Walk on the Wild Side. Natalie Anderson
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was overwhelming. And he’d said something, hadn’t he? Because he was staring back at her expectant-like.
‘Sorry?’ Her brain had gone far, far offshore into the wide blue yonder.
‘Your name?’ He leaned across her seat, his torso coming in ultraclose. In a second that strong, broad chest almost touched hers. The action totally struck her dumb—not to mention rendered her immobile. Her body tightened, but not from fear. Oh, no, not fear. This close she could see his symmetrical face, with the hint of shadow on the angular jaw, the gleaming white teeth. She could even feel his heat and he smelt crisp and fresh. She held her breath as he came even closer—was he about to kiss her? Was she going to let this complete stranger kiss her? Mesmerised, she stared into his eyes, his smiling, promise-of-paradise eyes…
Why, yes. Of course she was. There was absolutely no other option she could think of. She couldn’t think at all.
But there was a noise right by her ear. Oh. Disappointment crushed as he pulled the seat belt across her body, carefully clicking it into place. Of course he wasn’t going to kiss her. Guys like him could kiss a bevy of beauties. He’d never think to kiss her. Oh, but how she’d wanted him to.
Limply she sagged back against the seat. Man, she needed to get a grip. But in the thin summer dress she was wearing, her body had gone all goose-bumpy.
He started the engine and after a moment she peeled her gaze from his big hands on the wheel to watch where they were going. He turned right when she would have gone straight ahead. But it didn’t matter.
‘Miss?’
Miss? She’d never been called ‘miss’ by anyone. ‘Kelsi. ’ She finally clued in to what he’d been asking.
‘Kelsi, I’m Jack.’
‘Hi,’ she said vaguely, her brain going AWOL again as she looked at him. Ruthlessly she tried to drag it back to full-attention mode. Kelsi loved surrealist art, but she wasn’t sure she was ready for her life to go totally surreal. And having a guy like this driving her who knew where, was definitely surreal.
He laughed again and a dimple creased his jaw giving him a very cheeky look. ‘I think you need some recovery time.’
‘I’m so sorry.’ She sighed and made herself look just slightly to the left of him—so she could try to keep her thoughts on track. He was right. She did need to recover, but not over the accident. It was his gorgeousness and his proximity that were screwing up her thought processes now. ‘Are you sure you’re OK?’
He lifted one hand from the wheel, holding it up in the ’stop’ sign. ‘Don’t start that again. Please.’
‘Right.’ She nodded. Yeah. She’d hardly been cool, calm and collected. Not at all the kind of person you’d want to be in an emergency. She’d been a jibbering mess.
‘I know a café that does fantastic coffee,’ he said. ‘Let’s get some, OK?’
Coffee. That was her problem. She hadn’t had her hit this morning. That was why she was feeling both so wired and wobbly now—not the accident, not him.
He pulled into a car park and killed the engine.
‘You can’t park here, it’s reserved.’ Customer only spaces for the snow’n’skate-wear store—the signs were everywhere.
He didn’t even glance at them. ‘They won’t mind.’
He was Mr Laid-back wasn’t he? Did he take everything in his stride—literally in his stride—like being hit by however many tonnes of metal car? He grinned and pocketed her keys as he limped onto the footpath beside her. She tried not to stare but the guilt seized her. Then his hand seized her upper arm even more firmly and he swung her round, walking her into the doorway of the cool café.
‘Sit.’ He stopped at the closest table. ‘I’m getting you a coffee.’
Kelsi plopped into the chair and put her elbow on the table, closing her eyes as she rested her head in her hand. ‘A black coffee would be fantastic.’ Coffee would kick her back together—because this brainless behaviour could no longer be her.
Jack paused and looked at the paler-than-pale petite woman in front of him. You’d think she’d been the one hit by the car, not him. Truth be told he’d hardly been touched, had thumped his fist on the bonnet and dodged to avoid it. But doing that had wrenched his weak knee—hence the worsening of the limp. The surgery had been a couple of weeks ago, but right now it felt as if it had been yesterday.
He walked to the counter, trying to stretch out the soreness the sudden movement had caused, hoping it wasn’t going to set his progress back. He was desperate to get training again.
He ordered from Viv, the barista, but she had his half made already and it took nothing for her to make another. So in seconds he was heading back to the dangerous driver, two steaming cups in hand. Beneath his breath he chuckled as he looked at her slim back and the wild mess that was her hair—she had no idea, did she?
He put the drinks on the table, ripped open three sachets of sugar and tipped them into the first cup. He stirred the liquid round a bit with a spoon and then pushed the cup towards her.
‘I don’t take sugar.’ A weak smile as she slumped against the back of the seat.
‘You do today.’ Strong, hot and sweet. It was exactly what she needed.
He watched while she took a sip—one, then a much bigger gulp. Then she exhaled.
‘Better?’ He couldn’t help laughing.
‘Much.’
Yeah, her crazy-coloured eyes were focused now, and she sat up straight. That was also good because when she’d been flopped back like that, the thin strap of her dress had slipped. He’d seen the lacy edging of a pretty black bra and he shouldn’t be thinking about sex this second. But he was—and had been the last six hundred seconds, or so. Ever since he’d first laid eyes on her.
Not appropriate. That wasn’t why he’d insisted on getting her a coffee. No, he’d done that because he wanted to let her know she hadn’t done any damage. He’d seen the guilt on her face as he’d walked towards her—she thought she’d done that to his knee. He needed to relieve her of that burden because, despite her alternative, all-black, all-attitude couture, she was the type to have nightmares about it for weeks. A little bit of sweetness wrapped up in ‘wannabe different’ city slicker sophistication.
But first, there was something else he had to tend to. He stood, barely resisting the urge to laugh again, and walked round the table. She stiffened as he touched her.
‘Easy,’ he murmured. ‘You’ll make it worse.’
The comb was well and truly caught—knotted in the mass of curls at the back of her head. She hadn’t realised, of course, and he heard her gasp as she did now. Amusement washed over him and he wanted to make her laugh about it, too. Except she was too busy blushing. Seeing the colour in her cheeks was good, hearing her breathing quicken was even better. So he affected her?
Excellent. Because he was still suffering from a severe lust attack. He tried to concentrate on the tangled bit of plastic but up this close he found out her hair was extremely curly and shockingly blonde and also soft and smelt flower sweet. Like her eyes, the colour was fake, but her natural shade must be reasonably light because there wasn’t any darkness showing at the roots. Or maybe she’d just had it done. Jack was used to blondes and their high-maintenance hair, but he’d never seen blonde as snow white as this. Or as messy.
He swallowed, his mouth dry, as he bent closer to free her hair from the comb without hurting her. Her scent was all he could taste. She turned him on as if he hadn’t been turned on in a long while—and Jack was no stranger to sex.
Well, not usually. The knee op had put paid to any and all kinds of fun for a while—both on the snow and in the bedroom. That must be the reason for this intense reaction to this woman, right? Because