A Dangerously Sexy Secret. Stefanie London

injury.

      “Rhys,” she repeated, weighing the name in her mouth. It suited him—strong, masculine. Direct. “I’m Wren.”

      “The pleasure’s all mine, Wren.”

      She inspected the expertly applied bandage. “You’ve done that before, haven’t you?”

      “I do a little downhill mountain biking. Cuts and scrapes come with the territory.” When he smiled Wren felt like she was staring directly into the sun.

      “Well. I’m very grateful you’re so prepared.”

      “You make me sound like a Boy Scout.” His honey-brown eyes twinkled.

      Judging by the way her mouth had run dry and her heart galloped in her chest, Boy Scout was the last thing she would compare him to. Man Scout wasn’t a thing...was it?

      “That doesn’t seem to fit you,” she said, shocking herself with the flirty tone that came out of her mouth. God, if she didn’t watch herself she’d be twirling her hair around her finger and batting her eyelashes like some giddy schoolgirl.

      Get a grip, Livingston. He’s just a man...a hunky, incredibly well-defined, thrilling man.

      He chuckled, the low sound rumbling deep as thunder. It made her skin tingle. “What gives you that impression?”

      “Boy Scouts don’t usually have six-packs, do they?” Her tongue darted out involuntarily to moisten her lips.

      What alien had taken over her body?

      He didn’t seem in the least bit self-conscious of his near-naked state. Wren, on the other hand, might as well have been in her birthday suit for how exposed she felt. Funny, since the naked form appeared often in her artwork...but this didn’t compare with brushstrokes on a canvas. He was far too real, far too alight with sexual energy.

      His eyes swept over her with a languid slowness, smoothing over her hips and breasts and hair. “No, I guess they don’t.”

      “Can I offer you some dinner?” she blurted out. “I was making pizza when I cut myself and I’d like to thank you for coming to the rescue.”

      “There’s no need to thank me. That’s what neighbors are for, right?”

      At that moment she kind of hoped neighbors were for wild, hot, no-strings sex. “Please. I’m new and I’d love to have a friend in the building.”

      “Well, when you put it that way.” He grinned and Wren was quite sure her panties were about to melt into a puddle at her feet. “I’d love to. Give me a few minutes to change and I’ll come over.”

      “I’ll see you when you’re ready.” She returned his smile and headed back toward the front door, forcing herself not to bounce up and down with pent-up excitement.

      It’s just a dinner, you goof. A friendly, neighborly meal between two adults. It doesn’t have to lead to orgasms.

      But the throbbing between her legs would mark her a liar if she said she wasn’t already fantasizing about it. Rhys showed her out, his broad shoulders blocking the door frame as he waited for her to make it back inside her apartment. She risked a glance behind her as she stepped inside and he was still there, the heat in his gaze unmistakable.

      A tremor ran through her, excitement and fear mixing in a strange, delicious medley of emotion. The fact that her body was reacting so strongly was a good sign. After what had happened in her hometown, the very thought of sex or nakedness had filled her with guilt and shame.

      But now her blood was pumping through her veins hard and fast, her heart fluttering with anticipation. Tonight, she was going to shake off the past and have a little fun.

      * * *

      RHYS CONSIDERED HIMSELF a logical guy. Computers were his world and binary made him feel comfortable. Even the one-two pound of running appealed to his logical side. But right now a little part of him was enjoying the thrill of a situation outside his control.

      And things could go wrong if he slept with Wren and it didn’t work out. They’d have to face each other in the hallway each day, making politely awkward small talk. There’d be guaranteed cringe-worthy moments if either one of them ever brought a date home and the other happened to see. The old Italian lady in 403 was also a huge gossip. Plus, there was a possibility that they wouldn’t be compatible in the bedroom.

      “Who are you kidding, man?” he muttered to himself as he whipped off his towel and proceeded to get dressed. “There’s no way you have chemistry like that without it transferring to the bedroom.”

      And, if his still-aching erection was anything to go on, his body wholeheartedly agreed. Besides, the only way he’d ever have the chance of finding the right woman was if he actually went on dates. And dinner counted as a date...didn’t it?

      He pulled a fresh T-shirt over his head and fished out a pair of black boxer briefs from his bedside drawer. By the time he’d added jeans and sneakers to the mix, he’d also decided to take a bottle of wine with him.

      When he knocked on her door, a thrill ran through him at the thought of seeing her again. Reality didn’t disappoint. She opened the door with a flourish and a tinkling laugh. Long blond waves tumbled over one shoulder, and she’d thrown an apron over her white tank and floor-length flowy skirt.

      “Welcome to my humble abode,” she said, gesturing with a pair of tongs like a grand magician. “It’s a little sparse at the moment. But I can assure you my pizza will make up for it.”

      “I have no doubt.” He stepped in and took in the surroundings, placing the wine down on the kitchen counter as she grabbed two glasses.

      She hadn’t been kidding about it being sparse. Other than a small table with two chairs, a battered couch and an overturned cardboard box acting as a coffee table, the room was empty. He’d expected to at least see boxes with her belongings dotted around, but there wasn’t a single one in sight.

      “It’s very...minimalist,” Wren said. She poured the wine and handed him a glass, holding her own out so they could clink them together.

      The wine was good, not too sweet and not too dry. The flavor danced on his tongue, and he wondered what it would taste like on her lips. Her tongue. The fantasy rushed up, tracking along his muscles until his whole body felt coiled and tight.

      This is what happens when you leave it too long between drinks.

      “I’m not sure how long I’ll be staying,” she said. “So I didn’t want to waste money on getting lots of furniture.”

      Disappointment stabbed at him, but he brushed the feeling aside. There was no sense worrying about the future of their relationship when they hadn’t even had one meal together. “Not sure if you’re a fan of New York yet?”

      “It’s more that I’m not a fan of long-term decisions.”

      He cleared his throat. “Where did you move from?”

      “Somewhere you’ve probably never heard of.” She stuck the tongs in a large silver bowl filled with a colorful salad. “I’m a small-town girl.”

      “Living in a lonely world?” he quipped.

      She grinned. “I appreciate a man who knows his Journey lyrics. Sadly, my life is far less fabulous than the song would have you believe.”

      “Is that why you moved to New York?” He leaned against the counter and inhaled the aromas of their dinner. Fresh basil, melting cheese, a hint of something spicy.

      “I’m here for work.” Her answer was carefully worded. Guarded. “But it’s not a permanent position, which suits me fine.”

      Message received, loud and clear.

      But he still wanted to get to know her better, even with her line in the sand. Perhaps “not permanent” was exactly what he needed right now. No pressure, no expectations.