long enough to offer you one piece of advice.”
He’d had plenty of advice, but he’d humor her. “And that would be?”
“When courting a lady, I’d avoid mentioning your philosophy about how marriage is more about a solid partnership than love and the importance of stability.”
“And why is that?”
“Because it sounds ridiculously antiquated. Like a woman’s value lies solely in her ability to be the perfect helpmate to her husband. You might as well just barter with her father for land and cattle, too.”
How’d she get there? There was definitely bitterness under that statement. It seemed far safer, though, to just let it pass rather than open up a subject he had no idea how touchy she might be about it. He wasn’t a therapist. He nodded. “Noted.”
But Marnie was warming to her subject. “Women—I won’t say all, but most—want some passion and excitement in a relationship. Something to get the heart pumping and the nerves sparking. A woman wants to be desired, not judged and rated on how successful a partnership it will make.”
Partly just to goad her, he shook his head sadly. “Passion is highly overrated.”
“Never.”
“You do realize I run a foundation for victims of domestic violence, right? I think many of them would trade passion and excitement for stability and peace.”
“You’re twisting the definition of passion. Just because it can go bad, that doesn’t mean it will. Or that there’s something inherently wrong with it.”
He shrugged.
“Maybe you should spend less time at the foundation and more time finding a woman who makes your heart beat fast just to be near her.”
Nope. “I thought you were only going to offer one piece of advice,” he teased.
Marnie paused and turned to face him. Those blue eyes were laughing as she rose onto her tiptoes and grabbed his shoulders earnestly. “I believe you have layers, Dylan Brookes. Discover them. Embrace them. Find that passion and the woman who brings it out of you.”
She was close, very close, her lips only inches from his, and her light citrus scent filled his nose. Something in the air around them shifted, and Marnie swallowed hard. Then she released his shoulders and stepped back.
Clearing her throat, she pointed to a nondescript door nearby. “That’s my stop. Thanks for walking with me.”
There was that strange feeling of disappointment again, only this time it held an edge he hadn’t expected. “You’re welcome, Marnie.”
“Um...if you just go up to the end of the block, you shouldn’t have any problem hailing a taxi.”
The comfortable camaraderie had turned awkward and was only getting worse. “I’ll be fine.”
With a bright, but maybe slightly forced, smile, Marnie held out her hand. “Good night, Dylan.”
He took hold of it, and like he’d done with any number of female friends, leaned in to kiss her cheek lightly. He’d done the maneuver hundreds of times, but instead of landing on her cheek, somehow his lips landed on hers.
There was a brief moment of frozen shock, but Marnie didn’t pull away. Instead, her mouth softened and she leaned in to him, tightening her grip on his hand. Her lips were smooth and warm and the kiss sent a bolt of fire straight through him.
That edge made total sense now. He’d been wanting to kiss her. Since forever, it seemed. And that feeling was more of a surprise than the kiss itself.
The world seemed to contract, until there was nothing else except the taste of Marnie and the feel of her body molded against his like she’d been custom-made only for him. That light scent of her perfume filled his lungs with each breath, and his hands tangled in the soft silk of her hair, holding her in place as his mouth devoured hers.
He heard Marnie’s low moan, a nearly primal sound that reverberated through him, bringing every nerve in his body to life to beg for more of her touch, her taste. That response was new, as if Marnie was the first and last woman he’d ever get to touch. It put a sharp, almost desperate edge on the desire slicing through him, but it felt so good he only wanted more.
He didn’t understand why or how Marnie could do this to him, but he didn’t really care, either.
That kiss went on and on, until they were both gasping for air and his heart felt like it was pounding through his chest. His whole body felt hard and tight, and it took willpower he didn’t know he had to break the kiss and set Marnie back on slightly unstable legs instead of pushing her up against the metal door and losing himself in her.
Marnie’s eyes were wide and dark, her lips slightly swollen and moist. She gave herself a small shake and then blew out her breath. “Well.”
What she meant by that, he had no idea, as his blood wasn’t exactly circulating in the direction of his brain at the moment, and his mind was full of images and ideas that might scare Marnie if she knew.
“Um...” she began, only to stop and clear her throat. “I’m sure that Sven has a bottle of...um...” She paused again to swallow. “Something that probably needs drinking.”
Her hand was shaking as she reached out to toy with the button of his shirt. His skin was hot; it should have scorched her just from proximity. Those big blue eyes met his, and what he saw there nearly brought him to his knees.
“Would you like to come up for a nightcap?”
TWO
Marnie had nearly forgotten what it was like to wake up curled into the solid warmth of a sleeping man. Drowsy fingers stroked absently over her back, and Dylan’s chest made a lovely pillow, his slow, deep breaths calming and hypnotic.
It was a nice way to start the day, except for the nagging feeling that this was wrong. Really, really wrong. Which was very confusing because it felt really good at the same time.
Of the million men in New York that she could have chosen for a drunken hookup, why had she picked Dylan?
Beyond the obvious, of course. The chest under her cheek was sculpted and tanned, the muscles defined without being bulky and bulging. That had been a pleasant surprise to find under Dylan’s conservative gray suit. And that chest hadn’t been the only surprise waiting for her...
The want had kicked up out of nowhere last night, slamming into her with an unexpected force that got completely out of hand. Fast. She could try to blame it on the tequila, but she doubted even tequila could explain the overwhelming feeling of yes, now, please that had taken over her body last night.
It made no sense. She wasn’t attracted to men like Dylan, damn it. She craved artists, musicians, activists...interesting men who carried their hearts and their passions on their sleeves. Not disinterested, distant, society types. Not the Dylans of the world.
Just the thought caused her to feel the cage bars close in on her.
She wasn’t sure how it had happened, what threw the
