Some Like It Hotter. Isabel Sharpe
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The other thing he learned about Eva was disturbing. Maybe it was the beer—though they’d only had one each. Maybe he was on the rebound from his disappointment over losing the hope of Chris. Maybe it was that the evening had bounced him out of his usual routine, usual company, usual destinations.
He was hot for her.
Her cheeks were flushed, her blue eyes snapped, her bracelets jangled and she’d spent nearly the whole hour laughing. At him, at herself, at the game, at the bar, at the circumstances. A few locks of hair had escaped the scalp-eating combs. Her sweater had all but slipped off one shoulder, exposing smooth, tempting skin. She moved with a very distinctive careless grace, and when she looked at him, she conveyed an ancient woman-to-man message he understood well.
He better go home and reestablish contact with all things familiar before he did something stupid. Like kiss her. Or more than that.
“Winner buys loser’s next drink. I owe you.” She took his arm and propelled him, not to the bar as he expected, but to return their putters, then out and downstairs to the street, where the chill air and relative silence were refreshing after the crowds and noise.
“Now you can take me to the place we were going before I so rudely made you detour.”
“Actually.” He glanced at his watch, as if he had many important things still to accomplish, when the only thing he really had to accomplish was to avoid falling more deeply under Eva’s spell. “I should call it a night.”
“Oh, okay, sure.” She agreed so readily he felt a moment’s disappointment. Jeez, Ames, make up your mind.
They headed one block west to Fifth Avenue, where Ames hailed a cab. On their way up Avenue of the Americas, he kept the conversation impersonal, pointing out Herald Square, Bryant Park and the back of New York’s magnificent public library. His lecture ended when they turned onto Forty-Third and arrived at his building. Safe and sound.
“Here we are.” He took out his wallet and extracted extra money to pay for Eva’s trip home. Then he turned to smile and kiss her cheek in a platonic good-night.
He almost made it. But the feel of her skin under his lips, her flowery scent... Instead of jumping out of the cab and thanking her for a nice evening, he sat there, gazing at her.
Somehow she’d transformed from attractive to truly beautiful, her eyes large and glowing, her exquisite mouth curved in a smile.
Come on, Ames. Get the hell out while you still can.
“I had fun, Eva.” He reached for the door handle. “Thanks for insisting I come out to— What are you doing?”
“Who, me?” She’d swung her crazily booted leg over both of his and had somehow managed to straddle him in the cab. “I’m just saying, ‘You’re welcome,’ Ames.”
“Jeez, you can’t just—”
Yes, she could. She was already kissing him, hot, hungry kisses, pressing her pelvis against his.
He was a guy. That got a reaction. A fairly immediate and large one.
Wait, there’d been some reason he was going to avoid getting physical with her. It had seemed convincing at the time. Now he couldn’t remember what it was. In fact, his hands were at her waist, traveling around and down to explore the pink skirt.
Oh, man. The pink skirt was firm and warm and fit his hands as though it was made to be in them. He wanted nothing more than to beg her to come up to his place so he could lose himself in what was under it.
But as suddenly as she’d climbed onto his lap, she climbed off, leaving him dazed and hard. Instinctively he moved to reach for her again, but a basic self-protective instinct kicked in and kept him still.
Thank God.
“Ames, I had such a nice time tonight, I really appreciate you taking me out.”
“Hey, no problem, Eva. I had a good time, too. See you around maybe.”
Only that wasn’t what he said at all. What came out was more like “Ungh, yuh, too. ’Night.”
Then he was on the street, still dazed, still half-erect, watching the cab speed away, a beautiful blonde beaming at him out of its back window.
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