She heaved the purse over her shoulder and extended her hand. "Good-bye."
Dane clasped her hand and pulled her close. Her head reached his shoulders, but she tilted it back, met his gaze, and waited for him to speak. Here I go again. He'd help her out tonight, but that was the end of his participation. He refused to think about the trouble she'd get into with The List.
"I know I'm going to regret this," he muttered. He slid the purse from her shoulder. It thunked to the floor. "I'll help you tonight, princess."
"Wonderful! Can we—"
He waved one finger. "No sex."
"Darn."
He stepped back. "You can't enter a wet T-shirt contest without a T-shirt."
"O-of course not."
"What have you got on under that—" His gaze devoured the poppable gold buttons; he made the mistake of looking at the lush curve of her breasts outlined by the soft material of her top. Damn. "—your...uh...thingy."
Her brows rose. "Define thingy."
"Shirt. Blouse. Whatever. What's under it?"
"A bra. It matches the crotchless panties. I went for the front snap and white lace. The black silk with red lace didn't appeal to me." She frowned. "Do men prefer a more, please forgive the word, but a more slutty look?"
"All most men need is a woman naked and willing."
"You've proven that theory quite wrong."
Dane ignored her comment. If she knew how tempted he was to show her the delights of sexual pleasure, she might do something stupid—like take off her clothes. "Do you want to enter the wet T-shirt contest or not?"
She nodded.
Dane reached up and undid the topknot; silky, honey gold hair fell around Marissa's shoulders in soft waves. He removed her glasses, folded them carefully, and put them on the desk. When he returned to her, he drew in a breath. Blonde brows slanted over green eyes flecked with gold. Her features were not sharp at all, but perfectly defined. Golden curls trailed down her slim, white neck.
Marissa Vanderson was beautiful.
"Wow."
"You don't have to pretend," she murmured.
"I'm not pretending." Good Lord, he'd been a blind man. She was exquisite.
He saw her swallow and the movement of her slender throat urged him to plant a soft kiss at the dimpled base. His gaze fastened to her generous mouth, and he nearly groaned when a pink tongue licked her lower lip.
"You're asking me to kiss you," he warned softly. "Be careful about giving signals."
Her gaze flickered. Lust? Curiosity? She was too naive to hide her uninhibited desire and his conscience refused to allow him to sip even a drop of Marissa Vanderson's innocence.
"How else do I give a signal?"
Dane sighed. "You don't want to give signals."
"I don't?"
"No."
She moved closer and the same light flowery scent he noticed earlier infiltrated his senses. "You're right. I should be more direct." She squared her shoulders and looked him straight in the eyes. "Kiss me, Dane."
Two
D ANE'S HEART STOPPED , then started thumping again triple time. Marissa disarmed him with her forthrightness. How damn long had he been in her presence? Hours? Years? She looked at him, her eyes soft and welcoming, her body just within his arms. Why not? a sneaky little voice asked. It's not like you're taking anything. She's offering.
He hesitated too long. She blinked, her face registering resignation. "Never mind. I simply refuse to surgically improve on what Mother Nature gave me. I suppose at least one man exists who will accept me as I am."
Her blatant, though unintentional, signals he could withstand. Her blunt request for a kiss wavered his resolve, but her weary acceptance of not being wanted as she was tore at him. Did she truly believe she was plain?
His mind wandered around the idea of her crotchless panties. And she wore garters with sexy silk stockings. Did she say white lace? Yeah. White lace panties with a slit in just the right place....
Whoa. Enough was enough. He needed to show her pretty backside out the door. Now. He looked down at her, saw the trembling lower lip, and made
Dane clasped her hand and pulled her close. Her head reached his shoulders, but she tilted it back, met his gaze, and waited for him to speak. Here I go again. He'd help her out tonight, but that was the end of his participation. He refused to think about the trouble she'd get into with The List.
"I know I'm going to regret this," he muttered. He slid the purse from her shoulder. It thunked to the floor. "I'll help you tonight, princess."
"Wonderful! Can we—"
He waved one finger. "No sex."
"Darn."
He stepped back. "You can't enter a wet T-shirt contest without a T-shirt."
"O-of course not."
"What have you got on under that—" His gaze devoured the poppable gold buttons; he made the mistake of looking at the lush curve of her breasts outlined by the soft material of her top. Damn. "—your...uh...thingy."
Her brows rose. "Define thingy."
"Shirt. Blouse. Whatever. What's under it?"
"A bra. It matches the crotchless panties. I went for the front snap and white lace. The black silk with red lace didn't appeal to me." She frowned. "Do men prefer a more, please forgive the word, but a more slutty look?"
"All most men need is a woman naked and willing."
"You've proven that theory quite wrong."
Dane ignored her comment. If she knew how tempted he was to show her the delights of sexual pleasure, she might do something stupid—like take off her clothes. "Do you want to enter the wet T-shirt contest or not?"
She nodded.
Dane reached up and undid the topknot; silky, honey gold hair fell around Marissa's shoulders in soft waves. He removed her glasses, folded them carefully, and put them on the desk. When he returned to her, he drew in a breath. Blonde brows slanted over green eyes flecked with gold. Her features were not sharp at all, but perfectly defined. Golden curls trailed down her slim, white neck.
Marissa Vanderson was beautiful.
"Wow."
"You don't have to pretend," she murmured.
"I'm not pretending." Good Lord, he'd been a blind man. She was exquisite.
He saw her swallow and the movement of her slender throat urged him to plant a soft kiss at the dimpled base. His gaze fastened to her generous mouth, and he nearly groaned when a pink tongue licked her lower lip.
"You're asking me to kiss you," he warned softly. "Be careful about giving signals."
Her gaze flickered. Lust? Curiosity? She was too naive to hide her uninhibited desire and his conscience refused to allow him to sip even a drop of Marissa Vanderson's innocence.
"How else do I give a signal?"
Dane sighed. "You don't want to give signals."
"I don't?"
"No."
She moved closer and the same light flowery scent he noticed earlier infiltrated his senses. "You're right. I should be more direct." She squared her shoulders and looked him straight in the eyes. "Kiss me, Dane."
Two
D ANE'S HEART STOPPED , then started thumping again triple time. Marissa disarmed him with her forthrightness. How damn long had he been in her presence? Hours? Years? She looked at him, her eyes soft and welcoming, her body just within his arms. Why not? a sneaky little voice asked. It's not like you're taking anything. She's offering.
He hesitated too long. She blinked, her face registering resignation. "Never mind. I simply refuse to surgically improve on what Mother Nature gave me. I suppose at least one man exists who will accept me as I am."
Her blatant, though unintentional, signals he could withstand. Her blunt request for a kiss wavered his resolve, but her weary acceptance of not being wanted as she was tore at him. Did she truly believe she was plain?
His mind wandered around the idea of her crotchless panties. And she wore garters with sexy silk stockings. Did she say white lace? Yeah. White lace panties with a slit in just the right place....
Whoa. Enough was enough. He needed to show her pretty backside out the door. Now. He looked down at her, saw the trembling lower lip, and made
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