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anything else.
    She glanced over at his
long legs, his knees snug against the glove compartment. “Maybe you
should take your motorcycle. As you can see, I don’t have much leg
room for you.”
    “ I’m good,” he told her.
“This is cozy.”
    Cozy? Yeah, sure. This from a man who drove a motorcycle, a
Mercedes jeep and a silver Bentley.
    “ Last chance before I
drive away,” she said, hoping for a miracle.
    “ I’m good,” he said,
reaching for the seatbelt, pulling it across his chest. When he
buckled it, his hairy arm grazed her smooth one. He could’ve sworn
he heard her whimper when it happened, when their skin touched.
“Let’s go. You only have about an hour and a half of daylight left,
princess.”
    Feeling a vein pulsate at
her temple, Sherita shifted the car in gear, beginning the
ten-minute drive to Carrier Park. Feeling warmer than usual, she
turned up the AC a little higher than where she normally had it
set. She didn’t want the babies to get cold, but she didn’t want to
pass out while driving either. With Desmond next to her, she was a
nervous wreck, and it didn’t help matters that he was staring at
her like he was making it his goal to see her sweat.
    Desmond saw the moment her
breathing quickened. He’d gotten this reaction from women for so
long, he could pick up on it right away – on when a woman was
either attracted to him or intimidated by him. Only thing is, he
had yet to figure out which category Sherita fell into because he
wasn’t around her long enough to make the distinction. So he
purposely studied her, and he could not care less if she was
uncomfortable. Besides a near rear-end experience at the coffee
shop, this was the only other time he’d ever been this close to
her. And boy did he like what he saw.
    His eyes traced the outline
of her face, zoomed in on her ripe lips, her ears and the hair
she’d just stroked, raking it behind her right ear. He noticed she
had three piercings in her ear and he imagined she had the same in
the left. Her neck was long and elegant, leading down to a nice
size, average chest. In the beige tank top she wore, her arms were
visible, looked firm, but he could attest to their softness since
he’d touched them. Twice. He had to talk himself out of touching
her again. She’d probably run off the road if he traveled the
length of her arm with his index finger.
    Continuing his examination,
he checked out her flat stomach and those small, delicate hands
gripping the steering wheel. Her fingernails were painted a light
pink. On her right hand, there were two silver rings – one on her
index finger, the other on her pinky finger. Near her wrist, he saw
a dark scar, and he wondered how she’d gotten it.
    “ I must have something on
my face.”
    “ I don’t see anything,”
Desmond said.
    “ Huh?” She asked, glancing
at him then back at the road.
    “ You said you had
something on your face.”
    “ Oh. I didn’t realize I
said that out
loud.”
    “ Well, there’s nothing
there, but I can put something there if you would like.”
    She could see him lick his
lips in her peripheral vision, and the way his dimple peeped out
when he smirked. “No thanks.” Sherita swore she could feel his
breath massage the side of her face. Seemed he had moved closer.
What on earth was he doing? Slowing to a red light, she finally
looked at him and said, “Okay, what is it?”
    “ What do you mean?” he
asked with a straight face.
    “ Why are you staring at
me, Desmond?” she asked, watching his eyes land on her
lips.
    “ Just a part of my
process.”
    Eyebrows raised, she said,
“Your process?”
    “ Yes.”
    “ Your process for
what?”
    “ For learning you. Light’s
green.”
    “ What?”
    “ Go,” he said, amused.
“The light is green.”
    “ Oh.” Sherita pressed the
gas pedal. Desmond was throwing her off balance again. “Why would
you be interested in learning me, whatever that means?”
    “ It means your mannerisms,
your thought