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Authors: Lorie O'Clare
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by the eighth grade and had never grown another inch. Even in her three-inch heels that clicked against the paved sidewalk, Zoey only hit five feet, five inches.
The man on the Harley had to be at least six feet tall. He’d rode around the courtyard in front of the bookstore long enough for Zoey to get a pretty good look at him. His helmet had covered his face, but she had almost hyperventilated over all of that packed muscle under his T-shirt. He might have been riding for a while, because his shirt clung to him, as did his faded jeans.
She slowed when she reached the library, which was on the opposite side of the street. Zoey didn’t cross the street, though, but stared straight ahead. The bed-and-breakfast was on the corner in one of the town’s historical Victorian homes. A blond man relaxed on the front steps that led up to the wide, long front porch. Zoey came to a complete stop when she was sure he was looking right at her.
The man was too far away to see the color of his eyes, but they were light. And they pierced right through her. Zoey wasn’t sure she could have moved if she’d tried. At the moment, though, she wasn’t thinking about walking. She was trying to remember how to breathe.
He was gorgeous, absolutely sinfully perfect. Her mouth went dry staring at him. Her heart began pounding too hard in her chest. She felt her breasts swell and her nipples harden. They pressed against her low-cut silk bra and itched painfully. It was all she could do not to twist or fidget, anything to relieve the sudden pressure that built inside her until it sunk deep between her legs.
The man stood. It was a lazy movement, and Zoey caught herself tilting her head and admiring his lethal body as he pushed away from the steps and straightened. He tugged on his T-shirt, making it stretch over too many rippling muscles. Then he was walking toward her.
Zoey suddenly came to her senses. She couldn’t be talking to some stranger passing through town. There were eyes everywhere. She knew this to be true. If she even had a polite conversation with this man her father, would hear about it. If not tonight, soon. He would chastise her, lock her in her room, or force one of his thugs to escort her around town until she remembered how to behave as a Cortez should.
“How’s it going?” the man asked before he reached her.
Why did he have to speak to her? Her pride and self-esteem had been thrashed by this town as long as she’d lived here. Damn her father! She wouldn’t be rude.
“Fine,” she said, glancing at him, and caught herself staring at a rippling six-pack as it pressed against his shirt.
Polite or not, she wouldn’t stand and gawk and pray he continued to speak to her. She turned to cross the street. He held out his hand, and for a moment it looked like he would grab her arm.
“Don’t walk away now.” He didn’t touch her but simply raised his hand to detain her, then dropped it to his side. “You noticed me staring at you, and I couldn’t help see that you were staring back at me.”
“Of course I was,” she said curtly, and didn’t look up so he wouldn’t see her burning cheeks. “You were looking right at me, and I thought maybe I knew you.”
She again tried crossing the street. This time Zoey walked into a rock-hard muscular arm. She looked at the taut, well-formed muscles in his forearm and bicep as she took a step backward and licked her suddenly dry lips. Zoey bet every inch of him was packed as hard as steel. Every inch of him.
“My name is Ben,” he said hurriedly. “Don’t run off. I don’t know anyone here.”
A thought hit her, and she almost choked from the truth that might be in it.
“Why are you here?” she demanded, facing him and this time looking up at his face. “Why do you want to talk to me?”
If he even indirectly mentioned her father, she was bolting across the street. It would be just her luck for the sexiest man alive to be talking to her because she was Emilio
The man on the Harley had to be at least six feet tall. He’d rode around the courtyard in front of the bookstore long enough for Zoey to get a pretty good look at him. His helmet had covered his face, but she had almost hyperventilated over all of that packed muscle under his T-shirt. He might have been riding for a while, because his shirt clung to him, as did his faded jeans.
She slowed when she reached the library, which was on the opposite side of the street. Zoey didn’t cross the street, though, but stared straight ahead. The bed-and-breakfast was on the corner in one of the town’s historical Victorian homes. A blond man relaxed on the front steps that led up to the wide, long front porch. Zoey came to a complete stop when she was sure he was looking right at her.
The man was too far away to see the color of his eyes, but they were light. And they pierced right through her. Zoey wasn’t sure she could have moved if she’d tried. At the moment, though, she wasn’t thinking about walking. She was trying to remember how to breathe.
He was gorgeous, absolutely sinfully perfect. Her mouth went dry staring at him. Her heart began pounding too hard in her chest. She felt her breasts swell and her nipples harden. They pressed against her low-cut silk bra and itched painfully. It was all she could do not to twist or fidget, anything to relieve the sudden pressure that built inside her until it sunk deep between her legs.
The man stood. It was a lazy movement, and Zoey caught herself tilting her head and admiring his lethal body as he pushed away from the steps and straightened. He tugged on his T-shirt, making it stretch over too many rippling muscles. Then he was walking toward her.
Zoey suddenly came to her senses. She couldn’t be talking to some stranger passing through town. There were eyes everywhere. She knew this to be true. If she even had a polite conversation with this man her father, would hear about it. If not tonight, soon. He would chastise her, lock her in her room, or force one of his thugs to escort her around town until she remembered how to behave as a Cortez should.
“How’s it going?” the man asked before he reached her.
Why did he have to speak to her? Her pride and self-esteem had been thrashed by this town as long as she’d lived here. Damn her father! She wouldn’t be rude.
“Fine,” she said, glancing at him, and caught herself staring at a rippling six-pack as it pressed against his shirt.
Polite or not, she wouldn’t stand and gawk and pray he continued to speak to her. She turned to cross the street. He held out his hand, and for a moment it looked like he would grab her arm.
“Don’t walk away now.” He didn’t touch her but simply raised his hand to detain her, then dropped it to his side. “You noticed me staring at you, and I couldn’t help see that you were staring back at me.”
“Of course I was,” she said curtly, and didn’t look up so he wouldn’t see her burning cheeks. “You were looking right at me, and I thought maybe I knew you.”
She again tried crossing the street. This time Zoey walked into a rock-hard muscular arm. She looked at the taut, well-formed muscles in his forearm and bicep as she took a step backward and licked her suddenly dry lips. Zoey bet every inch of him was packed as hard as steel. Every inch of him.
“My name is Ben,” he said hurriedly. “Don’t run off. I don’t know anyone here.”
A thought hit her, and she almost choked from the truth that might be in it.
“Why are you here?” she demanded, facing him and this time looking up at his face. “Why do you want to talk to me?”
If he even indirectly mentioned her father, she was bolting across the street. It would be just her luck for the sexiest man alive to be talking to her because she was Emilio
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