She clamps her hands over her knees. "Hot guys always turn out to be hot messes. They've got cargo planes full of their baggage." She scratches the back of her neck, head bowed. "And then there are the hot guys who use women for their own ends."
I freeze while holding another sandwich near my mouth.
She freezes too, but only for a moment before she waves a dismissive hand. "I didn't mean you. Point is, hot guys are dangerous."
"Then I pray you don't think I'm hot."
"You're… good-looking and sexy."
"Thank heavens for that." I smile, but the expression fades quickly. "Who used you for his own ends? Was it the coward who assaulted you?"
"Presley didn't assault me."
I clench my jaw. "He was forcing his way into your home."
She hugs herself, rocking in place.
"What did the bastard do to you?" I ask.
"Nothing. You chased him away."
Though I try not to sound annoyed, I end up grumbling anyway. "You know full well what I was asking."
She straightens, squaring her shoulders. "Off-limits."
We stare at each other, neither of us moving even one millimeter, for so long that my eyes get dry from not blinking. She looks away first.
I pick at a stray blade of grass. "Sorry, I forgot my own rules for a spell."
Her shoulders flag. "It's okay."
We need to get back on board that fun train Erica had mentioned yesterday. So I leap to my feet and offer her my hand. "How about a walk?"
Casey launches off the ground with all four feet airborne and barks his approval of the idea.
I kneel to scratch behind his ears, and the pup licks my chin.
"Sure," Erica says. "A walk sounds nice."
She slips her hand into mine and twines our fingers.
With Casey by my side, I guide Erica away from the sheltering trees to the open beach at the edge of the lapping waves. From here, we can glimpse the skyscrapers of downtown Chicago with the Sears Tower looming over the rest—until we turn away from the skyline. Hand in hand we amble along the beach, chatting about nothing in particular, careful to avoid personal subjects like her scunner ex or my reasons for giving up on relationships. Her hand feels soft and warm in mine, and I relax even more. I feel as if I'd always been meant to hold Erica's hand in mine, but that's romantic rubbish. Even while her touch eases the tension inside me, it also excites me in every way imaginable.
She lifts our joined hands. "Isn't this against the rules?"
"No."
"That's it? No?"
What else am I meant to say? Maybe hand-holding is against the stupid rules I set, but I don't care. I will keep hold of her hand for as long as she'll let me.
I veer us off the beach, under a copse of trees that shades us from the sun. Then I spin her toward me, drag her body into me, and bend my head to kiss her. It begins softly but intensifies little by little as I brush my lips over hers again and again, wanting to keep it tender but needing to consume her mouth the way I want to consume the rest of her body. Soon, I'm plunging between her lips, desperate for even more, loving that she tastes like the snack we just enjoyed. The length of my erection is pinned between our bodies, and when Erica grinds her groin against me, I groan and clutch her hips.
She is driving me mad.
I peel my lips away from hers, my mouth kinking up into a wry smile. "It's not against the rules. It's preparation."
We stroll back to the beach, headed toward our blanket and the picnic basket.