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were
so dark, so enticing. They were almost navy in the waning light.
“I’m saying that never seeing or talking to you again, you becoming
a blip on my insurance record, is unacceptable.”
    The heat in her cheeks fanned out over her
body as his words seeped in. It wasn’t that she’d never heard she
was pretty. Simone had caramel colored skin, piercing ebony eyes
and dark hair that fell just past her shoulders. She was thin, but
had cushion where it counted—her hips, her behind, her chest.
    She was suddenly real glad she decided to
wrap her locks the night before so her chestnut hair fell in gentle
waves around her acorn shaped face. She was even rocking real
clothes instead of her usual combo of yoga pants and a t-shirt. But
even though she was wearing a blouse and skinny jeans and her hair
was on lock, she felt undressed and bare at his words. There was
something about the way he was approaching her that made her
self-conscious.
    Why was he flirting with her instead of some
socialite type? A guy like that usually had some blonde, anorexic
type on their arm. But the way he was looking at her…it was like he
knew that she had a thing for white guys.
    Richy Rich definitely wasn’t her first time
being attracted to someone outside her race. There was Joey, a guy
her girls not-so-affectionately called an ‘Uh-oh Oreo’ because he
liked to wear Fubu and a do-rag for some bizarre reason. Then there
was the frat boy nightmare Josh, who just wanted an ebony notch for
his bed post. Her ex, Nick, was last. He was the normal-est of the
bunch. Suave, educated, one helluva lover, but he hadn’t been such
a good guy in the end. The sting of walking in on him sleeping with
some red-headed bimbo on the bed he’d first said “I love you” on
was enough to make her swear off dating altogether.
    She’d kept up with steering clear of doling
out her heart and body, turning down invites from friends to go
clubbing and bar hopping, instead opting for slow, uncomplicated
weekends with her noodles and good ole Lifetime. Her drama was
where she liked it—on her television, not in real life.
    Yet here she was, starring in her very own
romantic comedy. Boy rear ends girl, ends up being a rich hottie.
Hijinks ensue.
    Simone cleared her throat. “What are you
saying?”
    He took a step toward her. “I’m saying, park
your car…and let me take you out to dinner.” He must have picked up
on the look of alarm in her eyes because he flipped the script. “Or
you could follow me, just in case I’m an axe murderer.”
    She didn’t laugh, but she couldn’t fight the
smile that tugged at the corner of her lips.
    He leapt on it. “That’s a smile.” He fist
pumped like he just won some sort of prize. “With a smile like
that, you’ve gotta let me buy you dinner.” He lowered his voice,
like he had something confidential to share. “And a new bumper, of
course.”
    “Of course,” Simone said, relaxing in spite
of herself. With the exception of rear ending her, he was kind of a
dream catch. Attractive, successful, funny. But she was still iffy,
still mulling it over. “Just dinner?”
    “Just dinner,” he answered. “Then we go our
separate ways. If that’s what you want.”
    There was something in his voice that told
her that wasn’t what he wanted. Which just made her body
ache and her mouth water with desire. He wasn’t even touching her
and she could feel her peaks swell beneath her blouse, at the
ready. Game for whatever. A man had never had such a carnal effect
on her. She’d never met anyone and wanted to go to bed with them
right off the bat.
    He’d awoken something in her—she could tell
him to go to hell and go home to her condo, to her safe evening at
home, but she knew she’d regret it.
    She let out a sigh before laughing at the
ludicrousness of the whole situation. “I don’t even know your
name.”
    “Mark,” he said smoothly. He held out his
hand.
    She glanced at it. It was now or never. Walk
away, or