Do Me Right. Cindi Myers

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      She took out her keys as they reached her car, suddenly feeling awkward. What do you say to a man whose proposition you’ve just turned down? Thanks didn’t seem quite appropriate. “Well, good night and goodbye.”

      “Good night. But I won’t say goodbye.” He reached out and pulled her close. “I’ll definitely be seeing you again.” She only had time to gasp before his lips met hers.

      Her first thought was that this was a man who knew his way around a kiss. His mouth was firm against hers but not forceful, his hands sliding down her arms gently even as his tongue coaxed her to respond. He tasted of smoky whiskey and sweet cola, and smelled like starched cotton, oiled leather and male musk. The taste and scent and feel of him—his hot, exploring mouth and firm, unyielding muscle and gentle hands—battered at her last shreds of resistance. She melted against him, her surrendering moan muffled by his seeking mouth.

      The heat that had smoldered between them all evening crackled into flames. She pressed against him, standing on tiptoe, both hands cradling the back of his head, her fingers sliding through his thick hair, pulling him closer still. She reveled in the scrape of his beard against her chin, the pressure of his belt buckle against her stomach. Suddenly every passing second reminded her how long she’d been alone and how much she didn’t want to be by herself anymore.

      And then the spell was over. He raised his head and moved out of her arms. They stood inches apart, staring at each other, gasping for breath. His stunned expression mirrored her feelings.

      She blinked, fighting to keep her composure. What had just happened? Had she really lost control like that with a man she hardly knew?

      She hugged her arms over her chest and rubbed her shoulders, fighting a sudden chill and the longing to have his arms around her again. “I have to go,” she said.

      This time he didn’t try to stop her. But as she started the car and reached to pull the door shut, he leaned in. “I’ll see you soon, darlin’,” he said in that warm, molasses voice that was guaranteed to keep her hot and bothered for the rest of the night.

      KYLE MANAGED TO HOLD IT together until Theresa’s car was out of sight. Then he slumped against an adjacent car and removed his hat to wipe the sweat from his brow.

      What exactly had happened just now? He’d meant to kiss her, but he hadn’t expected spontaneous combustion. He’d come dangerously close to laying her back across the hood of her car and taking her right there.

      He smiled, remembering her feeble denials that there wasn’t anything between them. One kiss had shown her for a liar. Next time she’d have to find another excuse to refuse him.

      Judging by the way she’d melted in his arms just now, she wouldn’t say no much longer. He stared down the empty street in the direction she’d driven, wondering what his next move would be. On the one hand, he could show up at her shop tomorrow and continue to play the game—flirting and touching, daring her to give in to her feelings and give herself up to six weeks of very physical therapy that would benefit them both.

      On the other hand, a little voice in his head was telling him to turn around and run the other way. A woman like Theresa Jacobs didn’t ever really surrender. Women like her took prisoners. With one kiss, he was already halfway snared in her web. Not exactly a good beginning for a casual alliance. He wanted fun without forfeit, a way to give his body without worrying about his heart. One look at Theresa, with her tattoos and leather, her overt sex appeal and go-to-hell attitude, and he thought he’d found the perfect partner to help occupy his time while he was forced to remain close to home.

      Now he wasn’t so sure about what he’d thought was a brilliant plan.

      He straightened and headed back toward the bar. Maybe a stiff drink, or a few stiff drinks, would drown out his doubts. But he doubted he’d see clearly through an alcoholic haze, or know any better what he should do if he woke in the morning with a hangover. So he detoured past the Library Bar and headed for the lot where he’d parked his truck. Gold’s Gym was open twenty-four hours. A few miles on the treadmill or lifting weights with his good hand might clear his head.

      Or at least wear him out enough to sleep without dreaming of a certain leather-clad siren and a single scorching kiss.

      EVERY LAMP IN HER APARTMENT couldn’t cast enough light to drive out the dark mood that had enveloped Theresa by the time she arrived home. Damn Kyle Cameron for making her feel this way! She’d been fine until he’d come along and decided to take her along on his little ego trip. She might have been a little lonely, but she’d been okay. At least she hadn’t been bothered by the restlessness that grated at her now.

      She dropped her purse on the counter, then strode into the bedroom, shedding boots and stockings along the way. By the time she reached the bathroom, she was down to a purple silk thong.

      She poured a generous amount of lavender-and-vanilla bubble bath into the old-fashioned claw-foot tub and turned both taps on full. A soak in the tub was bound to relax her enough so she could sleep. In the morning, she’d be able to make more sense of her feelings.

      She turned and caught sight of herself in the mirror and froze, studying her reflection with a critical eye. Two years shy of thirty, she was holding up well. Though she enjoyed eating too much to be overly skinny, she had an hourglass shape men appreciated, with definite curves she wasn’t afraid to show off. Her tattoos were artistic, not overwhelming: a snarling tiger on her left shoulder, a band of flowers around her right bicep, the Chinese symbol for courage on her right ankle.

      Her full breasts were still firm, the Celtic knot a lacy etching between them. Her nipples were dark against her pale skin and erect now in the coolness of the apartment. She smoothed her hand down her sides, watching the nipples pucker further at her touch.

      She lowered her gaze to her stomach, slightly rounded and soft but not fat or flabby. A gold T dangled from the ring in her navel, a single diamond chip winking in its center.

      She slid her thumbs beneath the narrow waistband of the thong and skimmed it down her thighs, watching herself in the mirror. Her dark pubic hair was trimmed close, an inch-wide strip down the center. She wondered what Kyle would think if he could see that. Would the sight of her naked excite him?

      She’d felt him tonight, the ridge of his erection hard between them. He’d been hard all over, really, muscles like iron holding her with surprising tenderness. She grew damp at the memory.

      Once the tub had filled, she turned off the taps and slid beneath the bubbles. The warm water caressed her and she sighed, breathing in the rich perfume of lavender and vanilla. Eyes closed, she willed herself to relax. This was her sanctuary, a place where worries were banished.

      But even this treasured ritual couldn’t erase thoughts of the kiss she’d shared with Kyle. The moment was seared into her brain. As soon as she closed her eyes, she saw him again, his lips curved in a lethal half smile, his eyes assessing her, stripping her bare.

      But it was his touch that had been her undoing. The memory of his lips and hands on her still burned her, awakening feelings that had lain dormant too long.

      She slid soap-slicked hands up to cover her breasts, rubbing back and forth across aching nipples. It was a poor substitute for what she really wanted—a man’s hands, Kyle’s hands, on her.

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