by Taryn Quinn
The soundtrack in his ears was the audio track to his favorite porno—well, truthfully, it was the only porno he’d watched more than once. Years ago he’d been curious by all he’d been missing, but after a while, he’d realized that seeing the greener grass over the fence only made him want to roll in it even more. For the last year, he hadn’t watched or listened to anything overtly sexual other than when he was in this class. And since that was technically for work, he rationalized he had no choice.
Hey, it was a hard job, but someone had to do it.
An hour later, the class was over, the erection he’d shoved into his jeans ached like a motherfucker and the brunette had booked out the door yet again. Her eyes had said plenty as she examined his length with the tip of her tongue caught between her teeth. He couldn’t say definitively which contributed more to his desire—the moans and carnal demands through his headphones or the occasional swish of her pink tongue over her glossy full lips.
Now she was gone. Again.
He’d had trouble forgetting her after their first roadside meeting, but he knew it would be impossible now that he’d had time to study her when she didn’t realize he was watching. Had his arousal while looking at her the last couple of nights imprinted her in some way on his psyche? Or was it more?
He’d followed his gut with Rochelle. Maybe it was time to follow it one more time.
Michael stepped into the hallway and glanced up, surprise stopping him in his tracks. The woman who lingered in his mind like a favorite song stood waiting for him, one booted foot propped against the wall, the other tapping as if she couldn’t bear to be still. Pleasure smothered shock and his smile widened while his fingers tensed around the strap of his backpack.
“Lost, little girl?” The teasing question left his mouth before he had time to consider the wisdom of setting that tone. She was a student, and he was an employee of Rand’s and by extension, the rec center. Despite the fact that his role in her class had ended, he probably shouldn’t go there. Lonely nights by the side of the road weren’t cause to abandon ethics—his or hers. She most likely didn’t even recognize him as anything but her peter model.
Preening peter at the moment, if the tightness of his jeans had any say in the matter.
Then she grinned at him and he forgot he was even still upright, never mind who signed his checks. Just like that night on the road. Except what had drawn him then was her backbone, not her blinding smile.
“Nope, not lost. I was waiting for you.” She strode up to him, her sketchbook under one arm and her fringe purse tapping her hip. She wore it cross-body and the strap did an amazing plumping thing to already pretty impressive breasts.
Not that he’d looked. Much.
“Me?” They started walking, legs brushing until they moved far apart enough to avoid a collision. He’d enjoyed brushing up against her and learning her scent. She smelled like a mixture of charcoal and eraser and, oddly enough, mossy earth. Sort of humid and tropical.
Something he wouldn’t tell her unless he wanted to end this conversation before it even started.
“Yes, you.” She shot him a sideways glance. “Come on, a guy with a cock like yours can’t play shy very well.”
“Oh, you’d be surprised,” he muttered, amazed he didn’t blush.
He didn’t normally have conversations like this with women. Or anyone. Hard to wear the hermit label proudly if talking to strangers came easily.
It had, once. Before Rochelle he’d been a lot more social. His willingness to chat up anyone who came into the gas station where he worked had led to their first conversation. Well, that and desperation. He’d been frantic to escape from his shitty life and Roch with her fancy manners and fancier money had provided a welcome diversion.
Flirting was fun, or it had been the few times he’d tried it since those days. But flirting invariably led to cozying up in shadowy corners with coffee. Then came snuggling and soulful looks in each other’s eyes. Then came fucking, and his London Bridge would come crashing down.
Women always wanted more than he could comfortably give, especially when they saw his big house and heard that he’d lost his last partner. He’d spent far too long taking care of someone to want to resume that role right away again. A good time was one thing. Bindings he didn’t choose another.
“Is that so? You’ll have to tell me all about this shyness problem of yours.” Brown eyes twinkling, she linked her arm through his. The movement caused her entirely too soft breast to rub against his arm, and he stifled a groan. “Let’s go get coffee. I know a great diner across the street.”
“The Bottomless Cup? Yeah, it’s a great place.”
“And it’s raining out, so a hot cuppa and some soup sounds perfect.”
His first inclination was to make an excuse. Despite his interest, he’d dissuaded women for a damn long time. If he said yes to coffee, what would he say yes to next?
And how many regrets would he have if he turned her down and went home alone?
“You’re right. It does.” He smiled and motioned for her to go down the short flight of stairs ahead of them. “I have to be at work early tomorrow but it’s not that late yet. You never told me your name, by the way.” Something he should’ve asked four months ago, workplace boundaries aside.
“It’s Kim,” she replied, continuing before he could comment. “Work?” she asked, bounding down the stairs. “But you were just working. Unless you consider that play.”
“Play shouldn’t hurt that much.”
Her husky laughter dragged sharp nails of desire down his spine. “Sure you want to come out with me? Maybe I should let you have some alone time.”
He didn’t respond. Luckily she didn’t seem to need him to.
“Or maybe we should have some alone time,” she continued, shooting him a sparkling grin. “To, I don’t know, play chess. I’ve heard chess releases a lot of…stress.”
He grinned back, suddenly eager to see where this led. She’d embedded herself inside him months ago. He couldn’t explain why. Didn’t want to. For once, being with someone held vastly more appeal than being by himself.
Lightly, he touched the base of her spine, testing them both. The heat from her body nearly scorched his hand. “Now you’ve made me curious about your moves.”
Her grin turned sly. “Oh, I’ll show them to you anytime you like, shy guy.”
Michael immediately changed the subject, which disappointed Kim more than she could say. Despite the utter stupidity in playing games with a guy young enough to pal around with her baby brother—hell, Michael was probably even younger than Brad—she couldn’t seem to help herself.
His hot body weighed into the equation, absolutely, but it was more than that. He had a haunted thing going on in his dark eyes that drew her like a hawk to a bunny. She wanted to pounce, though not to eat him whole.
Unless they were naked. That had definite possibilities.
Once they were seated across from each other in a corner booth of the diner, Kim propped her chin on her palm and smiled. Considering how they’d met, she found it a little odd that Michael seemed slightly flustered by her attention. Surely he got plenty of notice from the ladies even fully dressed, so maybe he really was shy. That classified him as strictly not her type.
Minus the haunted eyes thing. And the sulky mouth that tipped into a crooked smile at the slightest provocation. And the cock.
Must not diminish the value of the cock.
“How old are you?” she blurted after they’d ordered. She’d already been served cinnamon coffee, while Michael had ordered a lemon-lime soda.
He choked on the sip he’d been taking from his straw. “What?”
“How old are you?” she enunciated slowly. Normally she didn’t ask men their age, since she figured as long as they were legal it wasn’t her place to police other people’s bedroom proclivities. Some guys liked older women, just like she couldn’t help being attracted to younger men. Who was she to judge?
But Michael was setting off too many bells in her brain. What if he was scarily young? Like barely twenty-one? Mid-twenties was one thing. Barely done with college another.
“I’m thirty,” he said smoothly, almost too smoothly to her practiced eye. He flashed her his disarming grin, causing her fingers to flex around the handle of her mug. “What about you? Or should a gentleman never ask a lady such personal details?”
“Perhaps not, but I’m not a lady. Are you a gentleman?”
He flicked his tongue over the corner of his mouth and caught a stray drop of soda. He’d probably taste like a juicy lemon, all tart and sweet. “I always make sure I take care of a woman in my company, so…maybe.”
Kim didn’t reply as the waitress reappeared to take their order. They both chose bowls of the turkey and wild rice soup with thick slabs of sourdough bread. The instant the waitress left, Kim lifted her eyebrows at Michael. “I’m thirty-nine.”
He didn’t jerk back in horror, which had to be a positive sign. “If I’d had to guess, I would’ve guessed upper twenties.”
“I’m not susceptible to flattery.” She reached for a packet of sugar then added two more. After splashing in a healthy dollop of cream, she glanced up to find him watching her. “What?”
“Are you susceptible to the truth? Because you’re gorgeous and honestly, I couldn’t give a fig how old you are.”
Only the fact that he seemed as surprised as she did at what came out of his mouth kept her from tossing back some smart remark. Instead she went with stupid. “Uh, thanks. I guess.”
Now who was the one who sounded inexperienced? That would be her, and that never happened.
She couldn’t figure this guy out. First he played the part of the confident nude model, happily waving his penis around like a pole without a flag. Then he went shy on her. Now he’d bolstered himself enough to toss out compliments accompanied by that panty-abandoning smile.
If she wore panties.
Okay, so she did. But usually only during the work week.
“Come on. Other men must tell you that on the regular.”
She cocked her head. “On the regular? Really? No one who’s thirty talks like that. Actually no one talks like that, period.” She crossed her arms on the edge of the table, her wrist full of bangle bracelets clanging noisily. “Level with me, model man. You’re really about to head off to Cancun for spring break, aren’t you?”
Michael’s jaw locked before he visibly released it. “Did you actually accuse me of being a senior in high school? As in eighteen?”
“I meant college, but if the varsity letter fits…” She shook her head. “Next you’ll tell me you’re a virgin.”
He didn’t laugh or blush, merely studied her for so long that her skin seemed to shrink in direct proportion to the warmth of his stare. “Nope, not going to tell you that.”
The waitress picked that less-than-ideal moment to return with their soups and a basket of hot, yeasty bread. Normally Kim would’ve dug in before the plates even hit the table. Now she couldn’t seem to get her arms to unclamp from the edge of the table. In a second, her muscles would be quivering.
“Just FYI, virginity isn’t a curse,” he said once the waitress left. He picked up a piece of bread and buttered it, then shocked the heck out of her by setting it next to the soup she hadn’t touched. “Surely you were a virgin once?”
“I guess. I can’t remember anymore.”
He surprised her by laughing, and the tension between them ebbed away. He’d been yanking her chain, that was all there was to it. “I’ve heard born-agains are pretty popular.”
“I’m not a born-again anything. The first time was plenty, thanks.”
“New question. Are you single?”
“Dude, I’m so single my vagina thinks I’ve abandoned it for wetter pastures.” At his wide eyes, her laughter turned into a snort. She picked up her piece of bread and took a bite. The moan that escaped was purely accidental.
The look he gave her, however? Incendiary, with a side of oh shit.
Before she had a chance to take another bite, he started buttering the next slice. She had to laugh as he set the second on her plate. “What’re you doing?”
“If keeping you in bread will get you to moan like that again, you’re going into a carb coma tonight.”
She shook her head, smiling. “Are you really single?”
“Yes, I’m single,” Michael said finally, drawing her attention to how long it had taken him to reply. That probably wasn’t a good sign.
So far he was potentially coupled up, could be underage despite his assertions to the contrary and potentially inexperienced if his defense of virgins meant anything. A trifecta of drama if she’d ever encountered one. Which begged the question: why was she still leaning toward him across the table, unintentionally revealing her cleavage thanks to her snug V-neck sweater?
“Sure about that?” she asked.
“I’m sure.” After swallowing another mouthful of soup, he set down his spoon and reached for his untouched bread. He pulled off the crust in a neat ring, unaware that she’d stopped nibbling hers to watch him. “I’ve been single for more than a year. Before, the person I was with…it was complicated.”
“How?”
For a moment, she didn’t think he would answer. “Rochelle and I had an unusual relationship.”
“She was into freaky shit?” Kim nodded sympathetically and lifted her soup-laden spoon.
Narrowly, she managed to resist moaning again as the spices, tender meat and warm broth flowed over her tongue. It was a chilly November night, and man, did the soup hit the spot. One of them anyway. With the low lights of the diner glowing against the windows and chasing the rain away, she almost felt cozy.
Now if she could find her way to being comfortable with her dinner guest, she’d count the evening a success.
“No. Not at all.” He laughed and tilted his head, sending a hank of his unruly hair into his eyes. “But it sounds like you’ve been there yourself.”
“Oh you have no idea.”
“Like what?” Clearly fascinated, he leaned forward. “Tell me.”
She waved her free hand without letting go of her spoon. The soup was going to be gone in thirty seconds or less with the way she was sucking it down. “If you can imagine it, some guy has suggested it.” She grinned. “Or I have.”
“Tease.”
“It’s not teasing if you intend to put out.” His eyes lit. “Eventually,” she added, laughing as he pulled off a hunk of bread and shoved it toward her lips. She bit down, deliberately dragging her lips and teeth over his forefinger.
His eyes narrowed, thick lashes framing irises rimmed with gold. They were black. “I may hold you to that.”
“I meant verbally, shy guy. I wasn’t referring to physical affection with a near stranger. What kind of girl do you think I am?” She flung a bit of her own bread at him. It landed in his soup with a plop.
“An intriguing one,” he said quietly, bypassing all of the usual flattery in favor of something that sounded an awful lot like the truth.
Just like that, she melted. Rain dripped down the pane of glass at her side, and her good intentions puddled beneath her feet. She’d believed she had irreversible immunity to any game he threw at her—other than the game she chose to respond to—but she hadn’t expected honesty or anything real to transpire between them. The steadfast expression on his face put a lie to that assumption.
“I’m not that fascinating.” Partially to distract herself, she trapped a chunk of carrot against the side of her bowl and flipped it over the edge onto her napkin, then wrapped it up and tucked it next to her unused fork.
When she looked up, he was grinning. He seemed to get a charge out of watching her, which should’ve been creepy instead of charming. Maybe she’d mellowed.
Maybe she should ask for the check and get the hell out of there.
“Yes, you are.” He inched forward on his bench seat and reached ac
ross the table to grab a feather off her shoulder. “Like this. What’s this all about? Do you own a bird?”
“Actually I sort of own twenty of them.”
She enjoyed the way his normally sultry eyes bugged out. “Seriously?”
A laugh escaped before she could stop it. “I work at Fairdale Bird Sanctuary.”
“No fuckin’ way. That’s so cool. You get to work with all the rare and exotic birds?”
“I’m actually the gift-shop manager, so that means I mostly get to play with stuffed ones and soothe the ruffled feathers of the annoyed patrons who wanted a blue-footed booby toy rather than a pelican. My best friend is one of the sanctuary’s zoologists.”
For the next half hour he questioned her thoroughly about the sanctuary, even going so far as to ask how he could donate. Which made her antennae wiggle. He worked at least two jobs, so how much discretionary income could he have? The modeling position was probably only infrequent at best.
Not that it mattered. Even a small donation helped in this difficult financial climate.
“Do you model often?” she asked once they’d dug into large wedges of cake for dessert. His carrot, hers molten chocolate lava. He’d probably taste like cream cheese frosting and the vegetable she couldn’t stand. Damn carrots.
Still, she had to appreciate the unintended deterrent to dueling tongue action. Too bad it didn’t offset the smoldering eyes, razor-blade cheekbones and suckable lips.
And suckable other parts.
“Here and there.” He dragged the tines of his fork over the plate as he chased an errant walnut. “I’ve worked for Rand a few years now, since shortly after he moved into my neighborhood. Occasionally I pick up jobs for other art studios.”
“Naked jobs?”
His lips quirked right before he pushed that sneaky walnut between them. “No. That’s only for Rand.”
“Hmm.” Something about the way he said that made her wonder if there was more to that story. Probably just wishful dirty thinking on her part. “Is that so?”
He cocked his head. “I’m not sure I’m following you.”
Yeah, clearly wishful dirty thinking. He looked as wide-eyed as Bambi newly out from under his mama’s legs. She shoveled a bite of cake into her mouth, chewed and swallowed. “In any situation, I think the most lewd thing possible. It’s in my DNA. So I immediately wondered if you and Rand were lovers because, well, I’m me.”