The Risqué Target (2 page)

His appearance stumped her momentarily, and Nala never stumped easily.

Recalling he hadn’t liked her previous endearment, she decided to give it another try. “Baby?”

He must've approved, because the smile in his eyes shifted to his mouth. “Sweetheart,” he countered, drawing out the word.

He was meant to be a distraction for her stalker, but Nala was the one sidetracked by the eye-catching decoy with his all-male voice, grating but like liquid leather, strong and potent.

Breaking her examination, he said, “I can work with ‘baby’. Now, strange lady at the airport, tell me how I've managed to land you in my arms?”

“I needed a decoy,” she honestly explained, shaking off his good looks and the awkward sensations he inspired. “There's a man who didn’t get the hint on the plane that I just wasn’t interested, and now he's following me. I'm trying to shake him.”

“Let's see,” he mused, shifting to his left and glancing over her shoulder. “About seventy pounds overweight, funky Hawaiian shirt, and some kind of yellowish-brown stain on his collar?”

“Yes. I guessed it to be mustard, but you're good,” she blurted out, somewhat impressed by his careful observations. They rivaled her own.

He didn’t move, but his eyes slid to hers. “I've been told that before,” he said and glanced back over her shoulder. Before she could respond to his arrogant retort, he continued, “So am I to be your brother or boyfriend? Please don’t say your dad.”

“What does it matter?” she asked as he came back in front of her, bringing with him those sexy eyes and kissable lips.

“Because the friendly hug isn't convincing him. Looks like he still wants to make his move.”

She went to turn her head and see for herself, but the man snatched her chin, impeding all movement. He tapped her cheek, and she glanced up at him. His hold on her didn’t waver. His eyes lingered on her face. She became anxious, scatterbrained. Oh yeah, this man was dangerous all right. She couldn’t see anything or hear a sound other than her thundering heartbeat, as if he had put her in a trance. Her attention was focused solely and exclusively on him.
Get over it! He's not that good looking!
She tried to convince herself, but had a difficult time doing so, and her body's reaction to him was failing her too.

“You have about one second to make a decision,” he said. “Either kiss me and leave him with no doubt, or take the chance that he might venture over here,” he challenged with a dash of danger in his eyes.

“Kiss you?” The words came out slow.
Kiss him?
His mouth was tempting.

He came closer. “Yes, kiss me.”

His warm breath brushed her lips, and they tingled. He got closer.
Did his mouth just touch mine, or am I imagining this?
In any case, she wanted to get her stalker off her back. Her fingers tightened around his neck. She was going to take the plunge and feed her body what it craved, even if she did try to convince herself she was only doing it to get rid of the nasty stalker. She got up on her tippy toes, ready to plant her closed mouth upon his, but he quickly took the reins from her. His hand detained
her
neck. He steadied her, stalling her intended peck.

Aware that her hunger was no doubt written all over her face—she
wanted
to kiss him—she cautiously waited. His pure liquid eyes mesmerized her, baited her. They spoke to her, and what they seemed to be saying had nothing to do with her scheme to evade her mustard-stained, sausage-fingered would-be assailant.

She read the promise of a long night in a warm bed with a man who knew what he was doing. Sex lingered in his captivating gaze, or at least that's what she saw there. She could've conjured it all up in her head, because he was the stuff her fantasies were made of, but she was falling for it just the same.

Before she could talk herself out of giving into his seductive sparkle, he broke the silence. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “On second thought….” His grip tightened, and his eyelids lowered. “I think I'll be the one doing the kissing.”

With nothing more than a slight lean forward, his lips touched hers as if drawn by magnetic force. His lips were effective and pleasing, demanding she submit to his power. Her starved body fed avidly. She didn’t want to stop with one kiss. She couldn’t. She went in for another and then another.

His tongue navigated its way through her loosened lips. With each stroke, he darted his smooth tongue repeatedly into her mouth. She didn't want it to stop. The collision of their mated moisture warmed her mouth and more. Her tongue continued to caress his with every plunging motion.

Pulse? An easy 120. Senses? Totally gone, completely AWOL. Six-month dry spell? Over. Wow.
This feels good. It's been awhile.

She lost herself in the man whose lips seemed to be promising a night she'd never forget. The pressure continued to build inside her. He tugged her closer, intensified the kiss, and she melted into him.

That was when she felt a thickness press against her pelvic area—long, stiff, and hard.
Six? Seven? No… wait… could he be… oh my God, is he eight inches?
Her obsessive compulsion kicked in. It was going to drive her crazy. She wanted to reach down between his legs and measure the thing to be sure, but instead her sex-craved conscience became louder, and she needed to put it back to sleep. She moved her head until the locking of their lips ceased.

Sexy bedroom eyes glared down at her. His lips smoothed together as though she were a lollipop pulled from his mouth and he was savoring the leftover flavor.

Her eyes widened from the exotic, bold action.

Raising a dark eyebrow, he asked, “Why'd you stop?”

She blushed on the inside, thankful he couldn’t see it. She glanced over her shoulder and as evenly as possible responded, “Because you've served your purpose.” She turned back to him with a sly little smile. She'd dealt with his type of sexy before, hard and hot body, clothes worn to enhance every muscle, and that killer smile.
Damn, that killer smile!
The wetness between her legs contradicted her boosting confidence, though. She needed to let go of his irresistible body and take her hands off him. She took a small step back.

“Oh, him.” The man leaned close to her ear, recapturing their nearness, wiping away the control she had managed to find, and whispered, “He was gone the minute he saw you put your arms around me.”

She inhaled sharply. “But you said—”

He ignored her gasp. A wayward grin clawed up the side of his mouth. “I know what I said, but I still don’t understand why you stopped. I was just getting started.” His odd but fascinating eyes teased.

Nala made a mental note. The man was proud and shrewd and didn’t hide it in the least. The smug grin on his face expressed his knowledge. He made her hot, and he was well aware of it. “If you haven't noticed, we're not the only ones in this coffee shop,” she curtly replied, trying to play the good-girl card.

Leaning back into the counter, he took her with him his hand slipping to her hips. She didn’t recoil from the cozy position, wanting to see where it was going and wondering how he would make his next move. His voice got deeper, huskier. “Yes, there are a few onlookers.” He shrugged. “Doesn’t bother me.”

Okay, so he’s shameless. Playing the good girl isn’t going to work.

Unable to stop herself, she affirmed the obvious. “A few people?” Purposely lifting her brow, she said, “Seven, if you want to include the kid sleeping behind me to my left.”

He lifted his own brow. “Six. The woman in the pink sweater left.”

“Fuchsia sweater,” she corrected. Like his eyes, the color was disputable, but she decided she'd give him some leeway. To a man, pink is pink.

“I wasn’t aware we were getting technical,” he said. “I assumed the standard color chart would suffice. But if accuracy is that important to you, I believe the shade was magenta.”

She rolled her eyes. “I don’t care.”

“You were the one who challenged my pink.”

She couldn’t argue with him there. “Yes, okay. Let's just agree there're six people in here with us, and as far as the lady in the pink sweater”—She lifted her hand from his shoulder—“We'll just take her out of the equation.” Her hand absentmindedly went back to his sturdy shoulder.

“As long as I continue to exist in that equation.” He shifted his hips, and she wound up a tad closer to him.

With a bod like that, Mr. Eight Inches? Of course you will
. The encounter with him wasn’t going to be that easy to forget. Her body wasn’t going to allow it. “You're still here, aren't you?” she fired back.

“Yes, allegedly because of your stalker.” He crossed his feet at the ankles as though getting comfortable. “Tell me why you'd run from one stranger, only to jump into the arms of another for protection.”

“I wasn’t seeking protection.” Her forehead tensed. She felt it wrinkle from the insult. “In fact, I wasn’t running, and as far as this situation with you, I started and controlled it. That crazy guy on the plane following me in the airport has a mind of his own. That, I have no control over.”

“Control?” He gave her a crooked smile, and his hands tightened on her hips. “Sweetheart, am I still holding you because
you
want me to, or am I holding you because
I
want to?”

She wasn't sure and offered him no answer.

“Control is a personal possession,” he said. “We all think we own it.”

His words made too much sense. She removed her hands from his shoulders, stepped back, and wiggled her hips from
his
hold. “I do own my control,” she countered.

He crossed his arms over his chest. “I bet I could take that control from you.” He flipped his mouth into an eloquent smile. “Not only could I take it, but I could guarantee you'd like it.”

The statement sent a rush of excitement and danger through her, and the two emotions clashing together thrilled the shit out of her. From the look in his eyes, it would have been safe to say he could back up his proclamation. She would like it, she was sure. She desperately needed to get away from him before she was tempted to find out. Besides, no one was taking her control away from her. No one. “Thank you for your assistance, but I must be going.”

“Well, don’t I at least get a kiss goodbye?” he asked.

She thought he surely must have been joking, but the tease now absent from his eyes convinced her otherwise. “No,” she rapidly responded, forbidding herself to succumb to his tempting request.

He took a step, invading her personal space, but the invasion had a different kind of uncomfortable—the type that leaves a girl weak in the knees. “Just one?” he pleaded, his eyes lingering upon her lips. Not waiting for an answer this time, he leaned in and stole the kiss anyway.

He pulled back and simply smiled, perhaps pleased with himself, and that was when it hit her.

Oh no! Not now. No, no, no. Not the terrible twos!
It went along with being aware of her surroundings. She needed to do things twice. When she sat down, her butt had to hit the surface twice. When she picked up certain things like a pen or a fork, she'd touch it twice. Not everything had to be in twos, and there was no rhyme or reason to the annoying little habit or when it would hit.

A kiss had never been included in the terrible twos, but damn it, it was there now. The unmanageable impulse to obtain that second kiss would haunt her if she didn’t quench it. She'd obsess over it, and nothing would cure her of the anxiety until she secured it.

So to heal herself—and for that reason alone—she leaned forward and kissed him back. But instead of curing her yearning, that just started the whole thing all over again. He came at her with another hard kiss, and she went in for the second. He did it again. “Stop it!” she snapped, but took the second kiss anyway.

“What? Don’t act like you don’t want it. You're kissing me back.” Although the words exited his perfectly capable lips, his hooded eyes did the real talking, and they were convincing.

She clenched her fists. “I know.” But she couldn't tell him why. “Just stop kissing me!”

“All right, strange lady at the airport. I won't do it again.”

“Good.” She blew a piece of hair from her forehead and then did it again.
What the hell is going on?
The terrible twos usually came when she was nervous, but she had a handle on the situation. “Thanks for your help,” she said, ready to tie things up and get the hell away from the man who stirred her annoying little rituals.