A long, hot bath and a good book seemed more appealing, but she’d promised herself, so she stuck to her guns, put on her nice dress and heels, and went out to her car.
Starting the night was no fun at all, not when she already knew exactly how it would end—thanks to Hart Winston.
Having
moved his car to the other side of the lot, Hart watched from his inconspicuous vantage point as Lisa hustled out in sky-high heels and a body-hugging dress.
He felt like a stalker. Like a pathetic kid with a bad crush.
But Lord have mercy, Lisa looked good. Better than good.
He’d felt that body, every inch of her, and as sweet as that had been, touch didn’t quite do justice to the visual. The woman had done a fine job of hiding a killer body. Course, she’d done a good job of hiding that smart mouth, too, and all that stinging sarcasm.
He couldn’t help but grin. Truth be told, he’d enjoyed sparring with her. He’d even enjoyed her insults.
He’d known Lisa Vogle for damn near a year, had talked with her numerous times, and had always enjoyed her company. Not once had she ever unleashed her displeasure on him. In fact, she’d always been beyond proper.
When he thought of Lisa, it was intelligence, kindness, and manners that came to mind. Well, and amazing sex too. He would never forget the sex.
But even before they’d slept together, there’d been something about her, something that taunted and teased him to the point that, before he’d realized his own intent, he’d asked her out on a spontaneous date.
Even more surprising, she’d accepted. In too many ways to count, he didn’t seem like her type, and vice versa. But he’d felt the sexual chemistry between them as they rode in his car to a restaurant. Hell, they’d even run into his cousin Joe and his wife, Luna. Lisa had not been dressed then as she was now.
No, that night Lisa had worn a black suit and a simple white blouse with comfortable pumps. Her hair was still in that twisted, stately bun on the back of her head, and not a single speck of makeup had shown on her face.
And somehow, when he’d gotten to her door, all that prim and proper staging had blown his mind. Her naked mouth drew him; he’d meant only to kiss her good night, but she’d kissed him back, and his hands had somehow tumbled her hair, and the next thing he knew, they were in her apartment going at it hot and heavy and . . .
He felt edgy again, just thinking about it.
It was pretty freaking incredible.
Too
incredible. Hart hated to admit it, because it made him sound like a wuss, but Lisa Vogle had intimidated him.
Never before had he been on a date with a smart woman who conversed easily, laughed honestly, greeted his cousin with impeccable manners, and then scorched him in bed.
That kind of perfection was enough to spook any die-hard bachelor. Right?
And now, adding her sharp wit and ease at banter, well . . . could the woman be more flawless?
He watched as Lisa drove out of the parking lot without ever once noticing him. So Romeo wasn’t picking her up? What a chump.
Knowing what she had planned, Hart stewed. His thoughts were in turmoil. Was Lisa really that sexual by nature, or had she exaggerated to irk him—not that she could have guessed he’d be irked, considering how he’d cut out on her.
Damn it. He felt mired in guilt. She’d been trying to warn him, and he’d put off contacting her to finish his training camp. The camp was important, but he could have eked out some time to call her.
He’d make it up to her, Hart decided. At the same time he denied that his motives were anything but altruistic, never mind the jealousy gnawing on him.
He’d never been jealous, so he gave himself some leeway in dealing with the unfamiliar sting.
Let her have her fun tonight, sick as it made him feel. Tomorrow he’d give her the sincere apology she deserved, and they could start over from scratch.
This time, he’d do things right, and Lisa Vogle wouldn’t know what hit her.
At
barely eleven P.M., Lisa dragged in her front door with relief. What a bust, as far as dates went. And it was all her fault.
She kicked off the arch-murdering heels and carried them into her bedroom. Pausing at the entrance to the room, she remembered Hart sitting on her bed, at his leisure, teasing and flirting.
Her shoes hit the closet wall with a thump.
Of all the men out there, why did he have to be the one who got her motor running?
She could curse him and call him unkind names, but it wouldn’t be truthful. Hart was a great guy, friendly to everyone, courteous, talented.
As an artist, he showed great sensitivity.
As a lover, his instincts were remarkable.
He enjoyed being a bachelor, and she couldn’t very well fault him for that. After all, he’d been honest and up-front about everything. She knew before she slept with him that it would go nowhere.
And she’d thought that would be enough.
She almost ripped her dress in her haste to remove it. The long, hot shower did little to ease her tension. And when she tried to sleep, visions of Hart Winston’s sexy abs played in her mind.
Lordy, when he’d lifted his shirt to flaunt that too-perfect body, she’d wanted only to touch him. But therein lay additional disaster to her heart, so she’d laughed it off instead.
She wasn’t laughing early the next morning when she woke before sunrise.
Needing the exertion, she stuck her hair in a ponytail, dressed in a sports bra, T-shirt, running shorts, and her favorite sneakers. Hitting the pavement always served as a good way to relax her. And this early, she wouldn’t run into many people.
More than an hour later, damp with sweat and breathing hard, Lisa returned to her apartment—to find Hart sitting on the front steps with a box of donuts and two carryout cups of coffee.
No. Blast the man, she’d just shaken off the coiling need, and then, with only one look at him, everything inside her tightened again.
Though mirrored sunglasses hid his eyes, she felt certain that he saw her. The corners of his mouth tipped up in that too-sexy way of his, and a new alertness showed in the set of his shoulders, the tilt of his head.
Slowly sitting up from his sprawled position on the steps, he waited for her to reach him.
Lisa considered turning around and jogging away again, but that’d be too obvious. She ran from no one, definitely not from Hart Winston.
Instead, she strode up to him and, as she went right on past, asked, “What are you doing here?”
He picked up the food and followed after her. “I came to see you, naturally. To talk.”
Lisa could feel him right there behind her. Probably looking at her behind in the snug shorts.
Oh, God.
“You should have called first, Hart. I’m busy.” He stayed far too close.
In a voice too deep, he said, “So I see.”
A quick glance over her shoulder confirmed his interest. He’d removed the sunglasses and was indeed looking at her backside. Breath escaped from her lungs. “Now is not a good time. I need to shower and get dressed—”
“Want some help with that?”
Yes.
“No.”
After unlocking the door, Lisa turned to face him. Without benefit of heels, she felt extra small compared to him. Not only was he tall, but he was also broad shouldered with a solid chest and impressive biceps.
She stared up at him, got sidetracked by his mouth, then by the glossy darkness of his hair. Her chest hurt. “You’ll have to come back later.”
Juggling everything into one hand, he stretched out a long, muscled arm and flattened his hand on the wall beside her head.
She felt caged—and, shamefully, liked it.
“Come on, Lisa,” he cajoled. “Cut me some slack. I even brought donuts as a peace offering.”
As if the man needed a bribe. “I’m a mess, Hart.”
His gaze moved over her face, down to the sweat-damp front of her T-shirt, then down to her legs. “That’s not quite how I’d describe you.” He looked into her eyes, smiled, and said low, “You grub up real good, woman.”
How could he make that sound like such a sensual compliment? Lisa forced a benign smile. “Don’t be ridiculous. I have sweat on my sweat.”
“You smell earthy and warm. I like it.”
He could
smell
her? That broke the spell. Horrified, Lisa pivoted on her heel to make a hasty entrance into her apartment. “I need to get a shower.”
Before she could get the door shut, he stepped in behind her. “Fine. Don’t mind me. I’ll wait for you in the kitchen.” She was about to protest that when he added, “Hard as it’ll be, I promise to behave myself. I’ll even save you a donut or two, so take all the time you want.”
Yeah, right. No way would she feel comfortable lingering naked in the shower while Hart Winston moseyed around her place unattended. “Stay in the kitchen,” she ordered.
He crossed his heart and grinned like the rascal she knew him to be.
Rather than waste more time debating it with him, Lisa went into her bedroom, gathered a change of clothes, and ducked into the bathroom. When the lock on the door gave a loud click, she heard Hart laugh.
Her reflection in the mirror was the stuff of nightmares. Sweaty, lank hair that had escaped her ponytail stuck to her neck and temples. Exertion turned her complexion ruddy. Heat had left her soft T-shirt limp and shapeless. She looked like a hag.
So why had Hart acted so turned on?
Lisa answered her own question—because the man was always ready, no matter what.
The sooner she answered his questions, the sooner she could get him out of her life again. Much as that thought dismayed her, she knew it was the wisest choice.
In record time, Lisa showered, washed her hair, and brushed her teeth. Dressing in her favorite pair of stay-at-home faded jeans and a beige tank top, she girded herself with a pep talk. After combing out her wet hair and leaving it loose, she put her glasses back on and was ready to rejoin Hart. Not more than fifteen minutes had passed.
The second she came into the hall, he left his seat. For an extended moment in time, he just stared at her, from her bare feet to her snug, comfy jeans, to her beige tank.
Lisa lifted her chin, almost daring him to comment.
Instead, he cleared his throat and held out a chair for her at the kitchen table.
She shook her head. No way was she getting that close to him. Not yet. Not with that particular gleam in his eyes.
Sounding a little hoarse, Hart asked, “How do you like your coffee?”
“In someone else’s mug.” She’d never quite gotten the taste for coffee. She preferred tea.
“That’s what I thought, so I put the teakettle on to boil.” He no sooner announced that than the kettle began to whistle. “Where do you keep your tea?”
That he offered to wait on her took her by surprise. “Sit down, Hart. I’ll take care of it.”
“But this is my treat—my way of apologizing.”
“Not necessary.” But it was still nice that he went to so much trouble.
Did he really feel that bad about sneaking out the proverbial morning after, or was this more about him wanting her cooperation in sharing the details of what she’d overheard?
He didn’t go to the table, choosing instead to prop his big body against the counter. Lisa inched around him to reach for a cup from the cabinet and then found a tea bag in the canister beside the stove. As she poured boiling water in the cup, she glanced at Hart.
The man had the most tactile gaze imaginable. She felt his attention, and it unnerved her.
“You have a good time last night?”
“Hmmm?” She stirred her tea to buy herself some time.
“Last night. Your big date?” He studied her. “Things go as planned?”
“I didn’t have a plan.” Not after Hart had dropped in on her.
“You were going to jump his bones, remember?” His brows came down in consternation, and he sidled closer. Softly, as if in commiseration, he asked, “Didn’t quite work out, huh?”
Of all the . . . “None of your business.”
Scrutinizing her, he drew his own conclusion and let out a relieved breath. “Right you are.” He gestured toward the table. “Let’s take a seat and chat.”
Since that served her purpose, Lisa didn’t argue. “Fine, let’s.”
He held out her chair first, then seated himself, lounging back in easy comfort and gazing at her with expectation.
Lisa cleared her throat. “I thought about everything last night.”
“While you were with the other dude?”
Why did he keep pressing her on that? If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was jealous. “No, after I got home,” she lied.