Wave.”
Kathryn tossed her heavy tote on the counter, promising herself for the nth time she’d stop lugging around so many books. “If it doesn’t piss off the conservative types too much.”
“Lots of people act incensed at anything that hints of sex, but deep down they love it. Trust me, Kath, you’re a little over a week away from making that down payment on that killer condo and taking that exotic vacation.”
“Condo, great. Vacation, who cares?” Kathryn helped herself to a mug.
“All work no play makes Kathryn—”
“A dull, but successful girl.”
Zoe blew on her coffee, giving her a knowing look. Zoe was one of the few who knew about Kathryn’s crash-and-burn past, empathized with it, but didn’t approve of her friend’s workaholic tendencies to make up for it. In Zoe’s world, there were far better ways to soothe old wounds.
“So,” she said conspiratorially, “how many times did you reread the good parts?”
Kathryn glanced over her shoulder to ensure they were alone, turned back to filling her cup with hot water. “Oh, maybe two times.”
“Two times what?”
“Anyone ever tell you you’re incorrigible?”
“All the time.”
Giving up a grin, Kathryn dipped a tea bag into her cup. A light scent of chamomile laced the air. “If you must know, enough times to memorize a particular scene on a train and add a few jungle-hot details of my own.”
“Girl, it’s time to make those fantasies come true.”
“Like I have the time.”
“Hon, make some.”
Kathryn started to retort something about her priorities, when a familiar, boisterous laugh filled the room.
Her body went on alert.
It was him.
The man who’d been stoking her fantasies, driving her crazy with desire, making her nights damn near unbearable.
She slid a look over her shoulder, watching Coyote stroll into the room with one of his staff sports writers. He dipped his six-foot-plus height to catch his buddy’s comments. Coyote’s chocolate-brown eyes twinkled as they joked, his teeth flashed white against the mocha of his skin. He was, quite literally, tall, dark and handsome. Not the kind of commercial handsome seen on billboards and TV, but a rougher-edged look, a raw masculine appeal that wasn’t completely polished.
Today he wore a tangerine-colored Polo shirt that accentuated his broad shoulders and tan khaki pants that covered thick, drawn-out legs. He wore his hair rakishly long, which was either a trend, his derision for convention or simply the fact the man had better things to do than remember mundane events like haircut appointments.
She’d often seen him jogging at lunch, his muscular body barely concealed beneath tank tops and shorts, and had thought his grace of movement belied his cockiness. The same way his laugh lines contradicted the arrogance in his articles.
He turned and caught her looking at him.
Heat feathered over her.
They held each other’s stare.
Her inner thighs tingled as his gaze flicked downward, slowly following the line of her body, then back up until those lethal brown eyes met hers again. What she read in his look was blunt, hot, candid.
Just when she thought her hormones couldn’t take any more, one corner of his mouth lifted in a lazy, sexy grin, pushing her mind into that train scene….
The hero and heroine in a darkened compartment. Outside the window, a swirl of lush jungle foliage, the cry of a bird. Inside, the air drenched with humidity and lust. The man and woman morphing into Coyote and Kathryn, panting for breaths as they ripped and tugged at their clothes, the wheels clattering faster, their hearts racing, the temperature rising—
“Kathryn,” said Coyote, interrupting her thoughts, “looks like it’s just the two of us.”
“The two—?” Had he read her mind?
He held up his hand, fingers splayed wide. “I’m only five votes behind you for Crest of the Wave.”
Crest of the Wave. Right.
“Great,” she lied.
“Cool, there’s still some left,” he said, distracted by the plate piled with baked goods. He helped himself to a doughnut. As he took a bite, he shot a glance at Kathryn that made her insides liquefy. A long moment passed as they stared at each other again.
Coyote grabbed a second doughnut, then left the room with his buddy, the two of them arguing good-naturedly about the Lakers’ ability to pull off a three-peat.
Left alone again with Zoe, Kathryn unbuttoned her jacket. “It’s hot in here.”
“It’s hot wherever that man goes,” Zoe said with a wink. “I think he likes you.”
“He likes anything in a skirt,” Kathryn muttered as she grabbed her tote. Rummaging through it for a breath mint, her fingers wrapped around a small, clear plastic bottle she used to keep vitamins in. She pulled it out, frowned at its current contents—a pale, somewhat viscous liquid. She smiled.
“I’d almost forgotten I had this—remember?” She held it up for Zoe to see.
“Is that the bohunk potion that strange little man tried to sell us a few weeks back? I thought Ethan turned it over to the police crime lab.”
Ethan Ramsey, the crime-desk reporter and their happy-hours pal. “He did. After I filched a sample.”
“Kathryn Walters! Ms. Law-Abiding Citizen stole something?”
“Filching isn’t stealing, is it?” She laughed. “Blame it on that book. Lately I just have these urges to…well, break a few rules.”
“About time. Life isn’t a dress rehearsal, you know.” Zoe held the vial up to the light. “It sparkles a little.”
Kathryn peered at it. “Where?”
Zoe tilted the vial. “There. See?”
If anything, it had a luminescence to it, like moonlight on water. But then, Kathryn and Zoe often had different takes on things. “Uh-huh,” Kathryn said noncommittally.
“So, did you try it out?”
Kathryn rolled her eyes. “Yeah, sure, while in my jammies watching Jay Leno. Seriously, even if I’d remembered it was in my tote, the stuff’s bogus.”
“That shop owner told a pretty compelling story, though. How it’s a Yucatán love potion extracted from the jaguar, known for its mysterious scent that seduces the other beasts of the jungle. Had some kind of funky name—”
“Balam
