The Guy Next Door - By Lori Foster, S Donovan, V Dahl Page 0,94

found myself transferring to women’s studies with a minor in anthropology. I interned at The White Orchid as part of a course, and…here I am. It’s my passion.”

His eyebrows rose. “I had no idea that kind of passion could be so…scholarly.”

“Oh, yeah? How did you think I fell into this?”

“I don’t…” An honest-to-goodness blush crept over his cheeks.

Beth couldn’t quite believe it. Oh, she saw plenty of blushing customers at the store, but men never blushed because of her.

Something like liquid electricity zinged down her spine. Beth studied his face. He had a square jaw and a strong, straight nose. His eyes were smoky blue, almost gray, and his eyebrows were dark slashes above them.

As for his mouth…she could spend hours imagining the feel of those sculpted lips against hers.

“I wasn’t thinking anything,” he finally offered, his smile both chagrined and charming.

He looked as if he would smell good. Like starch and shampoo. She decided to let him off the hook. “I’ll drop it.”

“Okay, great.” Relief chased across his face.

Beth ate her dessert and weighed her options. He was cute. Hot. Sexy. And well-known for flirtation, though he didn’t seem particularly forward. If she was brave enough to indulge her fetish for preppy guys, he might just be the perfect candidate for the job. He wouldn’t want anything more from her than she wanted from him. And how would her friends ever find out?

She took another bite to buy herself some time. His eyes watched as she raised the fork to her mouth. As soon as she swallowed, she shook her head. “I’m sorry. Have a bite.”

“No way. It’s all yours. I’m just enjoying watching.”

“Oh, yeah?” She couldn’t help but grin. “Interesting.”

His head dropped as he laughed.

Lust spun through her like a vicious flock of butterflies. She wanted this man. She wanted to touch him. Taste him. Feel his skin beneath her hands.

“Jamie—”

“Um, listen. Beth…”

“Yes?”

His lips parted as if he were about to speak, but he shook his head before saying a word. Was he nervous, or was this part of his shtick? If it was, it was totally working for her.

He cleared his throat. “I’d still like to get you a glass of wine. Can I buy you a drink?”

Uh-oh. This was do-or-die time. She’d flirted with him. She was interested in more. But that “more” had nothing to do with being seen in public with him. “You mean at the bar?”

“Actually, there’s a wine bar across the street. It’s a little less hectic.”

Her hands tightened around the box until the ends bowed. “I don’t think I can. I’ve got the seminar. But thank you.” Even as the words left her mouth, she felt a surge of disappointment. In herself.

She stood up so quickly that she swayed on her heels. He stood too and reached out to steady her with a respectful hand under her arm. God, he was so cute that it hurt.

“Right,” he said. “The seminar. Afterward then?”

“I…”

His mouth looked serious now. He was waiting for her to say no. She was waiting for it too. But that wasn’t the word that escaped her lips.

“Okay,” she said so softly that he leaned forward.

“Sorry?”

She cleared the fear from her throat. “Okay. I’ll meet you there.”

“I could walk you—”

“No. I’ll be fine. It’s just across the street, right? Next to the bridge?”

“That’s it. So around nine-thirty? Does that work?”

Beth’s muscles were tightening up as her heart began to pound, as if flirting with this man was sending her into fight-or-flight mode. “Sure. Nine-thirty. That sounds great.”

The elevator dinged and a crowd of voices suddenly filled the hallway.

Crap. What if someone saw her here, cozied up in this small space with Jamie Donovan and chocolate? It would look just as sinful as it was. Beth’s heart beat so hard, she wondered if he could hear it. Certainly his smile was slipping. Probably because she was just standing there, staring wide-eyed at him.

“I’ve got to go,” she finally stammered. “I don’t want to be late.”

“Of course—” he started, but she cut him off.

“Thank you for the torte. It was so good.” She thrust the box into his hands, mourning the last few bites she hadn’t eaten.

“So—”

“I’ll see you in a little while,” she interrupted then whispered, “Nine-thirty,” as she backed away from him.

He looked more than a little confused as she turned and rushed for the corridor. She wanted to reassure him, but she was panicking. Just a little. She told herself there was no reason. They’d arranged to have a