Call To Honor. Tawny Weber

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СКАЧАТЬ in the night. Was someone yelling hiyah?

      She stepped through the iron fence and froze.

      The new neighbor was in his backyard. Barefoot and shirtless, he wore what looked like black pajama bottoms. He simply flowed across the moon-drenched lawn. Kicks, turns, chops and punches flowed in a seamlessly elegant dance.

      Was that martial arts he was doing?

      Shirtless.

      She couldn’t quite get past that one particular point.

      It was too delicious.

      But instead of licking her lips, Harper clenched her fists tight at her sides.

      Why the hell was a man who looked like that living next door to her? More to the point, why did her libido choose now to wake up? Was it some cosmic joke that she’d remember now, despite her claims to the contrary, she was a sexually aware woman who had needs and desires?

      Harper watched him do some sort of flip, feet in the air and his body resting on one hand. Muscles rippled, but he wasn’t even breathing hard as he executed an elegant somersault to land, feetfirst on the grass, knees low and arms extended.

      Wow.

      She’d bet all of her needs and desires could be handled quite nicely by her gorgeous, and quite physically impressive, new neighbor.

      Harper would have growled if she weren’t worried the guy would notice the slightest sound and turn around. The last thing she wanted while she was going through this personal crisis was attention.

      She wanted to blame Andi. Oh, not for the new neighbor. Arranging for good-looking neighbors wasn’t one of Andi’s oft-bragged-about skills. But putting the idea of sex and lust and, yes, dammit, craving, into Harper’s mind so her imagination ran wild when she looked at the new neighbor? That was totally and completely Andi’s fault.

      Her stomach tightened with an edgy need she recognized as desire as the guy did a series of kicks, each one higher than the other with the last aimed straight overhead.

      Again, wow.

      He had tattoos.

      A cross riding low on his hip and something tribal circling one bicep.

      Who knew tattoos were so sexy?

      Harper’s mouth went dry. Her libido, eight years in deep freeze, exploded into lusty flames so hot they scorched away all her spit. She couldn’t swallow, could barely breathe. She had to try twice to clear the tight knot of lust in her throat.

      Wow, she thought for the third time.

      Because some things definitely deserved repeating.

      The man was incredible.

      Gorgeous. She was pretty sure he was gorgeous. It was hard to tell, though, because her head was spinning.

      He looked like some kind of pagan god—the ones who liked to deflower virgins—with that commanding air, impressive body and golden skin stretched over well-toned muscles.

      Short black hair that spiked here and there over a face made for appreciative sighs. Sharp cheekbones rose high, accenting full lips. Thick brows arched over deep-set eyes, and he had a scar on his chin that glowed in the moonlight.

      She heard herself gulp before she realized she’d done it.

      Wondering where her spit had gone, Harper decided that she’d better get the hell out of there. Before he saw her. Before she did something to make sure he saw her.

      But just as she turned to go, she spotted Nathan’s baseball sitting on a raised brick flowerbed. It was all she could do not to groan out loud. Her hint of a sigh must have been enough though, because the guy looked her way. Just a glance, not enough to slow the elegant ballet of kicks and punches. But enough to show that he knew she was there. He’d probably known all along.

      “You looking for the ball?” His words were lightly accented with a familiar Hispanic lilt. They came low and easy like his smile, which made it all the more irritating that Harper was still too breathless to reply right away.

      “Yes, my son lost it.” She eyed the distance between her nice, safe spot next to the fence and the ball. It wasn’t far, but she’d have to skirt awfully close to the man who was now, what? She narrowed her eyes. Was he praying?

      Palms together, eyes closed, he lifted his hands high overhead so that long body stretched toward the moon. Shimmering light danced over a puckered scar riding high on his chest, glistened off the sharp-edged tattoo that circled his bicep like barbed wire before he lowered his hands to chest height. Eyes still closed, he took a deep breath. Wondering if he’d do it again, Harper edged a few inches inside the fence line. Before she’d taken a full step, though, his eyes shot open.

      “Good yard for working out,” he said with a nod of approval. He moved across the lawn with the same light-footed grace as he’d shown in his martial arts dance. He stopped along the way to grab the ball, then continued until he was a couple of feet from her. There, he simply stood, tossing the ball from hand to hand, staring.

      “I should get that to Nathan.” She cleared her throat, tried a smile. It failed but she figured she at least got points for trying. “He’s very attached to it.”

      “The kid’s a pistol.” His eyes were much too intense as he watched her face.

      Didn’t the man blink?

      That’s when she realized what she must look like. She’d tossed an oversize tee claiming Just Say Zen atop her green yoga bra and leggings, so unlike some people, she was decently covered. But her hair was pulled into a sloppy ponytail, and she was sure that whatever makeup she hadn’t sweated off during her workout had washed away during that first, or maybe the second, crying jag.

      The only way this could be any worse was if she threw herself on his chest and started licking her way down his body. And given her reaction to simply thinking about it, she decided she’d better hurry up and get out of there before she did exactly that.

      From the look on his face, he knew it, too.

      “Thanks for finding it.” She held up one hand to indicate that he throw her the ball. But while he tossed it in the air, it was only to catch it again. What was he waiting for? She had to remind herself that this was a friendly neighborhood, and people expected actual conversation from time to time.

      “I appreciate you taking the time to fix Nathan’s bike,” she said, wishing she could clear the nerves out of her throat. But that would just give him proof that he had her all stirred up, and one thing Harper had learned young was to never give a man that kind of upper hand.

      “Fix his bike?” he repeated, as if surprised. “You mean out front today? We were just talking.”

      Despite the shimmying tension in her belly and the tightness in her chest, that attempt at innocence in his voice made Harper laugh.

      “Mmm, he’s having trouble with the chain. Probably has something to do with jumping his bike when he’s not supposed to.”

      “Wouldn’t know about that. Like I said, we just talked СКАЧАТЬ