A Seal's Touch

“Hey, Taylor.”

It was Cat’s voice, the husky timbre easy and cheerful.

But the rest?

A sexy goddess stood in the doorway, hair flowing like molten gold over strong shoulders, framing a face he’d known for years and suddenly didn’t know at all.

The Cat he knew had blue eyes, yeah. But not sultry eyes framed by lush black lashes.

The Cat he knew had a wide smile and a cute overbite, but he’d never noticed her full, pouty pink lips before.

And the Cat he knew might be a woman, but he’d never—not in the twenty years he’d known her—seen her in a dress. If he had ever stretched his imagination far enough to think of her in one—which he hadn’t—he wouldn’t have imagined her in a clinging sundress with a laced-up bodice. As baffling as Cat and sexy was in his head, Cat and laces was even weirder.

Laces were meant to be unlaced. They were a sexy invitation, an alluring dare.

Both of which he needed to ignore.

But weird or not, the dress suited her. The denim hugged her chest and a surprisingly tiny waist before dropping in an easy line down her hips to midcalf. Instead of the work boots or tennis shoes he’d always seen her in, she was wearing strappy brown sandals.

Her toenails were turquoise.

Taylor stared at her toenails for a long moment, trying to figure out why that, of all the changes, threw him the most.

Where the hell was the Cat he knew? The sweet, unobtrusive tomboy with the sassy ponytail. The easygoing girl next door whom he never actually thought of as a real girl. The unthreateningly unsexy, unassuming friend he’d planned to use as a diversion.

“Taylor?” Cat asked, prodding him with a fist to the shoulder. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “Fine. We’re on the bike, though.”

“Will this fit?” Cat lifted the small canvas cooler off the table. “I’ve got bungee cords if you’re willing to strap it onto the back of the bike. Or I can hold it if you’re picky about what touches your chrome.”

He was more picky about who touched his chrome than what touched it.

Not what she meant, he told himself. Cat didn’t flirt and he was damned sure she wouldn’t appreciate him imagining her polishing his pole.

“You cooked?” he asked, hoping for a distraction.

“As if.” Cat laughed, pushing one hand through those long, loose curls. “I raided my mom’s freezer for cannoli and the cookie jar for biscotti. Dessert.”

Dessert. Taylor didn’t have much of a sweet tooth but he was suddenly starving for whatever Cat had.

In the bag, he mentally corrected. He was starving for what was in the bag.

“Taylor?” she said slowly, the tone both puzzled and amused. As if she knew he was confused and liked it.

“Dessert sounds good. Bring the bungee cords. You’ll be more comfortable that way.” He frowned. Then, unable to resist, added, “Maybe you should change.”

Of their own volition, his eyes dropped to her chest again, appreciating the way the delicately flowered cotton fabric cupped the gentle swell of her breasts. His fingers tingled with the need to reach out and skim over the softly tanned flesh, to untie the slender leather bow lacing the corset-styled bodice closed.

“Change?” Cat echoed, frowning down at herself. Her hands skimmed from waist to hips, folding the material against her body in a way that made Taylor want to groan. “Is there something wrong with this dress? Is it too fancy? Too casual? Too what?”

Too damned sexy.

“I’ve got my bike,” was all he said.

“No problem.” She shrugged before gathering the skirt in both hands and lifting it higher. Not high enough to show anything interesting, though. “I’m wearing my swimsuit underneath, and this skirt is full enough that I can straddle the bike.”

The word straddle sent myriad images through his mind, but Taylor shoved them right back out. He had no business thinking about Cat rising naked over his body as she straddled him. She was his friend. His younger friend. The daughter of his mother’s best friend, even.

Any one of those put her off-limits.

The three combined put her on the no-fly list.

“Let’s get going,” he said, jerking his head toward the door. A strong man, he used his training to keep his eyes off her butt as she walked in front of him.

This was good. Better than good, he told himself with a scowl. Cat looking hot would make a better impression on the ladies, if only because she was exactly the type they’d all try to hook him up with. Sexy and good-looking but sweet with a big helping of nice.

As long as he stayed focused on the nice and not the swing of her hips, everything would be fine.

“No purse?” he asked, realizing its absence when they reached the bike.

“Purse?” Cat laughed. “I don’t even own one.”

And there she was. The Cat he knew. As much to shake off the edgy need that had grabbed him by surprise as to play along, Taylor gave an exaggerated shake of his head.

“Seriously? Where’d you hide all that stuff women can’t leave home without?”

He automatically looked her up and down. Big mistake, since the visual tour made his fingers tingle again. What kind of swimsuit was she wearing under there? Bikini? One of those one-pieces cut high on the thigh and, his eyes lingered on the hint of cleavage, cut low to show her breasts?

“I have pockets,” Cat said, tucking her hands into them to prove it. She pulled her keys out of one pocket, a small leather wallet and her cell phone out of the other. “Everything I need.”

“You’re one of a kind, Kitty Cat.” Taylor grinned. “One of a kind.”

“Much to my mother’s dismay.” She gave an admiring nod at the bike. “When did you get this?”

“Couple of months ago. We can take your truck instead if you’re worried about your hair.”

Cat laughed.

“You’re kidding, right?” She pulled a band off her wrist that he’d taken for a bracelet. “I’m always prepared.”

“Still mad they wouldn’t let you into the Boy Scouts?”

“You know it.” As she spoke, she made quick work of pulling her hair back. Her fingers flew as she formed a braid. With both hands behind her head, her movements did the most intriguing things to that dress.

Didn’t matter, Taylor reminded himself. What was going on underneath was none of his business.

“Helmet,” he said, handing her his spare.