On some level, he resented that.
She had spoken, however, and was now looking at him awaiting a response. What had she said? Sasha. Wants a ride. Focus, Donovan. You’re acting like one of your friends, drooling over some girl, when you know that shit isn’t for you. Will never, ever, be for you.
Matt took a sip of his coffee to buy himself some time. Now he remembered why the name Sasha rang a bell. Lucy Mason’s roommate. The roommate he’d agreed to share a vehicle with for the next couple hours on the drive back to New York City. Jesus. At least he’d have Brent’s pesky sister riding shotgun, preventing him from doing something patently unwise. Like pulling over at the first opportunity and divesting this girl of her frayed jean shorts in his backseat.
Get a handle on it. Now. Before you can’t.
Reluctantly, he dragged his gaze away from the embodiment of temptation before him and skimmed a glance over the coffee shop, looking for an entirely different girl. One resembling a linebacker. With a brother the size of a small mountain, Lucy couldn’t be too far behind. No luck. As far as he could tell, there wasn’t a single fart joke–telling Brent look-alike among this crowd. Although to be fair, he didn’t have a clue what Lucy looked like, nor had he had time to find out. Driving to Syracuse had been a last-minute favor to his friend, one he’d grudgingly accepted under threat of being forced to endure an afternoon of wedding plan details. He hadn’t been able to get behind the wheel fast enough.
“She’s not coming,” said the temptation, her voice low and smoky. “Lucy, that is.”
“Excuse me?”
“Lucy blew us off for her newest boyfriend and his lake house. It’s just you and me.” She shoved her hands into her pockets, anchoring them lower on her hips. Goddamn.
Matt welcomed the spark of irritation over this new development, hoping it would distract him from the succulence of her navel. No dice. Did she know what she was doing? She had to. It was impossible for a female to radiate that kind of come-and-get-it sexuality without realizing and utilizing it to her advantage. Any amount of time spent alone with her would be a mistake. Lucy’s bailing on Brent, and in turn him, was an annoyance in itself. Toss in five foot three inches of gorgeous, fresh-faced girl and he was entering dangerous territory.
Miles away from his usual type, she shouldn’t be affecting him this way. When he occasionally let himself explore the need he kept shoved down deep inside him, he went for curvier women. Women with some meat on their bones who could withstand what he dished out. The girl peeking up at him under strawberry-blond curls was what men commonly referred to as a “spinner.” Petite, passionate, and pliable…one you could switch into a different sexual position without removing yourself from her heat.
While these thoughts were doing nothing to alleviate the growing problem in his jeans, they reminded him why he couldn’t have her. He’d had enough women make passes at him in his life that he knew an invitation when he saw it. If he chose to interpret the flirtatious curve of her mouth, the swaying of her hips as an offer, his particular form of accepting that offer would send her packing. Right now, she looked at him and saw a decent-looking man, a departure from the younger, hoodie-sporting guys she met on campus. She didn’t see what lurked beneath. The side of him that would come out once he got her naked. Her playful demeanor would turn to shock in a heartbeat. He’d scare the hell out of her.
“That is, if you don’t mind me bumming a ride.” Her smile had started to slip in his extended silence. “You wouldn’t leave a girl stranded, would you?”
Oh yes, she knew exactly what she was doing. Appealing to his protectiveness, his former military, present law enforcement side. Apparently Lucy had passed on basic information about him before blowing everyone the hell off. When he saw a flash of irritation cross her features when he didn’t answer right away, lust twisted in his midsection. She had fire, this one. Still, he needed to make damn sure he kept his distance. She was not for him. Even if his impulses were demanding he throw her over his shoulder and find the nearest, darkest corner to introduce his tongue to her stomach, lower.
Distance. Boundaries. He cleared his throat. “How fast can you get your things? I need to get back to the city.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Our apartment is across the street. Meet you outside in ten?”
“Fine. Get moving.”
He actually saw her teeth sink into her tongue. To keep from shouting? Why did that make him feel like laughing? Instead, she turned on a sandaled heel and marched out of the coffeehouse, giving him an uninterrupted view of her ass swishing in those brief jean shorts. Fuck. Keeping his hands off her for the next four hours was going to be a challenge. Hopefully his abrupt attitude had bought him the silent treatment, rather than a long car ride full of watching those lips move. Imagining them on his flesh. Imagining them parting on a surprised whimper when he brought his hand down hard on her backside.
Think different thoughts. Now. In an attempt to distract himself, he slipped his cell phone out of his jeans and called Brent, just to make sure the giant idiot knew how thoroughly he and his sister had wasted his time this afternoon. It went straight to voice mail. He checked his watch and saw it was already late afternoon. The function Brent was attending to honor Hayden’s father would just be getting under way. Guess the ass-chewing would have to wait until tomorrow.
Matt pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. He could add today’s events to the growing list of reasons he kept mostly to himself. His best friends, Brent and Daniel, were the only ones he’d let get remotely close and they were still kept firmly outside the wrought iron perimeter he’d built around his life three years ago. When his world had imploded.
To be fair, Brent and Daniel hadn’t really consulted him in the matter of their presence in his life, just barging in and making themselves at home. He made regular attempts to push them to a safer distance, but they always fought their way back. Involving him. Doing him favors without his knowledge or consent. He wished like hell they wouldn’t. Those unsolicited actions obligated him to do things like this. Driving four hours to pick up Brent’s little sister only to find out she’d lived up to her sterling reputation by ditching the entire trip and leaving him shit out of luck, getting ready to endure an ungodly test of his will.
Sasha. That exotic name didn’t fit her at all. She looked like a Stacy. Or a Skipper. Something bouncy to account for those curls that made his hands itch to pull them. Hold her steady while he worked himself in from behind.
Matt dragged a hand down his face. This was going to be the longest four hours of his life. Considering he’d spent a huge chunk of his twenties fighting overseas, spending days at a time monitoring targets from his sniper’s perch without moving a muscle, that was truly saying something. Through the window of the coffee shop, he watched Sasha lug a suitcase twice her size across a manicured lawn and plunk herself down on top of it, arms crossed, chin raised.
Five minutes early.
This time, he couldn’t help the quiet laugh that escaped him.
…
All right, this seduction was definitely not going according to plan.
Lucy slid a glance across the console of Matt’s sleek black sedan, watching him under the cover of her eyelashes. He hadn’t looked at her once since loading her suitcase into the trunk, instead keeping his gray eyes glued to the road, jaw tight with obvious frustration that he’d been saddled with some unknown party for the afternoon. As soon as she’d introduced herself as Sasha, he’d lost his expression of blatant interest, shutting down as if on cue. Surely off-limits little sister didn’t encompass little sister’s roommate? Based on his closed-off demeanor, it clearly did.
Problem with that? In addition to being attracted to him in a sweaty, breathless way that made her crave an ice bath, he now presented a challenge. That part of her that loved being tested and coming out on top was now stretching and lacing up its sneakers. Even with his unfriendly vibe, maybe even because of it, she wanted this man. For the last six years,
she’d watched her friends take home men from parties for much lesser reasons. She’d admitted just how much she wanted him to herself during her mad dash through her empty apartment, unpacking her razor to shave her legs and bikini line in just under two minutes, before slathering on lotion and breaking for the sidewalk. It would have been a cold day in hell before she took longer than the allotted time. Had he commented on her punctuality? No, he hadn’t. Had he even peeked at her newly smooth gams? No, he hadn’t.
Phase two it is.
Her game was a little dusty, since she hadn’t used it in a couple years. Apart from a short-term boyfriend when she’d studied abroad in France, she’d never had a steady man in her life. Just the odd date and obligatory one-night stands that came with the college experience. Matt would require a little extra oomph. She could practically feel the do not touch warning radiating from his side of the car. Why did that turn her on even more?
Lucy sat a little straighter in her seat, casually glancing down at her body. She wasn’t half-bad, right? At least, she used to think so. Her boobs had been hidden underneath a Syracuse sweatshirt for so long, they might have shrunk a little from disuse. Her legs might be a whiter shade of pale, but summer had only just started. No one had a tan yet, right? She slumped back down in her seat. Obviously her body wouldn’t be her most useful tool on this mission to get laid by this sexy beast of a cop. She’d just have to dazzle him with her wits.
“So do you make it up to Syracuse often?”
Fail.
Matt shot her a look that said is she serious?
“No, I don’t. I came to retrieve Lucy.” He pushed a hand through his black hair. “I’m not big on sightseeing. Or last-minute plan changes.”
“You know, I kind of sensed that.” Impatient with herself, she crossed her legs. Wait, had he looked that time? “I don’t know what you’ve heard about Lucy, but she’s actually kind of awesome. Don’t judge her too harshly. Hot guy with a lake house. You can’t pass that up.”
“I assure you, I could.”
She gasped. “He makes a joke? Pull over, I’m feeling dizzy.”
“Maybe it’s the smell of that vanilla lotion. How much did you put on exactly?”
That brought her up short. Not only had he noticed her efforts, he’d spent the last half hour being vexed by them. She couldn’t get a read on this guy, couldn’t get a hint of what he was thinking by looking at his stoic face. With a single finger, she punched and held the button to crack the passenger-side window. “Better?”
A grunt served as his reply. After a minute, though, he surprised her by breaking the uncomfortable silence. “Major?”
“Sorry?”
His hands flexed on the steering wheel. “You just completed grad school, right? What was your major?”
Shit. She hadn’t anticipated the questions. Did he know what Lucy had majored in? Probably not, since he had no clue what she looked like. Of course, the only details Brent would pass on would be her shortcomings. She owed him a nice, sisterly punch in the gut when she got home. For now, it was best to stick with a close version of the truth, so she didn’t lose track of fabricated stories. An uneasy feeling settled in her belly. This game wasn’t quite as fun as she’d anticipated. “Double major. French language and art history.”
He studied her for a moment, appearing to reevaluate her, before returning his attention to the road. No flicker of recognition, though, only surprise. “Do you have plans?”
She nodded. “I have offers from several smaller museums. A few in New York. One in Paris. The Louvre, actually.” It felt like a jinx to finally say it out loud. As if voicing the offer of a lifetime, working as a research assistant in the world-famous museum, might make it disappear in a cloud of sparkly dust. She wasn’t necessarily thinking about taking the job, since she’d already been away from home for so long. But every once in a while, she’d open the e-mail containing the offer and reread it out loud. In a French accent. “I spent two years studying in Paris and I’ve always wanted to go back. But I’m taking a week to decide.”
“One week?” Another measured glance in her direction. “That’s a pretty quick turnaround.”