Burning Up

“I’ve got a couple of really solid ideas if you’d like to try them on for size,” he murmured.

He was going to kiss her. He was going to lean down and press his hard body against hers and his tongue was going to be in her mouth and his hands on her skin.

Without even willing it, her palms flattened against his chest. To push him away. She was almost sure that was what she’d planned on doing. But the second she felt the hard curves of his pecs beneath her hands, instead of pushing him away, her hands fisted into the fabric of his T-shirt, and her arms flexed as she prepared to haul him close so she could act on every one of the wild, illicit fantasies dancing across her mind.

He smiled—a complacent, confident, assured smile—and started to lower his head. Inside her, fear warred with animal, instinctive need.

What am I doing?

The thought was like a flare exploding against a dark night sky.

This wasn’t the sort of thing she did, the rational part of her mind screamed at her. She was a calm, ordered, careful kind of person. A thinker, a planner. She liked routine—Brandon had said it just last night, in fact. When he broke up with her after fourteen years of monogamy.

She was Sophie Gallagher, chef and, until recently, engaged to be married. She didn’t have sex with strange men, even if they were handsome, famous movie stars. Especially if they were handsome, famous movie stars.

Acting on survival instinct, Sophie used every muscle in her body to shove against Lucas’s chest as he closed the final inches between them. Despite his size, he rocked back on his heel, his hands slapping onto the counter to regain his balance.

“Whoa!” he said, an annoyed expression replacing his complacent one.

Ducking, she slipped beneath his arm and escaped the corral he’d created with his body.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he said, bemused, as she made tracks for the door. “Where are you going?”

“Dinner is at six.” She threw the words over her shoulder, relief flooding her. What a close call.

She’d been seconds away from danger. From doing something irrevocable. Something foolish and crazy.

Thank God she’d come to her senses before it was too late.

4

WHAT THE HELL…?

Lucas shoved a hand through his hair and swore under his breath. One minute they’d been go, the next minute she was gone. Frustrated, he stared down at the erection straining the crotch of his jeans. Clearly, there was no chance of getting any relief in that department in the near future, even though she’d been sending out all the right signals—the heated look in her big brown eyes, the telltale pulse flickering at the base of her throat, the rapid rise and fall of her breasts. God, she’d even grabbed him to pull him closer, an aggressive move that had taken him somewhat by surprise. Not that he didn’t like aggressive women—his whole sex life was predicated on the existence of women who came looking for what they wanted from him. He just hadn’t expected the move from someone who struck him as being more cuddly and cozy than vixen.

Then she’d shoved him away, nearly knocking him onto his butt, and bolted as though the house were on fire.

He shook his head. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman had said no to him. Definitely he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had to work to get one into bed.

Frankly, it was damn frustrating. He’d been all set to see if her luscious mouth tasted as good as it looked, then she’d slid out from under his arm, leaving him holding his dick, so to speak.

Which was not a recourse he’d had to resort to for a long time, thank you very much. Although if his johnson didn’t stand down soon he might have to seriously consider rediscovering the gentle art of self-fulfillment.

Grabbing his crutches, he hopped to the living room and stared blankly at the huge fireplace. Now that Sophie had nixed his chosen form of entertainment for the afternoon, he was back to being at a loose end.

Which reminded him that he’d forgotten to talk to Derek about relocating from this mountain gulag when he’d reamed him out over the diet earlier. Grabbing his phone, he dialed Derek’s cell and, surprise surprise, got his manager’s voice mail again.

“Get me out of here,” he said bluntly before ending the call.

The afternoon stretched endlessly before him. He had some scripts he could read. Derek would be hassling him to commit to his next project soon, anyway. He might as well get on with them sooner rather than later. Except he wasn’t really in the mood for plowing through pages of clichéd dialogue and preposterous plot points.

He could e-mail friends. Read a magazine or a book. Sunbathe. Swim.

None of it appealed.

In the normal course of things, he’d go for a run. A long, punishing run. Then he’d call up some buddies, maybe get his Harley out, go for a cruise somewhere, find some margaritas…

None of which was possible with his leg the way it was.

Man, four weeks of this forced inertia was going to kill him. To add a shiny cherry on top of it all, his armpits were starting to ache from the crutches. Last time he’d had crutches he’d grown to hate the damned things, too, he suddenly remembered. He’d been ten and had slipped running down the stairs at the state home where he’d been assigned, and broken his leg. His cast required wrapping in garbage bags every morning so he could shower. He’d gotten a lot of crap from his house mates about the fall, but everyone had wanted to sign his cast. Between them and the kids at school, he’d had over fifty signatures by the time the cast had come off.

Lucas frowned at the memory. He hadn’t thought about the old days for a long time. Not exactly the favorite part of his personal history. He pushed the memory away, back into the past where it belonged. “Never look back” was his personal motto, and it had served him well his entire life.

Turning, he headed for the gym. He could get an upper body workout in, at the very least, even if he couldn’t do his legs. That ought to keep Derek and the studio happy. And maybe if he exercised hard enough, he could go all-out and eat something that actually tasted like food for dinner.

He made a disbelieving noise in the back of his throat. The way his luck was running, he’d probably get a celery stick and another sloppy spoonful of cottage cheese, served to him by Sophie dressed in a suit of armor.

“I CAN’T BELIEVE it’s over so quickly,” Becky said.

Sophie leaned against the pillows on her bed and closed her eyes. Her friend’s sympathetic voice was exactly what she needed to hear after the turmoil of nearly jumping a certain shallow actor’s bones.

What had she been thinking?

What had he been thinking?

On second thought, she didn’t really need to ponder that one too much. Lucas was used to grabbing what he wanted from life, like a kid given free rein in a candy store. And even though she patently wasn’t the kind of woman he was usually photographed with in the gossip mags, she was the only woman he was likely to see for the next few weeks. It didn’t take a genius to do the math.

Thank God she hadn’t succumbed. Thank God common sense had come to her rescue in the nick of time.

“Soph? Are you still there?” Becky asked.

Sophie dragged her thoughts away from Lucas—again—and concentrated on what her friend was saying. Right, they were talking about Brandon. About the break-up.

“Sorry, I’m still trying to come to terms with it all,” Sophie said. Which was exactly why she’d been so vulnerable to Lucas’s predatory charm, she decided, conveniently ignoring the fact that she was the one who had touched him first when she pressed her palms against his chest. His firm, strong chest….

“How are you coping?”

I’m experiencing almost irresistible urges to have sex with a virtual stranger.

“I’m not a blubbering mess, if that’s what you mean,” Sophie said. “But I feel so ripped off that Brandon didn’t try to talk to me sooner about how he was feeling. It’s like he woke up one day and decided he wanted out and that was it.”

There was a telling silence on the other end of the phone before Becky made a noncommittal noise. Frowning, Sophie registered for the first time the full meaning of her friend’s earlier words—I can’t believe it’s over so quickly.

So quickly. As though Becky had been expecting it to be over, just not so rapidly.

“Becks?” Sophie asked, encouraging her friend to spill what was on her mind. They had always been honest with each other. It was one of the foundation stones of their friendship.

“Well, it’s not like you had no warning, Soph,” Beck said apologetically. “I mean, Brandon was always going on about traveling to exotic places, like Africa or South America. And when you didn’t want to go, he started taking up all those extra activities—learning Italian, rock-climbing, scuba-diving. Classic restless-man stuff, really.”