you. And I am absolutely, positively not going to skulk.”
Two hours later, Louisa slouched low in the Porsche as she looked for house numbers painted on mailboxes. They were in a mixed neighborhood of small, not especially well-kept bungalows and larger, newer homes. The houses were set on heavily treed lots, frequently separated by patches of woods. The street was dark and windy. Louisa shook her head in disbelief. Against her better judgment she was about to spy on Bucky Dunowski.
Her mouth tightened into a grimace as she glanced over at Pete. His profile was outlined in moonlight, all mysterious shadows and hard, masculine planes. He was obscenely handsome and hopelessly well adjusted. He also had brass doodles and didn’t know the meaning of the word no. Not the sort of man she wanted to become romantically involved with, she reminded herself for the umpteenth time.
Unfortunately, that was an intellectual decision and had little bearing on her emotions. The truth was, Pete Streeter was looking better with each passing second. It was one of those miracles of nature—romantic dementia. And it occurred whenever she was within arm’s reach of Streeter. His laundry habits were seeming trivial. His inability to find his own parking space was becoming endearing. The fit of his jeans overshadowed all else.
She rested her forehead against the side window and sighed.
“Something wrong?”
“Only everything.”
He patted her knee. “Good to know you’re not one of those sickening optimists.”
She noticed his hand was lingering on her leg. She should call his attention to it, she thought, but she wasn’t sure she wanted him to remove it. His hand was warm and reassuring, and it was sending pleasurable sensations to other parts of her body. It had been a long time since she’d enjoyed those kinds of sensations. Now that she gave it serious thought, maybe she’d never experienced them. Certainly the feelings were beyond her memory.
They rolled past two mailboxes before Louisa realized one of them must have been Bucky’s. “Hold up,” she said. “I think we just missed it.”
Pete pulled onto the shoulder a few yards down the road. “This is a good place to park. It’s dark and fairly secluded.” He slid his arm across the back of her seat. “We don’t want to park where we can be seen,” he said, trailing his hand over her shoulder, down her coat sleeve.
He felt like Goldilocks, settling in to eat Little Bear’s bowl of porridge. After all that previous sampling, he’d finally found a woman who was just right. The knowledge was more intuitive, more emotional than rational, but he’d always trusted his instincts, and he saw no reason not to trust them now.
He saw that she was very still, not moving from his touch. She was making decisions, he thought. She was trying to come to terms with her own feelings. He hoped she decided on positive action.
“You know, maybe we were hasty about this pig business. Maybe it’s not such a good idea to go chasing around at night,” he said. Maybe it would be better to stay here and take our clothes off, he thought. Disrobing in a Porsche wasn’t his idea of the perfect prelude to lovemaking, but he was willing to sacrifice comfort for the good of the cause. Besides, there was something to be said for spontaneity, right? And there was something to be said for sanity, and the fact that he was going to lose his if the cause didn’t get served soon.
He tentatively caressed a silky tendril of her hair, and the contact sent affection surging through him. The affection tempered lust and provoked an attack of conscience. He knew he was rushing things. They’d only known each other for a few days, and she was still laboring under the delusion that she didn’t like him. Encouraging her to take her clothes off probably wasn’t a good idea. He didn’t want to be accused of being pushy and of only having one thing on his mind…especially if it was true.
His fingertip followed the curve of her ear down to the line of her jaw, and the contact sent out another shot of desire. He was engaging in self-indulgent torture, he thought. He’d be better off not to touch her at all, but he was incapable of exercising that much self-control. Nothing short of cutting off his hands would keep them from reaching out for Louisa. He skimmed his thumb over the pulse point, and his fingers curled around the nape of