All a Man Can Ask by Virginia Kantra

Author:Virginia Kantra
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Silhouette
Published: 2003-04-24T22:00:00+00:00

Aleksy was good at exits.

He had perfected I-have-to-get-up-early-it-was-wonderful-I’ll-call-you, right down to the last warm squeeze and significant look at the door.

A good exit kept things from getting messy. Kept people from getting hurt.

He paced the length of the braided rug. It was harder, he was discovering, when you had to stick around.

It was a damn sight harder when the woman was Faye.

He heard her turn off the shower in the next room and pictured her wet and naked, reaching for one of those fluffy green towels. He still hadn’t seen her without all her clothes, but he knew the shape of her breasts now, the slope of her hips, the curve of her tight little butt. He’d learned the smell of her soap and the texture of her skin.

He stared out at the black lake, his jaw tense and his imagination running wild. When they had staggered back to the cottage, she’d invited him to shower with her, her face a pretty pink.

What if he’d said yes? What if he went in there right now and—

Bad idea.

One of a string of bad ideas, starting with “let me stay with you.”

His brother was right. Aleksy needed to separate the personal and professional areas of his life before somebody got hurt.

He heard Faye humming and winced. Too late. His knees already stung. His conscience smarted. And Faye, warm, sweet Faye, with her wounded idealism and her unexpected passion, was a five-car pileup waiting to happen.

She wandered into the living room, wearing a sleeveless cotton dress that swirled around her calves and showed the outline of her nipples. Her short damp hair glistened like gold. Her feet were bare.

He went hard as rock.

She smiled at him. “Bathroom’s all yours.”

He fisted his hands at his sides. “Thanks.”

The smile faded. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

Nothing except every time he looked at her he wanted to back her against the nearest available surface and take her again.

Her brows drew together. Concern shone in her eyes. Crossing the room—don’t look at her breasts—she touched his arm with warm, light fingers.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Panic stirred. This is how it started. They always wanted to talk.

He sighed. “Yeah. Maybe we better.”

He took her hand—she had really great hands, the kind you’d expect an artist to have, long fingered and smooth. The memory of those hands on his body made him break out in a sweat—anyway, he took her hand and sat on the couch with her.

“The thing is—” he started.

She looked at him expectantly.

And his quick-thinking brain went blank. His fast-talking mouth went dry.

“The thing is,” she prompted.

“I really like you,” he said.

She drew her hand away. “If this is the part where you tell me you want us always to be friends, someone is going to get hurt.”

That was exactly what he was trying to prevent.

“No. I don’t want us to be friends. I mean, friends, fine, sure, but—I really like you, Faye.”

Her slim shoulders relaxed a little.

“I want us to see each other,” he continued. “When we get back to Chicago.

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