“It hurts?”

Relieved that the odd sexual current she’d felt was now gone, she shot him a glare, one that most likely lost some of its potency due to the sopping wet hair sticking to her face as if glued to her skin. “Yes, it hurts. That would be why I yelled ‘ouch.’”

She’d expected him to offer her a hand, perhaps wrap an arm around her to help her walk, but instead he dipped his knees and before she knew what was happening, he’d swung her up into his arms and was striding toward Constant Cravings.

“Wh…what are you doing?”

“I would think that’s obvious,” he said, his tone the only dry thing about him. “I’m carrying you the rest of the way.”

“I can walk,” she felt compelled to say, even as her hand curved around his wet neck. “Or at least hobble.”

“Uh-huh. At a rate that will get us away from these sprinklers sometime next week.” He stepped onto the sidewalk, out of the sprinklers’ range, then headed toward the green-and-white striped awning over Constant Cravings’ door.

“Pretty impressive for a guy who sits behind a desk all day,” she said.

“I don’t sit behind a desk all the time.”

“Still, I’m not exactly a flyweight.”

“You’re…” His voice trailed off and his gaze skimmed down her form. A muscle ticked in his jaw, then his eyes raised back to hers. “Fine. Not heavy.” Water from his hair and face dripped onto her chest as he stopped in front of the shop’s glass door. “Where’s the key?”

“In my purse.” She bit her lower lip. “Which I dropped when I fell.”

“I don’t suppose you picked it up again?”

“Well, I would have if someone hadn’t turned all he-man and scooped me up like a sack of potatoes and stomped off with me.”

“Well, excu-u-u-use me for trying to help. Next time I’ll leave you flat on your back on the cold, wet grass.”

A fissure of shame shivered through her. “Point taken. You’re right, and I’m sorry. I appreciate the help.”

His eyebrows raised, then narrowed with suspicion. “Did you hit your head when you fell?”

“Ha-ha. No. But I’m woman enough to admit when I’m wrong and apologize.”

“Apology accepted. And I didn’t stomp.”

“If you say so.”

“Now about your purse…” He turned and she followed his gaze. Her purse sat like an oversized lump on the soaking-wet no-man’s land where they’d fallen.

A moan escaped her. “I think I’m in mourning. That bag was brand new. And suede.”

“Mourn later. Right now I need to get the bag, which means I need to put you down.” He gently lowered her legs, sliding her thighs down his torso. He felt hard and strong and muscular and a sensation akin to standing too close to a brush fire whipped through her. When she sucked in a hard breath, he paused in the act of slipping his arm from around her legs and looked at her.

“Did I hurt you?”

His compelling gaze seemed to pin her in place. And his voice…it sounded deep and slightly husky. As if he’d just awakened-after a night spent indulging in no-holds-barred sex. His warm breath brushed over her cold lips and she realized with a jolt how close his mouth was to hers. A mouth that somehow managed to look both soft and firm at the same time.

At that instant she underwent some sort of surreal out of body experience where, as if from a distance, she saw herself lean forward and kiss him. She blinked and the image-or mirage or whatever it was-disappeared like a puff of smoke blown away by the wind, leaving a trail of heated awareness in its wake.

“Lacey, did I hurt you?”

The unmistakable note of concern in his voice yanked her back. Not trusting her own voice she simply shook her head.

“Brace your hand against the wall and keep your weight off your injured ankle.” After she’d done so and gained her balance, he gently released her.

“You okay to stand like that for a minute while I get your purse, or do you need to sit down?”

“I’m fine,” she said, not at all sure she was, in a way that had nothing to do with her throbbing ankle and everything to do with the way he’d felt pressed against her. And the way his wet dress shirt clung to his body-his obviously very nice body-as if it were painted on. “Go.” Now. Quick. Before I reach out and grab you. And run my hands over your chest and abs to see if they’re really as incredible as they look. Then peek down your pants to see if what I felt on the lawn lives up to its promise-

“Ack!” When the horrified sound escaped her, he hesitated. She waved her hand at him, hoping the motion didn’t look as frantic as it felt. “I’m fine. Really. Go.”

He gave a nod, then headed briskly back into the water-spewing arena. Her gaze zeroed in on his wide back, then cruised down to his butt-all perfectly outlined in his sopping clothes.

Whew. No doubt about it, Evan Sawyer had hit some sort of genetic lottery. Still, Madame Karma had been certifiable to suggest he was Mr. Right.

But, wow.

Unfortunately, “wow” was the exact opposite of how she should be reacting to him.

So…what the heck was she going to do about it?

4

EVAN STRODE TOWARD Lacey’s purse, grateful for the blasts of cold water pelting him. Because he sure as hell needed cooling off.

What in God’s name was wrong with him?

A humorless sound escaped him. Stupid question. He knew damn well what was wrong. The problem was that he could still feel the imprint of her on his body. Could still see the awareness dawning in her eyes as she lay beneath him. Still recall the erotic sensation of her wet body sliding against his. Still smell the subtle scent that had risen from her damp skin-a mismatched combination of sugar and flowers that logically should not have been appealing or sexy. Yet it was. Shockingly so.

As was his reaction to her. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d gotten so turned on so fast. He’d looked down at her, into those wide eyes, seen those moist, full, parted lips, and he’d gone from zero to rock hard in a heartbeat. A physical reaction she’d clearly noticed. One he’d been helpless to stop. And was now equally helpless to explain.

Oh, sure, she was attractive-but why her? She was so completely not his type it was laughable. Why did it have to be her-the one woman who irritated him beyond belief-who had his damn libido clenched into a wad?

His jaw tightened. Damn it, this entire mess was that crazy fortune-teller’s fault. Ever since she’d read his cards earlier today he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her words. Which was insane because he didn’t put any credence into things like psychic abilities. The fact that Madame Karma had hit so eerily close to home on what she’d said about his past and present was simply a case of clever word manipulation. The things she’d told him could apply to ninety-nine percent of the population. After all, show him a person who, by the age of thirty-two, hadn’t endured some hardships, heartaches and bumps in the road, and he’d show you a person who’d spent the last three decades living in a sterile room.

And then, what she’d said about his future…He blew out a quick breath filled with disbelief. A bunch of nonsense about his “aura” and about his “soul mate” being right under his nose.

In the form of Lacey Perkins.

The same weird sensation gripped his insides now as when she’d first uttered her bizarre prediction. Probably indigestion. He shouldn’t have eaten that spicy sausage hero, especially on the heels of his visit to Madame Karma’s table.

He’d wasted no time telling the woman that she couldn’t be more wrong, but she’d stared at him with those unnerving dark eyes of hers and had insisted, stating that both his aura and the cards plainly indicated that Lacey Perkins was Ms. Right.

What a boatload of crap.

He reached the purse, bent down to retrieve it-a move that resulted in another bull’s-eye-like sprinkler blast to his ass-and with a grunt straightened and tucked the soaking wet bundle under his arm. Turning, he started navigating his way back toward Constant Cravings. Where Lacey awaited him. Standing beneath the awning, illuminated by the silvery glow of the full moon. Looking so damn sexy and hot he was surprised smoke wasn’t rising from her.

The fact that he was having these outlandish sexual thoughts about her was obviously nothing more than the power of suggestion. Madame Karma had suggested, very mistakenly, that in spite of his knowledge otherwise, he and Lacey were compatible in every way-mentally, emotionally and sexually. And now that the stupid seed had been planted, it had, against his will, taken root. Sort of like the way a person got a song stuck in their head.

Damn it, he hated when that happened. Sometimes it took days to exorcise the melody. Last time it had happened, the song had been “The Itsy Bitsy Spider,” which he’d sung a couple of dozen times, much to the delight of his next-door neighbors’ four-year-old son, who’d “helped” him wash his car. Unfortunately it had taken more than a week to clear the words from his brain.

Good God. What if it took that long to empty his mind of these crazy thoughts about Lacey? Thoughts about slowly peeling the wet clothes off that outrageously curvy body. Thoughts about tasting that full, pouty mouth, which had been only inches away from his. Although, if he were to be completely honest, he’d thought about peeling off her clothes long before tonight. If he were to be completely honest, he’d entertained those thoughts the instant she’d asked him if he’d like a Slow Glide into Pleasure. Fortunately, up until now, he’d been able to shove those thoughts aside. Most of the time. But now?

His gaze fastened on her, on the sight of her clothes clinging to her like a second skin, and the impact nearly knocked him off his feet-in a way that had nothing to do with the slippery grass. Holy crap. If he managed to get away from her without putting his hands-and mouth-on her it was going to be a freaking miracle.