Page 501 of Summer Heat
He grinned. “You are to me.”
“It’s not mean. I’m just not swooning in your presence, and I’m sure that’s what you’re used to.”
“Is that right?” He rested one arm on the steering wheel. In profile, her nose was as straight as a blade of bluegrass, making her mouth below look all the more plush and inviting and soft. Her chin jutted ever so slightly upward as she steadfastly ignored him, and he let his gaze drop lower, to the smooth skin showing above her blouse, and the delicious roundness of breasts. Perfect breasts. Not too big, not too small. Very touchable.
“What would make you swoon, Tamara?” he asked in his best, most liquid voice.
It worked. At least a little. She crossed her arms as if in protection. “Getting to school on time would top my list at the moment.”
“So if I get you there on time,” he said, starting the engine, “you’ll swoon?”
In exasperation, she sighed. “I’m really not the swooning sort of person.”
He laughed, putting the car in gear. “Honey, all women can swoon.” He pulled out and gave her a sideways glance, catching a reluctant tail of a smile on her mouth. “Trust me.”
* * *
It was a test, Tamara told herself. A test to see if she really did have what it took to raise herself out of the pit she was in, and get on with some kind of real life. The universe was testing her mettle.
And what a test.
Yesterday, Lance had made her think of a steak, a homegrown, All-American beefsteak, thick and juicy. This morning he smelled of after-shave and soap. His jaw showed a tiny nick from shaving. Tamara thought of Black Forest cake, sinfully delicious and far too rich for her tastes.
Food images. That wasn’t terribly difficult to figure out. She was practically starving.
She took a long breath and let it go slowly. It didn’t help much. From the corner of her eye, she saw his hand on the steering wheel, strong and square and dark. When he said, “swoon,” it had been his hands she’d thought of, his hands gliding over her body with expertise and attention to detail.
The fresh-man smell filled her head. Impossible. This whole thing was impossible. It was hilarious that she’d even imagined she could even attempt to seduce such a man.
“What’s your test in?” he asked.
Her heart nearly stopped dead. “Pardon?”
He looked at her, a secret dancing in those bright blue eyes. “Your test. What is your test this morning?”
“Oh.” A tinge of heat moved on her jaw. “Accounting.” She pointed at an intersection. “Turn left up there.”
“I know where the college is, honey. I’m a native of this town, and it’s not like anything is hidden.” He changed lanes and took a swig of coffee from a thermal cup. “You like it?”
“Yes,” she lied.
“You don’t strike me as the accounting type.”
“Oh.” Maybe if she answered in monosyllables he’d stop talking in that warm, teasing voice and the little shivers on her arms would cease.
“No,” he said, pulling into the parking lot at the school. “You seem like you’d be into all those poets, Byron and Whitfield—”
“Whitman.”
“Right. And Shakespeare.” He stopped the car in front of the front doors and gave her a wicked grin. “Maybe John Donne.”
Tamara couldn’t help herself. She stared at him. “You know Donne?”
Wickedness winked in his eyes. “‘Love’s mysteries in souls do grow, but yet the body is his book.’” He put an arm along the back of the seat and leaned toward her.
“Does poetry make you swoon?”
It did. And he knew it. Tamara sat rooted to her seat, her ears awash with the sound of his voice shaping those elegant words. He edged forward and his eyes touched her mouth. His sun-burnished face filled her whole vision, with the sensual, mobile mouth at the center.
