to relieve herself on that blessed ridge of thigh. It was just one stupid kiss not some vista over a canyon! Not some precipice! She was just imagining the stupid, freaking canyon! It was The Big Lie again! She didn’t even know him!
The ministrations of his tongue inside her mouth were pushing her into a smoky space, where everything was like the music, thumping and pulsing. She was tumbling into nothingness, until suddenly, everything came to a halt, and she thought, Don’t stop! Not now!
He left her hanging, wanting it so bad...until she was wondering what else he could do if he could make her feel this way with only one kiss. With a next liquid dart of his tongue came the explosion of butterflies in her belly, and the jitters shook her until she was achy all over, the pang at the apex of her thighs clamoring. Feeling strangely helpless, she curled her hands around his shoulders and squeezed, then she moved her hips again, gasping at the sweet friction.
She knew he could feel the burst of liquid heat through his slacks, her tights and panties the only other barrier. Nobody was spying on this dark, back corner, but it wasn’t the right place to melt onto the warmth of some stranger’s thigh, or to be swept into his embrace.
Some jerk turned on the lights.
It was sort of a relief. But also just as she’d predicted. The Big Lie. The broken promise. The coitus interruptus. This new man, this stranger, this prince had been so promising. Ready to take her by storm and make her believe in fairy tales again. No matter what heights she attained in other areas of life, maybe she’d never stop craving the fantasy of being swept away by sensual pleasure.
“The harsh light of reality,” she whispered hoarsely. Dammit, her short-lived attractions to men were legendary, but this had been the most promising first kiss coupled with the fastest letdown. She realized she’d probably ruined her voice tonight, too. She couldn’t afford to do that, she really couldn’t.
He whispered, “Shut your eyes. It will help you reenter the fantasy.”
So, he was a mind reader, too. Possessed by her usual demons, she followed the recommendation. Picking right up where he left off, his mouth claimed hers, his tongue plunging, her mind catapulting over high bars and landing in a hazy state of brownout bliss. She opened her eyes and realized he was probably the only person left in Boondocks who looked even better in harsh light.
He said, “I don’t think you should drive.”
She wasn’t proud of it, but she wanted to stay here forever. Exhaling on a shudder, she brushed the dark hairs near the throat of the shirt. Not too silky, not too wiry, but just right. Exactly how a man’s chest hairs ought to feel.
“I’m going to give you a ride.”
Her riding him. That’s what she was thinking about it. Uh-oh. But she couldn’t drive herself home. Eli Jones had been sworn in last year as sheriff, and while he’d never jail Ari for a minor infraction like being tipsy inside Boondocks, driving under the influence was another matter. Glancing at the stranger’s open shirt, she added indecent exposure to her list of crimes. Since Eli’s Unwelcome Incident, he hadn’t so much as sniffed at her—not in a boyfriend way—but he’d happily see her safely home in his cop car if she called him. Especially since she was on such good terms with the Mrs. Eli, who did hair for all the Madden women.
She could call Urgent Care, for that matter. Doc Dickerson would send the ambulance. He always credited his attraction to medicine to Ari, saying he’d found his true calling the day they’d played doctor in the sandbox when they were five, and their mothers were trading casserole recipes.
“I don’t even know you.”
“You can get to know me on the way.”
He made it sound so reasonable.
Paulie yelled, “Pack it in, homeboys.”
Not-a-homeboy started kissing down her neck again. The wet pad of his tongue conjured everything a female was supposed to feel when her sex drive took over, and nothing existed except the hot, handsome man making her climb to an explosive release. He wasn’t saying any dirty words, and he didn’t have to. The slow pressure of his mouth said it all. Obviously, he’d clocked as many practice hours as she when it came to first base.
“Let’s go home.”
He looked so persuasive. “Are you a lawyer or something?”
“I deal with electricity.”
Despite how he’d made her body tingle all over, or maybe because of it, she giggled. “I could have told you that.”
He smiled. “I work with currents, surges, hubs, switches.”
No power failure here. He was hard enough that she could feel his shape and size and heat. He was a big man all over, every inch.
“I get it,” she whispered, her voice raspy. He’d found the switch labeled common sense and flipped it off ages ago.
His voice was as husky as hers. “The lights in here are too bright.”
“Too bright for what?”
“You know. And don’t start analyzing. Those shrinks left an hour ago.”
“Okay, Mr. Electricity,” she said. “But the last thing I need right now is another boyfriend, so you’d better man-up and take me straight home.”
Chapter Two
“My house looks...different.”
Her warm, almond-brown eyes were squinting against the harsh overhead light of Bruno’s kitchen, making her look like Bambi in the headlights. She wasn’t really mad, she was just trying to sound that way.
“That’s because it’s mine.”
She was propped against a French door that led to the back porch, next to a column of stacked boxes. He hadn’t been able to find her jacket, so she was wearing his coat, which had been a gift. Bruno had thought Burberry only made trench coats, but this Burberry was of camel’s hair, the exact color of some of the blonder streaks in her strawberry hair. He decided the hint of dark roots was kind of sexy. Actually, everything about her was. Usually black nails went in the too-trashy column, but something sweet in her personality undercut the aggregate effect, probably because Bruno had seen The Other Her. The boring Alter Ego.
He eyed where his shoulder seams hit her upper arms.
“Sh...” she whispered, then giggled.
It was awfully quiet. He had an iPod and dock somewhere, but he wasn’t wasting time rummaging for noise when they could make their own. The do-me voice was all the noise Bruno needed. Her voice turned questions like “Is this your car?” or “Can I turn on the radio?” into hardcore. Now she waggled a finger at him so he leaned against her, put the finger in his mouth and suckled. She tasted creamy and salty and just plain good.
“I think you missed some road signs, Mr. Electricity.”
While it was true the Road Rover’s GPS had not led Bruno to the exact coordinates she’d offered, he hadn’t missed any important signs. His two PhDs might not be in breathing, but he was still an expert in sighs, pants and whisperings. Leaning to look into her face—she
