played it cool. I crossed my arms over my chest and regarded her with the practiced air of one who had seen and done everything. It was a good front. It didn’t even hint at the heart now pounding like a racehorse against the inner walls of my chest. She was so fucking hot when she was riled.
“Do you kiss your kids with that mouth?” I asked smoothly, glad that my voice remained deep and masculine. Given the state of things and the regression of my self-control, I wouldn’t have been surprised if it cracked. Such a thing might be forgivable and even possibly cute on a fifteen-year-old, but on a thirty-eight-year-old man, it was embarrassing. Christ. What was it about this woman that made me feel eighteen again?
She lowered her water bottle, slowly and deliberately. Fire and flames flickered in her eyes, but otherwise, her expression was just as frustratingly impassive as it had been earlier in her office.
Tiger, I decided. She would be a tiger in bed.
That, of course, generated thoughts of how her claws might feel while raking down my back in the throes of passion. This woman would score me; I was certain of it. More surprisingly, I wanted her to.
“You are in my house.”
I gave her one of my best cocky half-smiles as a reward for her keen grasp of the obvious. The one that usually had women removing their panties and tossing them up onstage.
Not her though. If anything, I’d just poked the tiger with a stick.
Her chest heaved. I had known she was curvy, but I hadn’t fully appreciated just how much in that loose-fitting blouse she wore earlier. My gaze latched on to a bead of sweat that dripped down her neck and over her collarbone before it disappeared into all that luscious abundance.
She snapped her fingers, the sharp sound like a crack of a whip. “Why are you in my house?”
I shrugged, raising my eyes to hers. “Because you’re here,” I answered honestly.
She looked at me as if she didn’t quite know what to do with that, partly vexed and partly amused. I had a few ideas. They involved a prompt removal of that sportswear—enticing as it was—and additional hours of vigorous exercise.
I tried to force my lizard brain back into submission, startled by the intensity of my desire for this woman. I wasn’t usually prone to such vehement caveman urges, but something about her was proving to be quite a trigger. It was unnerving and definitely warranted further study.
“Ted is going crazy, looking for you guys,” she said, her tone admonishing.
“Ted’s young. He’ll get over it. And it serves him right for taking us to a cat house.”
She narrowed her eyes. “So, this is payback?”
I shrugged.
After we’d ditched the kid, I’d enlisted Kurt’s help, thinking maybe Eva would be more likely to accept an invitation to dinner if he was along. Eva wasn’t here when we arrived, but her kids were, and apparently, they were fans. We hadn’t planned on sticking around, but when they’d invited us in and offered us a home-cooked meal, neither Kurt nor I were going to pass that up.
“Is Kurt here too?”
“Yes, Kurt’s here too. He’s been teaching Brian the solo to ‘Angel Eyes.’ Your boys are awesome, by the way. They’ve got a lot of natural talent.”
Chapter 3
Dear Ida,
I met a woman. She’s amazing. Gorgeous, smart, sexy. She’s clearly into me, but refuses to acknowledge her feelings. What should I do? – Anxious Rocker
* * *
Dear Anxious,
Get a clue. Sounds like you’re the one refusing to acknowledge her feelings. Smart women can spot insincerity a mile away. Ditch the sense of entitlement and try being a decent human being.
~ * ~
Eva
“Thanks,” I mumbled, my mind struggling to accept these latest developments.
1. Jace Logan was in my house.
2. Jace and Kurt were safe and accounted for, which meant I wasn’t going to have to do any kind of major damage control tomorrow.
3. I was a hot, sweaty mess, and he’d just seen me shaking my ass and verbally abusing the people in my workout video.
“Hey, Jace! You coming?” Tommy’s voice said from somewhere beyond the doorway.
“Yeah, in a sec,” Jace called over his shoulder before turning back to me. “We’re playing Rock Band now,” he explained with mock seriousness. “The kid’s beating me at my own songs. I have to redeem myself, or he’s going to think I’m a total poser.”
Surreal—that was what it was. I was standing in boy shorts, sweating profusely—and not in