bet?”
“But…” She looked to be in her midtwenties. Maybe five or six years younger than he was, which made her far too young to sit home alone knitting or watching old black-and-white movies.
Ashley was the type of woman who exuded energy and determination. She would never be content with idle time alone.
Giving up, Quinton asked, “Why?”
“Men aren’t on my list of priorities right now.” With a shrug, she added, “Maybe after I get my degree and net a good job and can save up and get my own house—”
“So in, say, ten years, I should ask again?”
“Yeah.” Her grin left a dimple in her cheek. “Maybe by then I can spare you a few hours. But right now I don’t want any distractions from the big goal. And you, Quinton Murphy”—she patted the center of his chest—“would be a big distraction.”
Quinton shook his head. The woman possessed a special knack for pushing him away while at the same time enflaming him. She spelled out her interest but claimed it didn’t matter.
Her refreshing honesty frustrated the hell out of him. “So let’s don’t date.” Who needed dinners out or movies or dancing? He’d gladly bypass it all. “We’ll attend the wedding together and then see how it goes.”
That suggestion made her laugh. “After that kiss, we both know exactly how it’d go.” Her smile slipped. “Even though I come across as a sex-starved nympho, I’m not really that easy.”
“Trust me, easy is not a word I’d use to describe you.”
“It’s just that you make me…”
“Hot?”
“More like scorching.”
Somehow Quinton managed not to groan. “The feeling is mutual. So where’s the problem?”
“You’re the problem.” She tweaked his chin. “I suspect you’d be addictive, and all my well-laid plans would go down the toilet.” And with that she turned her back on him and walked away.
Again.
Incredible.
He’d need some careful maneuvering to win her over to his way of thinking. For whatever reason, Ashley had sworn off men, as if they had no place at all in her life. He’d have to give her good reason to accept him. “I’d like to offer a compromise.”
Still walking, she clipped a CD player to the waistband of her jeans and connected a pair of soft headphones to it. “This ought to be good.”
He caught up to her. “I’ll protect you from yourself.”
That stopped her in her tracks. “Come again?”
Pretending a nonchalance he didn’t feel, Quinton said, “If you say you don’t want intimacy with me, I’ll ensure it.”
“Uh-huh.” She pursed her lips, considered him, then raised a brow. “And how will you do that?”
“My willpower is stronger than yours. I’ll save you from yourself.” He took a tiny step closer—and her attention moved to his mouth. Voice lowering, he whispered, “I’ll still kiss you, and I’ll still touch you.”
Her eyes darkened. “Your plan is doomed to fail.”
“But I won’t let it go any further than that.” He leaned a little closer to whisper, “Even if you beg.”
Warm color shot into her cheeks. “Right. Dream on, big boy.”
“Oh, I do. Dream. About you. But regardless, I won’t let things go too far. You have my word that I’ll accompany you to the wedding and return you safely home. Nothing more.” He held out his hand. “Deal?”
She took a long time considering his proposition. A dozen emotions flashed over her face, but skepticism seemed most prevalent. And suspicion. She didn’t yet trust in his integrity, but she would. He’d see to it.
And maybe, just maybe, she’d end up in the same desperate state of arousal that he was in.
Finally she nodded. “All right. Just to watch you squirm…” She took his hand and gave it a firm shake. “Deal.”
When she started to retreat, Quinton held on, pulled her up to her tiptoes, and wrapped an arm around her waist. “Until then, Ashley…” He sealed their bargain with a kiss hot enough to leave her clinging to him. He used his lips, his tongue, his teeth…And she reciprocated every inch of the way.
He’d win this battle of wills one way or another. And judging by her small moan when he ended the kiss, it’d be sooner rather than later. “Give me your number,” he whispered. “I’ll call you.”
Very slowly her eyes opened. “Wow.”
Wow indeed. She had a knack for understatements, too. “Your number?”
“My phone is either in my locker or turned off when I’m working.”
But he knew when she got off work. “If need be, I’ll leave a message.”
She licked her lips as if savoring his taste before nodding, then rattling off a phone number.
Quinton added it to the memory on his cell phone and then tucked his phone away again. “Thank you.”
Composure restored, she said, “You’ll probably regret this.”
He just smiled. “You won’t. I promise.”
With one last stroke of her silky hair, he made his escape before he lost sight of the prize. But before he got too far away to hear, the prize started mumbling to herself.
And she didn’t sound happy.
Too bad. The laws of nature, of man and woman, dictated he was bound to win. And that made him very, very happy.
Chapter 2
Whatever could go wrong, did.
Murphy’s Law.
In her case it was more like Quinton Murphy’s Law because when she got near him, she made mistakes left and right. One look at the man and she forgot common sense, self-restraint, and her touted goals for the future.
She knew how important goals were because her parents had never had any. They’d been more than content to scrape by on the generosity of others.
Being the charity case of the neighborhood didn’t make life easy for a gangly, shy kid with overly strict parents. In fact, her life had bordered on hellish until she and May became best friends. Thanks to May, she’d learned to conquer insecurities, stand up to bullies, and separate herself from her parents’ way of life.
At seventeen she’d escaped their suffocating environment of rigidity and poverty by disowning them and moving out on
