They’d found it.  Or rather Marie and Candy found it, and insisted on buying—a low-cut white cashmere sweater and a clingy deep rose skirt.  With matching shoes.  Another couple of pieces Kim bought for herself with their approval.  They’d insisted she keep on the purple scoop-neck minidress with empire waistline that did flattering things to her figure and image, and the black pumps they declared gave her legs enough punch to knock guys out.  Kim still wasn’t sure.  On the way back she’d passed several men and not one had keeled over.

She giggled, blaming the wine.  After the shopping, Marie had insisted another drink was in order.  Kim would probably be hungover before dinner.  Nice.

The elevator doors opened and she walked down the shabby hall to her door in the unfamiliar heels, which hadn’t tripped her yet, but she was sure it was only a matter of time.  Her key hit the lock and turned.  Whew.  Safe haven.  She scurried inside and froze, one hand clutching the doorknob.

Nathan.  Not at work.  Standing in their living room.  Wearing nothing but a towel. 

Oh my God.  He had the body of an Olympic diver.  He had hair on his chest.  He was a man.  A real one.

Oh my God.

“Kim.”  He was staring as if he’d never seen her before either.  “You look incredible.”

She had no idea what to do or what to say.  The heat in his eyes was unmistakable.  He hadn’t fallen at her feet yet, but he looked as if he might.

Or maybe kneel there.  Put his arms around her thighs and press his face to—

Kim, get a grip.  

Letting go of the doorknob was a good first step.  Next, she put down her packages, which contained her old clothes and the rest of the new, including a little black dress she suddenly wanted Nate to see her in. 

No, no, no . . . 

“Why aren’t you at work?”

“Traded shifts, I’m going later.  What did you do to yourself?”  He hadn’t stopped staring.  She didn’t think he’d even blinked.

“I went to a salon.  With friends.  And then shopping.”  She dragged her eyes away from his muscled chest and arms and from his predatory gaze, but they dragged themselves back.

He was handsome.  Not just cute.  Handsome in a more real way than male perfection.  His brown hair was still wet, and bits of it stood on end all over his head, making him look sexily disheveled.  His jaw was smooth-shaven.  The scent of soap and aftershave even made inhaling in the same room arousing.

Nathan, her little brother’s friend, the kid she’d grown up ignoring . . . was hot.

He walked toward her, stopped six feet away when she put up her hand, warding off the unknown.

“Kim.”  His voice was deep, husky.  “You look like a completely different woman.”

“No.  No no.  I’m not.”  Immediately she wanted her long hair back, wanted to run to the bathroom and wash off the new face.  She did not want to look like one of the women Nathan collected.  She didn’t want him attracted to her for that reason.

Wait, she didn’t want him attracted to her for any reason.

“Hey, hey.  No.  Of course you’re not.”  He was speaking uncharacteristically slowly, as if the sight of her had run down his brain.  Blood draining somewhere else?  She glanced at his towel; she couldn’t help it.  No, thank goodness, nothing that obvious.  “I just said you look different.  You look incredible.”

He would be soon.

She reached and encountered a muscular bare back, skin smooth and warm.  She wanted to purr.  This was going to be wonderful.

“Mmm.”

Melanie smiled.  She knew exactly what he meant.  “Hello there.”

“Ungh.”  He lifted and replaced his head on the pillow, drawing up his legs.

“Are you even awake yet?”  She stroked up the length of his back, following the bumps of his spine, the contours of his shoulder blades, up to—

He started.  “Whah th’—”

“Shhh.”  She curled around him.  “It’s Melanie, you dope.”

“Melanie.”  His hoarse whisper nearly made her giggle.  Poor guy must have been in a seriously deep sleep.  “What—  How—”

“Don’t talk, sleepy man . . .”  She put her lips to his skin, followed the taut muscle across the top of his shoulder.  Desire urged her up to straddle him, rolling him flat on his back and discovering in the process that he slept in the nude, and that one part of him was waking up faster than the rest.  She stroked the nicely developed planes of his chest through curling hair, wishing she could see his face, but enjoying the mysterious darkness around them too much to turn on a light.  “Just lie back . . . and enjoy.”

“Oh my—”

“Shhh.”  She leaned down, planted kisses, collarbone to throat, throat to chin, orienting herself on the landscape of his fine physique so she wouldn’t aim and miss that sexy mouth when she went for their first kiss.
Found it.

She lingered, lips hovering millimeters above his, making hers tingle and tremble with anticipation.  Nothing beat this moment, making him wait, making herself wait, too, her body going nuts with hormones and—

Strong arms came around her; his body heaved, and he was on top so fast she barely had time to react.

“Melanie.”  The whisper again, this time softer, sweeter, more tender.  She suddenly felt oddly disjointed, almost panicky.  Something wasn’t right.  Something was—

His lips found hers dead on target, as if he could see in the dark.  She lay still from shock—one, two, three—then her brain registered that she was being kissed as if she were his last hope of ever being kissed again, that his lips were warm and firm and that they matched hers absolutely perfectly.

She made a tiny whimpering sound of surrender that surprised her.  Her arms came up and around his neck and she hung on as if she’d otherwise drown.

The man could kiss.

But it wasn’t just his technique, the kissing was . . . different, somehow. Nothing like she’d experienced in recent memory.  It was . . .

It was . . .

It was as if he loved her.

Stoner was kissing her as if she was the greatest thing that had ever happened or that ever could happen to him.  And she was kissing him back that way because within a very short time it seemed that had become entirely true.