So make like Nike, and “just do it.” Mmm, hmm. Alrighty then…

“What am I doing?” She cocked a brow, hoping it looked as sexy as it felt. It’d been a hell of a long time since she tried to work her feminine wiles, which meant she was rustier than the springs on Charlie Sander’s bed. “I’m finding a way to take my mind off my uncle for the next hour or so,” she told him, lowering her chin so she could stare out at him from under her eyebrows. Was it coming off like she wanted it to? Like a look of pure seduction? Or was it more of the creepy/stalkery type of expression?

In all honesty, it was hard to tell. Especially since the big idiot just stood there. Blinking at her. But then, just when she was about to try another tactic…bingo! She’d managed to pull off pure seduction after all, because Mac gulped. Like, she seriously heard an audible gulp and saw his Adam’s apple bob in the long, tan column of his throat. If she’d been a cartoon villain, this is the part where she’d rub her hands together and laugh maniacally.

“H-how were you plannin’ to do that?” he managed, uncrossing his arms and glancing behind him like he was considering making a run for it.

She pointed a finger at her face, stopping a mere foot from him. “You know what I’m planning to do. It’s written all over my face.”

“Sex.” Mac said the word like one might say mucus—with a bit of a lip-curl. For a brief moment, just one split second, she was taken aback. But then she recognized his act for what it was…

“Yes, sex. Or something close to it,” she taunted. “And you can drop the uninterested shtick right now, Mr. McMillan.” That sounded a little like Marilyn Monroe saying Mr. President, didn’t it? Yes, it did. And, booyah! “I know you want to.”

She lifted a hand, walking her fingers up the breadth of his chest until she could lay her palm over his heart. To her intense satisfaction, the organ was racing at breakneck speed, belying anything he might try to say to contradict her last statement.

Yeah, that’s right. I still got it! If it wouldn’t have ruined the mood, she’d have pumped a fist.

“Wh-why would you think that?” he asked, blinking rapidly, breathing rapidly.

“Because I felt how hard you got when you were lying on top of me.”

“That was just…uh…just the adrenaline.”

“Bullshit.”

He gulped again. “Okay. But you can’t expect me to…just…fall into your trap.”

“What trap is that?” She loved this feeling of power. Loved that, for the first time in nearly eighteen hours, she could push the panic and fear aside and concentrate on something she might actually be able to accomplish. Namely, the bedding of one Bryan “Mac” McMillan…

“Cut the crap,” he growled, glancing pointedly at her boobs. “You know what trap it is.”

She smiled, making sure the expression was a little sly, like a cat watching a canary. “You see something you like, cowboy?” she murmured, moving toward him, putting him to the shark-bump test. You know the one Great Whites use to see if their prey is weak enough to go without a fight?

It worked just as she’d hoped. The instant her hip touched his, he sucked in a breath, his nostrils flaring. As they stood there, toe-to-toe, heat poured from his big body. It made her realize the air in the room around them was close and cool, but it was his nearness that caused goose bumps to erupt over every inch of her skin. She curled her bare toes into the thick carpet as her nipples furled into tight, deliciously painful buds.

Mac noticed her body’s reaction. Even in the dimly lit room, she saw his pupils dilate. And when he licked his lips, those deceivingly soft lips? Well, it took everything she had not to shimmy up his body like an electric worker shimmies up a pole.

“You think men are led around by their dicks, don’t you?” he asked. “You think all we want is sex.”

“No.” She shrugged, watching him narrowly as she inched just a tiny bit closer. “I think men want beer and whiskey, too. Pretzels. Football on Monday nights and—”

“Yeah, I get it.” He nodded jerkily, rubbing a finger down the length of his wonderfully crooked nose. “We’re just a bunch of shallow, two-dimensional creatures, slaves to our most basic desires, and—”

She pressed a finger over his lips. A zing of sensation tripped up her spine when his hot breath tickled her skin. “Why are you trying to change the subject?” she asked him. “And why are you fighting this?”

“I’m not fightin’ anything,” he scoffed, but there was a spark of…was that fear in his eyes?

But, why?

And then it occurred to her that she might be going about this all wrong. That maybe the best way to blow through Mac’s thick, prickly barriers wasn’t to come at him sledgehammers out and swinging. He was the standoffish sort and this blatant, in-his-face attack might be doing the opposite of what she intended…frightening him into running screaming in the opposite direction. But, what then? How was she supposed to accomplish her task of turning him into putty in her hands?

And then, as if a blast of divine inspiration was breathed into her, she knew. “You’re not fighting anything?” She lifted a brow, tapping her finger ever so gently above the heavy beat of his heart, nudging his hip subtly. “So, prove it, cowboy. Because, see, here’s the deal. I’ve got this…this thing where I can’t stop thinking about you. Thinking about kissing you again on that spectacular mouth of yours.”

“You think my mouth is spectacular?” His chin jerked back.

And how cute was that? The man was unaware of just how absolutely delicious he was in every way, shape, and form.

“I do.” She nodded. “And if you must know, it’s been screwing with my head for about four years now. So, if you’re not up for sex or something close to sex, despite that giant length of wood you slung out there in the front yard,” now his fabulous lips pulled down at the corners, “then at least do me the favor of kissing me. I mean really kissing me, full-on tongueage. That way I can get you out of my system.”

There. Deal made. And now the proverbial ball was in Mac’s court…

She worried that maybe she’d read him wrong again when he swallowed thickly and took a step back, but then something changed in his eyes. His expression became less…hunted—okay, so that wasn’t very flattering—and turned a bit more contemplative. Speculative, even.

She held her breath. One second. Two.

“Just the one kiss?” He slid her a sidelong glance. “Then you’ll stop harassin’ me? Stop propositionin’ me?”

She took offense to the “harassment” part of that, but whatever. Now was not the time to quibble over semantics. “Yes,” she said and hoped she wasn’t struck down by a bolt of lightning on the spot for lying straight through her teeth. “One kiss. That’s all.”

The seconds stretched out again. One. Two. Three…

“Okay,” he finally said.

“Okay?” She slowly puffed the oxygen from her lungs, trying not to smile from ear-to-ear.

“Yes.” He nodded. A swath of dark hair fell across his brow. “Go ahead.” His voice was so wonderfully low and gravelly. “Kiss me.”

“Uh…” She thought the plan had been for him to kiss her. But again, no time to quibble. “Okay.” She nodded, wondering just how best to do this for maximum effect. And then, apparently, she was still filled with that breath of divine inspiration because she knew. She’d tell him each step before doing it. Build the tension. So when she did finally do it, he’d be so worked up that he’d forget the deal was for one kiss only. Double booyah!

“So, first I’m…I’m just going to step into you,” she whispered. “Just press myself up against you.”

“Sounds like,” again with the Adam’s apple bob, “a decent start.”

“And then I’m going to slowly sssslide,” she said, drawing out the word, “my arms around your neck.”

“Okay, then.” He nodded jerkily.

“And then I’m going to reach up on my tiptoes and—”

Before she could finish, he grabbed her waist, pulled her to him with such force that her breath caught, and slammed his mouth over the top of hers.

Oh…heavens…

There were those lips, so unexpectedly soft. Though, the pressure he applied was all man. All about the plundering and conquering. All about proving that he was now the one in control. Which, truthfully, was fine by her. Because, really, who was she to argue with him about running the show? Especially when he was doing it so well?

She opened her mouth to the slick press of his tongue, moaning at the taste of him. At some point he’d chewed on a stick of spearmint gum and his breath was fresh and delicious. Talk about toes curling into the carpet. Then, when his tongue delved and retreated, delved and retreated in languid exploration of her mouth, she forgot all about her toes or the carpet or anything else for that matter, because her muscles turned to liquid. They just dissolved into mush at the onslaught of lust roaring through her veins. She fancied it was only the fortitude of her bones that kept her from sliding horizontal.

Mmm, horizontal…

That sounded pretty good. Damn good, as a matter of fact and she got distracted from thoughts of wrestling him back toward the bed because, right then, he did something magical. He softly caught her tongue between his teeth, simultaneously sucking and flicking the tip with his own before once more plunging into her mouth.