of hers comes fully into view. The crocheted hem of her shorts skim the tops of her supple, shapely thighs. The sight of which set my palms tingling. I stand, intent on following her, and nearly collide with the server standing at my table with a tray of food balanced on one hand.
“Oh, shit,” I mutter, as I lose sight of Regan. I sit, a frustrated sigh slips past my lips before I press them together and give the woman a halfhearted smiled. “That’s mine?” I ask.
Her brows furrow and her smile flattens as concern creases her eyes and she reaches for the small pad of paper in her shirt front pocket. “You are leaving? Or, maybe I have the wrong table?”
“No, no, this is right. Sorry, go ahead.” I gesture at the table.
She nods, but there’s a bemused smile on her face, as she lays my food out on the table and the aroma of sweet roasted garlic, caramelized onions and sizzling Carne Asada makes my eyes roll back in my head, and my empty stomach growls its demand.
I start building my fajita and plan my assault.
Even if Tyson’s intel about her marriage is right, Regan Wilde is still out of my league.
But being close enough to touch the one horizon I’ve always wanted to explore, the adrenaline junkie in me can’t resist. It’s a long shot; she might not be so keen now that she knows I’m not a stranger.
I attack my meal with gusto and eat every bite.
It’s said that fortune favors the bold. I’ll need all the stamina I can get because the next time I see her, I’m going to put that theory to the test.
Head Start
Stone
I’m sitting at the bar, watching the entrance of the restaurant for her, when the intangible, but unmistakable sultry citrus scent of her fills my lungs. I stop typing mid-sentence and lay my phone down, just as she slides that fine ass of hers onto the bar stool next to me.
“Long time, no see,” Regan drawls, in her smooth as cream, sexy as fuck voice. Her impossibly dark eyes glint like obsidian coins, as she drags them over my face in a frank, possessive appraisal.
“Have you come to bring me your panties?” I drawl.
She shakes her head no, but a slow smile lifts the corners of her lush mouth, before she leans in, so close, that her lips touch my ear when she speaks.
“I wanted to see if you were recovered. I felt guilty leaving you in such a state of obvious need when I got off…on your lap.”
She draws back, and the twinkle in her eye is as intoxicating as her scent and as captivating as her smile. God, the things I want to do to her…aware of where we are and of the rapidly withering integrity of my restraint, I lean away from the temptress and sip the warm, bitter dregs of my beer, so that I can speak without clearing my suddenly parched throat.
“It’s nice to know there are still women out there who don’t just hit and quit it. Thank you for your concern, unfortunately, I’m far from recovered.”
“I could take your word for it, or you could come to my room and let me see for myself.” Her gaze is unflinchingly direct, the invitation in them, unambiguous.
I’d been prepared to wear her down. That she’s the one, propositioning me, slackens my jaw and scrambles my wits. I look from her face to the card and back again, as I try to force my brain to work.
At my hesitation, doubt clouds her dark eyes, and she glances down to my lap. Her frank gaze lingers there, watching my hardening dick demonstrate what’s trapped on my tied tongue.
Like the proverbial cat eyeing her bowl of cream, the tip of her tongue strokes her gloss-slicked lips. God, how I want to fuck that mouth.
As if she heard me, her gaze snaps to mine, her eyes hooded, luminous, and clear of the uncertainty that flashed in them, a few seconds ago.
“You may be something of a tease, but your dick certainly isn’t,” she drawls.
I lean in until I’m close enough to smell the juniper on her breath and the brush of her soft exhales tickle my lips.
“Those are fighting words. I must defend my honor. My dick challenges your mouth to a duel.”
Her eyes widen, her chest heaves, but her smile is sure and sensual as she reaches into the back pocket of her tiny shorts. “I accept.”