Midnight Fantasy

Blood from the cut on his cheek smeared the right half of his face. There was a dark stain on his white T-shirt, too. He had gotten hurt because of her. Her expression softened as she studied his rich black hair, his mouth, and then the cut.

“It’s a scratch,” he muttered.

“Maybe you should put something on it.”

His eyes went dark with dislike. “Don’t act like you give a damn.”

“Are you always this rude? Or are you just showing off for me?”

His brows slanted. He studied her and then suddenly he laughed again.

She smiled. That broke the ice a bit. Then the air between them began to thicken again a little like sauce left to simmer over a fire. He was gorgeous, if a girl went for all male…and lethal. Which she certainly didn’t.

Nonetheless, she couldn’t stop looking at him. And that made her blush.

“Who are you?” she whispered, trying to push him away even though some part of her wanted to be locked in those warm muscular arms forever.

“You don’t care who I am.”

“Were you friends…with them?”

“No.” He didn’t explain.

“I hit my head when I fell,” she said. “I’m a little woozy. Not…not myself. This feels like a bad dream.”

His hands combed tangled, golden hair and found the blood-crusted bump on the back of her head.

She jerked away. “Ouch!”

“You have a lump the size of a hen’s egg there. You need a doctor—”

“No doctor!”

Black eyebrows arched. “You’re in no position to give me orders, princess.”

“Nobody can know about this.”

“About me, you mean.” His gaze slid over her hips, down her legs.

Her legs! She experienced a full-body blush. Their entire length was exposed to his view. Her silk skirt was shredded. Strips of the gauzy stuff were curling high above her thighs. Why, he could probably see her panties!

Panties!

Melody and her little jokes!

Claire wasn’t wearing pant—

Frantic fingers tugged modestly at the remnants of white silk to cover panties that simply didn’t exist.

“Don’t bother.” His eyes had narrowed, the intimacy in his gaze and raw whisper shaming her. “Black lace. Thong. And your voluptuous body to pull it off.”

She recoiled, her blush reheating.

“Very becoming,” he said.

Melody had given her the thong panties as a joke tonight. When she’d tried them on in the ladies’ room, Melody had dared her to wear them.

“Thong-bikini,” he jeered softly. “A deliberate turn-on.”

“For a man like you maybe.”

“Careful! You’re the one in the naughty underwear—Like I said—you were asking for it.”

“Your jeans are two sizes too tight!”

His handsome mouth quirked. “A nice girl wouldn’t notice.”

That was the sort of teasing boast Loverboy was always making…when she got undressed…when she was scrubbing herself between her legs in intimate places with a washcloth beneath foaming bubbles in her bathtub.

“Shut up, Loverboy!”

His avid grin was white against his sun-darkened skin. “What did you call me?”