“What do you think you’re doing?”
“Class, lunch, class, practice, dinner. I’ll be back around seven or eight.”
Before I reach the door, he appears in front of me, blocking my progress. “What time is your first class?”
“Ten. But my girls and I meet up for coffee at eight-thirty on Mondays. Eden has a nine.”
“I’ll drive you.”
“No, separate cars. Monday dinner is strictly dance squad. No boyfriends or crushes orwhateverallowed. So no male bodyguards, either. It would ruin the vibe.”
“I’ll keep my distance, but I’m coming this morning and tonight.”
“There will be five to ten girls. I don’t need you when I’m in a posse. I’m careful. I never walk alone at night. We have a system. No girl even walks across the parking lot on her own. We all get in one car and do door-to-car-door… we’ve worked it out.”
He doesn’t speak, which causes me to roll my eyes.
“Suit yourself, I guess.” I exhale an impatient breath. “But if you become a distraction, I will bounce you.”
“Good luck with that.” His eyes flick to my bag’s straps, which I’ve readjusted twice. “Give it here.” One of those massive hands takes the bag from my shoulder.
My gaze drops to his bicep. Those giant muscles are so attractive. Unfortunately.
Enough already.
Sorensen opens the door, carrying my bag as he ushers me onto the landing of the metal staircase.
My tone is tart. “At least you’re good for something.”
His scowl causes me to smirk. Until I smother it.
No teasing. No taunting. No tripping over your goddamned tongue for the iceman.
* * *
ERIK
If I don’t keepmy eyes off her bare legs, running the SUV off the road is a real possibility. Arya leans back in her seat with her left leg crossed over the right, causing her dress to ride up high enough to flash bare thigh nearly to her hip. As she reads a litany of incoming texts, her fingers toy with a collection of thin gold necklaces hanging into the “v” between her breasts.
The blood pounding in my cock censures me for not taking her up on this morning’s invitation to fuck her forcefully. At present, she smells like herbal mint shampoo and a musky floral perfume. My calloused right palm wants to slide up her smooth thigh, and my left wants to turn the wheel to take us back to the apartment.
So tempting. The day could start later.
That would mean calling off my plan to meet Shane at the top of the Rat Run to look for a tunnel opening. Which shouldn’t wait.
Too bad my scope didn’t find Casanova last night.
Arya reaches over to turn the radio on, cycling through stations until she finds pop she likes. The bubbly music grates on me like a kid kicking the back of my seat on a long flight. My fist clenches, and I tell myself it’s only five minutes to Espresso Yourself, the kitschy coffee shop where she’s meeting her friends.
A minute later, my finger jabs the pre-set button to switch to classic rock that pre-dates us by about three decades. It’s not a great song. I surf channels, searching for something better. Her gaze flicks to me, and those eyes draw me in like a whirlpool, dark and bottomless. Capable of inducing dangerous disorientation.
Siren.
“Favorite band?” Her voice is silky and curious.
“Don’t have one.”
“How could you, huh, mountain man? Not a lot of Billboard Hot 100 playing on hiking trails with no electricity. What passes for music out there? Wolves howling at the moon?”
