a simple pleasure that heated, lingering contact was. And how she hadn’t even realized she missed it.
He was bending close to her ear and his breath washed warm across skin that seemed to come alive beneath it. “Red?”
The air went thin around her as the slow tingle behind her ear began to spread, sliding down her neck, shoulder and arm until it came to mingle with the charge emanating from her wrist.
“I don’t know what I’m doing. Men don’t usually—I mean, I don’t—” Trying to find the words, she licked her lips, watched his eyes darken at the sight. “There’s something about you.”
Maybe it was the way he hadn’t hesitated to protect a woman he didn’t know. Or how he was built like he pounded rocks for a living but could argue international economics as easily as the merits of Leia over Uhura. How he savored opportunities to stop and enjoy the simple stuff. Or how his offbeat jokes made her laugh like she’d known him forever.
Or maybe it was just that when his gaze drifted to her hair, she could feel his fingers tightening in it.
Could it be so simple? He made her feel like a woman and made her notice him as a man … when for so long no one else had.
A gravel-rough laugh rumbled from low in his chest and the hand at her wrist loosened, easing into a slow up and down caress over the bare skin of her arm. “There’s something about you too. So what do you say to getting out of here and figuring out just what it is?”
Getting out of here? Her heart slammed to a stop.
That was no toe in the pool. No testing the waters or even taking a tentative dip. It was a full-on, feel-the-rush blast down a water slide—total body immersion into the deep end. And the most frightening thing about it was … as she peered into those brilliant blues … it was tempting as hell.
Where was Maeve when she needed her most?
When she wanted someone skilled in the art of justification and adventurous enough to—?
And then it struck her. She didn’t need Maeve at all. Not only did she know with one-hundred-percent certainty what her friend would want her to do … she knew herself.
This guy was the simple pleasure she’d been missing. He had a connection to and was obviously liked by nearly half the people at the party—so chances were good he wasn’t a serial killer. This was the first time she’d met him, and from what she’d gathered he didn’t live in the area but up north somewhere—so chances were even better this could be something brief. Something quick.
Something in the moment.
Something she wanted more with every second that passed.
A slow smile spread to her lips.
“Okay, Blue Eyes. Let’s go.”
CHAPTER THREE
“LET’S GO.”
Garrett had known even before the words left her mouth. He’d seen the way those soft brown eyes steadied, sensed the change in the air between them, and had felt his own body respond to the first victory.
A quick scan of the rooftop confirmed at least half a dozen sets of eyes on them. Not what he would have preferred, but there was nothing to be done about it now.
“Yeah, let’s go.” Taking her hand, he kept his eyes on hers as they headed toward the stairwell. If she was looking at him she wouldn’t notice the raised brows, wouldn’t worry about the quiet snickers, wouldn’t think about anything but finding a place where they could talk. To each other instead of around each other. There’d used to be a coffee house in the neighborhood he’d heard was pretty popular for the late-night crowd. Perhaps it was time to find out for himself.
At the bottom of the stairs Nichole stopped. “Do you need to say goodbye to anyone?”
“Nah, I’m good.” He’d call Jesse tomorrow. The rest of the guys he’d see soon enough. “You?”
Her mouth pulled to the side as she shook her head and glanced away.
“Are you worried about people seeing us leave together?” He hoped like hell that wasn’t it. While his returning to the party alone would possibly minimize it, most likely the damage was already done.
“I’m twenty-six, not sixteen.” She laughed, sounding more nervous, he was sure, than she’d intended. “It’s just that I’m acting a little out of character here and I don’t want to lose my nerve.”
Damn, she was cute. He rubbed his thumb in a light circle over her knuckle and leaned in conspiratorially. “Lose your nerve for what?”
He’d asked
