A Little Less Conversation

by Rhyannon Byrd

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  Rhyannon Byrd

  But it wasn’t easy. She quite simply fascinated him. There was no other word for the strange feeling of euphoria pumping through his system, as if he’d done too many shots of Jose Cuervo on an empty stomach.

  To distract himself, Mark let his gaze wander across her desk, and the sight of a photo poking out from the edge of a bright blue folder caught his attention. Well, actually it was the shapely, naked leg that snagged his interest, and he reached out and snatched it up before she could stop him.

  “Damn,” he muttered when he got a full view of the picture, feeling like he’d just been socked in the gut.

  “Hey,” she gasped, “give me that!”

  She reached out to grab the picture, but he stepped back out of her reach, lifting it high as he took another nice, long, lingering look at the photo pinched between his thumb and forefinger. “Hell, Mel, where was this taken?” A groaning sound of frustration broke from her throat, and she plopped back in her seat with an exaggerated sigh of impatience, crossing her arms as a mutinous expression settled between her softly arched brows. “Since I don’t know which one you’re looking at, how am I supposed to know where it was taken?” she grated out, clearly piqued with him.

  Mark ripped his heat-filled gaze away from the photograph just long enough to send her a suggestive smile. “You on a beach, half-dressed in some kind of dark blue bikini and wraparound skirt thing.” He paused to look back at the photo, adding,

  “Shells around your ankles and one wrist, with a big, pink flower in your hair.”

  “Tahiti,” she grumbled, holding out her slim hand. “Please give it back, Mark.” The sound of her saying his name sent a warm curl of satisfaction through his body, matching the wave of pulsing heat the sight of her sexy bod on a beach in Tahiti had delivered to his cock, and he found himself shaking his head, pushing the photograph into the back pocket of his jeans. “I don’t think so, Mel.” 22

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  Her eyes dropped to where his now empty hand rested against his thigh, thumb hooked into his front pocket. “What are you doing?”

  “Keeping it.”

  “You can’t,” she sputtered, leaning forward in her chair. “You can’t just keep it!”

  “Why not?” he challenged, enjoying the flash of fire—of need—of keen, blazing desire in her eyes, the way her pulse hammered in the base of her throat, her eyes round and wild, skin warm with heat. He wanted to run his tongue over that sensitive female flesh and watch it burn brighter beneath his hungry exploration. Wanted to sip from her until her taste replaced that of every other woman he’d ever known. Wanted to consume the sweet promises of her body and her heart.

  Man, he had it so bad, he was becoming poetic, and he hadn’t even kissed her yet. It was pathetic.

  “You can’t keep it because we’re strangers, that’s why,” he heard her explaining, and he struggled to pull his mind up from his cock head and back into the head on his shoulders, where it belonged. “And strangers don’t let strangers confiscate pictures of them in bikinis.”

  “If they don’t, then they sure as hell should,” he shot back with a hard smile, knowing his narrowed eyes glittered with excitement that he was having a hell of a time trying to hide. “And we don’t feel like strangers, Melanie Green. I say ‘Hi’ to you every morning at the coffee shop, and you blush at me. I stare at you every second I have during the day, and you sit here pretending not to notice. Hell, we have more interaction than half the couples I know.”

  She arched a suspicious brow, cheeks going crimson again at his words. “You know couples?”

  “A few.”

  “Hmm…” she murmured, narrowing her cinnamon-colored eyes as she studied him.

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  “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, arching his brow at the assessing way she was looking at him.

  She sucked the plump pad of her lower lip through her teeth, and this time Mark actually felt his cock pulse in response to the action, his damn eyes nearly crossing as something hot and hungry seemed to uncurl inside him, stretching its claws, the knot of his tightly leashed control unraveling more with every second that passed by.

  “It’s just that you don’t look like the type to hang out with guys chained down by domestic bliss.”

  His shoulders shook with silent laughter. “Well, now, that all depends on how one’s using the chains, sweetheart.”

  And just like that, her blush bloomed deeper, like spreading wildfire across her creamy skin, and he could have sworn she went pink from head to toe. A bright, blushing rose that flared down the slim, pale column of her throat, slipping across the enticing expanse of her lightly freckled chest before dipping into the modestly cut neckline of her pale pink silk blouse. It made him want to kiss her all over, tasting that rosy glow on the eager pad of his tongue as he worked his way up from her cute little toes, not stopping until he reached the lush pink promise of her wide, giving mouth.

  “Have dinner with me tonight. Right now,” he suddenly rumbled into the heavy quiet of the office, the only sound that of their breathing and the gentle hum of a fax machine as it worked softly in the corner. His words weren’t a request, so much as a statement of intent. It was already after five, and no way in hell did he think he could turn around and walk away from her before taking things a step farther. Before somehow discovering a way to stake his claim.

  “What?” She blinked up at him as if he’d asked her to explain the theory of relativity while patting her head and rubbing her tummy.

  “If it’s the ‘strangers’ bit making you nervous around me, have dinner with me, and then we won’t be strangers,” he explained with a casual shrug of his shoulders, trying not to sound pushy, when he longed to demand a yes from her. “Though, if you ask me, 24

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  I don’t see how two people who’ve known each other for six months can still be considered strangers to begin with.”

  She licked her lower lip again with the tip of her tongue, and Mark actually wondered if he was going to end up with the imprint of his zipper permanently embossed on his dick as he struggled to keep the damn thing from going hard as a spike.

  “I doubt I could eat anything,” she finally laughed out on a ragged sigh. “To be honest, I think you’d only make me more nervous at dinner.”

  “Then we’ll sip on a few beers to get you relaxed and just talk before we order any food.”

  She went perfectly still, not even blinking. “Talk?” she whispered with an odd look in her eyes, repeating the word as if he’d said something dirty.

  Huh—and here all those women’s magazines complained that men were pigs for never conversing enough. No wonder his sex had such a hell of a time figuring out what women wanted. Even they didn’t know what it was!

  “Yeah, talk, as in conversation. Man and woman and beer and beach.” And I can try to keep my damn hands off you, instead of dragging you to the sand, pulling you beneath me, and digging in as deep as I can get. Clearing his throat, he prayed she wouldn’t notice the growing bulge behind his fly before he got his traitorous body part under control.

  “It’ll be great. Come on,” he coaxed, trying not to sound like he was pleading, searching for his most charming smile, when all he really wanted was to toss her over his shoulder and get her ass home, in his bed, before he exploded from lust. He rubbed one hand across the tense muscles at the back of his neck, and said, “I’m not taking no for an answer, Mel.”

  Talk…talk…talk, Melanie thought with a bitter, foul-tasting surge of disappointment. He wasn’t after hot, wild, romping sex after all, despite the wonderful way he’d been flirting with her since walking through the front door. But she should 25

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  have known. Hadn’t she learned enough from past mistakes with gorgeous guys like Mark Logan? They flirted with women—with all women—because that was just the way they wer
e. They enjoyed making women feel good about themselves. They didn’t do it to be jerks or to shatter hearts, even though they often left a field of heartbroken casualties in their wake. If she was going to survive this date intact, she’d have to remember that no matter how outrageously he acted with her, the most logical scenario here was that he really did just want some friendly female companionship. A smiling face to “talk” to, and god only knew, that was her.

  Not that she would ever turn down the chance to spend time with him—even if all he wanted was to talk—but there was a fire of determination burning in her belly that said she should at least try to make him want more than conversation from her. What the hell could it hurt, since she was already seriously in deep with her feelings for this man? Problem was, she wasn’t even at her best right now. She was a mess.

  Melanie looked down at her rumpled silk shirt and wrinkled skirt, her mouth twisting with heartfelt regret, knowing she probably wouldn’t ever get a chance like this again. By tomorrow or the next day, some gorgeous beach vixen would grab his attention, and he would forget all about wanting to sit and “talk” with boring little Melanie Green.

  “I’d like that, Mark, but I’m not really dressed to go out anywhere,” she replied, wishing she’d known this moment was coming so she could have been better prepared.

  “I’m pretty much a wreck after working in the back all day. We had stacks of unopened brochure stock to put away, and the printers in the tech room were either jammed or out of toner.”

  “You look perfect,” he said with a wicked twist of his lips that she supposed could pass for a smile, if it didn’t look so damn carnal and sexy. The burning look of intensity in those soft green eyes almost convinced her of his honesty. But then she reminded herself that he was a natural born flirt. Yeah, that had to be it. Why else would the guy have confiscated her picture?

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  “Hey, there’s no pressure here. Really. We can just grab some Mexican food over on Cazadora’s patio, drink some Coronas, and then we can take a walk out on the beach and watch the sunset.”

  “Um, okay, then,” she gave in with a grin, unable to resist that gentle urging in his warm green gaze, no matter how breathless she was with anticipation. And it was that air of expectation that had her worried, knowing she was getting worked up over something that was so not going to be an issue. He wanted to talk, for god’s sake, not ride her silly. And yeah, it might sound crude, damn it, but she wanted the ride. She wanted it all. Good conversation and heart-stopping sex, all wrapped up in the heady emotions of unquestionable trust and undying love.

  Hey, it’s not like I’m asking for much, she snickered silently to herself, wondering when she’d become so deranged. It wasn’t like she was a knockout who had men dragging their tongues around after her, and here she’d set her sights and emotions on the most undeniably sexy, funny, interesting hunk of stud meat that she’d ever laid eyes on.

  “Oh god,” she groaned under her breath, “I’m starting to think like Kyra.”

  “What’d you say, honey?”

  “Um, just give me two seconds to change into my flats.” She reached down and slipped out of her heels, then grabbed her favorite pair of leather sandals from where she kept them stashed in her bottom desk drawer for walking to and from work, since her cute, new little beachfront apartment was just a few blocks away. Then she stood and came around the desk, throwing her purse over her shoulder.

  When she stood just a foot or so away in her sandals, it became terribly obvious how he towered over her five-four frame. Hell, she barely came to his collarbone. He looked down at her, those sexy green eyes shining with humor, and tipped the edge of her chin up with his fist.

  “I never really realized how petite you are,” he said in a low, intimate voice that seemed to curl around her shoulders like a lover’s hands, skimming over her fluttering 27

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  pulse in the base of her throat, trailing up the tender side of her neck, “since we’ve never stood this close together before.”

  She shook her head and tried to refocus. “You mean short,” she laughed, swallowing a knot of fierce, unleashed emotion at that smoldering look in his eyes.

  Man, this guy was good. He damn near had her buying the whole “you’re a sex goddess” look burning there in his glittering green gaze.

  “Cute?” he ventured with that boyish twist of his lips that melted her deep down inside, where it counted.

  “You’re not helping yourself.” Melanie shook her head slowly from side to side, while a warm glow burned in her chest, radiating out in an exhilarating wash of breathless anticipation that tingled in her fingertips and toes.

  “Then I’ll have to try harder and just admit that…” His voice suddenly trailed off, leaving those last words unsaid as he continued to stare down at her, those carnal lips parted for the slow soughing of his breath.

  “That what?” she prompted, feeling her own breath come more rapidly, heart beating out a heavy cadence of excitement. When he looked at her like that, she could almost believe that maybe he was looking for more than just a gal pal to talk to. Could almost imagine that she made him nervous—that he wanted to shatter that infuriating air of innocence hanging over her head and teach her a lesson in corruption that she’d been craving since setting eyes on him.

  “What were you going to say, Mark?”

  Staring up at him, Melanie knew she’d failed at disguising the longing in her voice, when his jaw tightened and his nostrils flared just that barest bit, like a predator scenting its mate. Oh man, I wish! she silently groaned. A warm rush of wet, slippery heat washed through her sex, and she struggled not to take the few steps forward that would bring her into burning contact with all that hard, hot, rippling muscle.

  He twisted his mouth with resignation. “If I tell you the truth, I might scare you away before we’ve even cleared the door.”

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  “Oh, I doubt that,” she said with total honesty, tilting her face to the side as she studied him, wishing she could see inside his mind. “You might make me nervous, Mark, but you don’t scare me.”

  He stepped closer, and the pulse in the base of her throat jumped. “In that case, I was going to say that I think I’m going to love the way you fit against me.”

  “Oh,” she breathed out on a small laugh. Forget good. When it came to making a woman feel like she mattered, this man deserved a freaking medal. “And you thought that would scare me off?”

  That green gaze narrowed at her expression, as if he’d like the chance to get inside her mind, too. “Trust me, I’m trying so hard to be good here, Mel, but it isn’t easy.”

  “I don’t think you could actually be bad,” she drawled as a slow smile spread across her mouth.

  A rough, male sound jerked in his throat. “Sweetheart, you have no idea.” She pressed her tongue against her lower lip the way she did when she was nervous, and his eyes narrowed, following the action with such heat that she swore she could feel it spiraling down into her core, setting the secrets of her body to a low, molten burn of sharp, sizzling desire. She started to speak, but before she could respond to that leading statement, he cut her off, saying, “Let’s get the hell out of here before I make an ass of myself and prove just how bad I can be.” He wanted to prove his outrageous claims? Man, now there was something she would love to see. With her tummy doing that funny little spiral thing again, she swallowed—all nerves and excitement. Twice. And then a third time. When she finally thought she could form a coherent sentence, Melanie murmured, “Just let me say bye to Kyra. She’s in the back.”

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  Chapter Three

  A few minutes later, after a fast recount of what had just happened between her and Mark Logan, followed by some hilarious innuendos, eye-opening advice, and wishes for good luck from Kyra, Melanie finally joined Mark at the front door. S
he was still unable to believe that she was heading out on a date with the most gorgeous, virile, sinfully sexy man she’d ever known…and he wanted to “talk” to her instead of jumping her bones.

  Gaack.

  Plastering on her smile, she supposed she could only hope for the best and pray he’d be hit by an uncontrollable bolt of lust before the night was over.

  “Kyra’s going to lock up for me. Oh, and she asked if you wouldn’t mind telling Cain to shove his smart-ass head into the beer cooler next time you see him.” He rumbled with laughter, holding the door for her as she stepped out into the heavy heat of the late afternoon sun, and then moved to her side, one hand at the small of her back, guiding her through a tangle of tourists as they headed down the street to Caza’s.

  The heat of his palm against her lower back was delicious, and Melanie almost moaned with regret when he pulled it away after they cleared the crowd. Seeking a subject to pull her horny thoughts away from the stud at her side, she asked, “Who’s watching your bar?”

  “None other than my smart-ass brother,” he grinned. “What’s up with those two anyway?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Cain and Kyra? I’m almost afraid to even hazard a guess.”

  “I get the impression that they don’t get along.” 30

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  “Yeah, it’s kinda hard to miss, isn’t it?” she said with a wry laugh, catching at her flying hair to hook it behind her ears as the gusty wind whipped it around her face, the light silk of her skirt flapping frantically at her legs. “But I don’t know all the details. I’ll have to ask her. I didn’t even know they really knew each other.”