Jinxed!

But, wow.

Unfortunately, “wow” was the exact opposite of how she should be reacting to him.

So…what the heck was she going to do about it?

4

EVAN STRODE TOWARD Lacey’s purse, grateful for the blasts of cold water pelting him. Because he sure as hell needed cooling off.

What in God’s name was wrong with him?

A humorless sound escaped him. Stupid question. He knew damn well what was wrong. The problem was that he could still feel the imprint of her on his body. Could still see the awareness dawning in her eyes as she lay beneath him. Still recall the erotic sensation of her wet body sliding against his. Still smell the subtle scent that had risen from her damp skin-a mismatched combination of sugar and flowers that logically should not have been appealing or sexy. Yet it was. Shockingly so.

As was his reaction to her. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d gotten so turned on so fast. He’d looked down at her, into those wide eyes, seen those moist, full, parted lips, and he’d gone from zero to rock hard in a heartbeat. A physical reaction she’d clearly noticed. One he’d been helpless to stop. And was now equally helpless to explain.

Oh, sure, she was attractive-but why her? She was so completely not his type it was laughable. Why did it have to be her-the one woman who irritated him beyond belief-who had his damn libido clenched into a wad?

His jaw tightened. Damn it, this entire mess was that crazy fortune-teller’s fault. Ever since she’d read his cards earlier today he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her words. Which was insane because he didn’t put any credence into things like psychic abilities. The fact that Madame Karma had hit so eerily close to home on what she’d said about his past and present was simply a case of clever word manipulation. The things she’d told him could apply to ninety-nine percent of the population. After all, show him a person who, by the age of thirty-two, hadn’t endured some hardships, heartaches and bumps in the road, and he’d show you a person who’d spent the last three decades living in a sterile room.

And then, what she’d said about his future…He blew out a quick breath filled with disbelief. A bunch of nonsense about his “aura” and about his “soul mate” being right under his nose.

In the form of Lacey Perkins.

The same weird sensation gripped his insides now as when she’d first uttered her bizarre prediction. Probably indigestion. He shouldn’t have eaten that spicy sausage hero, especially on the heels of his visit to Madame Karma’s table.

He’d wasted no time telling the woman that she couldn’t be more wrong, but she’d stared at him with those unnerving dark eyes of hers and had insisted, stating that both his aura and the cards plainly indicated that Lacey Perkins was Ms. Right.

What a boatload of crap.

He reached the purse, bent down to retrieve it-a move that resulted in another bull’s-eye-like sprinkler blast to his ass-and with a grunt straightened and tucked the soaking wet bundle under his arm. Turning, he started navigating his way back toward Constant Cravings. Where Lacey awaited him. Standing beneath the awning, illuminated by the silvery glow of the full moon. Looking so damn sexy and hot he was surprised smoke wasn’t rising from her.

The fact that he was having these outlandish sexual thoughts about her was obviously nothing more than the power of suggestion. Madame Karma had suggested, very mistakenly, that in spite of his knowledge otherwise, he and Lacey were compatible in every way-mentally, emotionally and sexually. And now that the stupid seed had been planted, it had, against his will, taken root. Sort of like the way a person got a song stuck in their head.

Damn it, he hated when that happened. Sometimes it took days to exorcise the melody. Last time it had happened, the song had been “The Itsy Bitsy Spider,” which he’d sung a couple of dozen times, much to the delight of his next-door neighbors’ four-year-old son, who’d “helped” him wash his car. Unfortunately it had taken more than a week to clear the words from his brain.

Good God. What if it took that long to empty his mind of these crazy thoughts about Lacey? Thoughts about slowly peeling the wet clothes off that outrageously curvy body. Thoughts about tasting that full, pouty mouth, which had been only inches away from his. Although, if he were to be completely honest, he’d thought about peeling off her clothes long before tonight. If he were to be completely honest, he’d entertained those thoughts the instant she’d asked him if he’d like a Slow Glide into Pleasure. Fortunately, up until now, he’d been able to shove those thoughts aside. Most of the time. But now?

His gaze fastened on her, on the sight of her clothes clinging to her like a second skin, and the impact nearly knocked him off his feet-in a way that had nothing to do with the slippery grass. Holy crap. If he managed to get away from her without putting his hands-and mouth-on her it was going to be a freaking miracle.

Yet surely the only reason he was losing his mind was because she was wet. There was just something irrationally sexy and fantasy-inducing about a wet woman. Once she was dry, he’d be fine. Absolutely. Probably.

Hopefully.

After one last sprinkler blast to his back, he joined her beneath the awning and held out her soggy purse.

“Thanks,” she murmured.

As soon as she’d unlocked the door, he scooped her up into his arms, absolutely not noticing how soft and incredible she felt pressed against him.

“It’s really not necessary for you carry me,” she said, but her protest sounded somewhat half-hearted. In fact, her voice sounded kinda breathy. And husky. And sexy as hell.

Once again his brain-which was very emphatically instructing him not to look at her-and his eyeballs-which were in full ogling mode-disagreed with each other, and the eyeballs won. He looked down, saw those huge eyes, those full lips, that mass of wet curly hair, and whammo. It was like he’d been clocked by a brick.

With an effort he roused himself from the stupor she’d somehow put him in and entered the store, pushing the door closed behind them with his foot.

“It might not be necessary to carry you, but I lugged you this far, so a few more feet won’t kill me.” Hmm. Not necessarily true as having her wet curves pressed against him really was killing him. He cleared his throat. “Let’s see what’s going on with your ankle. Then we can argue about whether or not you can walk without assistance.”

He headed for the nearest chair, an overstuffed leather sofa set along the wall near the door, but she shook her head, spraying him with droplets of water. “Not there. I don’t want to ruin my vintage sofa. The counter is fine.”

He did as she requested and set her down on the glossy countertop next to the cash register. “Where are the lights?”

“Next to the door, right-hand side.”

He made his way back to the door, then flicked the switch, flooding the room with light. Blinking against the brightness, he walked back to the cash register. Lacey had removed her shoe and hiked up her pant leg. With her leg stuck straight out, she slowly rotated her ankle.

His gaze zeroed in on the wet skin of her leg. Her very shapely, wet leg. That slowly circling ankle was lulling him into a trance…round and round. Damn, even her feet, with their fire-engine-red polished toes, were sexy.

He forced his gaze away from her bare leg, but found no relief when his errant eyeballs roamed upward. Her soaking wet white shirt covered her about as effectively as cellophane. Any question he might have harbored regarding what sort of bras she favored was answered right then and there-lacey and flimsy. He could see the shadows of her erect nipples through the material. What felt like a gallon of blood gushed from his already addled brain straight to his groin.

Two seconds ago he’d been cold. Now he felt as if steam could pump from his pores.