He loosened his grip on the wheel, and the skin over his knuckles creased once more. She stared at his hands, fascinated. His blood was as red as hers, but instead of flushing a mottled pink, his skin glowed soft and tawny in the pastel-painted twilight. Wasn’t that just like a man? Not only did the jerk earn a full one hundred pennies on the dollar, but he also scored mile-long eyelashes that curled up at the tips and somehow managed to score the best possible lighting, even when sulking.
It wasn’t fair. She’d worked a full day in the office, coached a couple of Danny’s football players on how to speak in complete sentences when talking to the press, and put the finishing touches on the alumni meet-and-greet set to follow Ty’s precious Green-Gold scrimmage. Her mascara had flaked off by midmorning thanks to a rebellious contact lens, she’d trickled salsa on her top at lunch, and her feet ached more than she would ever admit to any man wearing faded jeans and what appeared to be well-loved sneakers.
The light switched to green, but Ty didn’t step on the gas. No, Mr. Clock Management decided to take the opportunity to check in with her on her wishes. “Would you like me to drop you off at your place?”
“No, you idiot,” she snapped.
One corner of his mouth ticked up, and his size sixteen landed hard on the pedal. The car lurched forward, tires squealing so sharply, a driver in the opposite lane honked in annoyance. “My place it is.”
Her smile spread, slow and knowing. “Missed me?”
“I’m done talking.”
The pronouncement made her laugh. Twisting in her seat, she faced him. “Done talking? We haven’t talked for almost two weeks.”
He tightened his grip on the wheel again. “I told you why.”
“And you get to call all the plays?” Shifting to face forward, she pooched her lips as she stared through the windshield. She wasn’t sure if she was pleased or pissed. In the end, pleased won out. By a hair. “The only reason I’m going along with this is I’m a little het up and I think it’s time you put out.”
He drove fast and sure. She let her gaze travel down to the pulse throbbing in his throat. The telltale thrum beneath smooth, brown skin was too delicious to resist. She’d taste him soon. Rev his engine and wind him up. She’d been primed since the night they first kissed. Aching to put the pedal to the metal on this relationship. Now, she was ready for the rush.
Ty reached up and pressed a button on a control panel above the rearview mirror, then he hooked a sharp left into a wide drive paved in sand-colored stone. Ahead, one of the doors on a three-bay garage slid up into the rafters. She barely had time to note the sleek, black motorcycle parked in the center stall of the showroom-like interior before Ty killed the engine. In one smooth move, he pulled the key from the ignition and threw open his door. “Stay put.”
The command jumped all over her last nerve. Fed up with being bossed, she looped her arm through the straps of her bag and reached for the handle. The second her fingertips grazed the lever, the door swung open wide. She looked down to see his gunboat feet planted in a wide stance and an open palm hovering mere inches from her face. She wanted to slap his hand away, but she saw something so vulnerable in the gesture.
He wasn’t simply offering to help her from the car. It was a request. A silent plea for her to take this step. This was more than a red-hot rendezvous. Ty was asking her to pick him.
She took his hand on pure instinct, not caring about what he might think her acquiescence meant or, for that matter, what she wanted in terms of their future. They only had now. This night. Her long-delayed, built-up-in-high-definition dreams seemed paler. Here was an opportunity to take what she wanted.
And she was certainly not a woman to let opportunity pass her by.
Two mildly grimy concrete stairs led from the garage to the door of the house. Millie chuckled under her breath as she mentally compared them to the intricately laid flagstone patio and the dressed-to-impress front entrance. These steps showed signs of life. They were a part of a home. Ty’s home.
She followed him down a short corridor and into the great room, where she’d found him wallowing that fateful night. Until then, she never registered the fact that this architecturally homogenized monstrosity was actually Ty’s place and not just another overpriced accessory chosen by his wife.
Ex-wife, she corrected herself quickly.
Here, all the things he’d comically complained about in his Reno rental would be a nonissue. He’d fit in the bed. With room to spare, if he hadn’t been exaggerating. Thanks to the vaulted ceilings, Ty didn’t have to worry about hitting his head on a ceiling fan or light fixture. A sad smile curved her lips as she recalled the creative cursing he employed on such occasions.
All thoughts of interior design fled when he took a sharp right into what had to be the master suite. Here, the miles of beige blandness were broken up with shades of chocolate-brown and deep ocean-blue. The room itself was enormous. Panes of tinted glass extended the wall of glass from the great room to the roofline. Streamlined lamps graced a set of cherrywood nightstands. He flipped a switch, and circles of mellow gold gilded the dust-sheened tables. One stood empty. The other was cluttered. Peering around his arm, she eyed the detritus. A couple of hardback books anchored a spiral-bound notebook like the students used. She liked the
