Elizabeth Bevarly - The Virgin And The Vagabond

“It’s an ad for...for...” She, too, turned her attention to the magazine, then swallowed hard when she realized what she had selected by chance. She tried to make her certainty convincing as she said, “An ad for...um...ThighMaster. And I...uh...I really need one of those.”

His expression was impassive. “Really? You’d never know it to look at you. And if you’ll recall, I have looked at you. Thoroughly.” As she fought off another blush, he bent forward and extended his hand toward the hem of her dress. As he did so, he added playfully, “But I suppose, if you insist, it wouldn’t hurt to have another look.”

Viciously she smacked at his hand just before it made contact. “Mr. Nash,” she began again.

“James,” he interjected, jerking his hand out of the way.

She ignored the distinction and instead continued. “I don’t know why you keep bothering me, but I assure you I—”

“I’ll be more than happy to explain it to you,” he interrupted her. “Over dinner. In my suite. Tonight. How about it?”

She emitted a brief, quiet sound of disbelief. “I don’t think so,” she stated emphatically. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have an appointment.”

“That’s okay. I’ll wait.” This time he reached for the magazine. “I can read all about my nationally desirable status.”

Instead of handing over the magazine that still dangled from her fingers, Kirby snapped it shut and spun on her heel toward the stacks where she’d found it. As she went, she threw a comment over her shoulder. “I’d advise against it.”

James followed close behind, his step perfectly aligned to hers. “Against reading about myself? Or against waiting for you?”

“Both.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re not all that interesting, and I’m not at all interested. That’s why.”

“You might want to at least listen to my offer.”

She glanced over at him hesitantly, felt that odd heat starting to unwind in her midsection again and quickly looked away. “Oh, I think you made it abundantly clear this afternoon what you were offering. And as I told you then—whatever it is you’re selling, I don’t want any.”

“Who says I’m selling it?”

Before she tossed the magazine back down onto its shelf, Kirby held it up for his inspection. “It’s all right here in black and white, illustrated in living color.”

“That doesn’t say I’m selling it,” he argued. “On the contrary, that article only goes to describe what a very giving person I am.”

She nodded. “Yeah, that’s the problem. You give it to everything in a skirt.”

“Not necessarily,” he countered. “Sometimes they’re wearing pants. Or swimsuits. Or wet suits. Or ski gear. Or lingerie. Or nothing at all.”

Kirby wished he wouldn’t go into such detail. She really didn’t want to know. Mainly because it hurt to realize that the only reason he had any interest in her was because of her gender. He’d leap on anything that had produced estrogen at some point in its life.

“You don’t have to spell it out for me,” she muttered. “I know what kind of man you are. I know you’ve been with a lot of other women.”

He smiled at her phrasing. “Other women?” he asked softly. “Why, Kirby, you almost sound like you’re jealous.”

She rolled her eyes and squelched the realization that for some bizarre reason, she was precisely that. “Oh, please. If there’s one thing I’m not, it’s jealous of anyone who might come into contact with you.”

“Your lips say ‘no,’ but your eyes...”

He let the old adage drift off, his smile becoming so smug now that Kirby wanted to smack it right off his face. With no small effort, she prevented herself from tearing the magazine to shreds right before his eyes—it was, after all, library property—and instead slammed it back down onto its resting place.

“Go away,” she said as clearly as she could. “Leave me alone. I never want to see you again.”

He laughed, a low, rough sound that was more than a little suggestive. For some reason, she had the impression that he wanted to touch her. But instead of reaching out, he shoved his hands deep into his trouser pockets and continued to stare at her as if he couldn’t quite believe she was real.

“You are such an interesting woman,” he said softly, his voice a near purr. “So exciting. So stimulating. So...” He inhaled deeply and released the breath in a slow, ragged stream, as if he were trying very hard to rein in some impulse that threatened to gallop out of control. “So...arousing,” he finally finished on an uneven whisper.

Well, that certainly caught Kirby’s attention. In addition to having never been seen naked by any man in Endicott, she’d never been called exciting or stimulating—and certainly not arousing—by any man in Endicott. And she’d never been looked at as if she were some half-naked Venus to be plundered, either.

But with one heated look and a few suggestive remarks, James Nash seemed to be more than capable of making up for all the past oversights of every man in town. Kirby was suddenly assaulted by a sensation she’d never experienced before, a thrill of something hot and urgent and needful boiling up inside her, a hunger for some unknown quantity that only James Nash could fill.

Uh-oh.

“I...I...I...” she began. But for some reason, no other letters came forth to form words that might help her out of her predicament.

He moved a generous step forward, an action that brought his body to within inches of hers. Kirby felt as if his heat were surrounding her, and when she inhaled, she filled her lungs with the scent of him, something dark and masculine and exciting. His gaze fastened on her mouth, his lips parted slightly, as if he were about to bend forward and sweep her into oblivion.

And even though she assured herself that kissing a man like him was the absolute last thing she wanted to do, she realized a profound disappointment when he didn’t kiss her.

Instead, he lifted one arm to prop it against the bookcase beside them, and leaned in farther still, until his face was scarcely millimeters away from hers. Kirby breathed deeply of him again, holding her breath inside for as long as she dared, growing dizzy and intoxicated by the scent of him. And when her eyes began to flutter downward, when she felt herself involuntarily drawing closer to him, she had to force herself to pull away.

She snapped her eyes open and exhaled unsteadily, willing her heart rate to level off. But her pulse only quickened when her gaze met James’s. Because the way he was looking at her was downright scandalous.

“Have dinner with me tonight,” he instructed her without an ounce of inquiry in his voice.

“I...I...I...” Kirby gave her brain a mental shove to drive it out of the scratched groove it had entered. Unfortunately, when she did that, she found that every instinct she possessed was insisting she shout “Okay!” in response to his demand.

With a fierce mental shush to her instincts, she said softly, reluctantly, “I can’t.”

Her refusal had no effect on him whatsoever. He only continued to gaze at her in that maddeningly seductive way and lifted a hand to her face. In an act of self-preservation, she ducked her head away from his touch. But he only curled his index finger gently beneath her chin and effortlessly nudged her head backward, until she found herself gazing into his face again.

Then, oh, so softly, he asked, “Why not?”

Her blood roared as it rushed through her body, its velocity striking heat in every cell it hurtled past. For a moment, she could only stare at him, wondering how on earth she had found herself in such a situation. She wanted to throw caution to the wind and take him up on anything—everything—he had to offer.