DAIR (17 page)

I instantly wanted to photograph him.
 
If he wasn’t a model, he should have been.
 
There was just so much character in his face.
 
And so much to read in his hard expression.
 

Aggressive and a touch of something else.
 
Something akin to hostile, though I couldn’t imagine it was directed at me.
 
Just a restless man that hated standing in line for even five minutes, I figured.
 

I glanced furtively at his single item on the belt, my eyes snapping away, face flushing when I saw that it was a twelve pack of magnum condoms.
 

Well, shit.
 
Why did that turn me on?
 
It shouldn’t have.
 
The guy was probably a jerk, and off to have sex with what I assumed would be a random woman.
 
Men that good-looking buying condoms generally were.
 

Tell that to my libido.
 

We were waiting forever for an old white hippie lady to count out exact change and I didn’t last long before checking him out again, this time my eyes below his belt, the magnum thing making it impossible not to be curious.
 

I flushed as I looked away again.
 
His jeans weren’t tight, but I’d made out enough of a bulge to embarrass myself.
 

What was wrong with me?
 
I was not turned on by strangers.
 
Even the idea was ludicrous.
 
I needed more than looks to even consider getting physical with a man.
   

Finally I paid for my things and carried them out toward my car.
 

I was nearly there when the sound of something hitting with a splat onto the pavement had me whipping around.
 

I blinked up at the big blond stranger, who had apparently been following close behind me, then glanced down at the single tomato that had managed to fall from one of my bags and onto the ground.
 

I lifted the paper bag, brows drawing together at the very neat hole in the corner.
 
It looked like it had been cut, but that was impossible.
 

“Let me carry that for you, before anything else manages to fall out,” a deep, gravelly voice said to me.
 

I looked at the stranger.
 

He was offering to do something nice and polite, but his tone wasn’t even remotely friendly.
 

It was odd.
 

“No, that’s all right,” I told him with a shake of my head, balancing both of my bags into one arm, and bending down to collect the ruined tomato, then straightening when I saw that was clearly pointless.
 
It was a goner.
 

My hair had fallen over an eye when I’d bent down, and without missing a beat, brazen as you please, the stranger reached a hand over and stroked it away from my face, then let it linger there, in my hair, bold as you please.

I just stared at him, a bit shocked.
 
I couldn’t remember a time in my life running into such an aggressive stranger.
 

His mouth shaped into the barest shadow of a smile as he gripped a light handful of hair at my nape, his big body shifting closer.
 

He didn’t say a word, but as his eyes moved over the masses of my hair, I felt and knew that he was clearly admiring it.
 

He didn’t
have
to say a word.
 
His eyes were the compliment.
 

“I insist,” he finally said, taking both bags out of my arms before I could protest.
 
His packet of condoms (not in a bag) was held, shameless as you please, in the hand of the arm he shifted my bags to.

My slack jaw snapped shut and I turned on my heel, heading to my car.
 
I’d thought I knew how to handle every kind of man, but this one left me baffled.
 

I would let him load my bags into my trunk and politely send him on his way.
 
As far as I was concerned, that was the easiest and best thing to do.
 

I opened my trunk for him, then watched him, and his Mack truck arms, as he shifted both bags into my car.
 

He straightened and stepped close to me.
 

He let his eyes run over me, top to bottom, and I just stared up, struck dumb by his unapologetic boldness.
 

This man had a strange effect on me.
 
I really needed to get a handle on it.
 

Finally, the once over stopped, lingering on my cleavage.
 
I was dressed up a bit in a sexy white dress that had been meant for another man, one who was not a bold stranger, but this one seemed to appreciate it more than I’d ever intended.
 
Certainly Dair never would have admired my breasts so openly.
 

My chest swelled out in a shocked breath as he brought a big hand up to lightly finger my collar.
 
It was wide, and cut down from my neck down to the lowest point of the opening, right between my pushed together cleavage.
 

“You’re a very beautiful woman,” his gravelly voice mused idly, as though he was talking to himself more than me.
 

His eyes returned to mine as he addressed me directly, “But then, you know that, don’t you?”
 

I shook my head, at a loss.
 

“I’m Heath,” he told me, like this was all perfectly normal.
 
“And you?”

“Lourdes,” I told him breathlessly.
 

His touch was light but very deliberate as he let his knuckles brush directly over my nipple.
 
It swelled and hardened instantly, as though it was trying to return his touch, with or without my consent.
 

With a ghost of a smile, he pulled his hand away and stepped back.
 

“I’ll see you around,” he said, tipping an imaginary cap at me.
 

Without another word, he turned on his heel, and strode away.
   

I watched him walk away, fascinated with the way he moved, fast and purposeful, with complete confidence.
 

And that was that.
 

Or it should have been.
 
If things were normal, and life was still sane, it would have been.
 

But something had shifted, and it wasn’t a subtle shift.
 

I’d come to the attention of a man who didn’t play by any normal rules, and my life was about to get very interesting.

I was at the dog park the next morning.
 
It was a brisk fifteen-minute walk from my house.
 
I was letting my blue Great Dane, Tato, run in the park.
 
This was a daily ritual, even in the worst of the Vegas heat.
 
My great beast of a dog needed the exercise.
 

I threw Tato’s slobbery tennis ball as far as I could, for the umpteenth time, and he took off after it with great bounding strides.
 

“Morning, Lourdes,” a gravelly voice said just behind me.
 

I jumped about a foot.
 

I knew that voice, but what the hell?

I turned, letting my face show how perturbed I was by his unexpected presence.
 

I wasn’t wearing a scrap of makeup, and my heavy hair was in a heavy, messy braid that I was sure couldn’t have been my best look, not to mention that I was wearing baggy sweats.
 

Yes, my first thought was vanity.
 
Of course it was.
 
This guy was sex on a stick.
   

“What are you doing here?” I asked him, my tone bordering on hostile.
 

He smiled, the first full smile I’d ever seen on him.
 

He liked me hostile.
 
It was twisted.
 

He indicated the sweats and running shoes he was wearing.
 
“I was jogging.
 
Imagine my surprise when I spotted you.
 
Nice dog.”
 

I supposed it kind of added up.
 
The store where I’d met him was pretty close by.
 

He must live nearby, I decided.
   

 
But to be sure
 
. . . “Do you live around here?”

“Not too far,” he said, and didn’t elaborate.
 

Tato returned with his slobbery tennis ball, and I threw it again.

“What’s your dog’s name?”
 

“Tato.”
 
I caught his look.
 
“Short for couch potato.
 
My kids named him.”

“How many kids do you have?”
 

“Two.
 
Well, they aren’t kids anymore.
 
Now they’re grown men, but my youngest was twelve when I first got Tato, and he named him.”
 

“Both boys?”
 

“Yes.”

“How old are they now?”
 

“Twenty and eighteen.”
 

Even his stoic face couldn’t hide his surprise.
 
“Did you have them when you were twelve?”
 

I laughed, flattered and a touch chagrined, though I got this a lot.
 
“No.
 
I had my oldest at twenty.
 
I’m forty-one.”
 

I laughed again when I saw his eyes widen.
 
“What, did you think you were hitting on someone closer to your own age?”
 

Something in his expression changed, something worrisome that made his nostrils flare.
 
“I never thought about it.”

I let him off the hook.
 
“Don’t worry.
 
I’m not a cougar.”

“Oh, I’m not worried.
 
Let me walk you home.”
 

What did that mean?
 
And how insane would it be if I let this strange man walk me home?

“I don’t know you that well,” I told him warily.
 

“So get to know me.
 
Let me walk you home, make me a cup of coffee, and we’ll talk.
 
I’m harmless.”
 
He smiled a sharp smile that illustrated clearly that he just might be the least harmless person I’d ever met.
 

Why did that harmful smile make me wet?
 

“You’re not harmless,” I pointed out wryly.
 

“To you, I am.
 
And look, Tato thinks I’m all right.”
 

As he spoke, my traitorous dog was nudging Heath’s hand with his nose.
 

I watched for a minute as he crouched down, petting my dog until he had him on his back, completely submissive.
 

That was when I decided to let him walk me home.
 
Why not?
 

Was it dangerous?
 
Yes.
 
But going by my suddenly throbbing body, my tingling thighs, my aching breasts, perhaps I needed a touch of danger in my life.

It had been so long since I’d felt desire like this.
 

It wasn’t something I wanted to disregard.
 

It was something I wanted to explore.
 
Thoroughly.
   

I put Tato on his leash and started to leave the park.
 

Heath took my arm like it was the most natural thing in the world.
 

It didn’t feel natural.
 
It did, however, feel good.
 

I found myself leaning into him.
 
Even with that small contact, of the back of my arm against his chest, I noticed that he felt amazing, so hard and big.
 

I’d been married young, and never in my life so much as considered having a one-night stand.
 
That seemed suddenly like an oversight.
 
Perhaps I needed to do it once, just to try it out.
 
And Heath was a man who seemed more than capable of making it worth my while.
 

Rough, dirty, sheet clawing sex fairly radiated off him.
 

And I wasn’t forgetting for even one millisecond about those magnum condoms.
         

“Don’t make me regret this,” I told him quietly, stealing a glance at his face.
 

His mouth quirked up.
 
I was already learning things about him, and one was that he
never
smiled with his eyes.
 

They stayed cold, always.
 

I should have been more worried about that.

“You won’t,” he assured me, voice quiet and steady.
 
“And you won’t forget it, either.”
 

I took a deep breath, looking ahead, blinking rapidly.
 
He was arrogant.
 
Why did that turn me on so much?

“What do you do for a living?” I asked him, figuring I should know
something
about him.
 

“I work in security.”

That could have meant anything, really.
 
“Care to be more specific?” I prodded.

“Not particularly.”

Well, that was to the point.
 

“What do you do for a living?” he shot back.
     

“I’m a photographer.”

“Care to be more specific?”
 

I almost smiled.
 
“Specifically, I photograph
everything
.
 
People, places, things.
 
I’m freelance, and I basically work at whatever catches my eye.”