Jill Shalvis: Her Perfect Stranger

Those midnight-blue eyes shot his hands a sharp glance, causing him to lift them from her shoulders. "I have some reading to catch up on," she said, snuggling deeper into his jacket. "Thanks for the coat."

" Reading?"

"I don't really care to discuss it."

"Touchy about work," he said with an agreeable nod. "Duly noted."

"Good."

"How about your name? Are you touchy about that, too?"

Reaching once more for her drink, she tossed her head back as she downed the last of it, then licked her lips in an uncalculated, outrageously sexy move that made Mike want to groan. "Tonight," she eventually said, her full, bottom lip wet now from her own tongue, "I'm touchy about everything." But she made no move to get up. "I don't want to talk about my job, my name, my life. I don't want to talk about politics or headlines." She lifted those amazing eyes to his. "Still want to have a conversation with me or have I scared you off yet?"

There was more than a little dare in her expression, and Mike, the youngest of four boys in a military family, had never, not once in his life, walked away from a dare.

Lightning struck just then, and when the thunder came right on its heels, everyone in the room oohed and aahed.

Not the woman sitting next to him, though. Her gaze remained intense and direct and right on his, so that he hardly noticed the ruckus going on outside. He did, however, notice the growing crowd, as more people made their way in from the storm. Which was fine by him, as it forced him slightly closer to the woman still waiting for his answer.

"I don't scare easily," he eventually said.

"I'm losing my touch then."

"Tell me your name."

"Why?"

"I feel the need to call you something."

"Fine. Call me Lola." She lifted a brow in what might have been either self-deprecation or wry humor. "Yes, tonight Lola will do."

Oh, definitely, she was warming up. Her skin was glowing and rosy. And her hair was starting to curl as it dried, with little wisps falling in her face even though she kept shoving them back.

"Usually men quake in their boots when I walk by," she noted casually. "I have quite the reputation for being terrifying at work."

"Ah, but we're not talking about work, remember? And not your real name, or life, or politics, or headlines."

At her own words repeated back, her lips curved. "You're not a local. You don't have the slow Southern ways. And you don't have the accent, either, that lazy, drawn-out way of speaking that makes so many women want to swoon."

He sent her a lazy, drawn-out smile and drawled in a perfect imitation of an Alabama local, "I can make up the accent, if it'd make you swoon."

"Is it real?"

"The smile? Or the accent?"

"Either."

"Are you trying to charm me out of my panties?"

"You have quite a memory," she said, but smiled at her own expense. "I'll have to quit giving you things to make fun of me with."

"I wasn't making fun," Mike assured her. "Much."

"Hmm." She studied him with a sidelong glance. "You've very neatly avoided telling me if you're a local or not."

"Maybe your need for anonymity tonight goes both ways." Without thinking, he lifted a hand and stroked her cheek.

At the contact, she went utterly still, as if his touch had stunned her every bit as much as it had stunned him. And it had stunned him. He'd touched plenty of women in his life, some he'd known no longer than he'd known her, but never had his entire body quivered at that touch as it did now.

She searched his gaze long and hard, as if assessing him for something very important. Maybe… honesty?

He was being honest. Here, amid the crowd, sitting with the most arresting woman in the place, he didn't want to think about work, either. He didn't want to think about anything other than what he was doing, which was enjoying the company of a beautiful stranger.

She seemed to come to a conclusion about him. She nodded thoughtfully, then uncrossed her legs. Her stockings made the most arresting silk-on-silk sound, and for the longest moment he couldn't get his mind wrapped around anything but the thought of what her legs would feel like without the stockings. "Another drink?" he asked.

"That's how a good number of the people in here are going to get in trouble tonight." She glanced around. "Look at those women. Lonely. Drinking. Easy prey for all those men watching them."

"Maybe they want to be prey."

A sigh escaped her, a sound of…longing? "Yes," she said, so softly he had to lean closer. "Maybe so. Maybe they don't know how to just go after what they need, even if it's not practical."

"Are we talking about sex?" He grinned as she raised an eyebrow. "Because really, sex can be quite practical. It's a great stress reliever, for one.

And spectacular exercise. Not to mention it's just a feel-good sort of thing."

Her lips quirked. "You're speaking from experience, of course."

"Oh, no. A man should never kiss and tell."

That made her laugh, and she looked surprised at the rusty sound, as if she didn't do it often. "I need to get a room," she decided, slapping her palm on the bar as she reached for the bag she'd dropped at her feet. "There was a crowd at the front desk before."

He glanced at the very large-and getting larger by the moment-throng of people. "You don't have a room yet?"

"No, I wanted to get warm before standing in line."

Which was the last thing she said before the lights went out.

"Don't panic," came the low, unbearably sexy voice of her perfect stranger. "I've got you."

And he did. He'd slid off his bar stool to stand right beside her, his hand reaching for hers. Corrine could feel the heat of him, the strength in the tall, leanly muscled body that she'd been trying not to notice since he'd first spoken to her.

He wasn't her type.

Which was damn laughable, because it had been so long, she didn't actually remember what her type was. At work, a man with a cocky, knowing smile and such a laid-back manner would drive her crazy.

But here it was the opposite.

At work she was serious, intense, and… okay, a perfectionist. She freely admitted that. She wasn't a sexual creature, not at all. In fact, working as a woman in a man's world, she tended to ignore her sexuality and the needs that went along with it, for long periods of time.

Hell of a time for her libido to lift its head.

"The power will come back on in a moment," he reassured her as everyone around them seemed to panic. "Nothing to be worried about."

Corrine wasn't worried, and it wasn't just his bone-melting voice making it so, but the fact that she didn't worry about things out of her control. It was a supreme waste of time, and she hated wasting anything, especially time.

Someone trying to get out of the bar jostled her. She wouldn't even be in this madhouse if she hadn't had to fly here from Houston for an emergency meeting of the utmost importance-meeting the new pilot. After this she could only hope there weren't any delays in her next project- commanding upcoming space shuttle mission STS-124. As it was her team would have to work hard to bring the replacement pilot on board.

Given the angry, disturbed, upset voices around her, general panic seemed imminent, so Corrine both forgave and ignored the person who'd pushed her. But she didn't intend to be pushed again.

"I'm going to make my way to the front desk," she said, turning her head toward where she imagined her stranger's ear would be. Making herself heard in the uproar was difficult. "I'm going to get a room and just sleep the power outage away-" Oh God. Her mouth brushed skin. His ear, she thought, but it was hard to think at all because her body tingled with the most mind-numbing awareness.

Lust.