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time, Ry.”
    “Damn it,” he gritted through his clenched teeth, wondering why she was pushing him. Where had his shy little scholar gone? The one who turned strawberry pink every time he looked at her, trying to imagine what her naked body would look like spread out across his sheets, arms and legs secured to the posts, while he ate his way to heaven. With the way she smelled, she would have to be the sweetest tongue-fuck he’d ever had. He’d fantasized about it so many damn times he could almost taste it, as if she were already slipping across his tongue, sliding down his throat like honey.
    Only…he wasn’t ever really going to have her, was he? And knowing it had him feeling meaner than hell. “Listen, Shea, that’s different and you know it.”
    “Is it?” she purred. His gut cramped at the sound. This low, breathless tone was one he’d never heard from her before. It sounded suspiciously seductive, as if she were coming on to him. His fear took on a new dimension, one that embarrassingly resembled blind fucking terror. “Why, Ry? Maybe I went there looking for the same thing you do.”
    Ah hell, he thought with a sharp rise of panic. Did she even know how close to disaster she was flirting? How close he was to forgetting all the reasons why he couldn’t give her exactly what they both apparently wanted? How close he was to finally burying his cock up her cunt, right where it’d been dying to get since he’d first set eyes on her?
    Shit—he wanted her in ways he’d never before experienced—wanted all of her. Everything.
    She wasn’t classically beautiful, but then he’d never been the kind of man attracted to Barbie doll perfection. At least not since he was old enough to know better. One Barbie doll had cured him for life, and it wasn’t a lesson he’d ever forget.
    No, Shea’s was a face of exotic angles and planes, from her small nose to her wide, lush mouth, thick lashes and arched brows. She looked like a sylvan creature stolen from a primeval forest—a pixie siren—with those wild black curls streaming around her face and her sharp little chin.
    Ryan scrubbed his hands down his whisker-rough face, feeling as if he were dangerously close to losing control of the situation. Then again, maybe he’d never had it in the first place. This entire night was turning into one hell-inspired carnival ride. Shit, he’d get a better dose of reality from a friggin’ funhouse mirror. All of this was just as surreal, distorting his point-of-view. If he had to stare at her in that little fuck-me outfit for much longer, he was going to forget all the reasons why she was off-limits. He’d be all over her, crammed deep inside before he knew what hit him, and the consequences of that were too damn dangerous for his peace of mind.
    “Look, Shea, when I go there—I mean when guys like me go to Red’s—we’re not looking to hook up with some nice girl, not with someone like you,” he struggled to explain, knowing he was making a muck of it, but unable to stop the idiotic ramble spilling out of his mouth. “The women go there looking for the same thing, and I know that’s not the speed you run at, honey. You’ve got sweet and innocent stamped all over you.”
    “Yeah?” she asked with wide-eyed speculation, as if she didn’t know exactly what she was doing to him. “Hmm…you know, maybe you don’t know me as well as you think, Ry. You’ve heard the old saying, ‘you can’t always judge a book by its cover,’ haven’t you?”
    He didn’t bother with an answer, grinding his jaw instead, struggling to keep from gripping her slim shoulders and shaking some sense into her.
    But his expression told her everything she needed to know. With a small, frustrated smile, she turned and walked away from him.
    He hated this. Hated being this close to her because it took so much effort to control himself. Too much effort to act as if he didn’t want to toss her over his shoulder and spend the next fifty