“What’s going on, Becca?”

“You tell me. Why were you at the lake last night?”

“I thought I was rescuing you from-” He shook his head. “Never mind.” A muscle in his jaw worked, and his eyes were so dark they looked black.

“You thought you were rescuing me from…” The lightbulb clicked on in her brain and she let out a disbelieving laugh. “You really thought I was going to a strip club, didn’t you?”

“Well you did mention it.”

“I mentioned Italy, too.”

“I knew you weren’t going to Italy on your salary.” He couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her. “You had the makeover. You look…amazing.”

“Same as last night.”

“Hardly. Not when you were a hundred feet in the air, waving your feet and screaming like a banshee, and certainly not afterward when you missed your landing and came out of the drink looking like a drowned rat.”

“Oh, yeah.” Curiously deflated, she straightened. “Well…I need to get to work.”

Kent followed her, then held the door shut when she would have opened it. “You never answered my question, Bec. What’s going on here?”

She put her arms out and twirled around, modeling herself. “I was looking for a change, you know that. Is there something wrong with it?”

His quick intake of breath gave him away. “No.” Betrayed by the thickness of his voice, he cleared his throat. “That dress…”

She had turned away from him, facing the door again, but now she peeked at him over her shoulder to find him staring at her behind.

“Are you…wearing anything under that?” He sounded hoarse.

And looked so irresistible. Why couldn’t they explore this attraction? What would it hurt? The need made her bold. “Thong panties,” she whispered, feeling the blush creep up her face, and deciding she very much liked the way the heat in his eyes sparked to a full flame.

“Thong-” He closed his eyes, groaned, a sound so serrated and sexy and thrillingly dangerous she shivered. “Where did yesterday’s Becca go? The one that liked her quiet life and baggy jeans?”

“She’s on vacation. Permanently.”

He lifted his confused gaze to meet hers. “I don’t think I get it. You were fine the way you were.”

“I told you,” she said gently, because clearly she had completely baffled the poor man. “Fine is no longer enough for me. Now if you’ll excuse me…” Again she turned to the door, reached for it. “I have work.”

At her back, his fingers settled against her arm, and that same bolt of attraction, the one she’d felt yesterday, staggered her. “There are safer ways to flex your wings,” he said very quietly, his hard chest against her spine and shoulders.

“Just some friendly concern?”

He went absolutely still, then dropped his hand and stepped back. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I shouldn’t have-” He shoved up his sleeves, revealing those arms she loved. They were lean, tightly muscled, allowing all sorts of wicked images to float across her mind.

When he caught her staring, he swore and backed up farther, bumping an elbow into a microscope on the credenza, which he had to be quick to catch as it went flying. With another oath, he set the expensive equipment down and crossed his arms over his chest, tucking his hands away as if he didn’t trust them.

He looked edgy, dangerous. And so cute she wanted to hug him. “Kent-”

“You’ve got work.”

He was trying to resist her, with all his might, and it gave her a wonderful, delirious sense of feminine power that she’d never felt before. He was attracted, and for whatever reason, he didn’t want to face it. But he didn’t want to hurt her, either. “You’re sweet, Kent.”

“Sweet?” A bark of hard laughter escaped him. “If you could read my thoughts when I look at you in that dress, you’d rethink that word.”

Smiling would definitely ruin the moment. “Would it be so bad if I knew what you were thinking?”

“Yes!”

“Why?”

“Because…dammit, just because!”

“There’s a good reason.”

“This is not going to happen.”

“What isn’t going to happen?” she asked innocently and he rubbed his temples and groaned.

“I mean it,” he told her. “Not happening.”

Her smile escaped then. “Okay, but-”

“No! No buts! God-” he swiped a hand over his face. “Are you going to look this way every day?

“Yep.”

He looked miserable. “This isn’t real. You do not suddenly look this…hot.”

Her smile widened and he pointed. “Stop that, stop that right now.”

“I’m just looking at you.”

“Yeah, you’re just looking at me. Like you want to eat me for breakfast. Now knock it off.” When she laughed, he glared at her. “I mean it. Be good.”

She shook her head and walked to him. “So what you’re saying is that you don’t feel anything when you look at me. Other than…friendship.”

He flattened himself to the door. “That’s right. That’s all I feel.”

On her tiptoes now, because he was very tall, she touched his rock hard jaw. “If you’re sure,” she whispered.

He groaned again, and beneath the hand she’d rested on his chest, she felt his every muscle tense. “And friends don’t…don’t touch,” he grated out.

The intercom buzzed, startling them both, and Cookie’s voice filled the air from the intercom. “Becca? Was that you that came through here a minute ago?”

Becca backed away from Kent and at the loss of her incredible body heat, he drew a careful breath.

What was happening?

“It’s me,” Becca said to the intercom, her eyes still on Kent’s.

He meant to look away, but couldn’t. He had no will left, it was busy warring between his need to grab and kiss her and run like hell.

Running seemed like a much smarter move.

“Well let me say, you look fab,” Cookie said.

“Thanks.” Becca blushed.

Kent had just enough blood left in his brain to find her embarrassment amusing. Yes, she was much more beautiful than he’d ever imagined, but that didn’t mean anything because they weren’t involved. Not at all. Not even one little bit. He cared for her, maybe more than he meant to, but he could control that.

No involvement with someone he cared about. None.

But because he did care, he waited until Cookie had clicked off the intercom and said, “Okay, come clean. What’s your next adventure?”

“Why?”

“I want you to be careful, that’s all.”

“Careful is my middle name.”

“This isn’t funny, Becca. You’re not going to a club, right? Because men are slime, trust me on this.”

“All men?”

“Most definitely all men.”

She actually looked intrigued by that but before they could discuss it, Dennis poked his head in and grinned at her. “Just wanted to tell you, I’ll pick you up at eight. Wear your dancing shoes.”

Becca frowned. “Dennis-”

The door shut again, effectively cutting off whatever she’d been about to say.

Slowly, she let out her breath.

“Slime,” Kent repeated. “Complete slime.”


THE CLUB WAS PACKED. First of all, it was a new place, and secondly, the hors d’oeuvres were on special. There was nothing the locals enjoyed more than a good deal.

Oh, and the band was hot.

That’s what the guy at the door told him. Kent reserved judgment, or attempted to as the big band sound from the forties bombarded his eardrums.

He preferred good old-fashioned rock and roll.

He had no business being here, but he’d been unable to think of anything except Becca being taken advantage of. He hoped to God she hurried up and got this adventure thing out of her system soon, because frankly it was exhausting trying to save her.

It took him a moment to adjust to the lighting, and then he wished he hadn’t. On the dance floor, in the arms of a friend he suddenly wanted to slug, was Becca. She had on one of those black, shimmery, mouth-watering, body-hugging dresses he had been drooling over just yesterday from her catalogue. Just like in the glossy pages, the spaghetti straps and scooped neck, snug body and short skirt were all systematically designed to drive a man insane with wanting.

Dennis had one hand on the small of her back, nudging her close so that there wasn’t a spec of light between their two bodies. His other hand held Becca’s as they gyrated to the music.

Becca’s face was flushed with her smile of concentration, and she nodded at whatever little secret Dennis was whispering in her ear.

Rejecting a server’s offer of a drink, Kent strode directly onto the dance floor. The music changed tempo, from lightning fast to soft and slow. Great, he thought with a groan. Make-out music.

Becca was a sitting duck.

Over her head, Dennis saw Kent coming, and winked.

With what Kent felt was a remarkable calm, he pushed his way between them.

“Kent!” Becca blinked at him in surprise. “Hello.”

“Move it,” Kent suggested to Dennis.

“You’re cutting in?” Dennis kept his hold on Becca. “But you hate to dance.”

“I. Love. It.”

Dennis laughed and shook his head. “No, you don’t. Remember last month? We took those blond twins out? Tish crushed your toe beneath her five inch heels, and you said-”

“I remember what I said,” he grated. “Now get your hands off Becca’s ass and go somewhere. Preferably somewhere far away before I decide I don’t want to pay you anymore.”

Dennis grinned. “You can’t fire me because I’m dancing with Becca.”

“How about for sexually harassing her?”

Dennis’s jaw dropped for a second, then he laughed before turning to Becca. “Are you being harassed, Becca? Sexually?”

She divided a curious glance between the two men and chewed on her full, lower lip.

A full lower lip that had on the most tasty-looking lip gloss Kent had ever seen.

“I’ve never been sexually harassed in my life,” Becca said quite seriously.