2

      WORDLESS SHOCK immobilized Serena. How the devil had he become even better looking?

      In retrospect, her earlier wondering about how potent the chemistry between them could still be was laughable. His voice on the phone had been enough to generate liquid heat inside her. Now she was faced with a mischievous expression as suggestive as the voice. His sensual lips—the bottom one just full enough for her to want to sink her teeth into it—were curved in a smile that crinkled his pale eyes at the corners. His body was tight, and he’d rolled back the cuffs of his midnight-blue shirt to reveal corded forearms. She had an image of those muscles straining as he held himself above her.

      Losing the breath she’d finally managed to catch, she decided it wasn’t such a hot idea to stare at his arms. Or his broad shoulders or his very nice hands.

      “David!” She yanked off the phone headset and wondered absurdly what her short mop of hair looked like. There was no way she matched his flawlessly put-together appearance, not that something like that would have bothered her when they’d first met.

      Back then, his dark-brown hair had been shaggier—not long, by any stretch of the imagination, but more tousled. Each time she’d seen him since he’d earned his MBA, his hair had been trimmed a bit shorter. Now it was cut so close, you couldn’t help but notice the strength of his rectangular face, the hard, smooth jaw and blunt, masculine features. His hair was just long enough for a slight upswept curve above his forehead and the barest hint of neat sideburns stopping at his ears.

      “Surprised?” He shut the door behind him, still grinning that wouldn’t-you-like-to-remove-my-clothes-with-your-teeth smile. Or maybe she was projecting.

      “You rat.” She stood, relieved she was able to, and pressed a palm to her racing heart. “I’m shocked. Why didn’t you tell me you were here?”

      His lithe easy stride as he came toward her made her feel melodramatically tense in contrast. “It was more fun this way. Besides, the Serena I know likes surprises. You aren’t happy to see me?”

      It was difficult to imagine anyone with David’s self-assurance, heritage or bone-melting appeal worrying about the reception he’d get.

      “Of course I am.” Forcing her feet to walk around the soothing haven of Natalie’s desk, Serena bobbed her head in what was supposed to be an affirming nod. Somehow she forgot to stop and ended up feeling like one of those ugly little dogs people stuck to their dashboards. “It’s, um, been a while.”

      He said nothing, merely hitched an eyebrow in a knowing expression. The gap between visits had only been so long due to her sprouting a beak and feathers last time he’d been in town.

      I’m not a chicken. Or an ostrich. Or anything else ornithological. She could hold her own against the waves of testosterone and sexual confidence he exuded. To prove just that, she stepped in his direction, stopping only when she was close enough for a quick, welcoming hug.

      She wrapped one arm across his shoulders and leaned toward him. “It’s great to see you.”

      His familiar cologne wafted over her, immediately calling to mind other earthy fragrances, like rain in the air and sex on her sheets. The memory was so strong that she froze for a second. David looped his arms around her waist, pulling her against him for a full-frontal hug, and her muscles went liquid with both recognition and anticipation.

      Forget it, she instructed her body. There had been extenuating circumstances behind the one time they’d made love. Rather, the one night they’d made love many times. For starters, there’d been that whole wet clothing issue.

      Still, while she had no intentions of repeating past mistakes, no matter how orgasmic, the man felt good.

      Patrick had been long and lean—all right, gangly—and had towered over her in a way she’d tried to tell herself made her feel feminine. But David, just tall enough to grin down at her, was the perfect height. Their bodies fit together in all the right throbbing places.

      Despite the fabric barriers of clothing, heat sprang from each point of contact as if the two of them were pressed skin to skin. Her breasts brushed against him, and her nipples tightened the same way they would have if they’d encountered the soft friction of the crisp hair that dusted his chest. His hips bumped hers, and a giddy, tingly sensation shot from head to toe as warmth pooled between her thighs.

      Serena jerked back, which would have worked better if the contact with David hadn’t dissolved her muscles. Without him for support, her strangely shaky body wobbled. She feared landing on her ass and looking like one.

      “You okay?” He steadied her with a hand on her upper arm, his fingers firm through her thin violet sweater.

      Goose bumps sprang up all over her flesh. As she recalled, the man had the most talented fingers this side of the Mason Dixon. She wasn’t too shy to tell a lover where or how she wanted to be touched, but with David, there’d been no need. In fact, the few times she had volunteered a suggestion—-faster came to mind—he’d continued his slow, sweet pace anyway, eventually demonstrating that he knew exactly what he was doing.

      “I’m fine,” she lied. “Just…light-headed.”

      She reclaimed her arm, expecting to see some kind of thermal handprint on her sleeve, burned into place by the heat arcing between them. “With Natalie out of the office, I didn’t eat lunch.” Unless she counted the salad she’d brought from home and the bag of chips from the vending machine. Fine, two bags, but they’d been the comparatively healthy baked-not-fried kind.

      David’s grin widened, and, with the clarity of hindsight, she immediately regretted her fib.

      “Then I insist you let me take you out for an early dinner,” he said.

      “But—”

      “I won’t take no for an answer, Serena.”

      An occasionally stubborn person herself, she admired assertiveness in others, but the intimate timbre of his voice was downright unfair.

      “I can’t just dash off this second,” she protested.

      Actually, with the slow business day she’d had, she probably could, but why tell him that? David Grant could stand for a few more people to turn him down from time to time. She loved the man, she really did—in the nonphysical best-buds-for-ages sense—but he got his way much too often.