“William?” she asked carefully. “Could you please stop touching my boobs?”
His hand stalled mid-wipe. “Shit.”
He dropped the cloth to the ground like it was a ball of fire. “I didn’t mean—”
His gaze rested on the dripping coffee falling from her chest.
“It’s fine,” she muttered.
They both reached for his jacket at the same time, his forehead colliding with hers. The impact knocked her backward into the puddle on the floor. A very unladylikeoomphescaped her lips. Stunned, she lay still for a moment, studying the vaulted ceiling and skylights of the lobby.
“Lucy, hell.” He came into view over her. His hand slipped under her arms to help her up.
“If you keep helping me, I’m going to wind up in the hospital.” She batted him away. “Why are you here?”
He ran a hand over his face. “I work here. Consumer journalist.”
Um, what? No, no…no. She’d done her research before she accepted her position at KDVX. William Covington was not listed anywhere as an employee.
She stood. His gaze rested on her face a beat too long before he bent down to collect the scattered cups and lids. Whoever made his jeans should get a substantial bonus for the way they fit against his…thighs. Yup. Thighs. That’s what she was looking at.
Lucy kneeled to pick up a cardboard drink tray. When his knuckles grazed hers, she drew a faint breath.
No.She stopped herself and tugged her hand away.
The teenage girl who crushed hard on him no longer existed. That girl had transformed into a strong woman with a future that absolutely did not includehim. Impressions, however, did matter to her. How was she supposed to salvage the beginnings of the reputation that she hoped to have in the newsroom when she now wore the coffee she was supposed to bring back?
“I’m sorry. This is my fault.” He dumped the dripping mess into the garbage.
She rubbed a hand over her forehead. “I can’t show up without coffee.”
“I’ll get more.” He stared at her again for a long moment.
Crap. Had he finally recognized her? She’d never be able to make it here if he told everyone who she had been. How awkward. How depressing.
“What?” she asked when he continued to stare.
“You have freckles,” he said softly.
She raised her index finger to the bridge of her nose. “Uh-huh.”
Oh. The damn goose bumps reappeared. This time with tingles she refused to give a second thought.
He gestured to her cheek. “You have a little coffee there.”
Oh. Right. Coffee. Sure.
She wiped it away and held her shoulders a little higher.
On that reality show, he had wrestled tongues with more women than there were notches in an oversize belt. Teenage Lulu had desperately wanted to be on the receiving end of a William lip-lock exchange. Adult Lucy would never allow herself such a self-indulgence. Kissing William had no place in her life anymore.
What was that thing he used to say for the cameras in Florida? Right. When they showed a clip of him in a lip-lock they’d cut to his interview where he always said, “Next, please.” She refused to be the next, “next, please.”
This was the guy who had floated pizzas in the swimming pool and built a vodka ice luge on the roof of the Florida frat house where they filmed the show. He had no business making her tingle.
“I like them,” he said.
“Like what?”
