Run a palm down the stray strands of my long, wavy hair. It falls over one shoulder, smooth and silky, down over the curve of my breasts.

“Thank you for picking me up.”

“No problem.”

“I can’t thank you enough.” Shit, did that sound sleazy? Suggestive? Like I was offering to pay him for my ride in blow jobs?

Why would my mind go there? Jesus, Laurel, why are you thinking about what’s inside his pants?

Guh!

The radio begins a slow love song that after tonight, I won’t hear without thinking of Rhett. He reaches forward, twisting the volume button to the left. Turns it down so all we have for company is the sound of his purring engine.

Under the streetlights, I study his profile, butterflies wakening in the pit of my stomach. They rise, stretching, wings beginning to flutter at the silhouette of his bottom lip and curve of his Grecian nose.

Rhett clears his throat. “So.”

He’s so awkward and cute. I want to climb into his lap, but I’m pretty sure he’d freak out, slam on the brakes, and crash into a pole, injuring us both.

Can’t have that, can we?

The smell of him makes me squirm in my seat in the best possible way.

I swallow, trying to focus on the road.

“What did you end up doing tonight?” I croak out, fiddling with the buckle on my purse.

He shifts in his seat. “Not much. Showered when I got back. Graded some papers.”

Graded papers—ugh, he’s so smart.

God I love that.

He gives me a sidelong glance, eyes darting to my legs in the cloak of darkness. My boobs. My hair. “What about you?”

“I thought my cousin and I were going to have a quiet night with a few friends, right? At a wine bar or something, but we ended up at Duffy’s instead. She has the hots for one of the Sigs, and they were doing a mixer there tonight.”

“Don’t your friends have that pact about not letting each other leave alone? Who’s driving the rest of them?”

I stare at him in disbelief; was he listening the night Alex and I were arguing on the front porch of that party about never letting each other leave alone?

I think he was. He was actually listening.

“I think Alex is planning on bringing this guy John back to her place, to, uh, you know.” To have dirty, meaningless sex. “So she couldn’t care less about me, especially when she’s been drinking.”

“Not cool.”

“Trust me, we had words about her letting me leave.”

“Words?”

“A talk. She was pissed I wanted to go while she’s trying to cheat on her boyfriend—who was there too, by the way.”

“Oh. Right.” I swear I can hear him blushing.

“And since it’s so cold—”

“No way should you be walking home alone.” He bobs, affirming my thought. Grips the wheel tighter. “Horrible idea.”

“I’m glad you were home.”

“Yup, that’s me—old reliable,” he quips. “Always home.”

“You were the first person I thought to call.”

Because if there is one thing I’m learning about Rhett Rabideaux, it’s that I can count on him. He’s steady and strong and dependable; I know it from the bottom of my soul. He has qualities I’m coming to realize are more valuable than blatant sexual appeal.

It doesn’t take us long to reach our block, hanging a right then a left until I can see both our houses.

“You can just park at your house if you want. I can walk the rest of the way.”

“No way. It’s colder than a witch’s ti—”

“Sorry? A witch’s what?”

“Nothing.”

Tit? Was he going to say tit? There’s no way. Not Rhett.

Heat finds my cheeks. “Anyway, thanks for the rescue.”

“No problem.”

I touch his forearm. “Seriously. Thanks for coming to get me.”

“You’re welcome. You weren’t interruptin’ anything important.”

Interruptin’.

“Still, I appreciate it.”

“I would do it for any one of my friends.”

“Friends.” Right.

I clear my throat, adjusting the purse on my lap, my little house at the end of the street in full view. Rhett slows down, pulling up along the curb.

We sit in the dark before he cuts the engine and opens his door. Makes that walk to the passenger side door. Opens it like a gentleman so I can step down, his gaze finding the pale sliver of bare midriff before pulling away longingly.

It was brief, but I caught it.

I step down onto the street, one long leg after the next. Let him walk me to the front door, keys jingling in one hand, purse clutched in the other.

I skim his torso with my hungry eyes; I cannot help it. I haven’t seen him in over twenty-four hours, and now that I’ve seen pictures of Rhett online in a wrestling singlet, well…

There’s no stopping my body now.

It gives a little shake, back hitting the front door. I regard him under the dim light of the single bulb lamp on my porch, through the cool fall air.

“Thanks again.”

“No problem.”

“Would you like to come in?”

He shuffles on the balls of his feet, both hands stuffed into the pockets of his gray pants, unintentionally pulling the fabric taut over the front of his crotch. I try not to gawp at the telltale sign of his bulge, but it’s—

“I better not.”

My shoulders sag. Better not? What on earth does that mean?

“All right then. I guess this is good night?”

God, I can’t help thinking that’s totally something I would say if this were a first date.

“Bonne soirée, Laurel.” It’s hard to read his expression in the dark, with his hooded eyes shadowed by the overhang on the porch, but I can read enough of his mouth to glean a hint of doubt.

The hesitation. The insecurity.

“Does bonne soirée mean good night?” I whisper, eyes trained on his mouth.

“Oui.” His eyes smile against the backdrop of the dark chocolate brown, warm and endearing. Unassuming and sweet.

I have to know what his lips feel like, the little voice inside my heart whispers.

I have to know what they feel like pressed against mine. Have to know what the freshly shaven skin of his neck feels like against my cheek. How it smells.

If I don’t find out soon, it might be the end of me.

So I let my purse fall to the ground beside my shoes. Step closer, lean in, closing the distance between us with my mouth, with my body.

When my breasts brush his chest and I close in the space to inhale his aftershave, the breath whooshes out of my lungs. Cologne, deodorant—whatever he’s wearing, it’s divine.

Eyelids flutter closed when the tip of my nose brushes the smooth side of his neck, inhaling his skin.

“Laurel,” he croaks cautiously, spine ramrod straight. “Are you drunk?”

His breath smells like minty toothpaste.

I’m fairly confident I want to lick him.

I press closer still, the heat radiating from his hard, male physique more dangerously intoxicating than any sensation I’ve felt in ages.

“No.” I’ve never been soberer in my entire life. “I’m not drunk…not on alcohol.”

Rising on my toes, I need only another inch to reach his mouth. Breasts pressing into his chest, my lips graze his, the barest trace. Rhett’s body freezes, rooted to the porch, the breath leaving his body so fast I feel his heart beat in time to mine.

I kiss him once, letting my pucker linger on the indentation at the corner of his mouth. Kiss him again, basking in his full bottom lip. The bow in the top. Silky. Soft.

My hands find a straight path up his firm pecs, over his stiff nipples. Slowly discover their way to his jaw. Land on his biceps and rest there, resisting the urge to squeeze the muscles under my fingertips.

Rhett lowers his forehead to mine with a shaky countenance, but it’s not what I want. Does nothing to satisfy my newly insatiable curiosity, this longing I’ve felt since first meeting him face to face.

I want him to kiss me.