He nodded, watching her thoughtfully. "And the next time we see each other, we'll just forget it ever happened. Is that it?"

Right. Except there wouldn't be a next time.

"I live here now," he said. "On your street. We're going to run into each other. What do you expect us to do, pretend we've never met?"

Hey, it was a long street.

"My God," he said with a low laugh. "That's exactly what you expect."

"Look-" She racked her brain for his name. "Uh…"

He stared at her in disbelief. "You don't remember my name?"

When she only winced at this, he let out a low oath, stalked away, then whipped back. "Kevin," he said, no longer looking so laid-back or sleepy-eyed. "My name is Kevin."

"I'm sorry. I'm not very good at this."

"No, actually." Sinking his fingers into his hair, making the short, dark silky strands stick straight up, he shook his head. "You're far better than you think."

"I meant at leaving."

"So did I." He opened the bedroom door for her, turning sideways for her to get by. The space was narrow, and her breast brushed his ribs. A shiver actually passed through her, startling her into stopping, into staring up into his eyes.

He didn't look away. Of course he didn't look away. He'd probably never run, never avoided or ducked an issue in his life. As opposed to her, who quit and ran far and fast whenever the going got tough.

His hand brushed her hip, and as her body was inexplicably aware of each place where they'd touched, her pulse leapt.

The beat stretched into a moment, until she was forced to pull air into her lungs. It sounded like a gasp, loud in the silent room.

Again his fingers brushed her hip, this time as if trying to soothe, but this time the touch had the opposite effect because she wanted to rip her clothes off again. This was bad, very bad-not only was there the awkwardness of realizing she still wanted him, but no doubt he could see that want.

And yet he didn't speak, didn't move, just stood there with his fingers barely grazing her hips.

"No," she said to his unspoken question, to her need, to every damn thing, and she pushed past him. "It wasn't that good."

"Oh, come on. You can do better than that."

Already halfway down the hall, she looked back. "Excuse me?"

He stood there propping up the doorjamb with his shoulder, bare-chested, barefooted, jeans low on his hips, his expression assuring he saw right through her. "I thought maybe you'd also want to slam my character in some way to make sure that I don't call you or try to pick up where we left off."

She struggled not to wince.

"Because that's what you'd like to do, right?" he pressed. "Piss me off so there's no chance in hell I'll want to be with you again?"

She opened her mouth, then slowly closed it again.

He just waited with the patience of a saint. A rough and rumpled gorgeous saint.

Or a teacher.

Yeah, she remembered now. He'd told her he was a teacher. A teacher in a leather jacket on a motorcycle. God, her hormones hadn't had a chance.

But they had one now. "Good-bye, Kevin."

"Remember my name,” he called after her. "You're going to be saying it again."

Against her better judgment, she turned back one more time. "No. I won't."

He leaned there so negligently in that deceptively lazy pose. "So you felt nothing?"

She'd felt a hell of a lot of things, mostly mind-blowing lust, but it was the light of day now and in it all she felt was a desperate need to be gone. Absolutely nothing."

"Liar," he chided softly.

Fine. She'd just do exactly as he'd accused her: make him glad to see her go. "Last night we both agreed that this was just a scratching of an itch, a one-time thing."

"Yes," he agreed with that maddening calm. "But that was before we mutually imploded in bed."

Oh, yeah they had, but she pulled a face and put some doubt in her voice. "I'd agree it was okaaaay," she said casually.

He dropped his arms to his sides and straightened from the door, his face incredulous. "You were every bit as into it as I was, and I have the ten fingernail marks embedded in my ass to prove it. And a bite mark on my shoulder. And a-"

"I said it was okay," she said through her teeth. What was he doing? Why wasn't he getting mad? Why was she now mad?

He looked at her, his eyes suddenly narrowing in suspicion. "Why don't you tell me what part didn't work for you."

"What?"

"I can take it."

She smiled tightly because now she was going to incinerate him. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

He spread his hands out at his sides. "Give me your worst."

Walking toward him, she lifted a finger. "You have stinky feet."

Not true, but she'd wanted to list a fault. Only problem, Kevin hadn't exhibited any. Not that he didn't have them- all men had them-she just didn't know his yet.

And wouldn't ever know.

He laughed. "I do not have stinky-"

She put up another finger. "You have snoring issues."

"What? That's crazy. I don't-"

"And, three-"

"There's three?"

"Yes. Quite frankly…" She shrugged. "You're not that great in bed."

Again his gaze narrowed. "Not that great in bed."

She patted him on the shoulder, trying not to notice his warm skin or the hard sinew beneath. "I'm sorry to be the one to break it to you."

"Yeah. I can see you're pretty broken up about it." He scratched his chest again, looking both bewildered and a little stunned.

And sexy as hell with it.

Definitely time to go. But just as she turned away, her eyes locked on her panties lying beneath his bed. Aha! Moving back into the room, she grabbed them, folding them as she had her bra, and added them to her pocket.

Kevin was watching her, just standing there in silence. She forced a smile. "I'll just be going now." More silence.

"Yeah. So… thanks for-"

"For being bad in bed?" he asked silkily.

"It's nothing personal, you know. Lots of men have no idea how to please a woman."

"If I was so bad, why did you come three times?"

"I faked them."

Cost of the bottle of wine they'd shared last night: S35. Cost of the cookies she'd bought the night before: $20. Cost of the expression on his face: priceless.

But he recovered quickly. "That's interesting, that faking-it business." He stalked back into the room and came close, that big, warm, strong body of his making hers yearn and burn. "Were you faking it when you begged me to-"

"Oh, no. No, no, no. I didn't beg."

"Really?"

"Really," she said to his smug and-damn it-now smiling face.

"Then what was"-and here he used a falsetto voice, mocking what she assumed was to be her as she'd come-"Oh, please, oh, pretty please, don't stop… There. God, yes, there-"

She snatched the pillow from his bed. It left her fingers and flung its way toward his smirking mug before she even became aware that she'd thrown it.

Catching it in midair, he smiled innocently. What's the matter? Truth hurts?"

"You are impossible."

"Same goes, sweetheart."

Blind with annoyance, she whirled for the open door and plowed directly into a guy standing there.

Tall, dark-haired, and caramel-eyed, he looked like a younger version of Kevin, down to his matching mischievous come-get-me expression. Mortified at what he'd most likely just overheard, Mia didn't stick around for introductions but shoved past him and walked away.

Damn, she felt flustered. Stinky feet? Snoring? Is that the best she could do?

And as for being bad in bed … Ha! He'd been sensual, passionate, earthy… amazing. And as she let herself out his front door into the bright Southern California morning, the hazy red, smog-filled air a backdrop for the LA skyline in the valley below, she had to admit, he'd gotten to her.

Big-time. She stalked toward her house, the Glen-dale Hills all around her still lush and green from a late spring. Her leather T-strap Prada pumps sank into the wet grass with a little pop each step, the feeling reminding her of a very drenched Tennessee morning. Of being fourteen…


***

Even at fourteen, Mia had known her life wasn't a sitcom. People whispered about her older sister, about her momma, about their single-wide in Country Homes Trailer Estates, but mostly they whispered about her.

"Too hoity-toity."

"Thinks she's a fancy know-it-all."

Well, she had news. She did know it all, thank you very much. She eyed the faux Formica kitchen counter, the window lined with duct tape to keep out the mosquitoes, she listened to the drip, drip, drip of the kitchen sink, and she knew she was destined for better no matter what anyone-everyone-said.

While other girls her age listened to music and hung out wherever there were boys, Mia went to the library every day on her way home from school, gobbling up everything she could, much to her momma's mystified bewilderment.

There was a whole big world out there, and Mia wanted a piece of it.

Sitting at the kitchen table and fingering a crack in the veneer made when Momma's last boyfriend had thrown the iron at a cockroach, Mia dreamed about how different things would be when she grew up and left here. For one, she'd have mountains of money. She'd have a house with a tub for bathing and not for soaking clothes. She'd have walls thicker than paper-thin fake-wood paneling and a car that not only started every time but also didn't stall at stoplights. Oh, and leather seats.