An After-Hours Affair

He let her go, and she dropped onto the seat. She quickly straightened her skirt, covering as much of her thighs as possible. Then she glanced down to catch an expansive view of her cleavage. She adjusted the shoulder of the dress and tugged at the bodice.

Mitch had paused, watching her, the door still open. But she refused to glance up. He was probably laughing at her clumsiness.

After a long moment, he stepped back and firmly closed the door, moving around to the driver’s side. There, he climbed inside without a word, started the engine and pulled the sports car smoothly out of the parking lot.

As their speed increased, the overhead lights flashed above them, alternating with the branches of stately oak trees lining the street. The silence stretched out between them. A mile farther down, they turned off River Road to take the shortcut along Rooster Lane. Given the potholes and sharp gravel on the little-used road, and Mitch’s deep love of his Corvette, Jenny could only assume he was in a hurry to get rid of her.

Fine by her. She couldn’t wait to get home.

Then, abruptly, he pulled off the road onto a grassy patch beneath the oak trees, rocked the car to a halt and set the emergency brake.

“What are you doing?” she asked in confusion, wondering if something was wrong with his car. Surely, Emily couldn’t have sabotaged them both.

But he turned in his seat, draping his arm across the back of hers. “Spill, Jenny. What’s wrong?”

His abrupt question took her by surprise. But she quickly regrouped. “I’m tired and I want to go home.” That was definitely part of the truth.

“You’ve been acting weird all night,” he pressed.

“I have not.” She folded her hands primly on her lap.

“You didn’t even dance with me.”

The accusation in his voice made her own tone rise along with her blood pressure. She spoke past a clenched jaw. “You didn’t even ask.”

“I had to ask?” he retorted.

“It’s kind of traditional.”

“Like you needed extra partners,” he scoffed.

She turned to look at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means—” he gestured with one hand “—the way you’re dressed tonight, there was a line around the block.”

“Nice that some people noticed.”

His eyes glittered in the dash lights, and there was a long moment of tense silence. When he spoke, his voice was a throaty rasp. “You think I didn’t notice?”

Jenny wasn’t sure how to answer that. If he’d noticed, he’d done a darn good job of hiding it.

“You think I didn’t notice?” he repeated, louder this time, crowding her.

Was the car getting smaller?

“You didn’t say anything,” she pointed out, fighting the urge to shrink back against the door.

“What, exactly, was it that you wanted me to say?” He leaned closer still, and a few beats of silence ticked past. “That your eyes look like emeralds without your glasses? That you have unbelievably sexy legs? That you should show off more often, by the way.”

The front of his shoulder brushed the tip of hers, and Jenny swallowed against the electric sensation that passed between them.

His voice went lower. “That those shoes were designed to keep a man awake at night? That I’ve been watching the wisp of your hair, curling over your temple and resisting the urge to smooth it back all night long?”

Jenny couldn’t move. She couldn’t breathe. Her chest was frozen in place, while her pulse tripped over itself.

His fingertips fluttered against her temple, touching her hair. “Or that your red lips look soft, smooth, delicious?” His hand eased around to the back of her head, fingers splaying into her hair, as he drew her forward, his mouth coming down on hers in slow motion.

What was happening? What was going—

And then he was kissing her.

He was kissing her.

Sparks flew out from every corner of her body. Her skin prickled hot in the sultry car. Her belly buzzed and her thighs twitched, and her body leaned subconsciously toward him.

He parted his lips, deepening the kiss. His free arm slid around her waist, pulling her tight to his chest, while his tongue tested the seam of her lips.

She opened for him, and he invaded, spreading new waves of desire throughout her body. She whimpered, grasping his broad shoulders through his jacket for support while her world tipped on its axis.

He finally broke the kiss, touching his forehead gently against hers. “I noticed,” he breathed.

With her brain struggling to grasp the enormity of what had just happened, “Oh,” was all she managed.

He let her go, leaning back in his seat, closing his eyes for a long moment. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s, uh …” She straightened her dress again, sitting back in her own seat. “Fine,” she ended.

It was more than fine. It had been amazing.

He’d noticed. He’d noticed. And he’d kissed her.

Wow, had he ever kissed her. She’d never been kissed like that in her life.

Mitch let off the emergency brake and put the Corvette in gear.

He pulled onto the gravel road and continued toward Jenny’s small house beside Frost Lake.

She hadn’t the first idea of what to say or do.

Mitch pulled his Corvette into Jenny’s short driveway, his brain a jumble of lust and recrimination as he automatically turned off the headlights and killed the engine. He pushed open his door and rounded the hood to open hers.

In the ten minutes since he’d kissed her, neither of them had said a word. But inside his head, he’d given himself about a dozen stern lectures. What the hell did he think he was doing? Jenny was a nice girl, a great girl, a wonderful girl, and she worked for him.

She wasn’t one of the sophisticated women he met at parties in New York and L.A., who wanted nothing more than a famous football player as a companion for the evening or the night. She was honest, uncomplicated, and he was a cad for giving in to his baser instincts.

He pulled open her door, forcing himself to concentrate on the treetops, the full moon hanging on the horizon and the darkened outline of her little house—anything, anything but looking at Jenny again.

He knew he should get the heck out of here without delay, but her porch light was out, and the gentleman in him wouldn’t send her up the uneven pathway and the dark stairs on her own. He offered his arm, ignoring her light touch, looking straight ahead as they made their way along the stepping stones in her front garden.