“COYOTE’S STARING at you,” murmured Zoe before taking a sip of her cosmopolitan.

      “And I’m staring back,” whispered Kathryn. In spite of herself—the self who’d made a career these past few years practicing common sense and restraint—she was staring boldly at the man, her nerves electrified like a pile of iron filings streaming toward a magnet.

      Sunlight seeped through the thatched roof over the bar, causing shimmering bands of yellow to fall across his black hair, which in the muted light had the color of varnished mahogany. The falling light emphasized the flat, angular planes of his face. He’d changed into jeans and a T-shirt—probably kept a spare set of clothes handy at work for sports events—and she thought how he was one of those men who looked as hot dressed up as he did down. No surprise that sexy bartender had flirted with him, although slipping the bill down her top seemed, well, a bit tame. A man like Coyote deserved something more naughty, daring, experimental.

      Although Mr. Daring had a bit of a sheepish expression at the moment.

      She arched an eyebrow, telegraphing that yes, indeed, she’d witnessed it.

      He shrugged. After a beat, he held up his hand, fingers splayed wide.

      Five fingers. Oh. She got it. For the five votes he was tailing her. Cocky, wasn’t he?

      As though he’d heard that thought, he confirmed it with his trademark canary-eating grin that grew as he went to four fingers, three, two, one. Then, with a catch-me-if-you-can wink, he waved at her.

      He thinks he’s going to pass me, and I can eat his dust. Wily Coyote, thinking he had the game all tied up before the outcome, eh?

      Time to play a new game.

      She raised one finger.

      He frowned.

      With a sly grin, she lowered her finger until it rested on the edge of her glass. Then, slowly, she circled her finger around its rim, staring at him with a look that only a dead man wouldn’t feel.

      He leaned forward, an unholy gleam in his eyes.

      For a moment, an old tape played in Kathryn’s head. Don’t play in your own backyard if you want to get ahead and rebuild your life. All that matters is security, security, security.

      Security, security, security.

      It’d been her mantra for three long years. Whenever she had some downtime, an afternoon to be lazy, or the opportunity to play hooky and do something unpredictable and—gasp—fun, the old tape played again. Security, security, security.

      Screw that.

      It mattered, yes, but not at the expense of living, for crissake. In Bound in Brasilia, the protagonist was both a kick-ass businesswoman and a hot, sexually adventurous woman. So what if that world was fiction? Couldn’t Kathryn make it real in her own life? Because now was her opportunity. Something had been sizzling between her and Coyote ever since this morning, and if she ignored it or pretended it’d never happened, she’d miss out.

      She trailed her finger slowly, deliberately around the edge of her glass, keeping her eyes locked with Coyote’s. Around, then down the side of the glass, cupping the curve of the glass and letting her fingers lightly play, touch and tease, feeling a jolt of pure female sexual power as she watched him. She felt wild and empowered by her boldness.

      Empowered and wicked and downright take-me-now sexy.

      She swore she could feel Coyote’s reactions to her. Electric. White-hot. Just like in her nighttime dreams when he’d magically appear and they’d act out one erotic episode after another from the book. Although those scenes were set in the jungles of Brazil, a far more exotic locale than sitting here at a rooftop bar, sipping a spritzer.

      Although if she let her mind go, the overhead sun could be set in Brazilian skies, the distant, crashing waves could be faraway pulsing drums, and the sweet taste of her drink was juice from an overripe mango, slices of which had been hand-fed to her by Coyote.

      Their gazes held for a prolonged moment, during which she swore her heart was pounding more wildly than imagined distant drums. He raised his bottle of beer, drawing her attention to his lips. Broad, seductive lips that fit perfectly into the angles of his face.

      Lightly, he flicked the tip of his tongue against the lip of the bottle. Once. Followed by a direct look that described everything else that would follow.

      She shuddered as a trickle of sweat coursed its way between her breasts.

      “Earth to Kathryn.”

      Coyote looked away, breaking the spell.

      “Huh?”

      Zoe waggled her red-tipped fingers at Kathryn. “Girl, if anybody had walked between the Coyote and you, they’d have melted.”

      Her career-minded self didn’t want to be company gossip. She’d seen office flirtations that had seemed merely playful to the participants end up scandalizing a career. Especially a woman’s career.

      She flattened her hands on the tabletop. “You think people saw?”

      Zoe shook her head. “It’s too crowded, plus the Time-sters are too self-centered to care about much except themselves.” She motioned to a plate of appetizers. “While you were in the Coyote Zone, I nailed us some appetizers. These bacon-wrapped scallops are positively orgasmic. You should have one. Or three.”

      Kathryn’s mind nearly short-circuited imagining multiple orgasms with Coyote.

      “You’ve been holding back, Kath. When did you and Coyote link up? Spill.” Zoe popped the appetizer into her mouth.

      “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. And we haven’t linked up—” although, heaven help her when they did “—more like we’ve felt each other’s vibes.”

      Zoe did a double take. “Picking up vibes?” She laughed. “You sound so sixties!”

      “Peace and love, baby.”

      “Is this my best pal, the career-climbing