heritage.
Don’t stare at the man. Say something.
She cleared her throat, frantically backpedaling to recall what they’d been talking about. Oh, right. The book. “Bound in Brasilia’s cover matches the book perfectly, I think.” As if, sitting this close to Coyote, she even remembered.
“Not that book,” he said teasingly. “I mean our book editor’s cover—” his eyes slid down her knockoff designer pants suit, back up “—doesn’t match what’s inside.”
A moment of sexual energy crackled between them, sharp and hot, and she had the heady sensation of that delicious age-old tug-of-war between the sexes.
He moved imperceptibly closer, his eyes growing darker. “Didn’t mean to insult you.”
“You didn’t insult me,” she whispered, her heartbeat accelerating.
One corner of his mouth lifted. “Then tell me what I did do.”
Or what I want you to do. She swore she felt the heat pumping off his body, caught the play of light in his eyes that was downright predatory. The man of her dreams was merging with the very real man staring at her as though he could consume her, head to toe, right here and now. And she suddenly knew no fantasy—no matter how hot, hedonistic, uninhibited—would be as amazing as experiencing the real thing with Coyote.
“Attention, everyone!” chirped the woman at the front of the room, clapping her hands loudly. “Our team building is about to begin!”
With great effort, and no small regret, Kathryn turned around and pretended to pay attention.
COYOTE LEANED back in his seat, eyeing the flush filling Kathryn’s cheeks. She’d tried to act cool—tried—but he’d caught the flash of heat in her eyes. Like distant lightning, warning of an approaching storm.
Oh, yeah, the book editor’s insides were a lot different than her tightly wrapped cover.
Up until a few weeks ago, he hadn’t paid much attention to Kathryn, having written her off as one of those power-hungry career types who preferred getting ahead over having a life. But lately he’d caught some simmering looks from her that had sparked his interest. Unusual, because she wasn’t his type. He liked big breasts, big hair, and as little clothes as possible. Women who played it loose, fun, easy. Unlike Kathryn, who had tight ass written all over her.
Or so he’d thought.
He scraped his hand along his jaw, thinking he’d have to check out the book review people were talking about. She didn’t seem the type to invite controversy, but she’d also not seemed the type to look at him as though figuring out if she wanted him over easy or hard. As the old saying went, still waters ran deep.
A thought hit him. She chose that book to get people’s attention, for herself. A risk, sure, but great odds. After all, sex sells. Or in this case, sex equaled more votes for Kathryn Walters for the Crest of the Wave. Slick move on her part.
Except she had a little problem between her and the prize.
Him.
He loved to win.
And that fifteen-grand prize wouldn’t hurt, either.
Maybe she intrigued him, but that didn’t mean she dulled his competitive edge. He was, after all, the Coyote, accustomed to playing both sides against the other.
Only in this case, he bet he could take the prize and Kathryn, too.
FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER, everyone stood in groups of three or four. In Kathryn’s were herself, Lester, Gail and—heaven help her—Coyote.
She felt jittery, as though she’d consumed too much caffeine, although all she’d had this morning was herbal tea. Part of her recent getting-healthy diet, although suddenly the thought of no chocolate was tantamount to going a lifetime without sex.
She’d much prefer to have her chocolate and her sex, hopefully at the same time.
She slid Coyote a look, thinking how cruel the karma gods could be. She was this close to winning the Crest of the Wave, and the guy who made her want to break her diet and dip herself in Godiva was gaining, fast. She needed to keep her wits about her to compete with him, not get all gooey inside every time he was near.
Inside. Insides.
So that’s what he meant by her cover not matching her insides. Well, it was true. She just thought she’d been hiding it better. Or maybe she had been, except it seemed little got past Coyote and his sharpened instincts.
“Okay, everyone!” said the moderator into the microphone, “we’re going to start things off with a little warmth and love.”
“I need a drink,” muttered Lester.
Gail blinked at him. “That would only give you a lot of empty calories—”
“Oh, shut up.”
“I’d like each group,” continued the moderator, “to give each other a hug.”
There was a long moment of awkward silence in the room. Someone giggled.
“I’m serious,” said the woman, smiling broadly. “I know you all work hard, sometimes even compete with each other—”
Kathryn and Coyote exchanged a look.
“—but let’s put all that aside and kick off this event with a big group welcoming hug.”
After a pause, Coyote opened his arms wide. “Let’s go for it, gang,” he said lightheartedly, placing his arms around Gail’s and Kathryn’s shoulders. “Come on, Lester, it won’t kill you.”
“Says who?” With a hefty sigh, he placed his beefy arms around the women.
The four of them moved forward, closing the space.
Coyote smelled Gail’s flowery perfume, heard Lester’s mutterings, felt a silky strand across his cheek…Kathryn’s hair.
Someone stumbled, causing him to lean into her. His face pressed into soft hair scented with coconut shampoo. He turned his head, trying to right himself, and his mouth brushed against a patch of exquisitely soft skin behind her ear…
The moment of contact was like a jolt, followed by a rush of hot, aching need that flooded his body. The need surged higher and deeper and hotter. He rode the strong tidal pulsing, caught in the churn of a desire unlike anything he’d ever experienced before—intensely carnal and at the same time revelatory as though it held an answer. And he almost held on to this answer, except a fog crept over his mind, and the answer faded and disappeared into nothingness.
He stood there, fuzzy headed over exactly what had just transpired.
With great effort, he pulled away and looked into Kathryn’s eyes, vaguely aware he’d never noticed their color before, blue like a languid summer sky. Or the light flush of her flawless skin. Or the ripe pink of her mouth.
It was as though he’d never seen her before.
