A Scent of Seduction. Colleen Collins

neatly to her neck. In contrast, its simple look accentuated her long, slender arms. When she talked, she had a way of gesturing that reminded him of a dancer. Poised, elegant. Had she learned that in dance classes, or was sophistication inbred?

      Funny how he knew more than he wanted to know about Anthony Tallant’s blue-blooded heritage, Ivy League education and three marriages, but he hadn’t a clue about Kathryn’s past. He’d never overheard her talking about her family or where she’d gone to college or if there was a Mr. Kathryn.

      Coyote paused on that last one.

      Was there a man in her life? He’d never seen a ring. And as he recalled, she’d shown up solo at the company Christmas party. But he didn’t need those clues. Any woman who kept up the work hours she did wasn’t going home to a warm bed.

      His attention followed the curve of her pale arm, to how the wind rippled and pressed the thin fabric against her breasts. Her round, pert breasts. He ran his tongue along the inside of his bottom lip, imagining the supple, soft texture of her skin. How it’d feel to kiss her, tangle his tongue with hers, to taste her…

      He’d found her interesting lately, but his interest was bordering on an obsession after this morning’s crazy group hug.

      He’d thought about it all day, trying to analyze what exactly had happened at that moment of contact. He’d analyzed sports plays for years, from who threw the ball to whom and how that affected the outcome of whatever, but damn if he could come up with a blow-by-blow of what had transpired with Kathryn. All he knew was he’d been swept up in a tsunami of heat and need, caught up in a wild churn of needs and desires. In the midst of the chaos, that epiphany—that she was the one—had risen in his mind only to disappear in the fog that descended. Then he’d been left standing there, disoriented and fuzzy brained and wondering what the hell had just happened.

      If one hug had affected him like that, he was dead meat should…

      “Dollar for your thoughts, man,” said Spencer.

      Coyote scrubbed his knuckle across his chin, avoiding his pal’s scrutiny. “Just thinking.”

      “Didn’t know that kinda look was called thinking.”

      “Didn’t know you’d suddenly become a psychic, reading people’s thoughts.” Coyote snagged an appetizer off a passing tray, a pygmy piece of toast with a glob of green on top.

      “Didn’t know you’d suddenly gotten testy about your lady-man self.”

      Coyote chewed, knowing his pal was right. It wasn’t like him, but then he hadn’t felt much like himself today. Or since this morning, to be exact. He was edgier, more restless. Except for the few moments when he wasn’t hot and bothered thinking about Kathryn. “Sorry, man.”

      “Nothin’ wrong with standing your ground, dog. Lemme see…so you were just thinking about, maybe, that redhead in the corner?” He cocked a look at Coyote. “Very cute. For you, I mean. The Monster Man, of course, ain’t looking.”

      “You’d be a fool to. Kimmy’s a catch.”

      “You’re preaching to the choir.” Spencer grinned, flashing a silver bicuspid. “She’s class, sass, and if I ever even thought about fooling around, she’d burn my…” He widened his eyes dramatically.

      Coyote laughed. He’d always liked Kimberly, Spencer’s soon-to-be wife. Being a personal trainer, she well understood an athlete’s temperament. More important, she was the grounding force in Spencer’s life. Because what made him a stellar athlete—his willingness to push himself, go to the extreme—could also be his weakness. When that weakness had toppled him, Coyote and others had seen Spencer through the rough times and now he was back on top, at the top of his game.

      “Anyway, I wasn’t checking out the redhead.”

      “Oh?” Spencer waited.

      “Do I have to tell you everything?”

      “I tell you everything, dog.”

      It was true. Back in Spencer’s days with the San Diego Chargers, he’d been Coyote’s mole, helping him get scoops no other writer in the NFL market could snag. In a way, it was Spencer who’d helped open the door to the promotion, which put Coyote in the prestigious position of being one of the youngest sports editors in the NFL market.

      “Okay, I was checking out her friend.”

      Spencer glanced back at the table. “The librarian?”

      “Editor.”

      “Same thing.”

      “Hey, I’m an editor, too.”

      “Yeah, but you write about sports. What kinda editor is she?”

      “Book.”

      Spencer snorted. “That’s what I’m talking ’bout. Librarian. All uptight and rule-freaky. Not your type.”

      Coyote would have said the same thing a month ago. Hell, even two weeks ago. Uptight Kathryn in her coordinated suits, sensible shoes, all-business attitude. But just as the fate of a game could change in the blink of an eye, so could a guy’s take on a woman.

      Or so he’d learned today.

      “Word to the wise,” he said, putting an arm around Spencer. “Never judge a book by its cover.”

      “Excuse me, Mr. Maxson?” interrupted a suit sitting on the far side of Spencer. “Can I get an autograph for my wife?”

      While Spencer made small talk and signed, Coyote turned, seeking Kathryn.

      She looked up and caught his gaze.

      And in that moment, he swore the world shifted, changed, intensified. The distant bay sparkled brighter, the temperature spiked, and damn if her scent didn’t ride the salt-tinged air and wash over him, again and again, stoking his need, firing his imagination, taking him higher, hotter….

      Blowing out a puff of breath, he massaged his eyes with a thumb and forefinger. He was no stranger to a member of the opposite sex getting under his skin, but what was brewing between him and Kathryn made him feel out of control and more than a little crazy. He liked his life to be predictable, easy, comfortable. Which meant sidestepping romantic entanglements. Well, serious romantic entanglements. His life had been serious enough growing up. These were his fun, carousing, devil-may-care days, and he planned to keep it that way.

      “Here’s your beer.” Eva set down two bottles.

      “Thanks,” he said, sliding a ten at her. “Keep the change.”

      “You’re welcome, Coyote.” She folded the bill, slipped it down her top and gave him one of those looks.

      “I’m waiting for someone,” he lied.

      She paused, the smile a tad slow in coming. “Guess I misread the weather report,” she said softly before heading down the bar to another customer.

      Coyote took a pull on his brew, turned, and settled his gaze back on Kathryn.

      Who was watching him with a funny half smile.

      He smiled back, hoping she hadn’t caught that little Eva exchange.

      She gave him an amused look.

      Okay, she had. To change the subject, he held up his hand, fingers splayed wide. Five votes behind you, baby.

      Was that a “you don’t say” smirk?

      He held up four fingers. Three. Two. One. He waved bye-bye.

      She made an O with her lips as though to say, Oh, that’s what you think.

      He leaned back against the bar, liking this teasing game. Liking Kathryn revealing her playful side.

      After a moment, she raised her forefinger.

      He frowned. One?

      With