He finished making his latte, sweetening it only with honey before gulping it down. It seared his tongue and burned his throat, but it was better to feel pain than smell her. It was a skill he’d perfected in these last years while slowly going feral. He focused on one sensation and blocked out the rest. His throat burned, therefore he couldn’t know that she was attracted to him. He couldn’t be drawn in by her body’s interest because all he felt was his own scorched tongue. Or so he told himself.
And then—thank God—she did something smart enough to preserve her virtue. She began to speak, her words high with nervousness and too rushed for him to process without recruiting his higher cortex.
Yes. Yes. Make me think. Make me hear. But for God’s sake, don’t touch me.
More words. What did they mean?
“…my father…computer…notes…have them?”
It took three tries before he could form a word. Even so it came out more like a grunt. “No,” he said. Then the most important thing for her own safety. “Leave.”
“…can’t.”
Hell.
CHAPTER 2
OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG!
Julie Simon was not a prude. She enjoyed a finely honed male body as much as any woman. But when said finely honed man answered his door stark naked and proceeded to look at her like she was the answer to his prayers, well, then, her libido kicked into overdrive. Especially when that look turned into hunger and his already thick cock stiffened into a staff that aimed unerringly at her.
She was not a prude, but hell, this was sexually at its most raw. And she apparently liked raw.
Who knew? All her boyfriends up to now had been friendly, flaky men who spoke in full sentences and never, ever growled. And yet one hairy, horny grunt from this guy and her nipples tightened while everything else went liquid.
Not a prude, then. Apparently, she fell more into the slut category because if he made a move on her right then, she wasn’t exactly sure what she’d do to stop him. First of all, he looked like he could overpower her in a heartbeat. Second, the moment he’d offered her his mocha latte, her knees had gone weak and her lust spiked. When the hell had she developed a caveman fetish?
Insane!
But she wasn’t a beast to be ruled by her hormones. And she certainly wasn’t going to jump a near stranger, no matter how ripped his abs or how much he stared at her. Good lord, she’d never been the center of such focused attention. Need rippled off those sculpted pecs, it vibrated in the air between his broad shoulders and her tight breasts, and it seemed like he wanted her so badly it was hard for him to form words. But how was that possible? All he’d done was answer the door…naked.
She took a breath, startled—but not surprised—to find it thick with musk. His? Hers? Who knew?
Get a grip!
She momentarily flashed on what she could grip and struggled to restrain a near-hysterical laugh. She was not a woman who thought things like that. Not in the usual course of the day. So she closed her eyes and lifted her latte to her lips. Damn, he made a great cup of coffee. The honey added just the right amount of sweet.
Focus on the essentials: caffeine and sugar.
That’s when he spoke. Two words: “no” and “leave.” Well, that was par for the course from the men in her life. They’d act one way, then say the opposite. Get her revved, then disappear. Give her a latte and then order her to leave. All he needed to do now was invite her to move in, then break up with her and he’d be just like her ex.
But unlike what she’d done with her ex, she refused to leave. Her father needed his help, and so she would be stubborn. At least until she got a fuller explanation from him. One that included two-syllable words.
“So,” she ventured when the silence stretched too long between them, “do you remember me?” She certainly remembered him. Linebacker for the football team with a crazy streak. She hadn’t gone to high school here, but she’d spent a few summers being rejected by his clique while listening to tales of his antics. Everyone had talked about the stunts he’d pulled running wild in the state park. According to the gossip, he’d jumped from tree to tree the length of the park. He’d raced the train and won. He’d swum the river when it was still clogged with ice.
Blah, blah, blah.
What she remembered was him finding ways to keep her away from the group. He stopped people from talking to her, he hosted parties in places she couldn’t find, and he never did anything but give her the cold shoulder. And where the great Mark Robertson went, everyone else—but her—followed. Which meant she had two very lonely summers thanks to him.
He was a dick of the first water…except for that one amazing, incredible, life-altering night. But she refused to think about that. Ever.
She grabbed onto the cruel memories now. In her mind’s eye, she lined up every time he’d turned away from her and used them to ice her hormones. She was here to get her father’s journals, and she’d be damned if he frightened her away with his hard muscles and his manly lust.
“I’m Julie Simon,” she said clearly. “You have my father’s journals, and I need them.”
He blinked at her, his brows narrowing enough that she noticed a long scar along his forehead. Probably from tripping while racing a train, she thought sourly. Though, damn, that looked like it had been a scary wound.
“Your father?” he said, his voice gravelly and bedroom sexy. His eyes drifted closed and he spoke as if he were just waking up from a really beautiful dream. “Julie.”
