Erin McCarthy - Deep Focus

“Don’t joke about being pregnant. That’s like tempting fate.” But then her face screwed up. “Not that I can possibly be pregnant, given it’s been six weeks since we had sex.”

Oh, no. This was not information he wanted. Because now he didn’t know what to do with it.

“I’m sorry. What I said was in poor taste.” He yanked a magazine out of the seat pocket in front of him and handed it to her. “Why don’t you read something and try to distract yourself?”

She blinked and eyed the magazine he was holding out to her without taking it. “ Skymiles? You think vibrating massage chairs and cat condos for sale are going to distract me from the fact that I mean absolutely and utterly nothing to the man I care about?”

“You’ll never know unless you try.” He was damn hopeful she would.

Shaking her head, she gave a watery laugh. “No, thanks. I’d rather wallow.”

Not him. He’d rather be eaten alive by piranhas than sit in his own misery. He’d perfected the art of avoiding grief and disappointment. “Well, you wallow away, then, without me interfering. I’ll read the magazine.” He opened it up and stared blankly at an extensive gate system that was for...dogs? He wasn’t sure. What he was sure of was that he didn’t want to talk anymore.

He felt for the girl, he really did. It wasn’t that he couldn’t sympathize, but he knew how this went. She would lament and rail and sink into self-doubt and he would nod and express sympathy and tell her she was worth so much more—which she was—and he would be exhausted and she wouldn’t believe him anyway. He’d done this. He was that guy, the one every woman went to for advice, which they all subsequently ignored. But the last thing he wanted to talk about right now was relationships, when he was determined to give up on the concept altogether.

Melanie was silent for a whopping sixty seconds before she sighed loudly and said, “Maybe when we get to Mexico I should turn around and go home.”

As much as Hunter wanted to end this conversation, he couldn’t let that go. “Can you get a refund on your trip?”

“No.”

“Then why would you go home to the snow and cold? Enjoy the vacation, Melanie, as much as you can. Don’t let Ian ruin your time off work.”

“I even booked excursions,” she said, sounding so forlorn he wanted to put his arm around her and pull her against his chest for a hug. Like the guy who listens and gives advice. Damn his mother. She’d done this to him.

“Who goes zip-lining by themselves? It’s pathetic.”

“I’ll go with you.”

“You will?” She blinked up at him with hopeful eyes.

“Of course. It’s my job.”

That was the wrong thing to say. She made a face. “Great. So I have a paid companion. Even better.”

“I’d do it even if I wasn’t being paid.” But it was too little too late. He shoved the magazine back into the pocket in front of him. This was going to be a long-ass trip with no relief in sight, and the ibuprofen he’d taken for his bum arm wasn’t going to be any help.

She gave a snort. “Thanks.”

He didn’t know what to say then, so he said nothing.

After a minute, she said, “You know what chaps my ass?”

“Uh, no.” He couldn’t even begin to guess.

“I was forcing myself to love Ian. Can you believe that?” She was shredding the tissue in her lap, a little pile gathering on top of her seat belt buckle. “It all seemed so good on paper, and when I pictured myself with a man, it was always with an artistic type, not a macho man. Yet I never really loved Ian, not like I was supposed to.”

“Well, that’s great,” he said, suddenly feeling a whole lot better about the next week. Maybe this meant he wasn’t in for seven solid days of tears after all. “So you weren’t really meant to be with him. Better to know that now rather than later.” Though he wished it hadn’t been on his watch.

“I wouldn’t say it’s great. It’s still humiliating and hurtful. I mean, I was willing to try. To nurture our relationship and let it grow. Why wasn’t he?”

“You’re not a tree,” he told her bluntly. “It doesn’t grow. It’s either there or it isn’t.”

“What, like love at first sight?”

“No. But chemistry, attraction. Admiration. Driving and compelling interest. That’s all there from the jump. If it’s not, you can’t force it.” Hell, he should know. With the exception of his first serious relationship, he’d taken the rational, think with your head, not your heart approach and it hadn’t worked. Danielle had been right when she’d said he lacked emotion. They both had been remote because they didn’t have that intense interest in each other.

She frowned. “How do you know if it’s there or not?”

Was she serious? Hunter felt his eyebrows shoot up. “You know. Don’t tell me you don’t know when you find someone attractive.” Like he found her. God, her lips looked as though they’d been made for kissing. Did she realize that? Apparently not.

“Well, sure. I guess. I mean, I look at you and I can see that you’re an attractive man, but that doesn’t mean we’d be compatible.”

Hunter thought she was missing the point. It was more than that. Way more. But he didn’t mind hearing that she found him attractive. “I’m not just talking about physical attraction.”

“Are you saying you don’t find me physically attractive?” Melanie bundled up all her tissue scraps and tossed them in her purse with more force than was necessary.

Minefields. Everywhere he walked with women. “That is not what I was saying. At all. Yes, I find you physically attractive.” Which was an understatement. She actually came pretty close to his image of the ideal woman with her blond hair, her juicy mouth, her perky breasts and narrow waist. She made him want to protect her from harm, and at the same time he wanted to push her up against a wall and make her scream with pleasure. But telling her that would be completely unprofessional. He was still on a job. “You’re a beautiful woman.”

“I don’t feel beautiful. I feel foolish. And a little airsick.”

Yikes. That was all they needed. “Here. Lie down and close your eyes.” He patted his legs, indicating that she should stretch out.

“You don’t mind?”

He minded a lot of things, but despite his desperate desire to stay remote with his client, he didn’t want her getting sick. Plus that indescribable “it” he had mentioned to her? He felt it. That tug of chemistry, of desire, in both his groin and his chest. He was attracted to her, yes, but he also felt...interest.

Not good. Not good at all.

Which made offering for her to sprawl across his lap incredibly stupid. When she did, her body felt warm and soft on his hard thighs. She glanced up at him with big brown eyes. “You’re very hard.”

“Excuse me?” He wasn’t there yet, but if she kept shifting around like that, he would be, and she’d get an earful.

“Your legs. They’re very muscular. Not the best pillow.”

Right.

She smiled up at him. “But thank you. I appreciate it.” Squeezing his knee, she added, “You’re sweet.”

Hunter grunted in response. She closed her eyes.

And his job, among other things down south, got a whole hell of a lot harder than he could have ever predicted.

2

IT HAD BEEN a mistake to lie on Hunter’s legs. Melanie kept her eyes closed, but not to sleep. It was to avoid looking at him. She was very aware of how close she was to his crotch, and how firm his body was under hers. His hand resting on her side was enormous, heavy, warm. She felt surrounded by him, protected.

And he smelled like the woods. As if he’d chopped a cord of firewood, thrown on a suit and jumped on a plane, all without skipping a beat. It was appealing.