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He reaches for a strand of hair that’s hanging over my forehead, running it between his fingers. “I’ve heard so many people rave about how amazing this area is, but fuck if you aren’t the prettiest thing I’ve seen here so far.”

“I didn’t figure you for the kind of guy who has to resort to cheap pickup lines.” My voice is huskier than I want it to be, dammit .

“No line.” He releases my hair and trails his fingers over my bare shoulder, down my arm, smiling to himself when goosebumps rise to the surface.

“These mountains are prettier than most I’ve seen.

Incredible really. But you’re the only thing I couldn’t take my eyes off of all day.

I know you felt it.” His whiskey brown eyes dart to mine for a moment before he resumes watching his fingers glide over my skin. I shiver involuntarily.

“You make for a pretty nice view too. Thanks for giving me something to admire while I worked.” I reach behind me for the doorknob, but he catches my hand before I can make contact .

“When are you done with work?” He strokes his thumb over the back of my hand.

I take a shaky breath, which draws his focus to my mouth.

“Nine.” I breathe.

“I’m staying at the Caldwell’s place on the mountain. You know it?” His gaze leaves my lips to focus on my eyes.

I nod.

“Come over.” It’s both a plea and a demand, and dammit that makes my stomach flutter.

“Thanks for the invite, but I’m not interested.” My voice sounds steady even though I’m lying through my teeth. I do want to go over, I just know I shouldn’t.

“Bullshit,” he growls, his amber eyes clouding.

“Excuse me?” I bristle. I know I’m lying, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to admit it to him.

“I saw you undressing me with your eyes when I got here. You’re just as interested as I am.” He strokes my hand again.

“Admiring something and being interested are two different things.” I protest, trying in vain not to notice how full his lips are up close. “I admire the way you look, but I’m not interested in being another stop on your tour.”

“You told me earlier you don’t know me well enough to know what I like, what makes you think you know me now?” He drops my hand, eyes flaring with anger.

“That’s usually the way it works around here. Pros use this town as their home base to film their latest videos, they have some fun with the locals who view them as celebrities, move to the next town and repeat.” I shrug dismissively, hoping I look more indifferent than I feel.

“You think you have me pegged cause I ride a bike for a living?” He arches a brow .

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure it’s a great life. But just because the town is a stop on your tour doesn’t mean I am,” I say with more conviction than I feel.

“If you hadn’t eye fucked me earlier, I’d buy that, but don’t pretend you aren’t as drawn to me as I am you. And don’t assume you know me because of what I do.” He shakes his head in disgust, and for a moment I feel briefly ashamed. But not enough to let him have the last word.

“You want me to believe the line you just gave me hasn’t been used before to get someone in bed?”

“I told you, it wasn’t a line,” he grunts.

“So, you don’t sleep around on the road?” I press.

“I didn’t say that. But you’re assuming I make a habit of seducing people just to get laid.

Dole out a few nice words or a line about being pretty to get what I want.

” He runs an anxious hand through his hair.

“I’ll cop to it. I’ve shared my bed before, but I’ve never had to rely on a line to do it.

I’ve also never been so distracted by anyone that I spent my entire meal watching him, or been afraid to walk away because I might never see him again. ”

The stranger places his hands on either side of my head, trapping me against the door.

“And I’ve never, ever, wanted to touch a man more than I wanted to get on my bike and just ride.

” His face is mere inches from mine, his breathing as heavy as my own, and to his credit he doesn’t break eye contact even though I know we’re both acutely aware of my chest heaving between us, the thin fabric of my tank doing nothing to hide my pebbled nipples.

“That’s flattering,” I stutter, “but I don’t just go home with every hot guy that comes in here and tells me I’m pretty.”

“I was sorta hoping you’d say that. It means this pull between us is new for you, too.” He runs the tip of his nose along mine, smiling when I inhale sharply .

“I haven’t said I’d go home with you.” The husky tone is back in my voice, making it harder for my protests to carry any meaning.

“You haven’t said you wouldn’t either.”

“You think I want you that bad?” My breathing is still erratic, but I’m not giving my body control. Not yet.

“Tell you what.” He glances down to where my kilt-like skirt does little to hide the obvious tent of my traitorous cock.

“If you aren’t leaking right now, I’ll walk out that door and forget I ever saw you.

” He runs his nose along my neck, and I fight the urge to lift my hips in response, torn between wanting to be offended and aroused. “That’s what I thought,” he growls.

“I didn’t say I was leaking.” My raspy protest is little more than a whisper.

“Give them to me then,” he whispers back, leaning his forehead against mine.

“What?” I breathe.

“Whatever you’ve got on under that skirt. Give it to me.”

“What if I’m not wearing anything?” The words are out before I have time to think about their implication, but after they’re spoken, I see the heat flare in his eyes, and it makes me feel bold.

Powerful. It’s a rush of adrenalin I’ve never experienced before, and I like it.

I’m never this captivated by another person—what is he doing to me?

“Then the only way to prove you aren’t leaking is to let me feel you.

” He puts his hand on my hip, his fingers walking over the fabric to inch my skirt up.

A soft groan escapes before I can stop it, the need to feel his hands on me outweighing every thought in my mind.

Fortunately, the clatter of a dropped plate snaps me back to the present.

“You can’t touch me here.” I put my hand over his to stop him, my rational mind taking back the control I almost gave to him .

“Then I guess you better come over after work—” his fingers clutch my hip under the skirt “—because we both know you want me to touch you.”

“I don’t… I’m not.”

“Briefs,” he growls.

“What?” I hiss.

“Briefs.” He tugs on the scrap of fabric he’s discovered underneath my skirt. “Give them to me now, and I’ll give them back when you come over tonight.”

We haven’t established that I’m going over, or that I want him as much as he wants me, yet we both seem to know my surrender is inevitable. I’m both ashamed and aroused by that, helpless to do anything less than what he asks.

As discretely as possible, I wiggle out of my briefs and hand them to him.

He brings them to his face and inhales deeply, right where there’s a tiny wet circle. It’s lewd, and wicked, and it very much makes me want to follow him right now.

“Wear this outfit when you come over,” he growls. “You look fucking stunning in it.” He shoves my briefs in his pocket and jogs toward the front door, and as I watch his retreating figure it occurs to me that instead of burning with anger as I should be, I’m burning with desire.