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  Her eyebrows climbed a little, as did the tiny blush of heat into her cheeks. Ridiculous, considering they weren’t exactly trying to pretend what had just happened . . . hadn’t.

  She polished off the rest of her sandwich rather than respond. Her flush had answered for her anyway. He finished his sandwich in silence, too, never taking his gaze from hers. It was both reassuring and quite disconcerting, being the total and complete focus of this man’s attention.

  “You realize,” she said finally, “that under normal circumstances, I’d have never allowed you to do what you did.”

  “Define normal.”

  “Meeting under almost any other circumstances.” She balled up the wax paper and shot it at the paper bag, pumping her fists when it went in clean.

  “Nothin’ but paper,” he agreed, nodding.

  “What can I say,” she boasted, buffing her nails on her shirt. “Some of us have it.”

  He surprised a squeal out of her by snagging her hips and yanking her snug up against him. She flung out her hands to brace herself on the wall behind his head, just before her breasts hit his chest.

  “And some of us want it. Badly.” Then he took her face between those big, wide hands of his, and crushed her mouth to his.

  Chapter Six

  He felt like he’d been drugged. Intoxicated by the taste of her. Her smart, hot little mouth. The scent of her. He couldn’t get close enough. His fingers had twitched from the moment he’d stepped back in the cabin.

  She hadn’t fooled him. He’d seen the quick flicker of guilt. She’d been one step away from leaving. So he’d shamelessly done whatever he had to, to get her to stay. And that meant capitalizing on the one thing, the only thing, they shared—heat. Basic animal attraction.

  And yet, it wasn’t the soft curves, the delightful scent, or even the taste of her, that had driven him to this, to this need to have her. It was her laugh, her absolute insouciance. The fact that he was pretty damn certain—despite every evidence to the contrary—that she was no more likely to jump a stranger on a train than he was. And yes, that she’d allowed herself the freedom to take and be taken by him, made his blood pound.

  He wove his fingers through that spiky hair and took her mouth, plundered it, the way he already burned to plunder her body again. This time staying buried deep and long, all the way to an incredibly explosive end. He began to stir when she kissed him back, slid her lips over his, took over. With her weight on his lap, hands braced on the wall behind him, she pressed him back into the seat, sunk herself into his mouth, took him. Took him in deep, needy thrusts, in the exact way he wanted to take. To be taken?

  That thought shocked another surge through him. Was that it? he wondered, as his mind spun out and his hand slid down her sides, then up her back, meshing her body even more tightly against his. Was it her conviction in this interlude they’d embarked upon, her matched determination, openly seeking what he sought, wanting what he wanted? All this heat, but nothing more. Not even his name.

  The perfect train fantasy.

  Then their kisses began to slow, move to a deeper, more languid pace, and questions became answers and daring new feelings pulsed to life. Curiosity, the desire for more. And, perhaps a little temper, too, that she could be part of something so explosive, so intense, so fast, and not want more than the fantasy. Not demand to know what more there might be. Like he wanted to.

  His fingers tensed on her back, causing her to pause briefly in her thorough seduction of his mouth.

  So he wanted more. Which was asking—no, begging—for disaster. If he made a push, opted to try to explore this further . . . and she opted to walk, then what had been the stuff of dreams would become the stuff of disappointment and regret.

  Except . . . now that he’d acknowledged he wanted to know her further, forge a type of intimacy that went beyond merely discovering they could pleasure each other physically, well, he’d already altered that dream anyway, hadn’t he? Now there would be regret, and a lifetime of “what ifs” if he didn’t try.

  With both anxiety and anticipation, he slowly nudged her mouth from his, then captured her face once again between his palms.

  Her eyes were huge, dark, and bottomless as she stared into his. He was insane to screw with this, to not just sit back and literally enjoy it. But he was already speaking, his pulse spiking as he took the first step. Risk, it appeared, came in many forms.

  “I—I, we—” He broke off, sighed. Jesus. Perhaps he might have thought this out a tad better first. But what the hell, they’d pretty much been winging it this far.

  Instead of frowning in confusion or concern, she chose to smile, all soft and smugly content. “I—I—we, what?”

  His heart thundered, but no longer in anxiety or indecision. No way was she stopping now. Did she know what she was doing to him? How could she when he was still trying to figure it out? It was like being hit with a semi. “You know, you absolutely stun me.”

  “You had to stop kissing me to tell me that?”

  “I absolutely did. And you absolutely do.”

  “So. Define stun,” she said, taking one hand off the wall, tracing his bottom lip with her fingertips.

  He ached—ached—to take those fingers into his mouth, suck on them, pull both of them right back under the wave of sensuality that flowed so easily around and through them, forget all about forging new paths and just do what came oh so naturally. He fought the urge, that ache, because this other path, this new exploration, was even more tempting to him now. “Amaze. Defy logic. And certainly all expectations.”

  She touched the end of his nose, then shifted her weight back a little more on his legs so she could sit up. “You had expectations? Before or after meeting me?” Her eyes were still lit with this amused gleam. “Was there some previous plan? A scheme? A dream? A fantasy, perhaps?”

  “Funny you should use that word.”

  “Which one?”

  “Fantasy. Up to just a few seconds ago, I’ve been very willing to file this rather mind-blowing experience away as just that.”

  “Only now . . . what?” She toyed with the collar of his shirt, no longer meeting his eyes.

  He ducked his chin, looked up into her face. “Only now I don’t know if maybe I’m shortchanging myself. And you. By accepting that this—phenomenal as it is—is all there could be. Or should be.”

  She didn’t say anything, but she hadn’t tensed, hadn’t pulled away. She continued to toy with the button at his collar, her expression thoughtful. Which meant she’d wondered about it, too.

  “So what are you asking, exactly?”

  He rubbed his thumb across the hard angle of her jaw, up along the indentation of her cheek. “I haven’t the faintest clue.”

  Her lips quirked at that, and she darted a glance at him, through thick, stubby lashes.

  “I could be a fool for chancing ruining this,” he said, “for not just going with the flow. And if that’s all you want, then please, with all due haste, let’s go back to where we were just a minute ago and forget I said anything.” And yet his heart pounded, heavy and deep in his chest, as he waited what seemed like an eternity for her response.

  “What else can there be?”

  He smiled now, heart lifting, just a little, anticipation growing, excitement spiking all over again. “That’s what I’d like to know.”

  She straightened now, raked her fingers through her hair, making it stand out even spikier than before, but seemingly unconcerned with her appearance. Perhaps one of her biggest draws to him, he thought. Her total lack of concern about beauty, allure. Even more, her lack of arrogance or assumption about those very things. Instead, she seemed simply willing to accept that his actions spoke for his attraction to her and therefore no other proof was required, verbal or otherwise.

  For a man who spent his life immersed in the arrogance of allure, of beauty, her easy acceptance of their physical combustion, with no explanation necessary, was downright intoxicating.

&n
bsp; She folded her arms loosely between them as her gaze locked on his once again. “Okay. So let’s play twenty questions. And see what we see.”

  Amused, even as his pulse thundered at her agreement to pursue this new course, his lips curved. “Twenty questions?”

  She lifted a shoulder, smiled back at him. “We’ve already discovered how well our bodies react to one another. You want to know how we’ll do with a melding of the minds. Seems the most direct way to me.”

  He rested his hands on her thighs. “Oh, my mind has been engaged for some time now.

  “Yeah, screaming sex does tend to get one’s attention.”

  He laughed. “With you, that’s definitely true. But I wasn’t referring only to that.” He traced patterns on her legs with his fingertips. “You have a way about you that fascinates me. Very direct, no bullshit.”

  Her smile was dry. “You get a lot of bullshitting women in your life, do you?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes. Professionally, anyway. I work with models. It’s a tough, vicious industry, with a great deal of pressure placed on a group of men and women who, while seemingly worldly and perfect, are in fact very young in more than just years. And yeah, a lot of them have to bullshit their way through it, just to survive.”

  “So that’s professionally. What about personally?”

  “Does this count as question number one . . . or two?”

  Her smile deepened. “One. The bullshitting women was more of an observation.”

  “Ah. Okay, then. Personally . . . I’ve been pursuing my line of work, dedicated my life to it, in fact, for over a decade, now. In the beginning, I definitely enjoyed the fringe benefits, as it were, of moving and shaking in a world filled with more beautiful, exotic women than I’d ever suspected existed in my rustic, rural youth.”

  Her eyebrow lifted at that last part, but all she said was, “Go on.”

  “Patience,” he said approvingly, glad she wasn’t peppering him with questions all at once. “Another trait I don’t see often enough. But back to the question . . . as time passed and my career took off, the women circulating around me stayed quite young—”

  “But you did not,” she finished for him.

  “Thirty-two might not be ancient to the rest of the world, but where models are concerned, it’s downright prehistoric.”

  She snorted. “When it comes to seeing other models, maybe, or pursuing guys not involved in their world. But you’re the man behind the camera, the man seducing them with his lens, peeling back the layers, exposing them. You can’t seriously expect me to believe they don’t feel seduced, read that intent their own way, and hit on you no matter the age difference.”

  “I think I’ve just been complimented. Sort of.”

  “I’m just stating fact, probable fact anyway.”

  “Is that how you felt? When I aimed the lens at you? That your layers were being peeled away?”

  Her gaze sharpened, and her thighs tightened, just a fraction against his. But he wasn’t sorry he’d asked. Quite the opposite.

  “I’m counting this as question number one for you,” she finally said. “And yes, I suppose that’s exactly how I felt. It was both disconcerting and, given the specific situation, arousing. The latter was the part that surprised me.”

  Direct. Honest. Where had she been all his life? “So then you think photo sessions are foreplay for me? Or, for the model, perhaps?”

  “Of course not. Not always, anyway. But for some of the models, some of the time . . . I’m sure it feels like it. And some of them probably act on it.” She lifted a shoulder. “It just stands to reason. Nothing wrong with that.”

  “Except I don’t mess around with my models.”

  “Not ever?”

  He shook his head. “Lines get blurred that way. I want to be the observer, maintain perspective. It gives me the edge I have to have. Hell, even in the beginning, anyone that strolled behind my camera never strolled in front of it. Life is complicated enough. And, the simple fact was, there was plenty to go around without complicating things.”

  She grinned. “Well, that’s a relief. Now I don’t have to worry about those shots you took of me showing up in some magazine.”

  “They could,” he said in all seriousness. “The quality would be very raw, but all the more powerful for it. But, no, you’re right, they won’t. The subject was personal. And I was very serious when I said those were just for me.”

  She stared at him for a long moment, their gazes steady on one another. Then she nodded, accepting his word. Just like that. Which, with someone—anyone—else maybe, would seem an enormously foolish thing to do, given their relative newness to one another. But she’d taken his measure, and decided him worthy of trust. Temporarily anyway. And she was no fool. Of that he was certain.

  “You said ‘was.’ That there was plenty to go around,” she clarified. “But now that you’re so ancient and they’re all so young, you’re not comfortable strolling, as you put it, for companionship with the women you meet during the course of doing your job?”

  “Not that young, no. I still find my subject matter endlessly fascinating, as it pertains to the work itself. But no, that world as a whole no longer calls to me when it comes to finding companionship. As you call it,” he added, amused when she merely lifted a cocky brow in response.

  “What would you call it?” she asked. “One-night stands? Random caboose pickups?”

  “Well, that last one is admittedly a new one for me, but seeing as it’s proven pretty damn successful, I might just stick with it.”

  “Might you?” she asked wryly. “So, you’re calling it a pickup, I call it companionship. Pretty much the same thing, don’t you think?”

  “Wait, whose turn are we on now?”

  “Mine. Question three. And I get to rephrase it.”

  “My, my, we’re all for making up the rules as we go along.”

  “Absolutely, as long as they favor me.”

  He laughed. “Good to know that going in. Rephrase away.”

  “Referring to the opposite sex only, for clarification purposes, I call reaching out, looking to make some kind of connection, a search for companionship. Sometimes the need driving it is physical, sometimes it’s just friendship. If you’re lucky, it can be both.”

  “What about love?” He raised a hand. “Clarification. Doesn’t count as a question.”

  She just batted his hand down. “Yeah, yeah. Okay. You can look for companionship. You can’t look for love. Well, you could, but it would just be a deeply frustrating and ultimately fruitless exercise, I think, since it’s not something found, but something that happens as a result of something else.”

  “No belief in love at first sight?”

  “Lust, yes.” Despite her frank assessment, the most becoming color bloomed in her cheeks. “But for love you need friendship, an attraction that goes beyond sex. Respect, trust. That can’t happen in an instant.”

  Had someone made that statement at any time in his life, up until about two hours ago, he would have heartily agreed. It was a definite, a black-and-white issue. Now? Now there were all these shades of gray.

  His gaze dropped to follow the patterns he was tracing on her thighs with his fingertips. “And yet,” he said thoughtfully, “within a very short time, we’ve proved we have attraction. We’ve trusted each other, enough to allow a degree of intimacy beyond heat-lightning sex. And the attraction grows, expands. Which is somehow scarier than the physical part.” He glanced up, caught her intently gazing at him. “But here we are, pursuing it anyway.”

  She didn’t look away, but covered his fingers with her own. “Pursuing isn’t the same as having, or being. It’s still not love.”

  He turned his hand over, laced his fingers through hers, then drew her hand to his mouth, turned it so he could press a kiss to her palm. He curled her fingers inward, tucking them inside his hand. “You’re right. But it’s a start. And a start is all anyone can ask for.”

  Ch
apter Seven

  Del trembled as he curled her fingers inward, closing his kiss—his promise, request?—into her fist. She tried for a light laugh, but the fact of the matter was, she kind of wanted the same thing. “I think scary is an understatement.”

  He tugged her hand, pulled her closer. “Absolutely,” he murmured, his eyes going all smoky with desire again.

  She pushed against his chest at the last second, just before their lips touched. “Uh-uh. This is territory we’ve already covered.”

  He closed the gap, smiled against her lips. “Any burgeoning relationship should be built from a position of power, right? I’d say this part is pretty damn rock solid.”

  She couldn’t help but smile. “You’re incorrigible.”

  He kissed her, hard and fast, then set her back, grin still in place. “See, you’ve already learned something new.”

  She laughed now. “Oh no, I pretty much had that pegged back on the caboose.”

  “That transparent, am I?”

  “Have you forgotten the list?”

  “No, but I was sort of hoping you had. I was kind of hoping I’d burned it right out of your brain earlier.”

  She felt her cheeks heat again, a startling discovery each and every time. Mostly because she wasn’t exactly the blushing type. She seemed to be going off type a lot today. “Yes, well, maybe you did. Temporarily.”

  “Now I’ve learned something new about you.” He pulled her close. “If I’m in the doghouse, I’ll know how to get out of it.”

  She arched a brow. “Big words.”

  He turned her face to his. “You weren’t complaining earlier.”

  This close to him, seeing the teasing glint in his eyes, she began to seriously reconsider her lust vs. love at first sight. Ridiculous, sure. But how hard would it be to love a man who could make her laugh, make her sigh . . . and, well, make her come, all with such ease? Danger, danger, Del.

  “No, I most certainly wasn’t,” she answered him.

  His expression shifted then, turned surprisingly gentle. Given how they’d exploded earlier, she wouldn’t have taken him for the type who appreciated tenderness. But then she remembered that final kiss, when the little lights were still twinkling in the air before her eyes . . . when things got a little awkward, a little too intimate. Which should have been laughable, considering . . . but hadn’t.